A Love of Travel.
A World of Menus.

From Bulgaria, Barry and Jozi's travels expanded into a passport full of stamps, a lifetime of culinary memories — and a love story that would change everything.

Before their travels even began as a married couple, there was the Maldives. It was there, surrounded by turquoise water and white sand beaches stretching endlessly into the Indian Ocean, that Barry asked Jozi to marry him. But Barry is a man who does things the right way. Before he got down on one knee, he traveled to Bulgaria to ask permission from Jozi's father, her mother, and her daughter. Three conversations. Three blessings. Only then, standing on a Maldivian beach at sunset with the waves lapping at their feet, did he ask the woman he loved to spend the rest of her life with him.

She said yes.

They celebrated that night over a candlelit dinner on the beach — fresh-caught reef fish grilled over coconut husks, tropical fruit carved into flowers, and a menu written in Dhivehi that neither of them could read. It didn't matter. Everything tasted like the beginning of forever.

The wedding was planned for the beaches of St. Pete, Florida. But life, as it so often does, had other plans. Jozi's father passed away from Covid just a few months before the wedding. The man who had given his blessing with tears in his eyes would never walk his daughter down the aisle.

On their wedding day, two of Barry's closest friends stepped in to walk Jozi down the aisle. Each of them wore a custom button pinned to their jacket — a photo of Jozi's father, his face smiling out from the lapel, so that he would be with her on her special day. It was a small gesture that carried the weight of the world. Every step down that sandy aisle, her father was right there beside her.

It was not the walk she had imagined. It was different. It was beautiful in a way that only real life can be — imperfect, emotional, and deeply human. Her father was there — in the blessing he had given from Bulgaria, in the photo pinned over the hearts of the men who walked in his place, and in the love that surrounded every moment of that day.

From that beach in St. Pete, the adventures began.

Their travels took them everywhere. They navigated the dazzling gold-plated excess of Dubai's food scene, from street shawarma stands in Deira to rooftop restaurants overlooking the Burj Khalifa. In Doha, they discovered the aromatic depth of Qatari cuisine — machboos, harees, and fragrant saffron rice — in souq restaurants where the menus were entirely in Arabic.

Thailand became a favorite. The couple spent days wandering Bangkok's street food markets, pointing at sizzling woks and hoping the vendor understood their enthusiastic nods. In Chiang Mai, they sat cross-legged on bamboo mats eating khao soi — a northern Thai curry noodle soup — without knowing what it was called until they got home and searched for it online.

In Turkey, they fell under the spell of Istanbul's ancient food culture — kebabs sizzling on charcoal grills along the Bosphorus, freshly baked simit sold from red carts on every corner, and rich Turkish breakfasts spread across tables like edible mosaics. They shared meze plates in hidden rooftop restaurants where the call to prayer echoed over the Golden Horn at sunset.

Greece became its own chapter. In Athens, they navigated the winding streets of the Plaka neighborhood searching for the perfect moussaka, eating souvlaki from paper-wrapped cones while staring up at the Acropolis. Then came Santorini — perched on volcanic cliffs above the Aegean, they dined on grilled octopus and fava with the most spectacular sunset on earth painting the sky behind them. Every taverna menu was a puzzle of Greek script that somehow always ended with the best meal they had ever had.

They traced the coastlines of the Caribbean and Central America, tasting jerk chicken in Jamaica, ceviche in Costa Rica, and pupusas in El Salvador. In Grenada, they discovered the island's claim as the Spice Isle — nutmeg ice cream, oil down cooked in coconut milk, and fresh fish seasoned with flavors they had never encountered. Trinidad and Tobago introduced them to doubles — curried chickpeas wrapped in soft fried bread — eaten standing at a street stall at six in the morning alongside locals heading to work.

The Italian coast stole their hearts. Capri rose from the Mediterranean like a jewel — they took the boat from Naples, climbed to the piazzetta, and ate the simplest, most perfect plate of pasta al limone overlooking the Faraglioni sea stacks. The lemons on Capri are the size of softballs, and the limoncello tasted like liquid sunshine. Every restaurant menu was handwritten in Italian, and every dish was a masterpiece they wished they could name.

In South America, they fell in love with Argentine asado culture, Peruvian anticuchos, and the rich, smoky flavors of Brazilian churrascarias. Mexico alone gave them a dozen new favorite dishes they still can't properly pronounce. Canada surprised them — from the smoked meat sandwiches of Montreal to the butter tarts of Ontario and the fresh Pacific salmon of Vancouver.

They explored England beyond fish and chips — discovering the country's thriving curry culture and the perfect Sunday roast. In Amsterdam, they wandered through street markets sampling bitterballen and stroopwafels while canal boats drifted past. Even within the United States, from the smoky barbecue pits of Texas to the fresh poke bowls of Hawaii, the corner pizzerias of New York to the seafood shacks of New England, every new table brought the same fundamental challenge.