âJohn had a voracious appetite, which comes as a surprise to many people. We had a tradition every Sunday: At 11:00 A.M. Iâd come in with The New York Times, some of the British papers, and coffee (he gave up tea in America because it was decidedly British. Heâd say âWhen in RomeâŚâ). I would make a big English breakfast of bacon and eggs, beans on toast with tomatoes, chips, and sometimes black pudding, after I discovered a local Irish butcher who carried it. (Cynthia Lennon once tried to smuggle some in for us, but it was confiscated.) John was over the moon about it. I didnât know how to cook it at first, so I asked John, who said âJust fry it up.â Those sausages really stunk up the kitchen, but he loved them.
John also loved Chinese food â especially my momâs. When we were in New York, she would always bring us her specialty: fried rice and spare ribs. As unconventional as John was, he was also old-fashioned. Because of the nature of our relationship, John felt uneasy about meeting my mom. He never did meet her, which he later regretted. He would literally hide behind the door until she left. Of course, he had no problem inhaling the food she brought. Here he is enjoying his favorite hot & sour soup.â
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