For me, being in lockdown is nothing new. As a child, I remember when we had to plan well and alternate which grandparents we can visit in our green Renault 4.

In Yugoslavia in the 80s, the government renegotiated the foreign debt at the price of introducing the policy of stabilisation which in practice consisted of severe austerity measures — the so-called shock treatment. 

Due to the effect of the oil crisis, there was an introduction of fuel limitations (40 liters per car per month), limitation of car usage to every other day, based on the last digit on the license plate.

There were shortages of coffee, chocolate, and washing powder. We were cueing in front of the supermarket in my hometown Našice, just like I do now in London. Except there were no trolleys. One could get only 4 or 5 items and that was it. Somehow I view these moments nostalgically, but I guess my parents would have perceived it differently. I relished those simple home-made cakes, which are up to now, my absolutely favorite dessert.

In our south Slavic temperament, we say: “Bilo nam je bolje kada nam je bilo gore/It was better when it was worse”.

During several dry summers, the government, unable to borrow to import electricity, was forced to introduce power cuts. We had limited usage of electricity, but we played outside a lot in the evenings and all the mums and dads would gather and talk to each other, creating a safe and loving community for kids to grow up. Of course, there was so much social pressure and control to act well, but those limitations carved away into being guidance for a decent behaviour in later years.

 The scarcity of essential food items is something I had to relive again during my adolescent years when my country became a war zone. I remember eating pasta and plum jam, made by my mum and sent by bus from Slavonia. The driver would for a small fee take parcels for students full of essential food items, all homemade, locally grown and sourced and I guess organic. We didn’t have money to but bad chemicals or purchase imported food. It is a “trend” that firstly was established out of necessity, but later out of choice stayed with me until this day, May 13th, 2020.

Yummy, so delicious. Even now, just thinking about my mum’s jam makes my mouth water. I don’t remember the multiple rocket launchers to strike the Croatian capital of Zagreb as much as the sweetness of that jam pored over the oily pasta. My grandma was a great cook. I remember her waking up early morning, maybe 4 or 5 am to start preparing breakfast for us. We would have something to eat at our parents' home, but we would nevertheless drop by her place, as it was just halfway from home to school and get served 5-course breakfast. I was so spoiled and I still am. I appreciate the good food, the effort and love put into it, maybe it comes immediately after the health and family. Number 3 on my Life top list.

She cooked all her life, that was her mission. Yet I have never ever seen her using a cookbook. There is a saying: "If God had intended us to follow recipes, he wouldn't have given us grandmothers." I think that experience of seeing her cooking and also of not having the luxury to buy every single ingredient necessary for certain recipes, made me a reluctant user of the cookbooks. I was just raised around them and I love to use whatever I have in the fridge. My final creation would always have definitely more elements of suspense and surprise if it turns out good or not. But then again, thank God for husbands who like to use the recipes and always prepare great meals.

This lockdown for all of is us not going to extend to a very long period of time yet we need to strategise how to cope with many challenges we are going to face. I went a bit down the memory lane to find the sweetest things I could remember.

What are the nice parts of the stories you will tell your grandchildren about?