At some point during your first morning in Bosnia, someone is going to hand you a warm, flaky, impossibly golden piece of pastry wrapped in paper, point at a glass of cold yogurt sitting next to it, and just stare at you. No explanation. No menu. No context. Just the universal Bosnian message that roughly translates to: eat this, you’ll understand later. Welcome to the world of Bosnian pastries. That pastry is burek. Or sirnica. Or zeljanica. Or any of a half-dozen variations that collectively go under the name pita and form the backbone of Bosnian breakfast culture. Call any of them by the wrong name in front of a Bosnian and you will be corrected. Politely, but firmly. Possibly for several minutes.