Maria made suzuki that you will lick your fingers. Real Smyrna, with lots of cumin, garlic, a hint of cinnamon, bread soaked in ouzo instead of red wine, and some other secrets that gave the food an unrivaled taste. As soon as a wide pot appeared on the table, the suzuki disappeared in a matter of minutes.

For a woman who grew up in a small isolated semi-mountain village on an island in the northeastern Aegean in the 1950s, in a poor rural family with five children, who knows the secrets of Smyrna cuisine, its true soul and not that they write books, it was a bit of a mystery. But, like most things in life, it has an explanation.

Maria’s aunt, her mother’s sister – a total of seven brothers and sisters in deep poverty – left for the mansion of a wealthy tobacco merchant in the capital of the island. They forced her to help two family cooks from Smyrna in the kitchen. From a young age, she “transmitted” the tastes and aromas of Smyrna. She learned spices and kebabs, pilaf with pine nuts and raisins, Asia Minor cuttlefish with rice and octopus stew, stews, Izmir baklava, petimesia and dried fruits, cooking techniques, being philanthropic and awake, she became an excellent cook.

She grew up, married and settled with her husband in Tamburia, Piraeus. There she hosted her niece Maria for two years when she was a young student at the Pedagogical Academy and she needed somewhere to stay so as not to pay the rent. In her aunt’s little kitchen, she was taught the same secrets. Out of gratitude and curiosity, he stood by her side, helping her, watching, learning. So she became an excellent cook, and anyone who tried her suzuki never forgot them.

This is how true knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation, not by books and culinary programs on TV, but by experience, soul and emotions. This is lacking today. But that’s the whole point, the whole point.