Cheap peaches bought hopefully from South Melbourne market, too early in the season, and lacking proper pits, they disappointed, even though I knew they would. (Nonetheless, I still feel conned)
(New (city) sink = swoon)
This new place was, once, a proper worker's cottage, and, channeling some sort of old school vibe (man), I slice and chop on a butcher's block outside under the tin awning on warm nights; I feel it's a nod of sorts to the women who cooked outside over fire before electricity changed the world.
(Have I shown you my bird-and-bauble thing-y before? He never fails to make me smile)
And a quick radish salad, veg all our own, grown in the country, eaten in the city on a recent hot evening.
p.s. An Honest Kitchen, Seasonal Desserts is now available in print. It's beautiful. Just so you know...