Hi, I'm Boka 👋

Even as a child, I loved hanging around the kitchen table and my mother's apron whenever she was baking something, which she did very often. Why yes, she loved to make various pastries just like her mother, my grandmother.

We didn't visit my grandmother often because she lived in a different city, but I vividly remember the days when we did. They are engrained deep in my memory. We had a little ritual that would end with a basket full of kiflice. Both sweet and savoury! I would get my little rolling pin and a piece of dough. I would get flour all over my little fingers with a bright smile and full of joy. We laughed a lot and often, sometimes because my kiflice would get a strange, childish, shape.

I loved those days. The smell of freshly baked kiflice, the crackling of the fire, the twinkling eyes of my grandmother and the warm smile of my mother come back to my memory and my heart flutters with every single kiflica that I still make today, just the way they taught me.