Raising children abroad means feeding them differently, as well.
As a child, I never knew crudités, never heard of raclette, smelled smelly cheese, seen the stunning (not to mention delicious) macaroons in the coffee shop window during a stroll through the city centre or insisted my mother adds fromage frais to her shopping cart; contrary to my offsprings, who have done all of the above.
I have children with refined taste, I know!
Items on the shelves in the supermarkets differ significantly from country to country, according to each culinary tradition. Although we have gotten mostly accustomed to it now, it still is a bit bizarre how even within the borders of the same country, supplies can greatly vary. It is always evident in the Grand Dutchy whether you have ventured into a French, Belgian or Luxembourgish retail chain just by looking around. Obviously, the staples are the same everywhere – break, milk, fruit and veggies. But even there, I vividly remember filling my suitcases with little upon littre of Slovene milk on my occasional visits to my home country, to bring back to Tuscany when I lived there. Talk about the power of habit!
So here I am, raising children whose eating habits differ strikingly from what I knew at their age, rarely getting the opportunity to drag them into what used to be my food universe. However, recently I passed by a well-known Balkan shop in our area and shopped my heart out! Biscuits, spreads, desserts and sausages filled my bag and my soul.
Food really is linked to memories and mine are nothing but fond ones. Burek was meant for weekend breakfast and later, as a student, for post-party/pre-sleep snack. Čevapi were always welcome (they still are!) with or without ajvar, which was delicious with fried eggs as well. Tea was always joined by Domačica and my grandpa constantly fed me Bajadera when my parents weren’t around. Apart from that, I survived on Fructal juices, to this day the best drink I have ever tasted. On special occasion, my mother baked strudel. It was a world of scents and aromas that felt like home.
Anyway, Saturday morning came and I made my children sample some delicacies that tasted of home to me and Marko.
It was a joy seeing them take delight in what I felt an emotional bond with. They loved it all, chomping, crunching and hoovering it all up, coating the table and themselves in chocolate in the process.
In the end, Mia decided her favourite were Jaffa cakes, while Jakob opted for Eurokrem, our version of nutella, just better 🙂 And in two colours! The box of baklava stayed safely hidden in the fridge to accompany my coffee later, once the children were having their post-lunch downtime in their room.
In the following days we had čevapi for lunch – the pr
oper way, with ajvar and kajmak, while ˝The No1 chicken sausage in Europe˝ was savoured for dinner. I even conceded a piece of my precious baklava to each of the children!
They demanded more; I graciously refused.