at my table

June 16, 2017

It’s rare to walk into my friend Jessica’s house and not find keffir grains on the counter, a bone broth on the stove and Red Fife bread in the oven. Her daughter, Phoebe is always snacking on something homemade –– herbed crackers, radish and cherry lollies, black bean brownies. When she was pregnant with her second daughter, Maeve, the house permanently stank of saurkraut. Weeks after Maeve was born she served ghoulish food to dozens of neighbours on Halloween. She loves to cook, she loves to feed people. Our friend Erin is the same. She doesn’t make butter from scratch, but she throws fish on the barbecue and whips up grain salads that make you feel like you’ve flown to Ottolenghi. The most delicious food –– a hearty Bolognese, a perfectly boiled egg, roast chicken and freshly made bread and butter –– is simple and made with love. When Jen Agg said “I don’t like people,” in a recent Globe and Mail article it stopped me in my tracks. How can you feed people if you don’t like them? To come to Erin or Jessica’s table means they like you. A lot. And that’s a big part of what makes the food taste so damn wonderful.


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