Isn’t it funny how the memory of a particular food can instantly evoke the whole scene where you first ate it? The place, the sounds, the smells, the people, how you felt at the time. For me, this is triggered by meatballs.
Last week I wrote about my great-aunt Mama Gohar’s chaotically wonderful household – lots of children, beautiful aromas emanating from the kitchen, and little me stealing mini meatballs when she wasn’t looking. I remember being entranced by these simple, meaty morsels, and my lasting love for them was cemented right there and then in her 1970s, tan-tiled London kitchen.
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