WaveRider

An elderly man, with a pitchfork in hand, displayed a sprightly grin from atop a haystack as I approached the weathered wooden gate outside Bacau, Romania. A scan across the confines of his farm inundated my senses. I heard the scattering of chicken feet across hardened dirt. I observed the snout of a pig poking through the slats of the barn door, and I inhaled the scent of cows long before I managed to distinguish their silhouettes amongst the shadows casted in the late-afternoon sun. “Buna ziua,” said the elderly gentleman as he invited me onto his property.
Romanians possess a passion for food, an attribute connected to the traditional subsistence farming culture and the inherent pride in generating one’s own food. Thus, an invitation to partake in the evening meal ensued introductions. I accepted and entered his earthen home.
I acquired a greater understanding of the culture in that one meal than I could glean from any textbook or tour guide. I began to grasp the hard-working lifestyle as evidenced by the great length of time spent preparing the feast as well as the cognizance that every item on the table originated on their plot of land. The cow’s milk cheese, pork sausages, pickled cabbage, mamaliga (a staple dish akin to polenta), and spirits, all tasted richer simply due to the awareness of the time and effort that contributed to their cultivation. I also noted the patriarchal family structure. The mother resided in the kitchen, preparing ample courses to satiate even the heartiest of appetites, and the father received the first portion of every dish. We ate out of community serving bowls, but I noticed that the last bite of each course habitually landed in front of the grandfather – a distinct display of respect for elders. Not a morsel of food went to waste.
Here, food truly brings people together. Hence, the meal would not have been complete without the arrival of a multitude of neighbors, culminating in a joyous night filled with wine and dancing.