I decide to stop saving the broad beans for some special occasion and pop every single one out of its pod and briefly into boling water, until their rubbery outer jackets can be slipped off to reveal their tender glorious green. One by one, they collect in the blue glass bowl, waiting to be dressed and decorated with salt and pepper and olive oil, and pale curls of percorino, like shavings of the moon.
And even though it is only an ordinary day of the week we eat lunch outside, with a cool glass of wine, longing for an umbrella, or a canopy of flowers over our heads.
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