Living "Na Oko"* - Rory Miller
- Sharena Fabrika
- 7 days ago
- 8 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
*"Na Oko" is a Bulgarian phrase that refers to cooking or living without precise measurements or strict rules. It’s about trusting your instincts and intuition, whether you're preparing a meal or navigating life. It's the art of doing things by feel, guided more by experience and personal touch than by following a specific recipe or formula.
Rory Miller – an American who chose Bulgaria for the second time. And stayed.
He’s been living and growing here for 13 years now. Most people recognize him from Season 5 of MasterChef Bulgaria, while others have already read Na Oko - a book that’s more than just about food. It’s soul nourishment, seasoned with the meaningful things that bring us together at the table.
How do you learn to live by feel? What does the portrait of the Bulgarian village look like? Rory shares his story.
In another interview about your book Na Oko, you said, “The culinary experience isn’t just about the food – it’s everything that happens around it.” What has changed in the way we understand everything that surrounds food?
The culinary experience is inseparable from the human experience. When someone says “culinary,” it shouldn't stop at flavor, taste, or aroma - it’s a journey, a means of reaching the soul. And that journey can’t be faked. It resists pretension, luxury for luxury’s sake, or the ego-driven theatrics of food trends. At its core, cooking - and sharing food - is a deeply human act that can break down barriers and build genuine connection.
Has abundance sharpened the contrast between how we understood food then and how we see it today?
In that sense, the contrast isn’t really about variety. People in small villages may not have the breadth of ingredients found in cities, but what they lack in choice, they more than make up for in heart, creativity, and care. On the other hand, too much choice can numb the senses. When everything is available all at once, nothing feels special. A richness of options can lead to a poverty of appreciation.
In many rural settings, what happens around the food is called life - conversation, community, silence, ritual. In cities, it often becomes performance - more spectacle than sustenance. It’s easy to forget that food’s true value lies not in how it looks on a plate, but in how it gathers people around a table.
Your book combines recipes, stories, and photographs. Is there something from this experience – something untold or unshown – that has stayed with you as a vivid memory?
Perhaps the evolution of both the book and myself. This was a 3-4 year experience that underwent a tremendous amount of change, both in direction and in heart. I started with a strong attachment to Sofia and a sort of ignorance that was strengthened by distraction and weakness. However, I ended the book with a strong repulsion towards Sofia and a majority of its inhabitants. I ended the book, in my opinion, feeling a much stronger, wiser, and honestly passionate person,n determined not to lose sight of the reality of life again.
How long did you work on the book, and what places did you visit during the process?
About three to four years. The world went through some major upheavals during that time - including COVID and then the war in Ukraine. There were a lot of things that got in the way of finishing the book.
In the end, the book focuses on nine villages where we spent at least a few days living with local families. These were Negovanovtsi, Salash, Pavolche, Chelopеk, Gorno Peshtene, Kabile, Voden, and Dryanovo.
Beyond the culinary richness you’ve preserved, what else have you “gathered” from the people you met?
The entire experience reminded me that actual human beings still exist - people with a deep, genuine kindness and concern for others. It opened my eyes to the immense human wisdom and experience that was being ignored and slowly seeping back into the earth without ever being appreciated.
I started to understand 'value.' That life is being able to love those around you - your family, your friends - always being ready to lend a hand or feed a stranger, and to spiritually absorb all the minute details that create a beautiful, fleeting moment. This fantastically brief fraction of time we are given is shocking; it microwaves my mind, even trying to comprehend. On this universal scale, none of it matters, nothing.
What was your personal lesson?
This journey taught me to live Na Oko and to love Na Oko - with awareness, with intention.
Very soon, we will all be gone. Everything we've done and everyone we've known will absolutely and completely be lost and forgotten. The only thing that remains for others is your slight vibration. So love hard and live hard.
You come from a completely different world – you grew up in Seattle, moved to Italy as a child, and later traveled and lived in different places. Do you remember your first impressions and experiences when you came to Bulgaria?
I came to Bulgaria with the desire to start a new chapter, to explore a different part of the world, and to meet new people. I had traveled quite a bit before settling here, so I can’t say I experienced a cultural shock in the traditional sense. Instead, I encountered cultural surprises – subtle differences that sparked my curiosity rather than disorientation. I consider myself an open and adaptable person – I don’t judge hastily and I naturally blend into new environments, which is not typical for most North Americans abroad.
People who interact with you more often know that you speak about Bulgaria with a lot of love and affection. What originally brought you here?
At the time, I had just completed an English teaching contract in Russia and was seeking a new adventure. I found two opportunities - one in Poland, the other in Bulgaria - and after some consideration, I chose Bulgaria. It seemed warmer, the alphabet was familiar, and the idea of living near the Black Sea appealed to me (back when it was still a nice experience).
What do you remember about your first weeks here?
One of my first impressions of Bulgaria was one of contradictions. Bulgarians struck me as full of paradoxes - resilient and appreciative of the simple things, but they never shied away from complaining about them, although rarely committing to actually do anything about them - as if it were a means of catharsis, just as long as they could complain about it. At the same time, there’s deep national pride - whether about local food, history, or nature - making the dynamic even more layered and fascinating. But in the same breath, they would ruthlessly hate on the country, people, and government, often ending their rant with a promise to someday leave.
Why did you stay?
What ultimately convinced me to stay was the warmth and richness of the people. Bulgarians, in general, are some of the most hospitable, family-oriented, and generous people I’ve met. This depth of character and the sense of connection made me feel at home – and kept me here.
How far back in time is this?
That was about 13 years ago - and I’ve been here ever since.
My affection for Bulgaria is rooted in the people I’ve met - my friends, their families, and the communities that welcomed me.
Find the people for your table. How has your attitude towards food and cooking changed over time?
My relationship with food and cooking has evolved in unexpected ways - rooted in curiosity, driven by passion, and shaped by a desire to share culture through flavor.
I've had a fairly checkered past, trying my hand at a pretty eclectic variety of things. I always believed that life was far too short and brittle to only choose one thing to do your whole life - I wanted to try everything. So did. About 12 or 13 years ago, I made the decision to leave teaching and pursue brewing. At the time, good beer was hard to find in Bulgaria, and the craft beer scene was virtually nonexistent. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, surrounded by an abundance of craft breweries, I wanted to bring this to Bulgaria - to show my friends the great things that can come about from the presence of a good beer and the culture around it.
That’s where my culinary journey really began.
Through the craft beer companies I started, I began experimenting with food - trying to create not just beer, but an experience around it. I wanted to serve the kinds of meals I missed from home and to introduce people to the depth of American-style street food. At the time, burgers were rare, BBQ meant kufte, pulled pork was met with confusion, and hot sauce meant Tabasco - if you could find it. It was deeply satisfying to bring something new to the table and see how people reacted - to show them that American food doesn’t mean fast food, and that it can be soulful, rich, and made with care. Pair that with a fresh pale ale, and suddenly, the whole experience shifts.а и приготвена с грижа.
When did cooking come to the forefront?
Eventually, though, I burned out on beer. The culture around it wasn't growing the way I had hoped, and I was tired - tired of the alcohol, tired of always being broke. Then came an unexpected invitation to participate in MasterChef, and that sealed it: I shifted my focus entirely to food.
After MasterChef, I devoted myself to cooking - specifically, North American street food. I spent some time staging in gourmet kitchens, but I never felt inspired. There was a disconnect between the food and the people it was made for. I wanted to cook for everyone, not just for those who could afford an elegant dining experience.
For me, food should be honest, accessible, and comforting. The goal isn’t just to impress - it’s to feed someone, make them smile, and show them love through what’s on the plate. That’s the kind of food that stays with you. That’s the kind of cooking I believe in.
What is your food? What do you most enjoy eating?
What is prepared by someone who cares for you, not because you asked, but because they decided to. Because they wanted to do something for you, to see you enjoy something in which they’ve invested time and energy – not just to feed you, but to know that they’ve helped you live. So, this could be a turkey sandwich or mussels with baby spinach and spicy pomegranate glaze – or whatever it may be. But I must admit – everything is tastier with hot sauce. Not that bland, desperate, flavorless sauce that just burns without any idea of what it’s doing – but a real hot sauce that respects flavor and texture, a sauce with depth and meaning before it’s even spicy.
How would you describe the taste of the Bulgarian countryside?
I won't get into things like abandonment, ignorance, desolation, desperation, and exploitation... Instead, I'll keep a more positive and keep raw honesty for my next book.
If I had to describe the overall feeling or taste of the Bulgarian countryside and perhaps many countrysides in other countries, I would say a mystical balance of hopelessness and happiness. A robust balance of the two since one cannot exist without the other. Otherwise, the food and produce all taste like memories, of quality and nostalgia.
You’ve done many things and lived in very different places – where have you felt most alive and most at home?
That's a hard question. I always want to quickly answer "Italy." Which is true in many ways. It was the first place I went to in Europe, and I was 20 years old, so life was fun, carefree, full, and dramatic. I had very nearly nothing, but I didn't need anything... but I couldn't say I felt at home. I've always been transient, and feeling at home is something that is still very elusive for me - I've had moments in places because of my situation. Mostly, I've learned to feel at home wherever I am otherwise, life becomes harsh and exhausting. If you love someone and they love you back - you're home.
