A Magical Meal in Macedonia

On Thanksgiving, I'm reminded of an amazing culinary experience Brent and I once had.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American subscribers, and a belated happy Thanksgiving to all the Canadian readers! (And hello to everyone else!)

This Thanksgiving Day, Brent and I are onboard the Sky Princess as we head back to the U.S. for the Christmas holidays.

Turkey, potatoes, and cranberries are on the ship’s menu for tonight, though I’m keeping my expectations in check about their quality.

Thanksgiving is a holiday I love for many reasons: crisp fall days, corn mazes and bright orange pumpkins, and the promise of Christmas right around the corner.

Alas, celebrating it outside the U.S. has never quite measured up, no matter how hard we try. I especially miss the smell of a roasting turkey filling the house, leftover turkey sandwiches, and football games.

Since I don’t have a heartwarming story about celebrating Thanksgiving while abroad, I wanted to share photos of what might be the best meal I’ve eaten over the past seven years.

It happened in the tiny village of Brežani in the remote mountains of North Macedonia, about an hour from where Brent and I were staying on Lake Ohrid in September of 2022.

That’s Brežani way up in the mountains all by itself.

A meal cooked entirely over a campfire and a single kerosene flame.

A magical meal.

It was set in motion one morning while I sat on a bench along the lake and struck up a conversation with Mitko, a local man who worked as a stained-glass artist.

Mitko and I chatted for a while, and before I knew it, he had invited me — and Brent, who was back at the apartment — to join them a few days later in Brežani. In this remote mountain village, he and his wife, Mimoza, had been slowly renovating an old, abandoned house.

So there we were in the back of a van winding our way up a dirt road to that remote mountain village.

Kilometer after kilometer on this two-lane dirt track into the mountains. With strangers!

It felt odd to trust a virtual stranger enough to do this, but I had visited Mitko’s studio, and it seemed pretty unlikely he was up to something nefarious.

On the other hand, it would make a great opening scene for a horror movie titled Macedonia Cannibal Massacre.

Hey, life is an adventure, right?

When we arrived at the village, it was in a small valley that was genuinely remote. And small. And mostly abandoned.

Brežani! And, yeah, that’s all of it.

Nestled in the Mokra Mountains, Brežani had once been a vibrant village of 700 people most living as farmers and shepherds.

Jovan still lives in Brežani and tends to his flock.

Red peppers and tomatoes were essential and used in many traditional dishes, including ajvar, possibly the best condiment in the world.

When fall arrives, red peppers are hung out to dry all over Macedonia.

However, grapes were also widely grown since they were used with plums to make rakia, a very popular drink throughout the Balkans.

Ready to be harvested.

Alas, over the years, Brežani dwindled to fewer than two dozen permanent residents as agriculture grew less important and young people drifted away for better opportunities and more exciting lives.

The harsh weather, neglect, and the years took their toll on the village.

Not unusual in Brežani. Some houses have been abandoned for so long, they are completely covered with ivy.

As time passed, the village spiraled further into disrepair and abandonment.

This fellow decided to stay.

However, not everyone left Brežani!

Marija, age 84, had remained in the same house where she and her husband raised their two sons. After her husband died and her boys moved to the city, Marija stayed in Brežani, tending her enormous garden — all alone.

Mitko and Mimoza’s closest neighbor Marija.

So when Mitko and Mimoza wanted a simpler way of living, they decided Brežani was the place.

They purchased a derelict seventy-year-old house in the village and set about restoring it. Despite their work, it still didn’t have running water, electricity, or even a working toilet when we visited.

Built more than seventy years ago, the house had been badly neglected, but Mitko and Mimoza have worked hard to restore it.

When Mitko and Mimoza came up from Ohrid, where they currently lived, to work on the house, they slept in a tent.

They weren’t in any rush. For them, building a peaceful life in the village seemed almost as important as finishing the house.

So, on each visit, they did a little more work and, more importantly, savored the experience of being far from everything.

Rustic, but it’s going to be lovely when it’s finished.

So far the roof had been fixed and the outside walls patched up. The bottom floor had been cleaned up and had a rudimentary kitchen, but the upstairs was nothing but storage.

Time to start cooking! Everything was made from scratch.

Mitko’s aunt holding the peppers, Mimoza to the right.

First, they had to wash and prepare the tomatoes and peppers…

…and then roast the peppers over an open fire.

Have you ever smelled peppers roasting over an open fire in the mountains?

Oh, my god.

They have a smoky sweetness that perfumes the air. It made me feel like I’d returned to a simpler era.

We offered to help with the cooking but were told in no uncertain terms that, as guests, we were expected only to sip rakia and enjoy the food and company — which included other villagers who were constantly stopping by.

Except for Mitko and Mimoza, no one spoke English, but that didn’t matter. In the quiet of those Macedonian mountains, we could all still enjoy each other’s company.

Throughout the day, villagers dropped by for a drink and a chat.

While Mimoza and Mitko’s aunt did most of the cooking, Mitko did a steady stream of chores: fetching water, keeping the fire going, picking vegetables, and more.

Mitko hard at work.

Then the food started coming. First, a tomato and onion salad, using tomatoes so fresh they burst with sweetness offset by a dash of vinegar.

Of course, we had to have rakia with it. But be careful! This alcohol is potent stuff!

Assuming the weather held on an already cloudy day, the plan was to eat outside.

Looking at the table, I felt like I’d stepped into a dinner party in a foreign film where everyone would be impossibly witty, and the conversation would flow like, well, rakia.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Mimoza continued to prepare the main meal.

I peeked through the window.

I wanted a better look, so I snuck inside — and felt like I’d stumbled into a painting by some long-dead European master.

One table was filled with shelled white beans and pans and bowls of forest fruit Mitko and Mimoza had harvested on our way up to Brežani.

Food didn’t come any more fresh than this.

Then there was the smell inside the house! Carmelized onions! Garlic sizzling in oil! Simmering meat!

Using only a single propane burner, Mimoza had somehow prepared a feast.

There was turlitava, a traditional Balkan stew cooked in an earthenware pot.

Mimoza told me this dish included pork, beef, and lamb, plus onion, peppers, potato, green beans, okra, parsley, garlic, tomato, and carrots, all simmered together for hours.

Then, there were the roasted peppers, which were seasoned with oil, vinegar, and garlic.

There was also tavče gravče, beans baked in the oven; komad, a pie with cheese and eggs; gibanica, pastry sheets stuffed with cheese, sour cream, and eggs; proja, a bread made with corn flour, leeks, and, yes, more cheese; and a simple cucumber salad.

And, of course, ajvar, the roasted red pepper dish about which Macedonians are (correctly) passionate.

Unfortunately, our luck with the weather ran out, and we had to move everything indoors because of rain.

I won’t lie. I was disappointed because eating outside in a tiny Macedonian valley sounded incredibly romantic — especially compared to eating inside a house far from livable.

But I was wrong.

The magic of that Macedonian day persisted because once the candles were lit, the food laid out, and our new friends gathered around the table, everything was…

…perfect.

The dishes were some of the most flavorful I’d ever eaten. The turlitava was rich and hearty, the peppers grilled to sweet, smoky perfection, everything bursting with freshness and flavor.

Even in the finest restaurant, you couldn’t buy a meal like this.

As we finished the last of it, I looked around the table and thought, This is why we travel.

To meet people like Mitko and Mimoza. To venture to remote mountain villages and eat food that connected us directly to Brežani’s bygone days.

Sure, we’d soon be missing another Thanksgiving Day back in the States, but I didn’t care. I could still be thankful — and now I had so much more to be thankful for.

Brent and I with Mimoza and Mitko.

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Michael Jensen is a travel writer, amateur photographer, and novelist. Check out his other newsletter about his travels at BrentAndMichaelAreGoingPlaces.com.