1995, end of summer, Larnaca. Kypros – my fiancé now – goes with my father to the harbor to buy fresh cuttlefish with their ink. When they return, my mother takes them and prepares them 'kathistes'. We all dig into the food, their deliciousness is unsurpassed, and we don't care at all that our teeth turn black. On the contrary, we enjoy it and tease each other. Every time I make 'kathistes' cuttlefish at home, I inevitably recall those carefree family memories from the past…
