I See You

Dear You,
I see you. Standing in the middle of a supermarket in Australia or wherever you have moved too, staring at the “British section” shelf with its lone packet of Rich Tea biscuits and a jar of pickle that costs more than your weekly shop. I see the ache that rises when you want a pork pie, or a proper cup of tea, or the smell of Christmas back home when the air outside is thirty-five degrees. You miss the small things, the burnt toast, the bacon butties, the sprouts on Christmas Day even though you never liked them. You miss the rituals that made ordinary days feel like home. And that’s why I do what I do. Every recipe, every jar, every word I write is for you. To remind you that you’re not silly for missing these things. To show you that home isn’t gone, it just looks different now. It can be here in a spoonful of chutney, in a candle that smells like Boxing Day, in a plate of roast potatoes cooked in the middle of an Australian summer. This isn’t just about food. It’s about belonging. About knowing that when you take a bite, or light a wick, or turn a page, you’re not alone in missing the things that mattered. So here’s to you, to us, to keeping home alive, not in the past, but right here, in the life you’re building now. With warmth (and extra pickle), Pork Pies & the Perfect Pickle