And here, in Bosnia, Amina’s native land, we prepare to meet her parents and offer them our love and condolence. I decided that I would take them Russian Salad. I learned so much, and so many things from Amina, but her sharing of how she makes Russian Salad was the ultimate experience for me as hers was the best I had every tasted and I had to learn how her way. “How do you get the vegetables so perfectly cubed and so small?” Her answer, “My father makes it this way, and I just take the time to cut the vegetables as carefully as he does. I love my father’s salad. It is so simple. It just takes time.”
Well, I decided to “take on” this simple project one day and bought everything I thought went into the salad and boiled the carrots and the potatoes. The potatoes were quite mushy, but I got everything cut up in a kind-of haphazardly perfect way. Oh. What about onions? Are there onions in Russian Salad? She wasn’t home when I called. What should I do? Hmmm… well, almost everything she makes has onions, so this must, too. VJ loves them, so I put in onions. Tiny, perfectly cubed onions. And when she an VJ came to dinner the next day, she was every so polite. “It is very good, Valerie. You did such a good job cutting everything. Sometimes the potatoes do go mushy. (Like when they are cooked too long!) But, Valerie, it isn’t Russian Salad. It is a good salad, but it isn’t Russian Salad. It just cannot be Russian Salad with onions. I will teach you how.”
I was really quite surprised. It tasted really good, to me. But, Ok. I obviously needed serious help in the Russian Salad making department. And I realised just how much when I had her Russian Salad again. That’s when I learned the salad wasn’t a potato salad, either. So, she came over one year when VJ was away working before Christmas, and we made it together. Some for his homecoming, and some for my Christmas party. All ingredients were of equal portions, or very close to equal. She taught me a recipe through an experience that I will use the rest of my life, that I will never forget, and I think of her every time I make it.
But, I didn’t think I would be making it for her parents in Bosnia this summer. As I held each ingredient in my trembling hands, I tried to slice each with perfection to honour her teaching and her memory. I just could not do her justice. The entire experience was a ritual filled with love for her and the rich texture she brought into my life, accompanied by heartache for her loss. I did cook the potatoes too much again, though I was trying to be diligent. We got some more, and did them again. I could find no dilled pickles in the store. Fortunately, Pava had some for me to use. Everything came from her garden. I didn’t add enough salt. I know I didn’t. But, Amina doesn’t like too much salt.
Russian Salad
Ingredients:
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400 g ham, sliced into fine cubes
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same amount of dill pickles, young sweet peas, carrots, and potatoes each cooked carefully (to “just done”), and cubed
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400 g mayonnaise
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salt and pepper to taste
Instructions:
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Boil carrots and potatoes until barely fork tender (watch carefully so you do not get mush potatoes – Yukon Gold are best), and cool
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Thaw frozen sweet young peas
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Cut all vegetables (except peas) and the meat to the same small size
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Mix all ingredients together, except the mayonnaise
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Add 300 grams of mayonnaise and salt and pepper to taste
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Add more of each, as needed
Note: If the pickles are not so sour, you may have to add more to get the correct balance of flavours.
My offering to her parents was so small. But, it is a symbol of how much we loved her and how she shared herself with others. What else could I offer? I hugged each parent and tried to force some positive energy into each one through my hug and my hopes.
We sat in her family kitchen, and I could imagine her coming through the door just as her mother described with her arms in the air and her happy smile lighting up the room, “What? You are having coffee already and no one has called me?” and then sitting down for a bubbly good morning chat, never even sipping from her cup. She brought such joy to us all. And, on the kitchen table, was a fresh bowl of her favourite summer melon ripened to sweet perfection, cut and waiting.
These are the wonderful parents of our dearest friend, Amina. Amina lived her life with a fullness few could match. Her sensitivity and warmth brought love and happiness to so many. She loved her husband more than I ever thought it possible to love another. She loved her family beyond words and would never have wanted them to suffer this loss. We came, as she certainly would have, to offer our strength, support and some genuine love. It is so difficult to know what will help, but we will continue to do whatever we know to do. (I am even sending more positive energy their way now, as I write.)
Her heart was even more beautiful than her face.
