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Our hydrangeas bring all the boys to the yard...


According to yesterday's Guardian, If Kelis had to chose her last meal, this would be it - and if I had to choose my own last meal it would probably include a gorgeous pastel hydrangea against an inky black wall too - well done uber stylist Sania Pell for creating the most stylish sandwich backdrop we've ever seen! 
Kelis's Last Bites...
This is hard. I’d probably have to have some kind of sandwich for my last meal. Maybe with some smelly cheese. Some spicy mustard. Really good bread. Avocado. Mayo.

Of all the stuff I make, I love a sandwich. It’s an American thing, I guess – simple, easy, and so good if you use great ingredients. I cook so much complicated stuff that a straightforward sandwich often really hits the spot. I’m always making sauces and intensely technical stuff. By the time I’m done cooking, I just want to order pizza. Or make a sandwich.

I’d probably have soup with it. Nothing like a soup and a sandwich together. A split-pea soup – again, very American – with my homemade potato chips, which I cut super-thin on a mandolin.

It would be in my house. It’s a 1920s Mediterranean place and it’s been a serious work-in-progress, a project. I’ve just put everything I want there: a pool in the backyard, a beautiful kitchen with a black-and-white chequered floor, two massive refrigerators and huge countertops.

OK, to drink. A ginger beer, or a good beer. I’ve become a member of a monthly beer club. Some I hate, and some are amazing. Basically I never buy beer any more, I just get a bunch of new ones delivered. Sometimes not having the choice pushes you to try new things.

I make these chocolate chip potato chip cookies. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but it actually makes all the sense in the world. They’re salty, sweet, crunchy, chewy and soft – everything your mouth wants.

I’d be with my husband and my son, Knight. He loves cornbread and mac and cheese – as every six-year-old does. Maybe we’d have some of each for him.

We’d have to have some jazz. Here’s a funny story: whenever I put music on, my son asks what it is, and I always say “jazz”. So now he thinks that jazz is a person. The other day he said: “Hey Mom, let’s listen to Jazz. I love that guy.”