Large lemons in the trees above,
A chef who cooks with skill and love,
Successive dishes that just melt
Onto your tongue until each felt
We couldn’t ask our tight-stretched tum
To take another tiny crumb.
Originality and verve
The trademark from the first hors d’oeuvre.
Sun-dried tomatoes, unctuous cheese
Then salad with a fine-judged squeeze
Of lemon in amongst the dill
To tempt us then to eat our fill.
Great serving rhythm, time to talk
Before they brought the sliced smoked pork
On nested greens with soft-cooked egg
A flare of flavours that just beg
For contrast from the Cretan bread.
Cicada music overhead
Kids playing football in the square.
We’re getting full, which isn’t fair
To our main course, now deftly placed
In front of us, once more a taste
That’s subtle while both strong and rich:
Two kinds of chicken, can’t say which
Is better – stuffed or served with cream;
They both would be a gourmet’s dream.
Somehow we both found space to eat
Some offered grapes – green, crisp and sweet –
And strength to walk – at least to totter
Quite finished off by panacotta.
