The Balkan Kitchen, food and travel
Recipes, traditions and a proudly independent region
Hello Lemonistas,
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Welcome to your latest edition of The Lemon Grove newsletter. In this issue, we offer a glimpse into a region too often overlooked or seen as a place of conflict and a homogenous society. The truth is very different, and a new book by Irina Janakievska, a new voice in food writing, aims to tell a different story. This collection of recipes, originally inspired by the author, Irina Janakievska, finding her beloved grandmother’s cookbook, reveals a rich gastronomic history that feeds into an engaging and delicious modern cuisine supported by a series of insightful essays and well-curated photography. I also have personnel connections to the region, which I remember towards the end of the following article.
The Balkan Kitchen
Recipes from the Heart of the Balkans, by Irina Janakievska
(Quadrille, £27) Photography, Liz Seabrook
Publication of a food, travel and cultural book focussed on the Balkans is a welcome addition to anyone's bookshelf. Written by Irina Janakievska, who has North Macedonian heritage, The Balkan Kitchen reflects a palate forged by a life spent living in the Middle East, Europe and now London's melting pot. Sidelining from a career in corporate law, Irina's gastronomic journey has taken her to Leiths cookery school, recipe testing in the famed Ottolenghi Test Kitchen and now, cookbook author.
Irina and I met recently at an event hosted by the Guild of Food Writers, of which we're both members. We shared stories about the region, with Irina adding that many of her recipes include citrus fruits, especially lemons. For several decades the Balkans have dipped in and out of my life (see below). So I was intrigued to discover how Irina would weave the varied cultural, historical, and geographical influences that shape Balkan cuisine alongside the region's traditions, rituals and myths. Having left the region as a child with her parents and making a life in the Middle East, Irina is also keen to see how food can reconnect the Balkan diaspora and their homeland.
The Balkans is a convenient catchall for a group of countries sitting together to the east of the Adriatic Sea, opposite and reflecting the coast of Italy, except with many more islands. The Balkan Kitchen includes simple but flavour-packed dishes from North Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Vojvodina, Montenegro, Croatia, Slovenia and Kosovo. While countries such as Turkey, Bulgaria and Albania are sometimes included under the Balkan banner, they are not included in this book, with Irina choosing to shine a light on the lands of the Former Yugoslavia. The region's foods, ingredients and cultures do overlap and make for a fascinating gastronomic story.
Balkan cuisine is infused with flavours of the sea, mountains and thousands of years of cultural change and osmosis. Many are known for their meat products such as ćevapčići (or ćevapi), which are grilled sausages, pickled vegetables, cured hams such as Njeguška pršuta, with its flavour enhanced by hot smoking over beechwood chips, and mountain cheeses flavoured by wild herbs eaten by roaming flocks of sheep and goat. The northernmost countries combine the flavours of central Europe and the Austro-Hungarian empire. At the same time, the more southerly lands meld tastes from the Ottoman Empire and Mediterranean flavours from places such as Greece and modern-day Turkey.
Irina has kindly allowed The Lemon Grove to publish three recipes from the book, reproduced below. They all deliciously feature lemons and citrus.
The various countries are bound by geography, but their people are culturally diverse, from Slovenia's more central Europe-facing peoples to the mountain people of Montenegro and North Macedonia, sharing history with Greece to the south and Albania. So, it's a tribute to Irina that she has created a shared cultural heritage and gastronomic voice representing the Balkan region. Supported by essays and exquisite photography of landscape, ingredients and finished dishes, the book firmly places the disparate cuisines of the area as one of the most exciting in the world.
Within the book, you'll also find Aubergine in Walnut Sauce and Stuffed and Baked Peppers and classic recipes, including Sarajevo-style Burek, Cevapi and Chicken Paprikash alongside sweet treats such as Bled Cream Cake, Chocolate Baklava and Slatko. The food is as vibrant and joyful as the stunning location photography and evocative essays.
The Balkans and me
Over the years, our paths have crossed several times. From the end of the Second World War to the early 1990s and the collapse of the Soviet Union and the break up of Yugoslavia, the region lived a relatively peaceful existence, with the various cultures and peoples living and working under the rule of General Josip Broz Tito, regarded in equal measure as villain and saviour.
During WWII, many of my maternal-side relations left their home in Vienna to relative sanctuary in Slovenia, the northernmost Balkan country. But they still had to deal with a brutal political reality. In the daytime, soldiers from Germany's Nazi regime would visit their house demanding fresh foods such as bread, vegetables and cheese. At night, partisans would slip in from their mountain and forest hideouts demanding their share of food. Bread, eggs from a dwindling flock of hens, pork sausages and a meagre amount of cow's milk were shared between my grandmother, mother and her siblings; hard-faced Nazi soldiers and tough partisans accustomed to a life of hardscrabble farming. Not once did the children let slip about the day/ night swap of soldiers.
My grandfather got to know the communist leader Tito, and both helped each other after the war, according to family legend.
Then, in 1981, well before the brutal civil war that raged throughout the 1990s, I travelled through the lands, particularly remembering Sarajevo, Skopje, and Dubrovnik. Two decades later, in the early 2000s, I became a freelance writer, and my first reporting trip was to see the shipyards of Split, oil companies in Zagreb and a cruise terminal in Dubrovnik.
Former BBC journalist Misha Glenny reported from across the former Yugoslavia throughout the 1990s and wrote the brilliant book The Balkans, 1804–2012: Nationalism, War and the Great Powers, which is required reading for anyone seeking to understand the region's complexities.
There is so much more to write about the Balkans, so I suggest you consider getting a copy of The Balkan Kitchen and immersing yourself in a cuisine that demands more recognition.
Buy The Balkan Kitchen here.
RECIPES from The Balkan Kitchen
by Irina Janakievska
Photography, Liz Seabrook
Fish in Fig Leaves
This is an incredibly easy and effective way to cook fish that is found all over the Adriatic (particularly Dalmatia), the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean, again with delicious local variations. It works particularly well cooked over fire, but it is just as good when baked as parcels in the oven. The fig and vine leaves impart their own very distinctive and delicate flavours on the fish. For me, white fish like cod, sea bass or bream work beautifully with fig, and oilier fish, like mackerel or sardines, work well with vine leaves. You can do whole fish this way, too – just adjust the cooking time according to the size of your fish. I also love cooking sirenje or feta wrapped in fig leaves. Anything goes and I encourage you to experiment!
Serves 4
12–16 fresh fig or vine leaves, washed and destalked
4 x 150 g (51/2 oz) skinless cod loins or fillets
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus extra as needed 1 tablespoon lemon zest plus 2 tablespoons juice and wedges to serve
4–5 garlic cloves, crushed
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 20 g (3/4 oz) fresh soft herbs, such as parsley, dill and/or mint, leaves/ fronds picked and finely chopped freshly ground black pepper
Blanch the fig or vine leaves in boiling water for 2 minutes, then drain and rinse under cold running water. Set aside.
Pat the fish dry with paper towels and season on both sides with a pinch of salt and a good grind of black pepper. Set aside.
Next, combine the lemon zest and juice, garlic, salt, a good grind of black pepper, oil and herbs in a small bowl and whisk well to combine.
Lay three or four fig or vine leaves in a large circle so they overlap (veins facing upwards). Place 1 teaspoon of the lemon and herb mixture in the centre, then place a piece of cod on top. Spoon 2 teaspoons of lemon and herb mixture over the cod.
Wrap the fish with the leaves and tie securely with kitchen twine. Repeat with the remaining fish.
If using the barbecue, grill for 3–4 minutes on each side or until the leaves begin to scorch.
If using the oven, grill (broil) under a high heat for 4–5 minutes, turning over halfway, until the leaves begin to scorch, or roast in the oven at 180°C fan (400°F) for about 20 minutes. Serve with the lemon wedges alongside.
Octopus Salad with Blood Orange Dressing
Octopus salad is an iconic Dalmatian treat. Usually as simple as octopus and boiled potatoes with a simple vinaigrette, this is my take on it.
4–6 octopus tentacles (about 600 g/ 1 lb 5 oz total)
1 small onion, quartered
2 bay leaves
1/4 teaspoon black peppercorns
500 g (1 lb 2 oz) new potatoes, scrubbed
1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced (reserve the fronds for serving)
1 red onion, halved and thinly sliced, then soaked in ice-cold water for 1 minute and drained
20 g (3/4 oz) fresh parsley, leaves and tender stems picked and roughly chopped
20 g (3/4 oz) fresh mint leaves, finely sliced sea salt
FOR THE BLOOD ORANGE DRESSING
2 blood oranges
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 garlic cloves, crushed
90 ml (3 fl oz/1/3 cup) extra virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1–2 sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves picked
1/2 teaspoon sea salt flakes
freshly ground black pepper
SERVES 4–6 AS A STARTER OR SIDE SALAD
First, make the dressing. Start by segmenting the oranges. Slice the tops and tails off each orange, then follow the curve to cut away the skin and pith. Holding them over a small bowl to capture all the juices, slice between the membranes to release the segments. Set them aside on a plate. With your hand, squeeze the leftover membranes to obtain all the juice.
Pour 2 tablespoons of the orange juice into a jar (reserving the rest to drink), then add the lemon juice, garlic, oil, mustard, thyme, salt and a generous grind of black pepper. Seal the jar and shake until the dressing emulsifies.
Next, cook the octopus. Put the octopus tentacles into a medium saucepan with the onion, bay leaves and peppercorns. Bring to the boil over a medium-high heat, then reduce the heat and simmer for 25–30 minutes until the octopus is tender. Drain, discarding the aromatics, and then peel off as much of the octopus skin as you can. Slice the tentacles into 1 cm (1/2 inch) thick rounds.
Meanwhile, cook the potatoes in boiling salted water for about 20 minutes until tender, then drain. While they are still hot, slice them into 1 cm (1/2 inch) thick rounds, place in a large bowl with half the dressing and mix well.
Transfer the potatoes to a serving bowl or platter and arrange the fennel, onion, orange segments and octopus over them. Spoon over the remaining dressing and scatter the herbs over the top.
Note
You can also grill the octopus tentacles on the barbecue if you prefer.
Ružice
Ružice (also known as đul pita) is one of the most charmingly named sweet treats from Bosnia and Herzegovina. Ružice means 'little roses' and đul also means 'roses' (derived from the Turkish word for roses, gül). It is essentially a type of baklava shaped to look like flowering roses (a marvellously easy technique, especially if you use ready-made filo). Taking inspiration from the name, I add rose water to the syrup and top them with rose petals. The strength of rose water varies greatly, so I suggest you try the quantity below but adjust it according to your taste.
Makes 24 pieces.
200 g (7 oz/2 cups) ground almonds (almond meal)
300 g (101/2 oz/3 cups) walnuts, coarsely ground or chopped
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon, 3 tablespoons lemon juice plus
3 teaspoons zest
2 x 270 g (91/2 oz) packets of filo pastry 200 g (7 oz) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
500 g (1 lb 2 oz/scant 21/4 cups) granulated or caster (superfine) sugar 350 ml (12 fl oz/11/2 cups) water
1 teaspoon rose water, or to taste dried rose petals, to serve (optional)
Combine the almonds, walnuts, cinnamon and 2 teaspoons of the lemon zest in a large bowl and mix well to combine. You may find it helpful to divide the nut mixture in three.
Preheat the oven to 170°C fan (375°F) and line a 40 x 30 cm (153/4 x 12 inch) baking sheet with baking parchment.
Lay the filo pastry out on a work surface near the prepared baking sheet, with the melted butter and the nut mixture within easy reach.
Cover the filo sheets with a clean, damp (but not wet) dish towel while you are working to avoid them drying out and cracking.
Lay one sheet of filo on the work surface with the shorter edge at the top and brush with melted butter. Scatter some of the nut mixture evenly over the sheet. Lay a second filo sheet over the top but approximately 5 cm (2 inches) below the shorter edge of the first filo sheet. Brush it with melted butter, then scatter some of the nut mixture evenly over the sheet. Repeat with a third filo sheet, again laying it 5 cm (2 inches) below the shorter edge of the second filo sheet, brushing it with melted butter and evenly scattering with the nut mixture again. You should have used up around a third of the nut mixture. Roll the filo sheets gently upwards, starting from the bottom shorter edge of the third filo sheet. Make sure you roll tightly, but be careful not to tear the filo sheets or spill too much of the nut mixture. You should end up with a baklava roll with the nut mixture inside.
Lay a fourth filo sheet on the work surface and brush it with melted butter. Place the roll you previously made seam side down at the bottom and roll it tightly in the filo sheet – this is to ensure the roll stays tight with the nut mixture well encased. Next, cut the roll into eight wheels or 'baklava roses', roughly 2 cm (3/4 inch) thick. Place the baklava roses on the prepared baking sheet, leaving some space between each one. Repeat the above steps two more times. You should end up with 24 roses. Brush the top of each baklava rose with some butter and then cover with baking parchment. Bake for 25–30 minutes until the baklava roses are golden. If after 30 minutes they are not golden, remove the baking parchment and bake for up to 5 minutes more.
Meanwhile, combine the sugar, water, remaining lemon zest and the lemon juice in a medium saucepan over a high heat and bring to the boil, stirring gently with the handle of a wooden spoon to help dissolve the sugar. When the sugar has dissolved, reduce the heat to medium-high and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the syrup has reduced and thickened to the consistency of runny honey, around 10–12 minutes. Remove from the heat, stir in the rose water and set aside to cool completely.
When the baklava roses are golden, remove from the oven, gently transfer to a serving platter and immediately drench them evenly with the syrup. Set aside, allowing the baklava roses to absorb all (or most) of the syrup. Serve sprinkled with rose petals, if you like.
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