
The year was 2004, almost 2005. On that mild winter’s night of December 30th, my two best friends and I were hunched over books in the living room of my apartment in Thessaloniki. The girls had traveled from Skopje to visit me; we were in our early twenties, some of the city’s best bars were within walking distance of my home, New Year Eve parties were being planned all over the place and yet there we were, turning book pages and scribbling notes. We were having a blast. No, really, we were.
One of my two friends – Meri – had a hint of worry in her eye. It was probably because she had a feeling that Vesna (my other friend) and I would wake her up early the next morning and drag her to the farmers market and to innumerable stores scratching items off our mile-long ingredient shopping list. Yes, the books we were hunched over on the night in question were an assortment of cookbooks and the notes were were making were the most disjointed effort of creating a meal plan in the history of meal planning.
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