There is something deeply satisfying about drinking or eating out of a well crafted piece of pottery. And something very much of “place” about a piece, made from the earth and fired locally, which takes me back to its origin every time I use it.
A recent, glorious visit to Skye had me track down a potter whose work I’d recently discovered online – Katharina Lenz. Her studio is on the south of the island. She was warm, welcoming and her small studio was filled with wonderful things.
Flight baggage restrictions were the only thing that stopped me bankrupting us both, as I fell in love with her work. It’s full of tiny, exquisite details, like this aemonite impressed into the clay.
breakfast tea out of this mug, which sits so comfortably in the hands,and which pleases the eye so much, adds great pleasure to a slow breakfast.
Small, wonderful things. Life is good.
As soon as I awake, my first thought is for food. Maybe I’m a glutton, maybe it’s a primeaval thing, but I always wake up hungry. My usual craving first thing in the morning is for carbs.
I normally reach for toast and butter, croissants or cereal as a breakfast of choice in order to quell those hunger pangs before the day starts.
However, in the summer months if we have fruit in, there’s no competition. A breakfast bowl of Tim’s honey yoghurt, a few strawberries, a handful of succulent blueberries, some walnuts and a scoop of mixed seeds and I’m in heaven.
Soon it will be cold enough for oatmeal again, so I’m making the most of the last of the fresh fruit and the light, warm mornings.
Husband and I stayed at the Lalit Hotel at Tower Bridge, London a few nights ago.
It’s a glorious riot of Indian loveliness, with sumptuous embroidered fabrics, rich textile art and contemporary Indian style. The staff are simply delightful.
Breakfast was in the vast Baluchi restaurant in the hotel, originally the grand vaulted hall of a grammar school.
Feeling brave, I abandoned my usual toast and oatmeal, and ordered the Indian breakfast (although I was a little dubious about spiciness first thing in the morning as the pale, wilting northern flower that I am).
The resulting giant dosa, filled with gently spiced potatoes and served with masala and Indian scrambled eggs was a revelation.
Crispy and feather light, with a rich and filling potato interior, any concerns I may have had about eating curry for breakfast were soon dispelled.
I need to wear my big girl pants and be brave with my breakfast choices more often.
You have to love a man who can scramble eggs to perfection. There’s simply no other course of action possible. And my husband is indeed the Egg Meister.
Breakfast in bed with scrambled Burford Brown eggs, feta cheese and sliced spicy Turkish sausage, with toasted sourdough on the side. Deliciousness itself.
What’s not to love 😍
As a child I loved cereal. As sweet and radioactive as I could get it. And if the box contained hidden plastic treats, all the better. As an adult, however, I went through a bit of a “wilderness years” period where I hardly touched cereal, preferring toast, fruit, or eggs for breakfast instead.
But now I seem to be experiencing a bit of a renaissance. I’ve taken to eating muesli or branflakes, soaked in almond or rice milk by choice as soon as I wake. I will often be found of a morning sitting around in my big pants eating a bowl of cereal topped with whatever fruit I can get my hands on. I’m clearly going through some sort of second childhood.
This morning the fruit to hand was flat peaches, glorious little furry globes of sweet lusciousness. So delicious. I gorge on these when they come into season; for me, there’s nothing sweeter. I may have to have a second bowl…