"Then there is the soup that is made for someone who is grief-stricken, the long lazy breakfasts of courtship, the messy tray composed by a child, with lukewarm tea and burnt bitter toast, presented with heartbreaking gravity which prompts you to say, ‘This is the best toast I have ever eaten in my life.’ I remember a picnic with the boy I love on the floor of a new house with no furniture and wine in mugs.

These are the things that are rare and precious in all that is higgledy-piggledy and crooked."

sophie dahl intrigues me.