so yes, i’m afraid i wasn’t so good at being confined. (and that’s only 4 weeks according to chinese tradition. we were chided by some lebanese ladies at the kid’s school for bringing harlan out to the twilight picnic a couple of weeks ago — “we don’t let the babies out until after 40 days!” they said, and, “put a hat on him — he is cold!”). the monday after the saturday birth, i was trawling the aisles of bas foods with my mother, in search of treats (peach nectar, pistachios, and ülker chocolate biscuits). in the couple of weeks that followed, i turned down my mother’s numerous offers of sesame-oil-ginger-chicken — instead, we did the rounds: mr close, lux foundry, arcadia…

surely this is as nourishing (and heaty!) as anything soused in ginger wine? behold the baked eggs at arcadia, on gertrude, which come with a 25-minute-wait warning. i picked the option with the lentils, and there must’ve been almost two cups in there, buried under the eggs, all salty and herby and crusty-topped. (the surface was all salty and stinky, from a layer of melty taleggio.) it tasted so deliciously of hearty good health that the sheer volume of lentils never got boring (the intermittent pieces of juicy celery helped).

this dish proved easy to eat with one hand, as the other hand occupied itself with the intricacies of breastfeeding. i ate every last pulse, and every last herby leaf from the sprig, and then rolled up the street to bask in the friday sunshine.