​I​ find meaning and delight in the everyday art of good food

Every morning, my wife Sarit or I will get up, go downstairs, make coffee (and, depending on the energy levels, sometimes breakfast, too), bring it upstairs and get back into bed. The smell of the coffee fills the bedroom, light comes through the window and, at this time of year, the tree in front of our home comes to life in the most electric green. It’s a precious pause before the day proper begins. And, whatever the day will bring with it, we’ve already had a moment of pure joy.

In the life of a restaurateur, it’s easy to forget that this is what the job is all about. Not service, not precision knife skills, but joy – bringing a little more of it into the world, although it doesn’t always feel that way. Not when you’re a dozen checks deep and running low on prep. Or when a neighbour is shouting down the phone. Or someone’s made off with the soap dispenser in the loo. Again. But joy has a way of creeping in regardless, especially at this time of year, when people are back sitting outside, sun-starved and soaking up the first warmth of spring. When you cycle home and it’s still light outside. When the veg delivery arrives with something green and hopeful that you want to cook in a million different ways, and you think, yes, this is what we’re here for.

Every day brings at least three opportunities for joy – namely, breakfast, lunch and dinner (and let’s not forget the quiet triumphs of the mid-morning snack or pre-dinner nibble). We’ve got those covered. But what about the hours in between?

This month, we’re launching a little side project just across the road from our restaurant Honey & Co on Lamb’s Conduit Street in central London, in the form of a new studio. It’s a space for small things that can’t happen in a dining room but still feed the soul. Ever made a clay pinch pot? Tried life drawing? Joined a book club? We’ll be doing all of those, and more. Talks about lemons. Fermentation workshops. Lino prints and kombucha and whatever else brings that particular kind of quiet, happy satisfaction.

Is it indulgent? Maybe. But it feels necessary. What with the headlines the way they are right now – wars, tariffs, elections, the cost of living, who will be the next pope, is anyone really ready for Cate Blanchett’s retirement? It’s tempting to give in to the weight of it all, but then something small happens, like a bowl of hummus that tastes just right, or a perfect tomato, and you remember that joy helps you stay in the fight. It fortifies.

Speaking of hummus, we recently tasted a frankly disturbing number of supermarket tubs so you don’t have to. Some were lovely. Others were shamefully poor. You can read the results of our taste test in Feast later this month, but in the meantime, try making your own (and we really do recommend it). Here are a few brilliant recipes to get you started, from Felicity Cloake’s perfect hummus to Yotam Ottolenghi’s sabih-inspired take and Yasmin Khan’s classic Palestinian version.

Wishing you all joy, both at the table and beyond.

Spring pickings | There is never a bad time to go to Trullo in Islington, north London. The place is 15 this year, which for a restaurant is an eternity (restaurant years are like dog years!), but we make sure we go there at least once every spring, because the clean flavours of the new season’s produce require Trullo’s gentle, restrained hand. A recent visit did not disappoint – this place never does – so if you can, go before the season ends, if only for the vignole, or spring vegetable stew. And if you can’t make it there in person, Rachel Roddy’s recipe will see you through.

A library of ideas | The British Library’s annual food season, which runs until early June, is a buffet of delicious events. There is just so much of it, but look out especially for its Big Weekend at the end of this month, exploring food from eastern Europe, China, the US and Mexico, and a whole lot else besides, with panels featuring everyone from Olia Hercules and pie king Calum Franklin to Guardian columnists Felicity Cloake and Thomasina Miers.

Tins can only get better | Sea Sisters is the kind of project we fall hard for. It’s a business that was born out of road trips through southern Europe, late-night meals featuring tinned seafood and bread, and two people who really, really love good fish. Charlotte Dawe and Angus Cowen have turned that love into a tiny British cannery that makes conservas to rival anything you can get from Spain or Portugal. This stuff is far more than mere sandwich filler. Instead, the likes of Cornish hake with rosemary and capers, and whelks in kimchi sauce are bold, bright and deeply delicious. This is proper food, and real luxury, made with care and curiosity. Once you try some, your kitchen cupboard won’t feel complete without a tin or two inside.

The Lavery, London | An elegant restaurant for grownups, this place nestled in South Kensington has great clean dishes for a fraction of the price of nearby rivals. There is something special happening here and it is well worth a visit, just don’t take the kids. Read the full review.