I went to Bucharest recently. Take various epochs and architectures, mix well. Beaux arts swags, Romanesque arches, blue and yellow Turkish tiled pediments, fallen-down Russiany villas, giant Lego sets of concrete grey communist blocks. Here I discovered a curious delightful phenomenon that spans Romanian histories and culture, bridging time and place, family and nation, countryside and city: the parental food package.
There is a widely-held belief, half true, that food is expensive and of poor quality in Bucharest. So when a child leaves their…
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