Hoffman, who suffered from not knowing her own divorced father until she was ten, encouraged Jobs to be a better father.
He followed her advice, and later thanked her for it.
Once he took Lisa on a business trip to Tokyo, and they stayed at the sleek and businesslike Okura Hotel.
At the elegant downstairs sushi bar, Jobs ordered large trays of unagi sushi,
a dish he loved so much that he allowed the warm cooked eel to pass muster as vegetarian.
The pieces were coated with fine salt or a thin sweet sauce,
and Lisa remembered later how they dissolved in her mouth.
So, too, did the distance between them. As she later wrote,
"It was the first time I'd felt, with him, so relaxed and content, over those trays of meat;
the excess, the permission and warmth after the cold salads, meant a once inaccessible space had opened.
He was less rigid with himself, even human under the great ceilings with the little chairs, with the meat, and me."
But it was not always sweetness and light.
Jobs was as mercurial with Lisa as he was with almost everyone, cycling between embrace and abandonment.
On one visit he would be playful; on the next he would be cold; often he was not there at all.