I remember leaving last year’s lunch feeling full in a way that had nothing to do with food.
It stayed with me for days, that quiet sense of being exactly where I was meant to be. I knew then I would come back to it.
If you weren’t around for the last one, I was six months pregnant at the time. Parts of the day were a little more challenging than usual, but even then, something about it held me in place. You can read it all about it here.
Now Nikki is nine months old. Life has taken on a different rhythm, fuller in its own way. Returning to this felt special, like stepping back into something that exists just outside of the everyday.
On the 26th of April, we gathered again.
A long table set between the olive trees at Kaiser’s Throne, above Corfu on the hills of Pelekas. It is a place that never really loses its impact. Guests arrive and often fall quiet for a moment, taking it all in.
I have never had a backup plan for this setting. I am not sure how you could ever replace it. I have always trusted that it would somehow come together, and this time felt no different. It rained across Corfu that day, and yet somehow, not here.
There is something about being there that invites everything to slow. It’s a rare privilege to sit at a table in this space, to share a meal suspended between land and sky.
Long before anyone arrives, the day has already begun.
Preparation starts early, every decision made with intention. These are the details people may not always see, but somehow they notice.
It always begins with the people.
Our team is small, and by the time the day arrives it feels less like work and more like family. There is something special in building something together like that, each person understanding not just what they are doing, but why.
Choosing the right chef is where it all begins.
Andrew Hindley felt like a natural fit. Someone I had followed for some time through his travels across the Ionian Islands and India, whose approach felt closely aligned with what I wanted to create. Rooted in place, thoughtful, honest.
His cooking carries a deep respect for the land and the people who work it. Supporting local farmers and producers, allowing the spring ingredients to speak in their own way. Nothing forced, nothing overcomplicated.
He joined us alongside his assistant, Fotini.
Together they created a menu that felt like a true reflection of Greece. A celebration of the season, taking inspiration from the blossoming life of Corfiot gardens.
The table itself was kept simple.
Wildflowers gathered locally, mixed with blooms from Rizos, my local florist. Citrus scattered gently along the linen. Nothing overdone, just enough to soften the space while allowing the surroundings to shine it’s glory.
Guests arrived to a saffron and cardamom lemonade, inspired by recent travels in India, where seasonal lemons met warm spice in a simple, refreshing way.
Alongside it, a small canapé of miso marinated beetroot with whipped feta, gently smoked just before serving. The kind of first bite that makes people pause.
From there, the meal unfolded slowly.
A series of mezze starters and buffet-style mains, paired with a local wine from Pontiglio. Dishes like confit leeks bruschetta with vegan cream cheese, spring tomato gazpacho and spiced cauliflower salad sat alongside traditional favourites such as sautéed horta, chargrilled artichokes and generous, indulgent dips.
Familiar faces and new ones sat side by side, sharing something that, for a few hours, felt removed from everything else.
We finished with portokalopita.
A traditional orange pie served with whipped yoghurt, wild berries and a lightly spiced syrup. A version Fotini gently reworked so it held all the warmth of the original, but with a lighter touch.
By the end, there was that same feeling again.
Not just satisfaction, but something deeper. A quiet fullness that lingers. The kind that stays with you for days.
And once again, I left knowing I would come back to it.
These lunches are always more than what’s on the table. They come together quietly, shaped by the place, the people, and everything that happens behind the scenes before slipping away again.
But somehow, they stay with you.
I hope to see you next year!
A special thank you to Sarah Dolder for stopping by and capturing some of these moments so beautifully.