Growing up in a Croatian family, I thought I knew Mediterranean cuisine and culture inside-out. Then I moved to Italy and discovered how much I actually hated cooking; probably because I really sucked at it, much to the disapproval of my grandparents.
Hailing from the Dalmatian coast, my grandparents knew that the secret to creating delicious meals lay in the holy trinity of Mediterranean cooking: a little garlic, some parsley, and a whole lot of high-quality olive oil. They cooked often and served us with love – which meant if I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t being loved enough.
When I moved to Italy for exchange a few years ago, one of the biggest concerns everybody had was how I was going to manage to feed myself. I figured growing up around village-taught master chefs meant that I’d absorbed their cooking skills by osmosis. And Italian culture is pretty close to my own, right? Surely there wasn’t going to be much food-related culture shock.
Wrong.