She never said no for anything, except to go to the hospital for the last 5 days of her journey here on Earth. And talking abour herself (there is not so much to say about that).

She said yes to every party, every meal, the last cigarette before going to bed (just one more..!), every trip to everywhere, every kind of movie, book or music (including Marilyn Manson, The Prodigy or Black Sun Empire). She said yes for three men, she said yes to midnight poker or rikiki. She said yes for everything which was interesting, new or old, tasty and entertaining. She said yes for talking about anything, anytime on the terasse of our recent home, where me and her spend most of the time- which was given- together. Under the cherry tree, hiding from the sun, drinking icecold water on hot summer days…smoking and talking. While eating. Something. Anything.

I did not know what to say on the funeral. I knew I could talk about her for hours- which did not make any sense, and no one would have listened anyway. For 3 days I tried to write something, but I could not. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. Is there anyboby else, who cannot make a speech for her mom’s funeral? Probably not. On the day, still nothing. Just when we got into the car for leaving, I run back to the house and took one of her favourite cooking books. I did not know what I was looking for, I just followed my instinct. That was the book. I struggled with my tears, thoughts and feelings on the way to the boat- together with my nausea because of reading in the car. She could not either. We got there on time, way before anybody else. I went straight to the bar of the boat, asked for a drink and sat down with the book. I found a quote from the „In Search of lost time”.

„…but when from a longdistant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”

I read it very slowly, because I realized how deeply my mom was devoted to the world of gastronomy – including all its pleasures - as to nothing else. In that moment I realized, the reason I chose this too was her, and weird enough it has never crossed my mind before. In that moment I was thankful for understanding something, which I did not before. All the memories I have with her – shopping at the farmers market every weekend, reading interesting recipe/history books together, choosing and working with the right ingredients, travelling and eating out, watching gastro movies, talking about food culture in different countries and ages, cooking in the different kitchens where we lived together (more than a few) or just eating strawberry on the veranda…- are connected to food and eating. Everything.

In that moment of standing in front of the whole family and all the good friends, I lost the sense of time. I don’t know for how long I was standing there, reading and thinking. All these memories were before my eyes- it was only her and me in the search of lost time. In that moment my life suddenly made sense, except one thing. From now on I have to continue living without my mother and with a smaller heart.

And yet, every smell and taste will always remind me of you mom and our common lost time. Cooking - with you - made me who I am. Maybe after all cooking makes us who we are? Namely human. Goodbye mom, see you later – hopefully on a big feast…