Metro NZ

Romantic Lil

We didn’t want any bread, but then we saw it. Puffed up, it looked like gigantic Indian puris with black blistering from the wood fire. A trail of olive oil had been drizzled onto the plate. “Hmm,” I mused, “let’s have some bread.”

At 6pm, our table at Lilian was sun dappled, rays casting the shadow of my wine

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