A Little Sweetness Goes a Long Way
A legacy of unfailing kindness endures in a favorite dessert
In the Makan household, the official language was Serblish. Nana and Deda immigrated to the U.S. from Yugoslavia in their 40s, so it was tough for them to learn English. They depended on their young children, who learned it in school after the family settled in the Akron, Ohio area.
By the time the grandchildren came along, no one thought twice about the way Serbian, Slovak, and English mixed into every phone call, church outing, or dish of potato musaka. There was, however, still a language barrier between the older and younger generations. My three siblings and I knew to say hvala for meals and gifts and volim te when we left after a visit (or just because). And we certainly understood the words nemoj and batine. Everything else, my mom translated for both sides.
Learning a second (or third) language comes with challenges and quirks that stick with you for the rest of your life. Your native tongue filters the way you speak the new language, whether you want it to or not. For example, my mom occasionally says “long lights” when she’s talking about the brights or highbeams on a car. In Serbian, there is no word for “brights”. You had kratko svetlo and dugačko svetlo. The best translation in English is “short lights” and “long lights”. The full switch to the way Americans say it never happened.
So when it comes to some sayings, the full meaning doesn’t always come across in English. But it does in Serblish. One of the most memorable nuggets of wisdom Nana would repeat over and over is: In the fires of anger, it is better to pour honey than fuel. The English syntax may not come together perfectly, but you know what she meant, right?
Pour honey. Choose sweetness over meanness, pettiness, or revenge. Nana practiced what she preached. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known. She was tough, too—God rest the garter snakes that dared venture into the garden—but it’s her unfailing kindness, her sweetness that is her legacy.
Nothing illustrates this better than her signature dish: strudel.
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No Ordinary Dessert
When you think of strudel, you probably think of a pastry with a thick, flaky crust, filled with apples or another fruit. Like a rolled-up pie. But this strudel isn’t quite like that. Nana made it the Balkan way, with filo dough. It is a delicate, thin dough used in dishes like baklava or spanakopita. It’s not easy to make correctly and it’s time-consuming. I have yet to try it myself, and Nana eventually stopped making the dough as well. Store bought was fine.
That didn’t take away from what happened when she drizzled those thin sheets with butter and oil and filled them up. Apples, cherries, cheese, or butternut squash, enveloped in fine, crispy layers and topped with a dusting of powdered sugar, like the first snow. When the cherries or apples came from the trees in the backyard, that strudel could stop you dead in your tracks. It could end wars… probably.
Nana’s strudel wasn’t a special occasion treat. Sure, there would always be some at the holidays. Sometimes it was just Tuesday and she felt like it, or Deda had been asking and she finally relented. Strudel isn’t terribly difficult to make. It only takes a handful of ingredients and some attention to detail. The trickiest part is keeping the filo dough from drying out.
Just one baking sheet of strudel yields a full platter, so there’s plenty for everyone. It’s a dish that is meant to be shared with neighbors, friends, and family. Even in the final years of her life, when she was too ill to leave the house much, Nana made strudel and gave it away. When I first started writing Makans of a Chef, I received an email from Donna, one of the visiting hospice nurses who cared for Nana and Deda during that time. She knew the strudel routine.
“It melted in your mouth and was always delicious! I can still see her sitting on that high chair in the kitchen and making me eat a piece while I was there and then pack me up 2-3 pieces to take home - which never made it there! I always ate them during the day while driving between patients.”
Donna’s words made me cry when I read them. She captured exactly the type of person my nana was.
Who in your life has inspired you? Leave a comment and share their story!
Kindness that Lasts
Nana was the type of person who would keep feeding you until you were on the brink of a coma. She always knew when something was bothering you. She wouldn’t necessarily ask about it—she would squint and suggest you eat something. Her creativity was staggering. Her wisdom was spot-on. She was deeply, deeply funny. She could put anyone in their place if needed, but she knew to pick her battles.
But most of all, Nana was kind. After spending just a little time with her, you would have this lingering sweetness with you the rest of the day, like a bite of strudel in between jobs. You felt like someone was looking out for you. That sort of kindness is rare. It’s not flashy. It’s probably not going to land you in positions of power and influence. But it will ensure that people remember you.
Tomorrow, I’m sharing step-by-step instructions for my nana’s signature strudel. Subscribe below if you haven’t already to make sure you don’t miss it!
Her strudel was like none other! As kids we would eye the dessert table at church pot lucks before anything else, looking for her strudel! The cheese ones, though. Oh my!! I have since learned to make "real" strudel dough and even though I try to make the cheese version like I remember it, I fall short. If I would have lived near her when I was learning, I would have invited myself over for a lesson or two or three! She was the queen of strudel. And oh, did she share, just like you said. She always seemed to have more than enough to give away. What a legacy.
Strudel was a staple at home. It was good anytime..breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in Between!❤️