The crab claws arrive arranged in a flower and seasoned with garlic. He holds one up to my face. ‘Have one,’ he tells me. ‘Go on.’ I look at the crab claw and I look at the delicate hairs on his arms. I think about my dinners in London; sad bowls of lentils and chickpeas seasoned with vegetable stock. I want to learn abundance; how to have things without fear.
