Among other things, that meant that she didn’t bother to measure anything, but threw a little bit of this and a little bit of that into the pot. It took a determined effort on my husband’s part to finally get the recipe from her.
And even then, he only managed it because he insisted on being right next to her at the stove as she prepared it and stopping her at every step to write it down.
I remember well the two of them standing side by side in Mama’s old-fashioned kitchen, going back and forth loudly, but lovingly, in Greek. Her impatience at having to explain everything and his frustration at her seeming inability to be precise had the rest of us chuckling and shaking our heads affectionately.
It’s a memory I shall cherish forever.