A Communist Lunch Experience in Fagaras Castle Curated by chef Daniela Graura

The Palate and Memory

The palate doesn’t just recognize flavors: it holds memories.

A bite can open the door to a house that no longer exists, bring back the voice of someone who has passed away, or the echo of an era we didn’t live through, but which reaches us through those who recounted it.

There are invisible layers to flavor: the texture of a wooden table, the smell of a kitchen with fogged windows, the murmur of conversations in another language or from another time. Memory doesn’t always need images; sometimes a sip, an aroma, a slice of bread is enough to bring everything back.

Eating is not just nourishment: it’s reviving, it’s rediscovering ourselves, it’s understanding that, as long as there is something that awakens those memories, not everything is lost.

There are meals that are enjoyed with the palate, and others that are etched in the memory. Today’s meal at Făgăraș Castle, prepared by the wonderful chef Daniela Graura, was one of the latter.

It wasn’t just a banquet, but a brilliant reinterpretation of a communist meal.

We must consider that part of what defined a meal with these characteristics wasn’t just the flavors, but the portions… Perhaps what’s missing from a plate can be a reminder of what’s missing in life.

The menu

• Black bread with coarse salt and a little halva

• “Petreus Brothers” soup made with chicken carcasses, rice, and crumbled egg with tarragon

• Bean dish with pieces of smoked meat

• Vegetable casserole: buckwheat with vegetables

• Sautéed cabbage with figs and bread dipped in egg

• Salami biscuit and rice pudding with jam

• A chicory coffee substitute called “nechezol”

Every element of the immersive experience had a meaning: from the ladles that recalled how the soup was served, to the candles that alluded to the frequent power outages, the flavors that tasted of childhood, of the kitchen of the grandparents of this place, whom I never met but whose presence was felt.

While I ate, I thought about something we often take for granted: freedom is a privilege. Being able to choose what to eat, how much, and when, is a form of everyday freedom that not everyone has had.

Those of us who have never lost it perhaps don’t fully grasp what it meant to be at that table.

Everything that was brought to the table not only nourished me: it reminded me that memory is also served on plates.