The secret, dark jazz of the eggplant.

I’m pretty lucky.

I've accumulated a rather lovely collection of people I adore.

Some I've known for years, some I teach and talk to every week, some I don't see nearly enough. There are people who make me laugh until I'm ridiculous, some who seem to skip the years it takes to know someone, and whose company I could happily stretch into the early hours.

I'm not always great at articulating these things. I can spend years thinking the world of someone and somehow never get around to saying so. I suspect I'm better at feeding people.

I’ve spoken alot to Utsava, and how it is about celebrating life, and I can’ think of many things more worth celebrating than the people who make up mine. Not all, but some of these recipes, are dedicated to my favourite humans, no grand reasoning behind who gets what. Sometimes the dish is reminicent of a time spent with them, sometimes that person has inspired the idea, and others just make me think, this belongs to them.

A totally different approach this book. With every page an opportunity for discovery, a joyful celebration, and a way to give some of that affection a life beyond my own head. Less education, more experience, here, the wisdom and knowledge live within the recipes themselves.

For the one who let a little light in, and woke me up to the vast shimmering everything; the secret, dark jazz of the eggplant included.

I could eat these every day if I had to.