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My mother and I arrived in New York City on a cold and wintry day, having left Nazi Germany. Mother had been a well-known opera diva but could no longer perform anywhere, due to her being Jewish.

Because she had servants most of her life, she was not known for her culinary skills. Suddenly, she had to learn simple cooking techniques.

Our new butcher sold her a chicken and told her how to prepare it for chicken soup. She listened with great interest and I just smiled.

Once home, she started to cook and I went to watch, when lo and behold, I noticed soap bubbles rise from the large pot.

The butcher had told her to wash the chicken, and wash it she did. Mom had used a big bar of soap. Alas, no chicken soup that evening.

Things did get better, eventually.

She was always glamorous but not much of a cook. I loved her anyway.