Across the road from Hanul lui Manuc, as you would go up to the former Bucharest store, which is, on the square where the cars are parked, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, a Bulgarian who had arrived from beyond the Rila Mountains had his stalls. His only fortune, when he crossed the great barriers of the Citadel of Bucur, was only a brook that he had escaped at the crossing of the Danube, a brook that had saved him at that time and that would save his life, as he notes in -a writing by Liuben Stoicev Karavelov, also a Bulgarian, militant writer who had also found refuge in Bucharest, who had left Bulgaria for fear of the Turks who wanted his head because he was writing against them.
Well, Karavelov’s story, when to cross the Danube on the sly, the boat of the stallion we mention was targeted by the osmalas shot at the border guards. His boat was sunk, but, well clinging to the barge, the poor Bulgarian man managed to reach the Romanian land with a sigh of relief, which he did not leave until the end of the days. Apart from the ciubar, however, there was something much more valuable: the skill of dairy and baking. And, how, money, yoke, arrived at Calugareni, our man bargained for a shepherd at a baci, Alexe, one who kept thousands of herds, south of Bucharest. For this Alexe, the Bulgarian worked for several years, after which, with close sympathy, he tried his luck in the Capital of the new Kingdom of Romania.
As soon as he took his record as a merchant, he struck four logs in the ground and a few planks over them, beginning to make Bulgarian yoghurts and pretzels, so that the Turkish monkeys and the Greek yogis looked at him with great envy, so great that, One night, they got beaten up. It wasn’t hard for them to catch him. Our Bulgarian had not yet managed to build a house and slept right under the wooden stall where he made and sold yogurt pretzels during the day. Karavelov also recounts that Ioncev, as he called our milkman, escaped the beating of his dead sister by putting on his head the cloak he had clung to at the crossing of the Danube, how he had well realized that one of his men was a great man. the vase, the next day, crawling more, took the Metropolitan Hill in his chest and waited for Kogalniceanu to invade himself,
Well, since then, our Ioncev has not been upset by anyone. Yes, more If, until that day, Mihail Kogalniceanu had been his occasional client, since then, Ioncev always started sending him yogurts, pretzels and salads. And, later, the Bulgarian who found his luck in Bucharest became the almost exclusive supplier of senators and deputies of the parliament of that time, the reader of the Declaration of Independence of Romania being a true publicist for the good world of the city, and the story says that himself Carol I of Romania often enjoyed the pretzels and yogurts of our Ioncev.
And, if we keep talking about yogurts, here is how Karavelov tells us that they were made: Ioncev took the milk from the cows or shepherds who brought it every morning. He poured it into large bowls and mixed it with whey and others known only to him. Then he poured everything into a large copper vessel and heated it well. Then, with the help of his disciples, he took him to the cellars near the old Palace and left him seated for a month. About a week before bringing it to light, he would put in it, as he pleased, the chopped mint leaf or spices from the Greek ones or taken from the turcaletii from Lipscani. To keep eating, to keep cool, to keep living
One thing, however, the Bulgarian failed to do: to make people stop laughing at him, when he was heard pronouncing Mo chima Ioncev, that is, more clearly, My name is Ioncev. It’s just that, his mastery being famous, the laughter of the people was now friendly, as the people of Bucharest have always been friendly and as friendly as this city has always been with all those who loved him and who, with their business, brought happiness. In 1945, everything became foggy.