“That mad woman, believe it or not, was me”

CLOSE your eyes and picture this.

Actually, you’ll need to open them back up to find out what to picture. Ready? Good. A big city street on a hot Friday night — cabs beeping, drunks hollering, stall-holders leaning on their sweeping brushes, and a mad woman running through the lot — scattering pigeons and bowler-hatted businessmen in her wake.

That mad woman, believe it or not, was me. Me, known throughout the land as a graceful woman, a calm woman and — less relevant to this occasion but worth mentioning — a woman with a great new recipe for kedgeree.