My passion for reading and books started around the time I learnt how to read. I loved touching their spine, take them off the shelf, and smell them. (Ooohh, the smell of books…!)
I would spend hours in the library, browsing in the (back then) paper-based catalogue. I enjoyed to be in silence- being an introvert little girl a library seemed like heaven, as if I arrived to a different planet.
At the age of 10 I decided that I want to be a writer and hesitated only for a short time, when I was considering choosing to be a painter or graphic artist.
At that time I believed that having my name written on a book cover is the evidence of a fulfilled and happy life.
My parents on the other hand believed that I am a dreamer, and they tried to pull me back to the ground, sometimes softly, sometimes a bit harder. As for me, I really did my best to
set “realistic” goals for myself.
After graduation- as usual- I was working on building a career, little by little climbing up the corporate ladder. When I felt stifled because of the life I was leading (and which didn’t make me happy) I went to a bookshop and I could immediately breathe more easily.
To make myself the long workdays more bearable, I always had a cookbook in my bag. Not because I had time for reading – not at all – but that wasn’t important. Only knowing that it was there calmed me down. It was the reminder of what I truly desire, because at that time I had already deeply and passionately fallen in love with cooking.
‘Mom, the truth is, that I want to be a cook’, I have confessed to my mum during a long walk in the forest. She sighed painfully and answered as softly as she could:
‘Honey, it is such a tough job…’
Despite of her worries, soon I got my degree in culinary arts and the old dream started to get in shape more. I wanted to write a cookbook, include recipes and stories, but I wasn’t sure about which cuisine and what kind of stories.
In any case I tried to absorb as much knowledge as I could, I studied, travelled, listened and collected memories and finally came to arrive to the place where my journey started. I moved to the village where my grandmother was born, a place, that I don’t want to leave for another. Soon my blog, Taste of Memories was born and after the long road I felt myself in place.
This fall, not long after my 41th birthday I am going to be able to hold my own cookbook in my hand, which gonna be published under the title ‘Taste of Memories’ by Hölker Verlag in Germany.
Honestly, I don’t find the right words to express how I feel about it. I just cannot stop thinking about that there will be a book with my name written on it that I can hold, open, and smell.
My very own book.