EDITOR’S LETTER
Nothing is as I thought it would be. In my youth, particularly my 20s (when all of our style indicators are set in place), it was the 1990s and, like everyone around me at the time, I was mad for a type of Japanese-style industrial minimalism. It was a thing. The slicker the better, as I believed that good design required a generous dash of chilly austerity. And so I thought that my own kitchen style was set. But things change and my worship at the altar of minimalism started to erode as soon as I started to cook properly. All the prepping, ritual and messy alchemy that goes into conjuring slow and delicious lunches didn’t feel right on a cold, sleek workbench. I yearned for generous, colourful French cookware, and…