Things that Last

She sways and she rolls the petësi (the rolling pin) quickly, steadily, with practiced hands, taming the dough, turning it into thin ivory sheets. She smiles occasionally because dad jokes and teases her, trying to get a smile for the camera. Making byrek is serious work, it takes time, it takes patience. My mother makes her own peta for byrek. She kneads the dough, divides it into little balls that will be turned into paper thin layers, places each peta on top of each other nestling within a mixture of white cheese, milk, and yoghurt, she smiles and rolls and sways and the petësi hits the wooden table waking Jack up, who wants use it as a sword.


I will never make peta as beautifully and gracefully as my mother, but I am learning from her, and I hope that when Jack grows up he loves the motion, sound, the smell of the byrek baking in the oven, the taste of the pastry crackly and crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy within, spiked with tangy, milky, salty cheese.

My mom also makes petulla, a type of fried pastry which is usually sprinkled with sugar or drizzled with wild flower honey. I prefer to eat it with Albanian white cheese (feta cheese) in the mornings. I have the recipe now and will test it in my American kitchen as soon as I get back.



August is beautiful here. Figs and grapes are abundant. Skies are bright, people are drunk with rest, life pulses on every corner. We took a trip to my mother’s village, Dukat where we spent the day with Teze Lumturi’s family (aunt Lumturi). Her sons were back from Italy on vacation and I got to see them after 11 years. We ate a very late seafood dinner (11:30 pm) on their front porch. The night sky was dark and glistening with stars. The field breathed under the south breeze; and the ever-present ocean smell…

I got another glimpse of the southern mountains that I love. When I miss home, I always close my eyes, breathe deeply, and imagine myself in this field, facing these mountains. These mountains!

Here is another “album” from Vlora. Hugs,
E.