I’m not sure how it happened. When I was pregnant, I had a legume revival. Or perhaps it was more of a re-birth.

I found myself cooking with some kind of pulse at least twice a week. Dried then soaked chickpeas, rinsed then simmered lentils or tinned then pressed butter beans or trusty buttered peas; there were so many options, but they always began with diced brown onion and sudžuk (sujuk/sucuk) - a smoked and dry-cured beef sausage that is garlicky, tickled with spice and yielding the right amount of beef and fat combined.

My first recollection of eating this almighty cure was for breakfast before school. Thick slices of cheese, fried eggs, tomato covered in olive oil, salt, pepper and peeled sudžuk with a side of kajmak and honey would land on the plate and we would pick at it with bread (absolutely!), sometimes fried dough (a recipe for that is coming to your screens very soon) or alongside pita (our trusty filled savoury pastries brimming with potato, spinach, cheese or simple butter and cream) as the vehicle. Very similar to a Turkish breakfast (thanks to the Ottoman Empire rule), a Bosnian breakfast knows no bounds - except cereal, there was never cereal. Maybe there actually was a bound, ha!

I was cooking so many bean-me-up dishes and what I didn’t intentionally realise was that all of them featured sudžuk. This meant that I had to find avenues, sauces, condiments, spices and vegetables to play around with so that I could effortlessly share what felt like the same dish, but in its many iterations and guises. Lucky for me, I love doing that in the kitchen already and lucky for my partner, he now appreciates the beauty of a bay leaf and the power of a Baharat spice mix all the more because of it.

Beans have a lot of soul. They release their sugars slowly because of their fibre content, so you can always expect something nourishing when using them because they will ultimately absorb and work with the flavours around them, and they also can be pretty forgiving during the cooking process - unless, you overdo it and then you might just need to blitz them and eat.

It should now come as no surprise that one of my favourite weekly bean recipes is the theme of this week’s write-up.

Large Lima beans have now affectionately become known as ‘butter beans’ and they have been a sun-drenched staple of Peru for thousands of years and they yield that creamy, almost-churned-butter-like consistency. If you’ve had a slow simmering bean stew, chances are these beans have been used. If you’re time-poor then tinned butter beans that have been rinsed and drained still hold their form and also easily cross over into a balmy dip or a flavourful vehicle for whatever your spice rack or pantry desires. This quick recipe has bite, it’s comforting, it yields creaminess and is interchangeable with your favourite seasonal veg. It now doubles-up as a great activity I do with my son - I dance, I chop, I chat, we snack, we all score and maybe one day this might just make my my Play School audition tape.

But for now, be sure to remember you can easily lean into heart-warming beans and good-quality sudžuk. Don’t be afraid to slice and fry without any oil - it yields enough natural fat so that you can quickly toss and enjoy a few slices on their own first.

Farah xx

BUTTER BEAN FRY-UP

^{Play with your bean selection - you won’t be sorry.}

^{Prep: 5 mins}

^{Cook: 10-15 mins}

^{Serves 4}

Ingredients

• ^{1 onion, diced}

• ^{200g sudžuk (cured beef sausage), peeled and sliced}

• ^{Green veggies of your choosing or ones that need some attenzione. I often lean into Brussels sprouts, broccoli & peas.}

• ^{2 garlic cloves, grated}

• ^{1 tsp sweet paprika}

• ^{1 large tomato, grated}

• ^{Handful of bay leaves}

• ^{A heaped scoop of salted butter}

• ^{A couple of glugs of olive oil}

• ^{2 tins of butter beans, rinsed and drained}

• ^{Grated cheese - manchego or cheddar (optional)}

• ^{Dollop of kaymak, sour cream or Greek yoghurt, to serve}

Method

1. ^{In a frypan over medium heat, brown the onion and the sudžuk for a few mins.}

2. ^{Toss in your green veggies, garlic, paprika, tomato and stir for a couple of mins.}

3. ^{Add the bay leaves, butter and a glug of olive oil. Once combined add the beans and the extra glug of olive oil and optional cheese and simmer for 2-3 mins.}

4. ^{Great for spooning as is or over some buttery orzo, steamed rice or with a chunk of toasted bread.}

I promise something savoury next week, but first it’s a syrup lover’s dreamboat, and back-to-back treats after my homage to all things walnut. This is the perfect kafa (coffee) story to balance out the sticky sweet side of a tray of ružice. It literally means, ‘little roses’ and it has the exact hallmarks of our family baklava recipe - brimming with nuts, syrup and pastry, but instead of layered sheets, they are rolled, cut and laid flat emulating a blooming rose before being baked and finished in a clove sugar syrup.

I couldn’t quite tell you when I had my first baklava, but it was probably when I started eating solids or thereabouts (you may laugh, but this is pretty likely). It’s funny because last Eid al-Fitr my baby boy was fixated on his first tray and his hands got sticky by reaching for a layer - it was pretty special to have this recipe passed down from my grandmother (via my mama) and now from his. Having him pop his hands into my hair right after the syrupy saga was less special, but hilarious!

This recipe is synonymous with Eid - Bajram. It’s indulgent, it’s rich and it mimics the kind of baklava mouthfeel that I have grown to love and grown to expect. My mother has been making baklava for over 60 years and so there’s hefty pressure to get it right and another level of joy is reached when you can see it’s going to be a “good one”. It’s also completely ruined all other baklavas for me, so please do not take it personal if I don’t enjoy others as much - I really have tried, but it is what it is and I’m not mad about it. Anyone who knows me, knows I love textures in my dessert, but here, I love when one mouthful coming together so seamlessly that I almost need to have second on the plate because it’s devoured so swiftly.

Luckily, these are always served in threes.

I will never forget the clang of the teaspoon hitting the bottom of the enamel cup of butter and oil as it trickles across the pastry sheets before the nuts are scattered. I also, will never find anything more calming than the sound of grounding walnuts as my mother’s hands set the cadence and we let the nuts fill the silence (here’s one we prepared earlier for your audio delight).

The texture of the spiced syrup also has to be spot on for this recipe to flourish. When I was a kid, I would be on my tip-toes, hands reaching for the bench so I could get a glimpse of that final pour-over. The soaking of each layer, the perhaps unexpected sizzle of crackling pastry and the seeping - or as my mama says “the thirsty pastry needing a drink”.

A couple of other non-negotiables include:

• Coating the pastry sheets with the butter + oil each layer sets the foundation.

• Remember, opposites really do attract. Completely cooled syrup poured over hot baklava OR hot syrup poured over cooled baklava. Choose wisely. I often go with the former and have the syrup cooling while I bake.

• The tirit. The buttery-baked crumb is mixed with walnuts to form the filling – the ingredient that is crucial to the moist and creamy texture of the layers. Fun fact: this is what won a Baklava Bake-off Competition for a friend of a friend and I was super chuffed to hear that our family recipe played a part in the winning mouthful. If that baker ever reads this, please do reach out, I’d love to hear all about it!!

So whether you layer-up like a baklava or go rosy with ruzice, remember every family has their own version (heck, we have four variations floating around in our family alone!), and if you haven’t yet converted to a baklava-style dessert just yet, this might just be that ticket.

Farah xx

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I am coming to this week’s feast a little late to the party - but mostly because it’s been a party of sorts. We are currently away from home, after travelling to South Africa we are now in the UK with a babbling toddler in tow. It was also my birthday a couple of weeks ago followed by Eid al-Adha - so a double dose of baking and reflections were had and both typically involve a very healthy dose of walnut and milling as well. This is a roundabout way of saying there’s been a lot going on and not a lot of screen time, which I have welcomed, but it also means that I get to pay tribute to celebratory spoonfuls, which I also welcome.

Thinking about nuttiness outside of its shell; almond is certainly the main meal of the century. Pecan is deserving of more than just pie. Pistachio has had its ride in the proverbial sun (and still continues to squeeze more out of the sun). Hazelnuts owe it all to roasting. Cashews, peanuts and macadamias are pretty good at buttering us up. And consider the theme of this week’s recipe (and the next) an ode to the underrated and ‘old soul’ of the nutty queendom - the down-to-earth and always faithful, walnut.

Walnuts play a leading role in many Balkan desserts, savoury dishes and also digestifs - orahavoca rakija is a punchy brandy steeped in walnuts and if your uncle is harbouring a ridiculous amount of mineral water bottles along the kitchen floor, chances are it’s not water, but the homemade stuff, which means pure rocket fuel. Walnuts are a staple rather than an expensive import, and we’ve always had bags of them whole in our pantry and reused jam jars of them milled and stored and ready for pancakes and cakes.

Now I am nestled next to a sleeping toddler with a load of washing on and I have just finished the final slice of a birthday cake I baked for myself. THE Celjo family torta is pretty synonymous with all birthdays - Mama has been making it for us for every single birthday since I can remember and also the ones I can’t thanks to photos of us smiling behind it. It’s that really in-your-face homemade torta - the lavish, multi-layered kind of cake that may be a patisserie chef’s nightmare, because it isn’t perfect in its layers and the recipe measurements certainly vary and there are many liberties, but each mouthful melts in your mouth, it hits the sweet spot and it is eventually moulded to Balkan perfection thanks to the buttercream sign-off that seals and tucks away any of the perfect imperfections. In my heart, it truly is just that - perfection. It’s always finished in walnuts and you better believe my family can smell out a homemade torta over a store-bought any day of the week. Just ask them, ha!

Only good things happen when THE Celjo torta is around. It features a spike of coffee, custard-y sponge, cocoa sifts and creamy buttercreams, generous walnuts and slices of banana. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the kitchen reinforcements and frankly, the time to make it for myself this year (Mama has reassured me, it’s in the IOU vault for when we return - I’ll be holding her to that), but I decided to riff on the flavours to create my own (albeit simpler) version, because is it truly a birthday without a birthday cake?!

In my experience, absolutely not.

Enjoy this walnut, banana and custard playground below. And because I was feeling extra celebratory in my escapades (and a little sheepish for being behind on writing this one down), I’ve got a Rožata (a Adriatic crème caramel flan) recipe using the remaining egg yolks from this recipe for the next newsletter because we never waste anything in the Celjo household. I’ve also got a baklava-ish recipe landing into your inbox this weekend. Because, one walnut wonder simply won’t be enough.

Happy Birthday Cake eating to you all - even if it’s not your birthday and thanks to the boss for helping me drizzle chocolate and walnuts on top (and for helping me eat a slice as well).

Farah xx

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Somewhere in that same buttery, crumbly, comfort-filled family, lives these crescents. The kind of crescents that have been trusted time and time again to connect the bring-a-plate dots and that have been primed for moments when someone is due for the casual drop-by and you haven’t got a cake on hand, which these days is far more often than I would like. It’s safe to say, that if you’ve been to any Celjo occasion you’ve eaten these and you’ve also been smothered in icing sugar because of them.

I was joyfully reminded of this recipe very recently when a friend illustrated the recipe as a birthday card. It is a recipe I have carried with me for many years now and it’s also one I baked 128 of for a charity event and that was putting my oven and ratios to the test.

My brother came home from primary school one afternoon with his friend Hamish. Brilliantly timed really because mama had made a fresh batch of kiflice - a batch that yields 32 dusted portions. What was remarkable about this was that Hamish devoured 22 of those kiflice in one sitting because he simply, ‘could not stop’. To this day, we measure up our intake against Hamish’s and he still holds the squeeze on this title well and truly. Decades on, he still remembers the amount he took down that faithful afternoon with smiles and so does my mama. I wasn’t sure if mama truly believed it was all Hamish that day and how we simply didn’t play a part in any of it, but I suppose she was equal parts astonished at the feat and also delighted that she could simply feed others.

Five ingredients is all it takes to make these at home (recipe below). Four if you don’t count the icing sugar dusting, but I do include it because it’s a must. This recipe also calls on baking staples (butter, thickened cream and flour), as well as a jar of store-bought fruit preserve or plum butter. Not the dairy kinda butter, but the cooked fruit variety. I’m not sure why, but for the longest time we knew it as dzem/pekmez od sljiva, aka plum butter and it simply made sense. Butter by definition involves the churning of milk or cream to its peak, and fruit butters involve the same pushing and working of a fruit to pure caramelisation and an almost paste-like spoon. It’s really important to use a 100% fruit butter in this recipe because it won’t seep into your dough or spill onto your baking tray like other jams will. Trust me, you’ll be crying over spilled jam here if you do.

Fruit butters are richer and denser than traditional jams and they don’t usually call on a setting agent. There isn’t an ounce of pectin or lemon juice used and while it can be made with sugar it’s often omitted when the plums are sweet and ripe enough - it’s typically cooked for hours and in some cases, days until caramelised, releasing all its natural sugars, so no additives are needed. Damson plums or Italian prunes are the varietals you will have to seek out to make your own at home in a slow cooker, or simply buy your own jar that is brimming with all that natural goodness - 100% plum is the one to seek out here. It’s the one I have on-hand for pancakes, doughnuts and for these kiflice and I buy several jars from my local Middle Eastern/ethnic grocer. If you go looking for it, you’ll find it - and if you can’t then let me know and I’ll help you out. That‘s a promise!

You may already have devoured it in or in a Bavarian baked good (it’s referred to as pflaumenmus) and with variations across Central Europe and, of course, the Balkans there is a hype worth hyping. I suppose the Austrian-Hungarian influences have driven that. I’ve seen it in Serbia, Croatia, Hungary, Poland and Slovenia and I know Romania holds it in high regard as well - it’s called magiun and is protected under PDO. I hope to be able to make a proper homemade batch over open fire with my family in Bosnia this year. Stay tuned for that… but until then, here’s the recipe for kiflice and see if you can better Hamish’s record. I welcome it!

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As I write this, my baby is down for the midday nap. I have put on a fresh pot of filter coffee and I am trying to figure out why on earth I am writing my first Substack?! Not another inbox nudge in a world of chaos, interruption and life admin, here I am, unapologetically, throwing my food loving thoughts into the buttery folds.

Is the question, why am I doing this? Or is it, why has it taken me so long to do it? The answer, probably both.

For those who don’t know me, my name is Farah Celjo (the ‘C’ is accented and pronounced ‘ch’ and the ‘j’ is actually a ‘y’ sound). I haven’t pressed the accent much in my life, but I can tell you that even without it my coffee and restaurant names still deviate (Sara and Fran have made their presence known) and I will never tire of being told my name in Arabic means ‘happiness’, ‘pure joy’, ‘delight’.

I’m an editor, producer, baker, home cook, mother, runner and storyteller. I love to laugh, dance and basically, I want to borrow your grandmother (more on that in another newsletter). I am on hiatus as the managing editor of SBS Food Online and have traded that in for some time with my family. I am a first-generation Australian born to Bosnian parents. That means ajvar runs through my veins (we will get to this in another newsletter as well), a juicy cabbage heart and I am somewhat of an in-between-two-worlds gal trying to enjoy her nooks. Writing is one of them and one I have dearly missed.

Last year, I felt like someone else.

After juggling the post partum changes to my body, the management of my high blood pressure, the bleeding, the inflammation and my tired mind along with breastfeeding routines, I was learning on the job. A job I could never be prepared for and one that filled my heart so much I couldn’t quite make sense of it, the relationship with my new baby. It was during this ferment that I also learned that the greatest woman in my life, my mama, was diagnosed with bowel cancer. I went to pick her up from a colonoscopy with baby in tow only to be sat down in a room with a woman who didn’t quite know how to best articulate that she had a 6cm tumour and that it ‘didn’t look good’. My face was still, my brain was whirring and all I can remember is my mother looking to me immediately as the words ‘tumour’ were uttered. Even before she could formulate a reaction she stared at me looking for all reassurance, an answer. I looked calm and in turn, she stayed calm. Nothing about this made either of us calm, but we sat with the news.

There was a night about three days after her diagnosis, after three days of being in ‘go-mode’ and managing appointments, logistics, conversations and emotions that I woke up in the middle of the night. It was usual to do so after feeding a very restless baby but that night I simply coiled my body and began to cry. My partner put his hand on my lower back and held the sadness. The sadness I was expressing wasn’t just about the news of my mother but the news of a grandmother and what this would mean for my son. He was too young to understand but I carried both our sadness in that moment.

Fast forward a year on and my mother has been told she is cancer-free. Words that melt into your lap and also conjure up the hairs on your body to rise for those that are around you, those that love you.

I didn’t know it back then, but in the months that followed, I became a mother of two. There was a baby who relied on me for comfort, support, nourishment and sheer life to a woman that had been the strength and my life force time and time again now relying on me for comfort, support, nourishment and to feel sheer life or a reassurance that she would feel her life again. I suppose like my own days as a mother, we are all learning on the job and we all have to find a stillness in the unknown or in what we simply do not know.

I remember one afternoon in the hospital, a passionate (stubborn) woman pacing the corridors and not sitting still for her appointments. I remember walking into her room and asking about memories, about her life and what she thought about. And also, (importantly) about also what she wanted me to cook and bring for her meals. There would often be a request for grapes and some very ripe stone fruit that I would slice up for her when there. She had words with the nurses earlier that week about ‘never bringing her tomatoes in soup into her room ever again’. They shared that with me and it was hard for me not to smirk because I knew there was zero exaggeration. Anyone who knows my mama knows the incredible warmth and sassy superpowers she possesses. What gave her life during the harsher hospital days was my son, her grandson, simply looking at her. A relationship I always admired and one I often dreamt of having with my own grandparents whom lived and let go of this place before I was even born. Here begins a sense of wonderment…

I have been trying to figure out where my former food life is living, or perhaps if this former food life feels less former and more important now than ever. I spend my days cooking (and performing) recipes to an audience of one toddler and laughing with my mama once again who has plenty of parental ‘feedback’ and stories. Her spirit has certainly returned and it means eye rolls, smirks, hand gestures and off-handed comments are back on the table.

Last week, I looked at my son and said to him, “Come, eat.”

I let that statement linger for a little longer than usual because I remembered my mama saying the same thing to me as a young child. In fairness, she still says it to me and to pretty much anyone who comes over or happens to be within vicinity of something coming out of the oven or off the stove. Burek, anyone?! #iykyk

I’ve learnt so much about food through her and so much about her through food that I suppose this is that ‘aha moment’ of why I am writing this right here and now.

Consider this a weekly love letter sharing my love language and the other love of my life - food. A way to rekindle my passion for writing and to share people, places, stories and experiences, as well as to take a moment to express why I love to cook, love to eat and love to watch other people eat. That sounds a bit intense, but you get my drift. It’s not always easy, it doesn’t always work, there might not be enough hours, but there are always lessons, often laughs and loads of reasons to go back for more.

Be gentle with me while I find my footing here… as I try to sprinkle recipes and foods that flood my brain, my kitchen and often fill my hands. Talk about home food and the food of my family’s home. Find a reason to finally write down the recipes I cook myself and with my wider family that we simply (and annoyingly) never measure or write down but spend so much time talking about - and cooking.

Perhaps, someone might attempt a recipe, visit I place I or maybe something will spark a memory or a shared sigh or smile. Perhaps, this will be a way to better reflect on the relationship between mother and son, daughter and mother, and now grandmother, or that my son might read these one day and if nothing else, understand his own mama’s weird and wonderful brain a little better.

Either way, come, eat.

Farah x