My mother is an immigrant, born and raised in the former Yugoslavia. This is part of her story, post-war, through the eyes of her only child and how she survived hell on earth to create her own slice of heaven.
In May 1995, 23 years old, I was a 5-year-old clinging to her hip. Quietly, we waited to board the bus – no talking, just shushing from exhausted mothers, rocking delicate bodies in their frail arms, sobs escaping little mouths and tear-stained cheeks. Yearning for a home that no longer exists, while grieving family members who suffered a more sinister fate.
In 1995, the former Yugoslavia was trying to recover from years of brutal conflict. The Dayton Agreement, brokered by the US, aimed to bring peace to Bosnia and Herzegovina after the Bosnian War. It divided the country into two parts but tensions lingered, especially in Kosovo, where ethnic Albanians fought against Serbian control. Croatia had mostly regained its territories after its war of independence but faced challenges in rebuilding. The region was fragile, with ethnic and nationalist tensions still simmering beneath the surface.
We were the lucky ones.
This was the beginning of the end of our struggle to survive. No more waiting in line for hours on weak, malnourished legs, only to be met with crumbs, no more trading dry goods for water to boil for baths in hopes of washing this living nightmare away, no more huddling close together in rooms lit by candles, no TV, just the sound of shallow breathing & nearby cascading bombs. As cliché as it sounds, war makes you appreciate what most take for granted; even the most basic of life’s daily commodities.
Overcoming these hardships pushed my mother into overdrive to become successful. In Germany, she started her journey of turning dreams into reality by working for a catering company. I remember witnessing her talent take shape, like a stone mason building a castle. With each action, she added a new layer, and with every sacrifice, she fortified its foundation.
In my child’s eyes, I was particularly enamored with her ability to turn any vegetable or fruit into the prettiest of flowers with some quick strokes of a knife, and how a few simple ingredients could concoct something so mouth wateringly delicious. Yet, as a child, what I found most appealing was her ability to arrange ordinary foods into something pleasing to the eye–almost too pretty to eat. Despite a language barrier, her food spoke in a way everyone could understand.
The years to follow would consist of conquering even more hurdles: coming to yet another foreign country – America, becoming a single mother, working multiple jobs, long hours, nursing school, serving her community & helping fellow displaced immigrants; she never faltered from her main goal, her calling – a bakery of her own.
My mother’s journey began in the former Yugoslavia, but it took a veering left when she started a small kitchen in South Florida. Her expertise lay in the art of baking bread, pastries, and desserts, delighting friends and family with her delectable creations. Yet, due to word of mouth, she eventually became a successful vendor at multiple local farmers markets and before opening a brick-and-mortar storefront.
Named after the “Una” river (bordering Bosnia & Hercegovina and Croatia) where my mother spent many a summer, she signaled to those who knew her that childhood memories were still etched in her brain. Una Bakery stands as a tribute to my mother’s roots, her upbringing, and her homeland. It embodies the essence of her past life and her deep connection to her country. Like the steady flow of a river, her unwavering perseverance runs through every aspect of the bakery, shaping its identity and character.
My mother’s success is due in part to the “old ways.” We have a saying that goes “od oka” (O-D O-KA) which translates to “from the eye.” She uses her eyes as a form of measurement, and her hands as tools. Eschewing fancy kitchen gadgets, she allows the spirits of her ancestors to whisper when she has added just enough nutmeg to the mixture.
“She’ll tell you, [her style] It just takes patience, silence, and a strong memory.” You won’t see a recipe book splayed in front of her, they’re all neatly stowed away like a Rolodex in her mind – Each recipe is ingrained like riding a bike: though one might think they’ve forgotten, once you’re on, it all comes back effortlessly; second nature.
The menu is a mosaic of authentic dishes, carefully curated to reflect her culinary heritage. Indeed, numerous authentic Bosnian dishes exist to tempt the appetite, like Bürek (a savory pastry filled with ground beef & spices, meticulously rolled into a flaky, buttery spiral, baked to golden perfection)
Every bite carries you back to a simpler time, where the sun bathes empty plains and the scent of Lily-of-the-Valley fills the air. It’s a time when loved ones gathered, their laughter echoing in a crowded dining room. It’s an approving smile and a taste of home—a nostalgic embrace that warms the soul.
It’s been almost three years since the official opening of Una Bakery. Since that time, my mother has been featured in countless local Palm Beach newspapers and magazines, with guests traveling far & wide from the southeastern states to sit at a table and enjoy the fruits of her passion.
At Una, you won’t find booth seats, dark atmospheres, or loud music blaring from speakers. Instead, stepping inside feels like entering grandma’s house: cozy and welcoming. The air is filled with the enticing aromas of freshly baked goods, hot coffee, and steamed milk. Shades of blues and greens adorn the space, reminiscent of the Una river and its lush valleys, creating a tranquil and homely ambiance. Pictures of the old land line the walls, shelves stuffed with books brimming with culture and antiquities from a forgotten era. The décor tells a story; history.
My mother is a respected member of her community – Facebook posts, Google reviews, and Instagram posts offer praise for her edible creations and hospitality. She spends her mornings over the bay, crafting the day’s menu, putting love into every kneading of dough, every fold of the spatula. Her work is that of a perfectionist; no detail is missed. Una Bakery is proof that America is the “Land of Opportunity!” It exists as a living reminder that even through misfortune and adversity, the “American Dream” is attainable for all.
You can follow my mothers journey on Facebook at “Una Bakery” and Instagram at “unabakerypalmbeach” or better yet, stop by for yourself, located at 513 Lake Ave, Lake Worth FL – open Tuesday through Sunday 9AM – 5PM.
