Sanyi came into our lives from a shelter. We found Gyuri on the street, hiding inside a drainage pipe.

They say black dogs have a harder time finding a home. They’re not as eye-catching. They’re not the ones who immediately capture your attention. There’s always a lighter, more striking, “easier to love” companion beside them. Somehow, they are more often left in the background.

People tend to choose what is immediately visible. And they don’t even notice what is quieter.

What I learned about food from them

Sanyi has a sensitive stomach. With him, there is no compromise. If something is too artificial, too intense, too much, he simply won’t eat it. Not out of anger, not out of stubbornness — his body just knows what isn’t good for him.

Gyuri went hungry for a long time. On the street, survival came first. When he came to me, he ate everything. He didn’t pick. He didn’t weigh options. For him, food meant safety.

Today, it’s different.

Now he has taste. Now it’s not enough that there is simply something in the bowl. What matters is what it is.

One thing, however, has never changed: not a single crumb is left behind. Ever.

And it’s impossible to open the fridge without him appearing in the next moment, sitting there quietly, watching — just in case something good might happen.

They taught me that food is not just calories.

It is trust.

Fiber and decision

In SUPERJUICE production, fruit and vegetable fiber remains every day after cold pressing. Apple, beetroot, carrot — ingredients that were carefully grown, harvested, processed. We pressed out the juice, but the fiber still holds value.

For a long time, we called it a by-product.

Then one day, I could no longer look at it that way.

If Sanyi’s stomach matters. If Gyuri’s past matters. Then this matters too.

In this fiber there were nutrients, flavor, water, soil, energy, human labor. It didn’t feel right to simply call it “leftover.”

This is how EBKEKSZ was born. A decision of conscience.

Black dogs and unfinished things

I often think about how similar these two stories are. Black dogs are not less valuable. Just less noticeable.

Fruit fiber is not less valuable. Just less finished.

For me, upcycling is not technology, but attention. The practice of not turning away from what is not perfectly packaged, not spectacular, not immediately “sellable.”

In the end, I always arrive at the same place

Sanyi taught me about quality.

Gyuri taught me about appreciation.

When we make sustainable dog biscuits, we are actually deciding what we consider waste — and what we consider value.

My dogs are not passionate about sustainability.

Sanyi just wants his stomach not to hurt.

Gyuri just wants never to be hungry again.

And I want what we once created as value not to end up unnoticed in the background.

Maybe that’s why upcycling matters to me.

Because sometimes the greatest values are the ones we don’t notice at first glance.