It was fall and my fridge was groaning from the weight of the vegetables I’d been unable to resist at the farmers’ market.

2024 was a great year in my writing life. But I’ve got more to say!

Today’s column is inspired by the 1962 sketch comedy short film called Dinner for One or Der 90 Geburtstag. It’s must-watch New Year’s Eve TV in many countries, including Germany, where it was produced, but not in England, where it was first written for the stage.

I’m not the kind of person who has friends who own holiday properties overseas - just not the circles I run in. I am however the kind of person who is prepared to rely on others’ international holiday home connections! So when my friend Judy’s friend bought a flat in the village of Todi in Italy’s central province of Umbria, I knew one day I’d have to stay there.

In our early relationship, I tried to make a few Polish dishes but it became clear I was never going to achieve the cooking heights of Jack’s mother, a woman who irritated him in every way other than what she put on the table. Jack knew that if we were hosting Wigilia, it would be Polish-inspired and would satisfy the basic criteria— 12 meatless dishes, emphasizing fish and mushrooms.

Prague was full of street markets which are best explored carrying a cup of svarak - mulled wine stiffened with plum brandy. When you are tired to wandering or have overdone the svarak, you can go to a marionette show, which we did. Fascinating. We also found ourselves in front of a fun house mirror which stretched and squashed us, first inflating and then destroying our self esteem as it messed with our girths. And then we completely messed with our sense of reality by hitting the Salvador Dali museum. Topped it off with a Christmas concert in one of the stunning halls.

I can nearly feel my shoe on the accelerator of my nearly-new Toyota Echo, the wind rushing in the open window, blowing my already-greying hair, and me harmonizing with then-unknown Nelly Furtado. “I’m like a Bird, I want to fly away,” deliberately messing up Nelly’s lyrics, knowing I was doing just that in a few days.

I’m one minute away from the timer going off so I pull a pasta bowl and a colander. I test a piece of pasta - perfect. I drain and plate the pasta, pull the shrimp out, and then smother it all in veggie sauce. Oh who’s kidding whom - everything deserves cheese and I have that edible-but-not-all-that-terrific pre-grated parmesan just for such an occasion. I give it a healthy sprinkle, pour myself a glass of water, grab some cutlery and a napkin, and take a seat with my Netflix dinner companion. Voila!

It was March 1998, not the most appealing season to land first in Frankfurt to change planes and then in Istanbul. I arrived early morning in 12 degrees Celsius, warmer than the -5 I’d left behind but still not balmy. But the good news about going to a tourist destination in the off season is the streets are clear of travellers. At least it seemed like a good thing.