Bake Around the World: Write in the Kitchen, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Pita sa Jabukama and The Price of Routine

This year, I am endeavoring on a monthly challenge to bake around the world; write in the kitchen. The idea is inspired by Erin, my friend and author of This Footprint blog (IG @thisfootprint_blog) who participated in a cooking challenge for every country. Each month, I will randomly select a country and make a vegan version of a traditional dessert from that nation. And, each month, I will put intentional time into writing at least one non-Smile Project related piece. I look forward to expanding my confectionary acumen and baking around the world. And I look forward to sitting closer to home, writing for myself.

I feel as though I’ve blinked. Eleven bakes down and I’m sitting on the edge of December. Already, I feel reflective of what I’ve learned through this year’s monthly challenge but it’s too soon to start reminiscing. I have one more country to select. One more wheel to spin. Like I have eleven times so far in 2025, I pull up the random country generator and watch as it lands on Bosnia and Herzegovina… and for the last time this year, I begin searching for traditional desserts. 

As always, per Brittanica, I learned how Bosnia and Herzegovina was ruled by the Ottoman Empire from the 15th century until 1878 when the region came under control of Austria-Hungary. In 1918, it was incorporated into the newly created Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes and had no formal status of its own. After World War II, it became a constituent republic of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and when that state disintegrated in 1991, a majority of the population voted, in 1992, for independence. 

Again, from Brittanica, “Much of the country’s Serb population, however, opposed independence and boycotted the referendum. War soon consumed the region as ethnic nationalist within Bosnia and Herzegovina, with the support of Serbia and Croatia in some cases, tried to take control of territories they claimed as their own. Horrific ethnic cleansing campaigns between 1992 and the end of 1995 killed thousands and violently displaced more than two million people in much of Bosnia and Herzegovina. International intervention into the Bosnian conflict led finally to a peace agreement, the Dayton Accords, in late 1995. The Dayton agreement ended the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina…”

Prior to this research, I could have pointed out the young country on my globe and told you the capital is Sarajevo. I was familiar with the Dayton Accords (likely from Jeopardy!) and was loosely aware that there had been conflict and genocide in the region. But reading about things that happened technically in my lifetime (I was born in 1994) was deeply troubling. As my baking has taken me around the world this year, I’ve been forced to contend with issues of violence and injustice. 

And while I could write an entire series (and the research side my brain is intrigued by the idea) on everything I’ve learned about every place I’ve “travel-baked” this year, I keep coming back to the latter half of my note. The baking part. The idea that even with thousands of miles separating us, with different ingredients and flavor profiles, with our own unique traditions and experiences, we all benefit from a home cooked meal. Something that ties us to our culture. Something that ties us to each other.

Bosnia and Herzegovina shares food traditions with many Balkan countries—grilled meats, savory pastries like burek, and, of course, baklava. 

In digging into traditional desserts, I stumbled upon something called pita sa jabukama (Croatian for apple pie). Pita sa jabukama is a popular Balkan dessert enjoyed year round but especially in the fall and winter holidays. The last part about “winter holidays” was all I needed to read to lock in this month’s bake. 

Pita sa jabukama was, I’m embarrassed to admit, my first time working with phyllo dough which—until our Greek friends came over that night—I didn’t know I’d been pronouncing wrong my entire life. (It’s pronounced FEE-loh. I’d been saying FI-loh.) I don’t know why I’ve had such a mental block around the dough but it was super easy to work with… and unfortunately, because of my personality, I do fear my next quest will be to learn how to make it from scratch. 

Moving on, I found a recipe for pita sa jabukama from The Balkan Hostess. Be sure to check them out. (They even have a full vegan section!) My favorite part of this bake was grating and spicing the apple filling. The apartment smelled heavenly. Unfortunately, I ran out of apple filling so I improvised with on hand ingredients (spices, pecans, maple syrup) and turned the remaining dough into a sort of ad lib baklava. Also delicious.

As always, this bake taught me something and already I have notes for what I might tweak should I make it again. But overall, great reviews (including from our Greek friends) which is a win in my book!

Pita sa jabukama consumed, it was time to write. I’ve been trying to be open-minded about the writing I’ve done through this year’s challenge. The hope was just to keep writing and keep flexing that creative muscle—no matter how it turns out. It’s just a starting point. If you want to do something with it later, you can. But after a particularly tough October and November where I just really wasn’t feeling my wordsmithing, I wanted December to land.

I wanted December to land but when I posted up in the coffee shop, determined to go out with a bang, I felt stuck. Any creative idea I’d had in my brain in the last month was gone and so I started with a rant. I made up an alternative universe version of myself and I let her unravel. I wrote about how much this sucked or how this wasn’t going as planned. I made her drink coffee.

I was ranting and raving and wondering where and how I was going to end what had actually turned into a kind of fun story when suddenly a big dog lumbered in the cafe. We made eye contact as he waited for his dad to order and when the dad came to stand by my table I asked if I could say hello. 

The dog’s name was Spencer. The man’s name I knew at the time but it feels less important now. We talked about Spencer and adopting dogs and how we’d fostered a dog earlier this year. Spencer leant his giant body against me and slapped his tail against the table. When they left a few moments later, I was covered in dog fur. But I had my story’s ending.

And in this story, things turn out alright. Sure, there’s an unraveling. Sure, things can be bad. But sometimes, we are afforded opportunities for sweetness. For community. For joy.

And perhaps this last write is really my ode to the year. For all the unraveling or the uncertainties, haven’t things turned out really beautifully? If I can squeeze that lesson out of what started as a very bitter short story, perhaps I can find that to be true of my 2025.

More reflections on baking and writing and living and learning to come. 

January: to beignets and book proposals (Gabon)

February: to spice cake and sunscreen (Grenada)

March: to rice pudding and Gregory (Colombia)

April: to puff puffs and how we relate (Nigeria)

May: to shendetlie and choosing new endings (Albania)

June: to mooncakes and steadiness (China)

July: to khaliat nahal and community (Yemen)

August: to aho and scene setting (Palau)

September: to soda bread and the Nest (Ireland)

October: to banana fritters and Welcome Tea (Saint Vincent and the Grenadines)

November: to bojo cake and Cold Spring (Suriname)

December: to pita sa jabukama and The Price of Routine (Bosnia & Herzegovina)

The Price of Routine

She ordered her drink with almond milk because they didn’t have soy or oat or pistachio or coconut—her favorite in that order. She usually didn’t think coffee was worth drinking with almond milk, but she was trying to retain control of what had quickly become an out-of-control morning. The almond milk cost an extra dollar.