SATURDAY LUNCH

Sorry, sorry. Grovel, grovel. I have been reduced to this. I was spoiled by two days of sun and getting o-u-t, more sun was promised today, but did we get it? No. It is back to cold, bleak and grey. Italians call it rigido, probably because that's how it makes them feel. They also call it crudo, raw, and that's it on the button.

There is not a flower in the house. If there is a green shoot outside, I'm not going out to find it. I got out the red plates which are heavy, hand made and cost one euro each at a yard selling terracotta pots and garden ornaments. The dish with the olives goes back to the good old days when this sort of thing was made in Italy but comes from China now and the red bowl was from a flea market which no longer exists. Colour in the gloom. The cheeses are aziago, grana and taleggio. The bread is wholewheat, the wine was made by a neighbour and could be called, I think, very frisky and exceedingly dangerous.

Himself preferred this picture because there was no glare on the plate but his main concern was when it could be eaten.

For the record: It is +2, and dark.