In 1982, my granddad returned to Hungary to see his mother for the first time since he escaped. He returned three more times before he died and in 1986 he took my nana with him to meet his mother and siblings, nephews and cousins. This was a very special time: we really felt this foreign, extended family were a little closer to us (and when I arrived in Europe, one of my first ports of call was Vienna, where they now all live). Knowing them helped us understand Granddad better – this carefree, fun, food-obsessed creature. He died when I was 13 and the main thing I remember from that day was opening the cupboard to find a huge pile of pancakes he had cooked that morning.
