Nathalie Ross’s summertime visits to see her family in France when she was little were always punctuated by flaky boyos, a savory Sephardi pastry made with thin dough that’s wrapped up like a snail or folded into an envelope. In her family, the dough was typically filled with tender cooked eggplant and tomatoes called handrajo, a Ladino word for rag. 

Preparing them was an expression of love. Her mother’s older sisters Rosy and Becca would make them whenever she visited, says Nathalie, who is a doctoral candidate studying Sephardi cookbooks. And there was always a bit of competition between the two of them. Rosy’s boyos were smaller and perfectly uniform, while Becca’s “reflected her personality — they were bigger, messier. They weren’t precise, but they were amazing,” Nathalie adds. 

The two sisters felt more like grandmothers than aunts. When Nathalie’s own grandmother Régine died young, they raised her mother Sylvia in Cairo, where the family lived for a time. But, it was only one stop on a long journey that traces back to Portugal via Izmir, Turkey. In the early 1950s, they moved to France and later, Nathalie’s parents settled in Montreal. 

In their family, “everything revolved around food,” Nathalie explains. The cooking in their house was a blend of French dishes like crème caramel that was her mom’s signature and Sephardi fare like bourekas. Her dad, who she has lost touch with, is a talented cook. He would fry and marinate Roman style zucchini called concia and they would have elaborate dinner parties with two families they were close with. “That’s how you showed your affection and hospitality,” Nathalie says.  

But when she was a child, cooking felt like a chore, and not one she was eager to help with. It wasn’t until adulthood that she developed an interest in the kitchen. “I have all these foods my dad made that are so part of my identity and I don’t have the recipes — that part of me is gone, that part of him is gone,” she says. “That’s how I feel with my aunt Rosy.” During her summer visits, Nathalie says she never felt like she quite belonged, but food was a way to connect with Rosy.

Two years ago, her cousin found a simple black binder Rosy left behind with what Nathalie estimates is over 1500 handwritten recipes in French like ones for the Sephardi filled cookies menenas, sweet Greek doughnuts called loukoumades, as well as the boyos and the handrajo filling with ingredients listed, but no instructions. “This binder contains a lifetime of recipe exchanges, magazine clippings, and the names of so many of my family’s matriarchs,” Nathalie explains.  

In late 2022, she had a chance to visit Izmir, the Turkish seaside city that became a hub for Sephardi Jews after they were expelled from Portugal and Spain in the 15th and 16th centuries. And she got a glimpse into what life might have been like for her family generations earlier. 

Nathalie explains that she was on a quest to find the way her aunts made boyos. She spent a day with master bakers and met with Eti Uygun who she refers to as the “boyos queen.” As Nathalie watched, Eti worked from memory, scooping up flour in a water glass and kneading the dough. From years of practice, she knew how it should feel. “ And that’s the part I’m missing,” Nathalie explains.  

Using what she learned from these women, Nathalie has tried to recreate her family’s boyos, but says it will take a couple more attempts until it matches her childhood memories. Still, she says: “I think I always wanted to feel like I belonged. Recreating [Rosy’s] recipes and finding her binder with all her handwritten recipes has done that for me.”