Macedonians Revisited

Serbian Country Restaurant

Watching the chess players in Kalemegdan.

I was finally able to return some hospitality to my former Macedonian host family whom I lived with for three months, ten years ago. Frosina, my host sister, and her husband, Goran, and their three children (including their one-year-old, Philip) crammed into their lime-green Fiat and drove up to Belgrade for the first time in their lives last weekend. Even though Belgrade was the capital of the former Yugoslavia, which Macedonia was a part of, they had never been here before, so I felt responsible for showing them the highlights of this vibrant city.

Ethan and Gabriel and Bojan (who doesn't know English) got along famously. Most of their communication involved playing tag, which they did all up the walking boulevard, and on the grounds of Kalemegdon, the fortress - Belgrade's prime attraction. Marija, their 14-year old daughter, adored Gabriel.

We also spent a day on Ada, the recreational island, the boys on bikes and scooters, and the rest of us walking around the 5 mile stretch. They loved everything we did, including the country restaurant I took them to, about 30 minutes outside of the city. We ate traditional food - lamb cooked in a ceramic pot over a wood-burning stove - and toasted to such a long-lasting friendship.

I think they were so used to taking care of me when I lived with them, that they were amazed to find that I can cook! I wanted to prepare food that they would not be accustomed to, so I made my mother's Chicken Terriyaki one night, and spaghetti and meatballs another. Blueberry pancakes were a complete wonder to them, as were the waffles and chocolate chip cookies. I wanted to give them a taste of something typically American.

They also brought food with them for me. Jars and jars of preserves, like they were afraid I wouldn't make it through another winter. Valika, my former host mother, sent them with jars of her own peaches, homemade wine, ajvar - a red pepper spread, and a large jar of smokve - sweetened figs from her own garden, which I had watched her make on her stove-top so long ago. I remember being told when I was in the Peace Corps that smokve is served to guests of honor. That was the first thing they gave me when I arrived in their home, with my big suitcases, wide-eyed and filled with the expectation of new things to come.