Welcome to Easter
When I look back on what were the greatest foodie memories of my life, I know which will rank highest. It won’t be the 10-course tasting menus or the meals that have caused my fiancé to wince as we hand over the credit card. It will be the meals my mum made (sorry, dad). Those that I’ve had a hand in making – the samosas we used to patiently stuff and roll when I was barely tall enough for my nose to reach the worktop – and those that were the handiwork of mum alone. The juiciest roast chicken, cooked in her terracotta chicken brick (if you know, you know), lemony new potatoes and spring salads with all the herbs and chive flowers she could find from the garden. The hand-cut…