Every weekend, it was the same story: we would all pile into Granma’s small tenement, populate her living room and wait excitedly for the arrival of the biscuit tin. Always, her silhouette would appear through the frosted glass door with much more than just the biscuit tin. My favourite, the familiar wave of blue and orange Jaffa Cakes would appear, sometimes caramel logs, often chocolate Jeffers. All would be piled up to Granma’s chin as she shuffled in from the scullery to shower us with treats.

Sophie Glover paints and draws, from vases full of flowers to chefs in the kitchen preparing food. She illustrates the pages between the covers of Vogue to the wine labels of TROUPE.

7:30pm on a breezy September evening in Conegliano, mosquitoes viciously destroy my legs. Thirty minutes have passed since Luigi said he'd pick me up and there's no one around. I don't have his number; so I wait, tired, impossibly itchy, and digestively strained from three days of dining overload. Just hours earlier, it became clear my two fellow press trip companions were going home. Their past few days' reference to "our last day" was true for them.

Tucked away on the east side of Glasgow, Celentano’s is more than just a restaurant—it’s a place built on the joy of gathering. Italian-inspired, yet deeply rooted in local Scottish produce, Celentano’s brings people together over wholesome, seasonal dishes served in a casual yet refined setting. With a strong focus on sustainability and a shared love for simple, delicious food, the restaurant has quietly gained recognition from the Michelin Guide, a testament to its thoughtful, ingredient-led approach.

I’ll set the scene. You’ve been on a few dates with a new love interest. They suggest a dinner at their place for your next round of courting. “I’ll bring the wine,” you enthusiastically blurt out completely unprompted. You panic. Why did you suggest that? Your wine knowledge is average at best, and you really want to impress this new potential life partner.

When I was growing up I was always told that if you made something for someone, it was that little bit more special than if you had bought it. I’m sure this was an attempt to impart the lesson of “it’s the thought that counts” but it didn’t really take root until I was in my mid twenties and bartending full time. I wasn’t particularly artistic in the traditional sense, and for the longest time I felt I had nothing to offer in the way of sincere, thoughtful, personal gifts or gestures for the people I cared about.