The Fridge Incident
let me set the scene –
The year: early summer of 2017. The place: a small shed in south Cornwall. The characters: me, my best friend Becca and a fridge, who shall not be named.
The shed – which I’ll share more of in later newsletters – was a total dream by anyone’s standards. White wood walls, a greenhouse attached, allotment beds outside and a little wood burner in the corner. What it didn’t have was a fridge. So I found one on Facebook Marketplace. What could go wrong?
I drove my Volvo V70 station wagon (yes, you heard me) to Helston where I met the man who had sold me this fridge. I froze. I knew it was too big as he hauled it up the stairs; I knew it was too big as I helped him manoeuvre it through the door; I knew it was too big when it barely fit in my boot; I knew it was too big as I drove off unable to see out of my rear window. Why didn’t I just say, sorry kind sir but this fridge is not as small as I thought and it won’t POSSIBLY fit in my shed, thanks but no thanks? Couldn’t tell you.
Suffice to say: it barely fit through my door.
It stood in the doorway, a glaring reminder of my total inability to be self-sufficient. It represented everything I hated about myself at that time in my life: ugly, too big, unloved, and someone else’s leftovers. It sounds dramatic, but I was going through some serious lows that summer, and this felt like the nadir of my failings as a human.
I crumpled to the floor. I’d stopped crying at this point – there were no more tears left – and I lay there with my eyes wide open, taking small sips of air and wishing there was a way to quietly disappear into nothing. Hours must have passed before I heard my best friend Becca walk into the shed. I’d never let anyone see me like that, but by then I had no energy to pretend anymore.
To cut a long story short, my mate Becca is a trooper and got me up and offered to cook and I said no, I’ll make the risotto (even in those murky depths I was a control freak in the kitchen). I walked out to the garden to pick fresh peas, oregano and peppery radishes from the veg patch, came back inside and started.
Risotto requires your attention, from the constant stirring to making sure the rice has bite and doesn’t turn to mush. For an hour, my focus was solely fixed on making this one dish. And by the time I served it up from the pot, pieces of salty feta sitting in a pool of olive oil and coloured with the pink of the radishes and the spring green of the peas, I’d almost forgotten about the fridge.
Enough time has passed that I can laugh about this now. The fridge feels like nothing more than a ridiculous story, and actually what it signified is one of those small turning points where cooking became something to live for.
If you’ve got your own story like this, or you’re experiencing it now – I fully encourage you to cook something slow and methodical like a risotto. It won’t solve your problems, but it might help you forget about them for an hour or so.
Raising a glass to the friends (and food) that pick you up off the floor,
Cat x
(PS: shout out to Maddison Araceli who took that lovely 35mm shot of me in the shed doorway after a less depressing meal if I recall)
garden risotto.
Gather the following: 2-3 cups arborio or carnaroli rice (if you can find it carnaroli has more starch and generally makes a better risotto); 750ml homemade stock (I use this BA recipe because stock cubes make me so sad – plus, don’t tell me you don’t have the time right now); one white onion, diced; 1 cup of peas (at the beginning of pea season I’ll buy fresh peas in the pod because it’s a novelty, but frozen peas are excellent and much more bank account friendly); pancetta lardons (obv not for you veggies); the holy trinity (parm, lemons, extra virgin olive oil); a generous stick of butter (if you’re not vegan, naturally); fresh oregano (never dried for risotto I beg of you) or other fresh herbz you love; a bottle of white wine – a small glass for the risotto, the rest just for you. Optional: the salt of your sad, sad tears to taste.
Your mantra throughout this process is low and slow. (1) Heat a heavy based pot with a splash of olive oil and butter, if using. Literally what is a gram – I measure out two fingers of a stick of french butter (the one with the sea salt crystals which is great for cooking). (2) Keep the heat on low-medium and add the diced onion. Let it sweat for about 5-8 minutes, stirring it so it doesn’t stick. (3) Once it looks soft, add some black pepper then the lardons if using. Let the fat melt into the pot – keep it low.
(4) Next up add the rice. The word to think of here is g l o s s. You want to coat the rice in the buttery gloss of the onions, so it has this sexy little sheen not dissimilar to Glossier’s Futuredew on your cute face. (5) I like to turn the heat up just a little here, then add that splash of wine. Match with a heavy sip. (6) This is the important bit that you can’t rush even if you’re impatient like me and you just want to eat it already: ladle the stock in (or if you don’t have a ladle, pour it in small batches) and keep stirring. (7) After that first ladle, turn the heat back down to low. As soon as the rice looks like it’s absorbed the stock, add another ladle. (8) Keep adding and stirring until the consistency is right for you – I like mine to be real starchy and soupy, so I usually am going for about 30 minutes. The texture of the rice should have bite but be cooked all the way through. But it’s up to you how you like it.
(9) Add the peas right at the last minute (frozen will take less time to warm through, fresh a little longer). (10) Take it off the heat then add as much parm as you want, lemon zest (if you’re me) and a lot of black pepper. Be sparing with the salt, especially if you’ve got the lardons in there and if your stock is salty. Enjoy it in a bowl, or straight out of the pot, and remember that just like rice absorbs stock and goes from hard to soft, you take in your experiences - the good and the bad – and end up all the richer. And with bite.
Risotto Toppings:
Crumbled feta, fresh dill, fresh radishes, olive oil
Parmesan, lemon zest, fresh oregano
Roasted tomato dressing with feta
Buttery mushrooms with thyme and black pepper
food stories.
– I spoke to my wonderful friend Grace for her podcast miniseries 'Are You Coping?' about cooking during lockdown.
– For anyone else in mourning for Jolene, owner David Gingell’s pasta recipe for The Modern House is a beauty.
- Real into LPA founder Pia Baroncini's relationship with her husband and this video on how to cook pasta e fagioli
a few leftovers.
Alison Roman makes a case for tinned sardines and I like it
The Ottolenghi orzo recipe I make about once a week
Leon restaurants now delivering The Ginger Pig meat to your door, yes pls
Also Beigel Bake now delivering that salt beef vibe, yes pls some more
Felt quite inspired to make my own trofie pasta by 26 Grains (yet to do)
Wish I lived in South London for Brunswick House At Home
Priya Krishna's khichdi is a Sunday night staple (leftovers for breakfast)
some real bangers.
This noughties nostalgia playlist is for dancing around the kitchen and remembering a time when Christina Aguilera was the height of girl next door cool (pre-Dirrty obviously).
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