The thigh, without the glaze

Cod had been the spend, and it was time to stop pretending every week could afford white fish. Thighs came back. Two pounds, skin side down, lemon at the end.

The sweet potato stayed, because the bin was full. The maple did not. Half-moons, skin on, oil and salt, in the pan before the chicken. Collards at the last two minutes. A glazed harvest bowl is a dessert with a protein on top. This was not that.

Breakfast was a leek cooked low until it went sweet, then eggs in the same fat. Pomegranate seeds sat beside the plate on the mornings that wanted fruit. The juice stayed on the shelf. Seeds you chew. Juice is the sugar with the work removed.

Carrots browned at the edges, chickpeas folded in, parsley and lemon off the heat. No tahini-honey. The week lived on those pans. It is in the archive now, still cookable, no longer the list.