This is something my Grandma Halinka, who came from Lithuania, never ran out of. She would have jars and jars of the stuff, carefully stored under a cupboard in her bedroom. When she needed some, she would ask me to fetch a jar for her, a ritual I enjoyed: lying down on the creaky parquet floor and seeing the dark jars lined up against the wall like soldiers, then reaching in and finding one. I’d hand it to her and watch as she opened the jar and dipped in a spoon to check
