9 August 2024
Friday. A second kitchen. In Sydney. On George Street, five floors up, and I have spent the whole day looking out of the window.
The table seats eight. Eight! I have bought new napkin rings. I have written eight place cards in copperplate and then, because the narration here can be heard in Simplified Chinese as well as English, I have had the menu cards done in both, which I consider the most civilised thing I have ever arranged.
Northbridge remains the original, the small dining room, six at a squeeze. I love it the way one loves a first saucepan. Sydney is the banquet hall.
The routine, alas, has travelled with me. The guests came round in the dark, I was out looking for a decent fishmonger, and when I returned the locker was empty and somebody had straightened my cutlery on the way out. Sydney manners.
Two cities. A man the newspapers called a hoax now has two tables. I would like that printed somewhere, preferably in large type.
— B., your host
