The thing that pulls it all together. A jug of warmth poured over roast potatoes, soft bread, or whatever’s left from the week. Gravy doesn’t ask for much—just the scraps from the pan, a splash of stock, maybe a drop of wine if there’s any open, and time.
Stirring it gently, watching it thicken, there’s a kind of calm in the making. It’s not just sauce—it’s memory, flavour, and the quiet satisfaction of using every bit.
Serve it hot. Pour it generously. Let it soften the edges of the day.
