There is no cooking here, only composition. The work is in the choosing, and then in the placing, and the placing is mostly instinct. A creamy cheese in one corner, something hard and aged in another. A fold of prosciutto. A small spoon of olive spread. The hand finds the rhythm quickly.
Anchor the board with the cheeses, spaced like islands. Drape the salumi in loose folds. Fill the open spaces with fruit and nuts and whatever looked most alive at the market that morning. The board is finished when it reads as generous, never arranged. Then a candle, something cold to pour, and the table takes over.




