29/52 Lunch


On this particular lazy Sunday in late July, when my to-do list wasn’t being done, lunch came along just in time to remind me that the act- the art- of putting food on the table, of preparing a meal for and with the people you love, is enough. 

It was a meal made out of the fabric of our family life, spanning generations and continents. 


Carrots and courgettes with garlic and lemon thyme and roast new potatoes, both ‘recipes’ made up by me when I lived in an extremely English village, and grew lemon thyme in a window box.

The roast chicken recipe is originally from the book Dear Francesca, written by an Italian woman living in the UK, a gift from my mother when I first went to live with my Italian love, now my husband and father of my daughter.


The white chocolate mint cheesecake is from a book of recipes I bought in a Beirut bookshop as a birthday gift for my father, with the hope that the women in his life, including me, would eventually make every single one.





A simple, summertime Scandinavian lunch at one of my favorite lunch spots in Stockholm. Smoked salmon, Swedish small potatoes, fresh dill and salad. Followed by unlimited black coffee (as always, included in the lunch price).

It was a delicious lunch, but it was made even better by the company we were in. An old friend and her not-so-new baby visiting us all the way from London. We sat around the table, multitasking a nursing baby and a sweet-tooth toddler, trying to eat and talk at the same time. We remembered a time that didn’t feel so long ago when we had lunch at the same spot, when we had all the time in the world to dream about the future. And here we were, in the present of that future with little ones in tow, hands busy, mouths censored (literally, my daughter would sometimes say: no talking mommy!) but hearts much fuller.