Sunday Lunch at the Harbour Inn: One long table, every week, whoever the tide brings

Harriet Combe

You settle into a worn wooden chair at the Harbour Inn, where every Sunday a long table fills with whoever the tide brings. Agnes Loch reads in a voice like weathered rope and warm tea, guiding you through steam rising from shared bowls, salt crusting the windows, and bread kneaded slowly between stories. You will walk the headland with strangers who become familiar, gather herbs from stone walls, and feel the particular hush of a room where no one eats alone. Harriet Combe writes each chapter as a single breath: the door opening, the tide turning, something warm placed in front of you. Pull up a chair. The table is already set.