Hi, I'm Lili Lantos
I grew up in a home where food was the heart of everything. It was at the center of family conversations, gatherings, Shabbat dinners, and Jewish holidays. Food was so much more than just nourishment; it was a way to bring people together, to show love, and it shaped so much of who I am today.
As a child, my "Play-Doh" was Challah Dough, and I learned the secrets of traditional Jewish recipes before I could even remember. The smell of soup slow-cooking overnight will always take me back to those carefree, joyful days. It's only now that I fully understand the profound importance of the most cherished Jewish values. "PASS IT DOWN TO YOUR CHILDREN."
My family, my backgorund
My great-great-grandmother, Gizella Spielberger, was famous throughout the Tokaj-Hegyalja region for her flódni. Every year, the women of Gönc held a flódni baking competition, and year after year, she came home with first prize.
I often wonder what her flódni must have tasted like. There were no lemons or oranges back then, no fancy ovens or ingredients. The more I think about it, the more I believe that was the secret: she never overcomplicated it. She baked by instinct, using whatever she had, with ten children waiting for that cake to come out of the oven. Every bite was cherished. Food itself was a celebration.
They were a family of tinsmiths and owned a small workshop in Gönc. In the early 1940s, as the rumors of what awaited Hungary’s Jews became impossible to ignore, she asked her sons to make a tin box. Inside, she hid her most precious belongings and buried it in the garden. After the war, surviving relatives searched for it, but it was never found.
I often ask my mother what she thinks was inside that box. Her answer is always the same:
“The Shabbat candleholders, and almost certainly her notebook of cake recipes. She had no greater treasures than those.”
Gizella Spielberger, the wife of Elias Landsmann, lost her life on the train to Auschwitz. What she left behind was an entire world built on dignity, hard work, perseverance, faith, and an unwavering love for family.
I believe that every meal I cook, every recipe I share, every aroma that fills my kitchen, and every plate I place on the table carries a part of her with it. In its own small way, it honors her name and keeps her memory alive.
As long as there is someone left to tell these stories, they must continue to be told.
