Two pair of hands, a cookbook

One year ago, on a nice sunny day a carpenter was working in our kitchen, to build in a couple of new shelves. Ábel and I were in the middle of our usual daily routine with a toddler: noisy and quiet at the same time, without any apparent accomplishment, but always busy with something without stopping. 

Suddenly the carpenter came in and told me that our outdoor plug didn’t work and he needed it for a machine to cut the shelf. I was following him into the garden with Ábel in my arms, when a DHL van stopped in front of our house. 

‘Hi, I have a package for you’, he said. 

I frowned. 

‘ I don’t expect any package’

‘It’s for you though…from Germany. Quite heavy, I must say. There must be some fabric inside. The sender is some…what…Coppenrath Verlag….

‘Oh my God, this is my book, the book, I wrote!’, I exclaimed in euphoria, took the carton box and ran directly to the house with Ábel, leaving behind the shocked carpenter, and forgetting completely about the plug. 

Ábel took the first one into his hand. I took the second. Later in the afternoon the third one landed in the hands of my grandmother, one of the three wonderful women who inspired me to write this book. 

Two pair of hands with 89 years difference in age holding my cookbook.

My grandmother’s whose hands were pulling or rolling out hundreds of strudels, plucked chickens, cooked litres and litres of chicken broth, weeded the kitchen garden and set the table with the beautiful porcelain dishes from Zsolnay porcelain manufacture. Those hands worked hard, caressed a lot and their owner was my greatest supporter of collecting and working up the old recipes of her generation in the recent years on the blog Taste of Memories. 

And then there are the other hands, those little ones of my son, who inspires every step I take since his birth, in and outside of the kitchen. He has a whole life ahead of him with countless memories to enjoy and a world to explore. These hands currently turn building blocks, toy cars, play with pebbles and knead bread dough. 

Maybe later these hands will help me rolling out the strudel, seasoning the chicken broth, or setting the table with the Zsolnay porcelain, that may grandmother used to use. I hope these hands will create, work hard and caress a lot, maybe similar little hands as he has now. 

I couldn’t be more grateful for both of those pairs of hands. To my grandmother who helped me to grow as a child,a young adult and become who I am today. 

To my son whose existence and the endless love for him forces me every day to become a little better version of what I was yesterday.

There are a few extraordinary days in one’s life and this day was one of them. Cuddled up on the sofa with my son, my book in our hands. Then later, with my grandmother, hugging each other, crying and laughing at the same time. 

“You did it’, she whispered proudly, in tears. 

So will be past and future aligned, distilled in a cookbook, in which we somehow all participated in our own way. 

Ps: The carpenter fortunately had a battery charged cutting machine and had a special understanding for crazy women. 

A dream came true, when my cookbook ‘Taste of memories’ was published in German language by Hölker Verlag in Germany. If you wish to have it on your bookshelf or give it someone as a gift, you can order it online through Amazon.de and can be shipped worldwide.

In case you reside in Hungary, you can purchase it at the Tourinform office in Veszprém.

In Germany the book is available in bookstores or you can order it directly from the publisher Hölker Verlag.

Thank you for supporting my work with your purchase!