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We have learnt to cook and now we're having fun winging it
I bought a turbot. He was mottled grey, large and handsome, and so expensive that my knees buckled—wallet quavering—at the cash register. For dinner he was very fine, roasted with lemon and dressed with a cockle buerre blanc. He fed four of us fat and happy, with nothing more than boiled potatoes and peas and lettuce on the side.
When the guests had gone I took up a half-finished glass of wine, put on Radio 4 and went…
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