I usually like when I hear a rooster announcing a day break in English (“cock-a-doodle-do”) or in Serbian (“kukuriku”), because it means I am away from the highways, trucks, and students upstairs who love to play Persian techno music till the wee hours of the night (I always forgive them when they appear around noon the next day with a bottle of wine, apologetic and grateful for the crepes I sent to them).
But roosters also conjure up visions of summers past spent in my grandparents’ house in Vojvodina, the northern area of Serbia bordering Hungary. Deda-Vlada was a retired railroad engineer with white hair and piercing blue eyes, who always walked with his shoulders straight and his hands interlocked behind his back. He made the best popcorn in an old skillet, with just a touch of oil and some salt.
Baba-Anka became Babuljica for me and everybody else when I was four. “Baba” is grandma, “Babica” would be a deminutive, and I invented “Babuljica” as a deminutive of a deminutive, because I loved her so much. She was soft spoken, gentle woman with green eyes and an eternal smile on her face. I cannot recall ever seeing her angry or upset.
Vladimir married Anka when she was mere sixteen years old. He was twenty eight, established, and had a job assigned by the government. They did not attend University. They were not raised by the aristocracy. But their small house on the edge of the village was always a comfortable den filled with culture, love of reading, music, and friends. They were the first in the village to own a TV. And they shared it with everybody. They organized plays, staged recitals, brought books to the families who settled there from Herzegovina after the ravages of the World War Two. They hosted poetry nights, instigated talent shows, and taught kids how to read when the nearest school was miles away.
They passed their love for life to their three children: our Uncle Milan, Mother Andjelka, and our Aunt Sophia, who we always called just Sonja. We looked lovingly at every painting, sketch, and drawing my mother made while still living at home, studying Art at the University of Novi Sad. Most of them adorned the walls of the living room. We rummaged through the piles of books stashed everywhere – classics from before WWII, poetry and Russian realism from the 50s and 60s, modern and rebellious literature from the 70s. For me it was heaven on earth. And my grandparents did not care if I stayed buried in a book for hours, as long as I appeared at the table with clean hands and a healthy appetite.
Our summers spent in their house were the definition of freedom. We went swimming in the Danube with the neighbors’ kids, spent hours building fortresses on the front lawn, walked the rails with our cousin when the trains were not running, collected snails after the rain, broke off pieces of the colorful tile from the roof and used it as chalk, and went to sleep, exhausted, with the rhythmic cadence of passing trains in the background.
In the morning we would rise early, only a few moments after the vicious rooster who vehemently hated my brother (the kindest and nicest child ever) fluffed up his feathers and crooned his greeting to the sun. We were excited to find out how many eggs the hens had hatched. We’d collect them, guided by Babuljica, and some of them would find their way into our breakfast plates, along with freshly baked bread and tomatoes from the garden. We would play, and they would tend to the garden and corn field. Occasionally we would feed the chickens with brown, red, or yellow corn, constantly amused by their never-ending fight for every kernel. And once a while, one of those chickens would be selected for dinner. Babuljica would wring its neck, scald it with hot water, take the feathers out, and cut it up in pieces. We were fascinated and intrigued, but eager to consume.
Toward dusk, Babuljica would grab her navy-blue metal canister with a wooden handle and take us over to the village. We’d pass fields of golden wheat swaying in the wind, rows of sunflowers obediently facing west, and militarily straight aligned corn days away from ripeness. We would make small talk with old women sitting on the benches in front of their houses and finally arrive at our destination where fresh milk would find its way into the canister, its smell bringing forth the summer grasses and straw.
We would walk back to the house for a mile or so, slowly, not wanting to spill a drop of the precious liquid. Babuljica would scald the milk, make us big cups of hot cocoa, and lay a plate of animal crackers on the table for us to dunk.
Excited by our daily adventures and mostly ravenous, we did not think of the origins of the food that she served for every meal. Looking back I know that most of the ingredients were grown in the vegetable garden in the yard. When I close my eyes I can see Babuljica getting ready to make a bean stew for us. She is collecting onions, potatoes, and beans in a purple enamel bowl. She is sitting on a chair in the kitchen facing her pale green china cabinet dating from the golden age of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the radio is playing a mellow evergreen tune. She hums along while she cuts the onions and peels the potatoes. The pot of red beans is gurgling on the stove. Deda-Vlada is sitting opposite her, working on a crossword puzzle, looking at her occasionally and quite lovingly over the thick black frame of his glasses. I can see the table set for all of us, bowls of steaming fragrant stew resting on the starched tablecloth. I can see us racing to the kitchen, out of breath, talking over each other and digging into the beans with abandon.
They both died before they could see me enrolled in the University. Their house still stands at the edge of the village where the road makes an elbow curve, but some other children and grand-children play on the grass and rest underneath the old walnut tree. The rustling of the corn in the summer makes me think of them. The crow of the rooster brings a smile to my lips because I know that I continue their legacy.
RED BEANS STEW WITH VEGETABLES (ŽUTI PASULJ NAKISELO)
The aroma of this bean stew, enriched by sweet carrots and parsnips, spiced by onions and celery, freshened up by bay leaf and paprika, thickened by velvety potatoes, and finished off by a glug of vinegar takes me back in time, in my Babuljica’s loving arms.
Ingredients:
- 1 lbs red beans
- 1 onion, diced
- 2 carrots, sliced
- 2 stalks celery, diced
- 1 parsnip, diced
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tsp salt
- ½ tsp freshly ground pepper
- 2 bay leaves
- 1 tsp paprika
- 3 Tbsp red wine vinegar
- 2-3 potatoes, peeled and cut into large cubes
- Parsley, chopped
Directions:
Clean the beans and put in a Dutch oven or a 5-quart stainless steel pot. Cover with water and heat until boiling. Strain the beans, retur to the pot, and cover wit water to reach ¾ of the pot. Add onon, carrots, celery, parsnips, garlic, salt and pepper. Cook on high heat until it boils, turn the temperature down and simmer on medium low to low, depending on your range, for 2-3 hours, until the beans are soft, but not falling apart. Add bay leaves, paprika and vinegar. Add the potatoes and cook for another 30 minutes, until potatoes are soft. Sprinkle with parsley and serve. Serves four very hungry and melancholy people.
Why does not comfort food photograph well?
I am submitting this post for Two for Tuesdays and Summer Fest.
Predivan post! Znam da zvuci kao floskula, ali stvarno je predivan, toliko divan da sam cak ispunila sva polja (ime, mail, URL) potrebna da bi mogao ostaviti komentar…:)
I could just kick back under a shady tree and get lost in your stories!! You are such a wonderful writer…conjuring up memories that seem like they’re my own… I think the stew sounds super comforting (and yeah, whats up w/ that…I’ve noticed that about photographing some of the best tasting things ever…but your words more than make up for the dishes lack of cooperation)!! Thank you for sharing this with Two for Tuesdays!
Lana, you’ve done it again. I look forward to your stories so much. Your posts truly embody the spirit of our mission at Two for Tuesday, thank you for sharing with us.
Hvala ti, Melrose! Price iz detinjstva uvek imaju najvise emocija, a ja hranu uvek vezujem za porodicu, prijatelje i lepe trenutke. Kad mi je najteze, ja izvucem poneku uspomenu i odmah se osecam bolje. Citamo se!
Heather, we are kindred spirits. Under the shady tree is where I want to be for eternity, but the life prevents me from being there! You know, kids, job, husband, BLOG….One of these days, though… I am slowly reading your blog form the archives.
Thank you so much! I sometimes feel like I put too much melodrama in my writing, but that’s me! I am happy to be a part of Two for Tuesdays.
Oh, such a story, and perfect for the dish. I’ve had the same problem with capturing comfort food with my camera, and I think really, it doesn’t photograph well because part of it’s nature is just to be warm and delicious and un-showy. But your’s looks lovely, and delicious.
I love the picture of your grandparents – you can tell they love each other by how they are holding hands! What a lovely story you told – I felt like I was there. The soup just seems so wonderfully comforting – thanks for linking this to Two for Tuesdays!
Christy, that’s what I told my husband when we took photo of the photo: you can tell that there is affection after so many years together, which was rare back then. Thanks for kind words – writing is a therapy for me, and rescuing these vignettes from my memory makes me really happy.
Most of my dishes are comfort food, and I am not skilled at photo arts! But all I can do is try! Thanks for thumbs up! I appreciate it.
Lana, I always LOVE when i get to your post on the Two for Tuesday Recipe Blog Hop because I know I am in for a special treat! That YOU can bring ME back to your memory as if i were really there is a gift! The bean stew is such a simple and wholesome recipe, but the love put into it for you and your siblings made it amazing! Thank you so much for sharing with us! Alex@amoderatelife
This sounds delicious– and thanks for stopping by my blog to add this to the Summer Fest party! My addition this week was this Wax and Butter Bean Herbed Salad:
http://www.thewrightrecipes.com/savory/summer-fest-herbs-greens-beans
Can’t wait to see what you cook up next week for stone fruit!
Thank you, Alex! I have found several wonderful blogs (including yours) with this event! I am looking forward to digging into your archives!
Thanks for coming over and leaving a comment. Summer Fest is such a wonderful event, and there are so many recipes and so little time to try them all.! But We love salads, we love green beans, and I intend to prepare your beans salad as soon as I get my hands on some waxed beans.
what a beautiful story, i really enjoyed the pictures to go along with it. vinegar in the stew…yum
Louise, thank you! Any kind words from someone superior in the art of cooking means bunches to me. I still have to work on my photography skills – why are days so short???
What to say?! Great as always! Proud to be your brother (actually a cousin, but in Serbia, term “BROTHER” or “SISTER” can be used even for distant cousins) and member of our family! God speed!
Hvala, brate!