She hears there’s tricks i’ the world, and hems, and beats her heart, spurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt that carry but half sense. This, then, is a pie of half-sense, and of remembering. Bake it, and remember. I was all out of pansies, and I haven’t seen a columbine in years, and cooking with rue seemed foolish: but the other things are there, and they are very good.
This curry is made and named for a very talented musician I know; it is excellent, and actually quite good for you. Can, as ever, be eaten with your fingers, so long as you have a napkin to hand and a bowl for the bones.
A stock for the almost very worst days, the days when leaving the house is too hard, when everything seems impossible. This is a stock, or a soup, and it is good, and warm. This is a stock for the worst days; it is a good stock.
This is the easiest roast chicken, and the most delicious. Have it with wine, and bread, and feel glad to be eating it. Eat this chicken absolutely with your fingers, and remember that being alive is brilliant.