My Grandad's Garden
On growing, remembering, and beginning again As the growing season begins to stretch awake again, I find myself thinking about my Grandad. My grandparents lived in Liverpool, in a house with a small, ordinary back garden. But in my Grandad’s hands, that modest patch of earth became something extraordinary. He turned it into a vegetable…
The Pan by the Cooker
Small habits, slower kitchens, and the things we choose to keep There was always a pan by my Pop’s cooker. It never seemed to move. It sat there, darkened by years of use, with a little pool of lard or dripping waiting for whatever was going to be cooked next — usually a pan of…