The binding is becoming flimsy and the pages are lightly tanned. The pages of the book now remind me of the colour she liked her tea; “just scare it slightly with the tea bag, Tori”.
On the front there’s an etching of of a pompous fellow in a chef’s toque; a large rib of beef splayed in front of him. In the bottom right corner the fabric is scabbed and stained, mocking the posh flourish of ‘Recipes’ written in italic.
If there was a fire, beyond The Hungry One, my Granny’s recipe book is what I’d tote from our London apartment. When she slipped away it was one of the things I …