THE KITCHEN PHILOSOPHER
I’m writing this in Greece, looking out over a cobalt Mediterranean from a sleepy coastal backwater near Methana. I’ve been enjoying the light, nameless local white wine, delicate fresh sheep’s cheese called argolida and meze dishes such as fava – not the beans but a purée of yellow split peas. What I’m not going to do is pack some of that wine and cheese in my suitcase, along with the recipe for fava. If I did, I know when I sat down in urban England to eat my culinary postcard from the Peloponnese, I’d be sorely disappointed.