Tuesday, May 23, 2006


If there's one thing I have always hated, it's a heavy, British Sunday lunch. Sorry, compatriots! And yes, I do know that this meal is less heavy these days.

But back in the days when the only way we Brits cooked vegetables was to drown and overboil them, my Dad used to yell at me to eat them all up and I just couldn't. And Mum would look so weary, after spending the whole morning in the steamy kitchen and straining to ensure that everything was ready at exactly the same moment. [This has always seemed to me a more complicated process than producing a ten-course banquet.]

So, when I first came to Italy, there were two revelations: the first was that you could eat perfectly well on a Sunday [or any other day] without putting yourself through this performance; the second was that you could just have fruit for dessert and that it was more satisfying than the most elaborate sweet concoction.

Above is a plate of nespole.

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