Probably I should have tried to get the conversation going again but I felt like I'm digging a pit for myself over and over again and couldn’t quite find the strength.
So Steve’s lamb with caramelised figs and pine nuts, in saffron sauce with couscous, arrived in deathly silence.
Shame, really, because like everything else he’d made, it was really good—even if each portion came in its own little bowl so it was all a bit I heard you like crockery, so I put a crockery in your crockery.
I never knew what to do with compartmentalised food—did you cross the barricades with it or respect its hauteur?
Personally, I preferred stuff that came in a big pot where everyone got to help themselves. Much less complicated.
“Niel”—Steve, wielding a bottle of wine apparently more appropriate to the
