In the tapestry of my memories, woven before the tumult of the Kosovo war, the simple act of dining held profound significance. I recall those moments vividly, where sustenance was shared upon a humble cloth laid on the floor.
Then, after the ravages of conflict, my uncle arrived from Switzerland bearing not just tangible gifts, but also lofty ideals. Among them, a four-foot table symbolizing a leap towards what he deemed “civilization.” No longer were we to dine with our hands but with the refinement of knife and fork, seated upon what he termed “aristocratic chairs.”