a steamy pentecost

In Eating Heaven, I tried to say something about the café and the role its tables play in our cities and our lives. Then I find the collected poems of Irish poet Michael O’Siadhail, and discover he says it with more beauty and fewer words. I tip my hat. Lunchtime in a London Café Table by…

Dad’s lamb stew

My dad came for dinner tonight. He’s not fussy, but he’s proud — a meat-and-potatoes man. No pastas or risottos for him, and certainly no ancient grain salads. Dad likes it simple: a good roast dinner with crispy spuds and gravy, or a slow-cooked lamb stew. His taste for lamb is no surprise. Raised on…