Eileen’s notebook rests on the hospital blanket, open at a recipe headed “Enough flour”. Her niece has underlined the words twice. Eileen cannot defend the measurement. Her mother judged dough by the feel of it, and Eileen copied the confidence without recording the explanation. Now she tries to remember the tin, the wooden spoon and the sound of the kitchen clock. The exact quantity still escapes her. Beside the recipe she writes a more useful detail: the loaf was always shared while the crust was still crackling.