Easter eating

By happy accident I mis-typed 'Easter' as 'Eater'. Less seasonal, but just as appropriate.

I love spending Easter with my family but, with the aim of taking it easy, decided to holiday in London. In order to make the most of our location, we plan to eat in a local establishment at least once a month: cue Andrew Edmonds (Lexington Street, no website) on Maundy Thursday. A mellow atmosphere, we ate well and enjoyed watching an eatery which was clearly so well-established that it leaned twoards the old school of charm - that which can turn new custom away brusquely, when not needed.

Good Friday saw us take Boris Bikes (or Barclays bikes, as they are properly known) to London Bridge. The cycling was fine, but after 25 minutes of scouring every last street for a bike station to leave our bikes, I was largely fuming. Happily we were there for Borough Market and a brisk round the vegetables, picking the most pillowy cauliflower, muddiest Jersey potatoes and most sexy asparagus spears, soon chilled us out again.

On Easter Saturday we lunched on asparagus - steamed, butter slid over - and also chicken liver pate and crackers. We drank a half bottle of Domaines Ott Bandol rose (2008) from the wonderful Philglas and Swiggot. Supper was roast poussin (rubbed about with garlic and chilli) and fennel salad - raw, sliced thinly with lime juice, oil and perhaps a little mint.

Breakfast on Easter day was somewhat shoddily carried out, but the idea was so very lovely that I forgive myself. A soft-boiled egg sitting on toast, pulled open to let the yolk run, in which to dip steamed, buttered asparagus. I must admit that technically I broke my fast with a cup of tea in bed and some ver elegant Prestat chocolates from the gent.

That evening we roasted a half-shoulder of lamb. Recipes varied in advice, from high heat for 1 hour, to slow-cooking for 4 hours: it didn't help with the decision on how to cook it, but it did make me relax as it looked hard to get wrong! I scored the fat on top, pushed garlic slivers into little stabs, and perched the joint atop halved parsnips. Two hours at a high-ish temperature rendered it perfect, and the parsnips soggy/crispy in the most heart-fluttering way. Minted new potatoes and broccoli filled the rest of the plate. It was terribly simple but we could have eaten it twice over. Actually, we did that too...

I am trying for brevity here, but may I just add how surprisingly decent the cold lamb was the next day, with the mint potatoes now transformed into potato salad, with a few crisp leaves?