Dear Luba and her son invited me in for lunch; smoked chicken, sausage and pickles. Flavoured with garlic, peppercorns, bay leaves and dill flowers, they were the best pickles I’ve eaten in Ukraine. Their home, in a village near Chernihiv, still bore the scars from when the house had been on the frontline. As I ate, Luba, a schoolteacher, sang traditional Ukrainian songs and her son recited Ukrainian poetry. “Why won’t they leave us in peace? Leave us to grow our vegetables? We thought they were like our family. I bore them no harm; now, god forbid I wish them dead” As we left Luba handed me a giant jar of those pickles. Each time I eat one, my memory will take me back to this day and I’ll hear Luba’s voice singing to me once more. 🇺🇦 @brandfuet @legacyofwarfoundation #standwithukraine #ukraine #nomorewar @one_armed_chef