The late food historian Gillian Riley is the inspiration behind this thrifty yet moreish supper

It just so happened that I was back in London a few weeks ago, so I could attend a bash to commemorate and celebrate the life of food historian and typographer Gillian Riley. It was a beautiful, lively occasion organised by Gillian’s family and friends, and held at Room 71-73 in north London, just a few streets from the house she and her partner, James, lived and worked in so prolifically for many years. There was food, of course, and much of it – a half-wheel of parmesan and fanned plates of prosciutto and salami – from the local delicatessen, to which Gillian was a devoted customer. Wine flowed, too, thanks to The Little Wine Shop, also around the corner and another place to which Gillian and James were as devoted as the staff were to them: their last delivery arrived just a few weeks before Gillian died last year, aged 90.

Gillian’s sister, Joanna, spoke about their early life growing up in North Yorkshire and how Gillian was always a “greedy” girl. Gillian’s niece, Esther, remembered the colour, texture, tastes and possibilities that Aunty Gill brought into her life. Others then participated in a lively pass-the-mic: colleagues from the worlds of typography and publishing, some of whom had once been her students, as well as friends and collaborators from the worlds of translation, academia, art and food writing. The stories and memories were eclectic, but they all had one thing in common: the invitations to lunch and dinner. Everyone there, it seemed, had enjoyed (often countless times) Gillian’s hospitable good cooking: meals she would shop for locally or in Chinatown, prepare with precision and glee, and share, while also discussing the next meal.