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Before Romania I thought soup was boring background food. Then someone put a bowl of ciorbă in front of me in a farmhouse kitchen and I haven't shut up about it since.







Every Italian restaurant charges fourteen dollars for polenta. Romanians serve mămăligă as a side like it's bread and somehow it's better every single time.







Watched a guy grill mici over charcoal at a village festival and stood there for twenty minutes like a cartoon character floating toward the smell. Romanian grilled meat is criminally underrated outside Eastern Europe.







Romanian sheep cheese hit me harder than any French fromage ever has. Not sorry about that statement — I'll defend it to anyone.










Romanians pickle vegetables the way other cultures collect wine — seriously, with pride, and in enormous quantities. Every meal comes with a side plate of pickles and I now do the same at home.




Stayed in a Carpathian guesthouse during October rain and the host brought out a clay pot of stew without me asking. That's Romanian hospitality — you don't order, you just receive.




My Romanian friend's mom made sarmale for Christmas dinner and I understood why people cry about their grandmother's cooking. Cabbage rolls sound simple until someone makes them with decades of practice.




Țuică before the meal, wine during, palinca after. That's the Romanian formula and honestly my liver is still recovering but my taste buds have zero regrets.










Romanian breakfast at a village guesthouse is a table covered in cheese, tomatoes, eggs, jam, and fresh bread at 7am. Nobody asked what I wanted — they just brought everything.




Romanian desserts aren't fussy or Instagram-perfect — they're the kind of thing someone's aunt makes in a kitchen that hasn't been renovated since 1987 and they're better for it.







Spent the last day of my trip panic-buying at village markets because I realized I couldn't get any of this stuff at home. My suitcase smelled incredible going through customs.








