Last summer we visited friends in Romanian village. One morning we set off to visit a salt mine and a spectacular gorge some distance from the village. We would have a picnic on the way. I noticed that the preparation for the picnic appeared to be a bag of cucumbers and green peppers from the garden, a metal grate, and a jar of mustard.
After touring the salt mine (another story) our hosts made a detour to a small market where they bought bread, sausages, and some paper plates. Off we set in the direction of the gorges. There were two vehicles packed with people, American visitors and villagers. Suddenly our hosts pulled off the road along a sloping meadow bordered by woods. We spilled from the vehicles, navigated over a ditch and a low fence to get into the meadow. Wild flowers were scattered across the field and a tiny stream flowed at the base of the slope. It was an idyllic setting
Within minutes the Romanians had gathered wood, found some rocks to hold the grill and had a fire going. Soon sausages were sizzling, the wonderful smell wafting across the grass where we had spread blankets for sitting.
When the sausages were cooked, slightly charred, the way I like them, they were wrapped in a slice of bread, slathered with mustard and devoured eagerly by the hungry group. ucumber spears and pepper strips, cut with a knife that appeared from someone’s pocket provided the vegetables. The food was delicious and it was the most memorable picnic of my life. DSCN1079