Stories that travel through food
Gwynne asked me to share this tiny piece of writing about my very disorderly kitchen. Since this morning I found a use for the lemons... ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ‹๐Ÿ‹๐Ÿ‹๐Ÿ‹
If my kitchen could talk today, it would tell the story of meals hastily made, the pots and pans still stacked haphazardly on the drainer, potatoes rolling over the counter next to a half eaten packet of crisps, a bag of lentils and four desultory lemons which missed their chance to be used for something greater but will still be good for a sharp squeeze over fresh trout, if there is any to be had.
But despite the chaos there is also a deep sense of calm on this quiet morning with the scent of coffee lingering in the air, of joy in throwing ingredients together, of evenings spent with loved ones in the abandoned corks, of once lazy afternoons of baking, frying and sizzling in the random jars of treacle and stem ginger in syrup and chilli oil with garlic and Mermaid Confetti for which there is no space in the cupboard.
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Ida Keogh
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Stories that travel through food
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