‘Two of my friends were vegan – except we called them hippies then’

of times. We’d end saturday evenings on the docks, our legs hanging over the edge of the yacht moorings, watching the sun rise while smoking something fragrant.

I lived with my folks above a cafe that was run by a Portuguese family. My mom was and still is the best cook – she always made chicken cacciatore. I recently told her that it means ‘hunters’ stew’ in Italian, which she thought was marvellous. she’s 79 now. The cacciatore was made with tinned green peppers because canned food was deemed to be very modern. how things have changed now that farm-totable is oh so cool. (Wasn’t it always meant to be this way?) It has been over two years since I stopped eating anything with eyes or ears, which has caused much pondering and confusion from my dear mom. Last week, she cooked me a ‘roast’ substituting the slab of beef with a lentil bobotie, with sides of roast potato, wheels of butternut and steamed broccoli. The exclamation mark was her lemon meringue pie. It was like a wave of joy to sit at the table with my mom.

The conversation was about memories of my dad, who sadly passed away recently, and my 21st birthday dinner party, where I had asked my mom to cook for a group of friends. neither of us could remember the starters, but we think the main course was vegetable lasagne (two of my friends were vegan – except we called them hippies then) and dessert was probably that famous lemon meringue pie. one of the chairs broke during the meal, almost certainly because we had been having absolut shots. I had infused a bottle with lemon zest for a week and it was kicking. What I remember is that, above that Portuguese cafe, ten friends were laughing and eating and I got handed the key – and decided to start opening some doors.