By Catherine Tondelli

The year was 2001, and I had come to London one year earlier for two reasons. One was because I was offered a dream job working as the business development director for a global architectural firm designing five-star hotels in some of the most spectacular locations in the world — Tahiti, Seychelles, Dubai, Fiji, and the Maldives.

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By Jennifer Richardson

Looking back, I pinpoint the end of my love affair with London to this moment: I was paying for a pint of milk at our dingy local convenience store—optimistically referred to as the corner shop—when, in midflow of taking my money, the shopkeeper vigorously spat on the floor.

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By Regina Landor

Mounds of red peppers are suddenly on display everywhere we go in our neighborhood in Belgrade:  in the market, on the side of the road, and in the trunks of people’s cars.  Sweet red peppers abound in this region, and it is a tradition – a very, very longstanding one – to roast the peppers in the fall and make ajvar, a sweet red pepper relish.  Lots and lots of ajvar is made.  People make jars of it to store for the winter months, in order to have some all year.  As we drive through the winding roads of Koshutniak Park behind our home, we even see people roasting the peppers over an open grill, a large pile of peppers next to them.

I am invited to an ajvar- making day at the home of my new friend, Indira, a Bosnian woman who is married to an American diplomat. 

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