I remember being at the farm in Bosnia, surrounded by my family, preparing pickles for the winter. The air was thick with the earthy scent of fresh cucumbers, and the bright sun reflected off the jars we were filling, sealing them up for the colder months. It was a tradition, something my family always did together.
It was an experience I didn’t just witness, I participated in. My Ujko always found a way to put me to work on the selo. They always had a good laugh watching me do something I knew nothing about but didn't care how I looked or if I did it wrong. There was something so special about getting my hands in the soil, feeling the texture of each cucumber as I was sorting the sizes in different buckets. My Ujna’s garden was the heart of this operation. She worked tirelessly, planting and growing the crops that would feed us all. Watching those cucumbers grow, knowing they’d eventually make their way to the jar, was inspiring. It made me feel connected to something bigger than myself, to my family’s roots, to the land, and to the food that had been passed down through generations.
Even when my family moved to Canada, that tradition didn’t stop. My Baba would still make her pickles every year, even though store-bought jars were available at every corner store. But no, she didn’t trust those store-bought ones (typical Spicy Balkan). She called them garbić, a word that’s not even a real word, but we all understood. It didn’t matter that we had easy access to pickles at any time of the year. My Baba believed in the power of homemade, domaće, in doing things the right way, in making food with love and care, and most importantly, in making it herself.
Fast forward to today, and I’m excited to bring a piece of that tradition to you with Baba’s Pickles. Made the same way the spicy women in my family did, our pickles are packed with bold garlic flavor, that signature Balkan tang, and of course, the love and care that’s been passed down through generations. These pickles aren’t just about taste—they’re about preserving the memories and traditions that shaped me.
So, grab a jar, but whatever you do, don’t eat them with a fork. That’s not how we do it in the Balkans. These pickles are meant to be eaten straight from the jar, with your hands, just like we did on the selo. So, don't be afraid, dip your fingers into the jar, grab one and take a bite.