My late grandmother instilled a love of food in me, because when I was a child in Bulgaria, I was always in the kitchen “helping”. She used to chase me around the house with pepper dolmas for my mandatory afternoon snack (dare you skip it, your development as a wholesome human being was in jeopardy). On my visits home, my mother now greets me with her green bean stew that sits proudly among the pantheon of culinary divinities such as meatballs with tomato sauce, moussaka and, of course, dolmas and sarmas.
