I set out with a simple goal: to gather authentic material from Bulgarian villages firsthand, to have meaningful conversa­tions with the locals, and to learn not just how to cook but how to apprecia­te the weighty, delicious dishes that def­ine their tables. Instead, I stumbled upon something far more vital—fragments of humanity, a quiet persistence of spirit, and the flickering lights of souls in the dark.

I wanted to listen and write without ego but with an understanding, however brief, of what the everyday looks like for the many people I met along the way. At the very least, I owed them the courtesy of shutting up and paying attention. Over the years, this book has grown beyond me, beyond its original vision, evolving into something with a life of its own. What began as a project has become a journey, one that I’ve followed rather than led.

The Bulgarian phrase Na Oko—“by eye,” used in cooking when precise measurements are tossed aside in favor of intuition—first led me to these villages. But it didn’t take long to realize that those two simple words have very little to do with food and everything to do with life itself. That’s what I’ve tried to capture here in words, in images, and in the spaces between them.