The secret is in the preparation… and in the snaša who never knew

Introduction

The secret is in the preparation. Not much has changed, truth be told. It seems to me that everything still turns on the same things, whether we are aware of it or not.

So when I look at the season now coming on, it is not much different from last year’s. The fire water is in the cellar. The young pigs are waiting for a few more morning frosts, and the snaša, the lady of the house, has been bustling about the yard for days. Not long ago she was picking peppers in the garden, the roga variety, the ones you want for ajvar, our roasted pepper relish. Then she was plaiting the garlic. Then the onions, and when the onions ran out she went back to the garden to put it to bed for next year.

And I watch it all from the side, speculating, sizing it up from a distance. I see the snaša roasting the peppers, so I just cast an eye over them as if passing by. But you can tell straight away how the work will turn out. Whether the fire is right, what the peppers are like, whether any of them have caught. Then on the second pass I check how the aubergines are doing. Somehow I keep control from a distance and do not interfere much, because I know they do not like that. So far everything looked flawless, and from the smell of the peppers I could already picture the finished product.

Patience has its limits…

After a while, as I was circling the peppers, I saw over the fence somebody racing down the road towards me on a bicycle. As she came closer I realised it was the snaša’s nearest neighbour. It seems the two of them had already arranged a good long chat. Because now the main part begins.

The peppers have to be cleaned, then chopped, cooked down, the jars and lids made ready, everything tidied away afterwards, oh, there is a whole day’s work in it. The neighbour hopped off that bicycle, “Good health to you, Isailo”, I returned the greeting with a jerk of my chin, grabbed my frakelj, a small measure of rakija, and set off in search of a better observation post, while the neighbour, quite at home, headed straight across the yard to where it was all happening.

But while they were cleaning and chopping the peppers I was not wasting time either, no, I slipped off into the corners and sorted through the strings of hot peppers. I was after that refined long red one with just the right fire. A final word had to be added to the whole job. So I picked out a few, chopped them up fine in the kitchen and squeezed them into my fist.

The finishing touch

And so, on who knows which round of my inspections, while the women were deep in their whispering, I secretly shook the chopped pepper out of my fist into that wide, shallow pan where the ajvar was cooking down. That was my contribution to the undertaking. Because here is the thing: whenever somebody comes to visit as winter draws in and there is a bite to eat, and ajvar is served as the inevitable side dish at that time of year, everyone marvels at how good the ajvar is and how nicely hot and piquant. And the snaša explains it all away by saying that is how the roga peppers were, or that the hot one was fierce as it ripened, and what she really does not know is that without my share it would not be that ajvar at all.

And now, with the jars lined up one beside another in the pantry, and knowing that this winter too will pass in the company of that culinary speciality alongside čvarci, the pork crackling, and all sorts of other delicacies, I can turn my attention to other things. And speaking of čvarci… that is a whole other story.

– Isailov