Heart moving with the wind

We cooked and ate and photographed. Non stop. From the sunrise until long after the sun had set. The ingredients rough, raw and fresh. Local and exquisite. Strawberry and thyme galettes, fava bean soup, rosemary sugar biscuits, blueberry lemonade, grilled sardines and salted focaccia warm from the oven. We picnic-ed on the nearby beach, hot sand under our bare feet. A makeshift canopy to give us shade at midday, and a roaring bonfire to warm us at night. All very Robinson Crusoe – in a pleasing, leave your troubles far behind you kind of a way.

Perhaps the biggest treat of all was cooking alongside others who relish the art of chopping and whipping and sifting, with the same nutty passion as I do. I love how every cook has a favourite trick for greasing a cake tin, or for peeling an onion - each little idiosyncrasy paints a picture in miniature of its chef’s singular style.

I got up early one morning to bake with Beth. A fennel scented bundt cake with buttermilk and olive oil. The scientific precision with which she cooks - so technical and so very different from my own throw-everything-in-a-bowl way of doing things - opened my eyes to how pleasingly satisfying science in the kitchen can be. The moment I landed back home, I was struck by an overwhelming urge to bake these miniature olive oil cakes – with a dash of cointreau and fresh sprigs of rosemary. And to buy a set of digital scales.