Twelve Tables
A British Feast from Harvest to Harvest
COMING SOON
It began with a bowl of blackberries on a cliff path in Gower, and a smell from the oven that stopped me where I stood.
Over the next twelve months I cooked the old dishes: cawl and shepherd’s pie, pancakes and hot cross buns, a Victoria sponge and a ploughman’s lunch. Something kept rising with the steam. A longing I couldn’t name. A feeling of being met.
This is a year in a British kitchen, with sixty-six recipes, a bread and a drink for every month, and a table laid for whoever comes. It is also the story of where that longing led.
Pull up a chair. The table is nearly laid.