The Last Bite Is The Greatest
this is an ode to –
one of the greatest and perhaps most underrated parts of a meal. The Last Bite. Usually everyone waxes lyrical about the first bite of a taste sensation, and perhaps the crescendo of flavour that builds as you go on. But rarely do we take a moment to truly appreciate the greatness that is The Last Bite.
When done right, The Last Bite (note how I'm title-casing it to give it the majestic quality it deserves) is a heartfelt farewell to an old friend; the last words whispered to a lover before they fall asleep; the final shot of your favourite film before the credits roll; or even the triumphant parting from a toxic ex. While TLB has a strong contender in TFB (The First Bite), there's just something more romantic about saying goodbye.
When I think of TLB, I think of roast chicken sweeping up garlic-studded parsley butter and the remaining crispy edges of roast potatoes; of silken pasta gliding over the last of the ragu; of fried rice finding the final piece of pancetta along with the spicy remnants of kimchi; of creamy mashed potato searching for the last drop of gravy like someone living alone in lockdown thirsty for touch.
My boyfriend Andy is the true master of The Last Bite. It's because of him that I've really come to know and appreciate the crucial role it plays. I've often caught him pre-Last Bite, his plate empty, fork laden with all the best bits and a smile as he wolfs it down. There's nothing more satisfying than someone voraciously enjoying a meal you've prepared. I think they should probably add The Last Bite to the Love Languages – to me it's more validating than words of affirmation.
All this is to say: take pleasure in these simple moments. The Last Bite is just an allegory for bringing total joy into every moment. Savour the sunset; revel in the last few moments of being outside on your daily walk; soak up every last minute of walking with friends; indulge in the final words of a favourite book or song; notice how The Last Bite makes you feel. It all matters.
Here's to The Last Bites and the happiness they bring us.
Cat x
"somebody give these chickpeas a braise"
If you've read SNOA before, you'll know that I love Navarrico chickpeas and think very little of those little hard things that come in tins. So I was skeptical when I saw someone waxing lyrical about braised chickpeas that came from a can. But I'll try anything once (this is wholly untrue – although I did try this particular thing). And as ever, I didn't follow the recipe so this one is a little SNOA spinoff! It's one of those, what-have-I-got-left-in-my-fridge situations. The OG recipe called for onions, but I say, whatever onions can do, shallots can do better. I also had some leftover leek to use up, plus a bulb of fennel that I had intended to slice into salads, but winter weather didn't allow for it. The key is to get maximum flavour out of the alliums when you're pan-frying them, so they can get all up in the chickpeas when heating up in the oven. Salt is essential (the flaky kind) and plenty of spices.
2 cans of chickpeas, drained
3 medium shallots, halved lengthways then thinly sliced lengthways too
1 leek – the white part sliced into rounds (use the rest in a stock)
1 tsp chilli flakes
1 lemon thinly sliced into rounds
1/2 tsp fennel (ground from seeds)
1 tbsp capers (not essential but when cooked they bring a certain briny, salty tartness)
1/2 tbsp smoked paprika
175 ml olive oil (I used extra v bc I bought a 3 litre can from Sainos and how else am I going to use that up?)
Salt + pepper
To Serve:
1 small fennel bulb, bottom cut off and thinly sliced
Feta (who am I to judge how much salty goodness you use?)
Fresh bread/rice/pearl barley (I used black rice because it was in my cupboard)
Preheat the oven to 220ºC. Pour a splash of the olive oil to a large, heavy bottomed pan (I used one with a lid) on medium heat, and add the chilli flakes, fennel, shallots and leeks. Mix with a spatula and pop the lid on so they start to sweat (give it five mins). Season with a generous amount of salt and a few twists of black pepper. Take off the heat, then add the drained chickpeas, paprika, lemon slices, capers and olive oil. Mix thoroughly so the paprika is evenly distributed and pop in the oven for about 40-45 minutes, lid on. If you don't have a lid, you can cover with tin foil (just make sure it's well-sealed).
Once it's out, mix it together again, taste to check for seasoning – it might need more salt, or a little lemon juice. Add large studs of feta, chopped herbs and top with dollops of greek yoghurt. If you're eating with bread, don't bother with plates. Imagine the bread is you in a heat wave and the olive oil is the Atlantic ocean. Dive in. And don't forget to eat the lemon rinds. They taste like preserved lemons and give the whole dish an I'm-sunbathing-outside-my-Moroccan-riad kind of vibe, which we could all use with right now.
food stories.
– I loved this piece on Tiny Kitchens by Bee Wilson for Miranda York's publication At The Table – it spoke to my own experience of living in the shed and GOD I MISS IT.
– Jimi Famurewa, former restaurant critic for ES Magazine, is hosting a new podcast called Life On A Plate for Waitrose which is a delightful listen.
– If you haven't signed up to Sophie Davidson's newsletter, Women Cook For Me, you should – her latest, with Lulu Cox, is a dream to read.
– And like everyone else, I've been watching Fran Lebowitz/Martin Scorsese's "Pretend It's A City" and also reading this piece about her on The New Yorker. Oh to be in New York drinking a martini with Fran.
leftovers.
– My university pal Jess Tatham is a rad cook with a rad brand (called rad.ish) and is doing a cookalong next Thursday serving up crispy chicken thighs
– Really into these Greek lemon potatoes
– Was v much influenced by Emma Hughes to make sausage, mash and braised red cabbage this week
– Also by Miranda York to braise onions, fennel and sausages (braising is a real theme)
– This is the benchmark for a salmon and cream cheese bagel – it's optimum filling to bread ratio
before you go.
Obviously in more normal times, I'd suggest going for an IRL coffee (or more likely, a martini). But if you like what you're reading and want to support my writing, I've set up a Ko-Fi account.
and if you like what I'm putting down?
Tell your friends! Tell your family! Tell your lovers!