Sometimes, of a drab, sink-coloured Tuesday or glooming Sunday evening with Monday sitting on its chest like a sleep paralysis demon, I want something stupid for dinner that reclaims a sense of whimsy from what’s left of the day. Food that in its odd vividness jolts you awake and reminds you that you’re alive and—somewhat—living in the moment. The sort of dish, like this ricotta, peas and greens on toast with black garlic that is potentially non-scalable because the more people you have to explain it to, the less likely you are to gain a consensus. But for yourself, as a droll supper, sidestepping the prosaic meat and three veg? Spectacular. The next night after this I had pasta, then noodles the night after that, but the day after that? I had this again and it felt as giddy as the first time.

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