When my father replaced the roses and sweet williams from our garden with sprouts and January Kings I was mortified, but grateful that we didn’t ever go hungry. On a recent visit to the Rialto Market, Venezia. I was reminded of my father’s strong earth-stained hands lifting me into the old metal wheel barrow. I remember adjusting my pink National Health glasses and sniffing with contentment the warm sackcloth, which protected my skirt from getting grubby.
Mum and Dad would have loved the market. He would have said everything was marvellous and it was.
This blog is a recipe … of simple pleasures
Behind The Green Door is dedicated to my parents.
It is a thank you to the idyllic childhood memories they gave me
It is for my father Wally Green who battles with Alzheimer’s
It is for my mother Eirlys Green for her patience and Stone Soup
It is for my children, children-in-law and grandchildren, for eating the food I cook and asking for the recipes
It is for sister Louisa and brother-in law Karl for making the perfect Gin and Tonics
It is for my nieces and nephews and cousins
It is for my friends
It is for you …