It was shirtsleeves weather last Easter. We had lunch on the lawn at my parents’ house in the country, sitting at an old table with a striped cloth, on rickety benches still cobwebby from their winter in the shed. We basked in the gentle warmth, eating, drinking and smiling at the daisies in the grass. It was as close to perfection as meal times get: three generations lost in the happiness of food and sunshine.

I’m hoping it’s like that with you - if not the weather, then at least the mood. I’m a huge fan of a leisurely lunch - no stress, no ceremony, just laughter and contented eating. I tend to go for a slow-cooking roast that can be left to do its own thing in the oven while I get on with the sociable business of talking and drinking. It’s the sort of dish that hedges its bets with the weather, and when it’s done, you just put it on the table with a bowl of leaves and tell people to dive in. Add a basic pud - and maybe a bit of bread and cheese - and you have a hassle-free lunch that’s full of the joys of spring.

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