Gabriel MoldovanThe village fair; I draw near Pătru`s stall. A long queue has formed in front of him, all demanding the same thing: grape mash. Hey, cousin, you’ve hit it again with this mash; it’s pure gold; what’s the secret, asks Marin, sipping from a mug. Pătru answers, rakishly; well, it’s simple; my grandma crushes the …
