In the summer of 1978, a hundred guests filled a yard in Belarus. The day began with the vykup – the bride ransom – as the groom and his friends told jokes and gave small presents to "buy" the bride from her parents' house. After the official papers were signed at the village council, everyone gathered at long tables set up both inside and in the yard. The food seemed endless: cold beetroot soup (khaladnik), homemade sausages, at least seven kinds of salads. But at the center of every table stood the karavai – a big round wedding bread with a hidden test inside. Whoever broke off the larger piece would become the head of the family. The women of the family – mother, mother-in-law, aunts, godmother – had started cooking nearly a week earlier. Most ingredients came from their own farm. The party lasted two days, filled with dancing, singing, and shouted cries of Горько! – demanding the couple kiss to sweeten the drink.

Almost fifty years later, a young couple from the same country is planning something completely different. Fifty guests, not a hundred – only close family and good friends. No distant relatives they hardly know. The ceremony will be outdoors under a white wooden arch with natural flowers. Then a cocktail hour with sparkling wine, bruschetta, and fresh fruit, followed by a buffet in a modern loft: grilled vegetables, baked fish, several cheeses, and a candy bar with macarons. A professional catering company will handle everything – cooking, serving, decorating, cleaning. They chose their caterer after a single tasting session.

But one thing travels across the generations: the karavai. The young couple will keep it. Their parents will greet them at the restaurant entrance with the same round bread, salt, and the grandmother's embroidered towel.

They met in a crowded friend's home. Two strangers found each other because their thoughts on travelling and eating out kept matching. He remembers the moment she touched his heart most: working late one night, she quietly brought him a bowl of hot soup, waited for him to finish, then left. When she was sick, he left work to drive her to the hospital.

Planning the wedding brought one disagreement: she wanted an outdoor ceremony; he wanted a hotel ballroom. They made both dreams come true – a daytime lawn ceremony and a nighttime indoor dinner.

Each person, the bride's father explained, must give up a little of themselves to accept the other. Disagreements are fine, he added, as long as they don't last until morning.

A bridesmaid described them as fire meeting water: the bride lively and easy to laugh, the groom calm and watchful. They don't overpower each other, but turn into warm steam – and that warmth makes both of them better.

The most unforgettable moment came not during the wedding itself, but when they exchanged rings. Seeing her father – a man who never usually cries – wiping away tears in the audience made the bride suddenly realize that she had truly grown up.

One more story from the groomsman: on the day they got their marriage license, the groom bought a big bouquet and went down on one knee at the civil affairs bureau – to propose all over again, because signing the paper is forever and deserves a ceremonial moment.

She woke before sunrise to the sound of women already in the kitchen. Her mother and aunties stood outside over big pots on firewood, cooking for a wedding that would feed the entire compound. There were no caterers. The men handled buying ingredients from the market; the women cooked everything – washed, stirred, served. It took two days.

Jollof rice and pounded yam with egusi soup had to be on that table.

Food was how you showed respect to your guests. Every tradition was followed exactly: the introduction rites, the way kola nuts were presented, the blessings from elders. Her one small rebellion: she insisted on inviting a few of her school friends. Some elders didn't see the need, but she wanted people who knew her personally to be there.

A generation later, everything is outsourced – caterers, décor, planning. The bride from the younger generation remembers the rush and excitement: makeup, outfit changes, everything moving fast. The planning took weeks, but execution was smooth. The ceremony is shorter now, focused on aesthetics and timing.

But some things do not change. Jollof rice is still non-negotiable – because if the food isn't good or diverse, it becomes the main topic online and offline.

Both generations agree on one thing looking forward: weddings are becoming too expensive. The younger bride thinks the next generation might keep the cultural elements and family involvement – but reduce the scale and cost. The older woman hopes they will keep respect for elders and family involvement.