MY LIFE AS A FOODIE
DOCTOR’S
ORDERS
Charity Keita is not a happy
bunny during her romantic
getaway to the coast
T
here is one kind of wine I
really hate. In fact, I despise
it so much that I feel forced
to dedicate an entire
column to its horrid nature.
The wine I hate is not the predictable
sweet chardonnay, sweet rose or
sweet anything for that matter
(although I do find them all pretty
darn foul). The wine I despise is
that which I am not allowed to drink
when I am on a relaxing holiday by
the beach.
I suppose I should explain myself.
At the time of writing, I am sitting on
a Lamu day bed under a breezy fan.
The Malindi sun is shining brightly
and Luan has just dived into the cute
little kidney-shaped pool that comes
with the cottage we have rented. A
light lunch of deconstructed nicoise
salad has recently been consumed.
“So what’s the problem?” I hear you
ask. The problem, my dear readers,
is that I had come this way