Chris and I have started eating differently.
There’s an air of happy expectancy settling in among our fruit trees. Or maybe it’s just an air of happy expectancy around Chris and me.
The wind feels almost indecisive at this time of year. It comes, it goes. Sometimes it roars in full of bluster, other times it creeps about in quiet whispers.
Yomar Monsalve, my Michelin-starred new kitchen bestie, and I were back-and-forthing the other day about a dinner I was planning for his farewell from Livingstone, when he announced he’d bring along a “
“Life is like an ice cream. Enjoy it before it melts.” – Whoever penned this quote clearly never lived in the Zambezi Valley. Forget the ice cream.
If this blistering heat in the Zambezi Valley forces Mikey, our leonine Mastif/St.Bernard, to take refuge in our cool concrete bath at 7.
