On a lazy Sunday morning, I wake up to find Nathaniel Lewis standing at my bedside holding a breakfast tray. There’s my favourite winter white mug etched with snowflakes, and the nutty fragrance of the Nespresso coffee filling the room. On a dark blue and pink floral plate there’s a freshly baked croissant with a dish of butter and raspberry jam. And on the centre of the tray is a generous bowl of Greek yogurt drizzled with honey. I can tell immediately that it’s the real thing–not the stuff that passes for Greek yogurt here in North America with all…