Everything I Don't Know About Love
like how does it arrive –
so suddenly, on a bike at 10pm on the second to last night of August? Standing under a streetlight in the middle of the road. Walking next to me in a town I once lived in, down a road I once lived on. How does it creep up on me in the soft silver morning light, in the velvet river I always swam alone in? How does it not just skim the water, but go deep beneath the surface, as I watch without realising? How does it not just hit you, but instead slowly, steadily seeps into you?
Before then, everything I knew about "love" was not love. I thought "love" was burning heat; like the most exotic dish you've always longed to try in a distant land. Before then, "love" was not comforting. It made me sick. And then I did it all over again. Because... "love", right?
No. Love is the meal you've eaten your whole life just done in a different way. And it tastes better. Love is the comfort and the fear. Love is what I had been pushing away my whole life – the roast dinners I thought I didn't like; the part of my heritage I suppressed; the big, expansive, everything-ness of me that I had always tried to make smaller.
Love is held in a rice bowl, sticky, salty, familiar but always different every time. Love is the coffee you drink everyday that you never used to until you discovered its taste is what wakes you up in the morning. Love is practising that dish because you can't just do it once and let it sit in the back of your mind. And each time you cook it, each time you taste it, each time you relax into it, it holds you.
So, perhaps, everything I don't know about love is also everything I am learning about it. That it comes from the inside and out. That it isn't hunger, it's fullness. It isn't burning heat, it's warmth. It isn't the thing you make, it's making itself.
Here's to love (and "love", because we all have to learn) and all the things we don't know about it,
Cat x
underfloor-heating brothy pasta.
When the temp drops below 0º and that cute snow you frolicked in a few weeks ago turns into a mean, slippery, danger-zone kind of ice, I am glad that I've spent the winter stocking up on insulation levels through countless roast chickens, sticks of butter, boxes of pasta and mountains of cheese. Like a bear hibernating until spring emerges (without the luxury of sleeping for four months because you know, rent) I'm ready for this – but weather gods, would it kill you to give us a hot girl winter? – especially when armed with soft ears of pasta floating in a chickeny broth, studded with peas and showered with lemon zest, parm and fresher than fresh parsley.
This is the kind of pasta that makes you feel like your body has underfloor-heating (I guess it does... like your entire organ system? Not a science girl).
I won't lie, this is less a recipe and more a collection of leftovers thrown together. I used orecchiette (the durum wheat kind bought at a fancy Italian deli that I NEVER cook properly because it takes like 5 minutes longer than normal pasta, which is how this 'recipe' emerged), that I had made the night before, simply boiled (go for al dente bc it will be cooked again in the broth), drained, mixed with a splash of the pasta water, peas then a load of lemon zest and parm added on top. Loads of salt + peps. I chewed on the slightly undercooked pasta while watching the final episode of season 2 You (for the third time), drinking red wine that was in my cupboard from definitely three months ago.
Measurements? I measured out enough pasta to fill a cereal bowl and that gave me two meals, and as for the pasta water, usually I save a mug and only use 1/4 when it's just me. Peas, just loads because they get stuck in the little ears and are lovely and fresh. Lemon zest and parm: go with your gut. Feel free to add a little slice of butter to the pasta for that glossy sheen too.
So, you can either make this the night before and use the leftovers fresh, but the vibe is basically buttery, lemony, parmy pasta but make it brothy.
I HIGHLY recommend just always having a jar of stock in your freezer and fridge, whether that's chicken or veg. I have no real recipe (obviously) for stock apart from I chuck every type of veg (plus chicken bones, veggies ignore) in a pot with water, salt, chilli flakes, whole peppercorns, a head of garlic chopped off, sometimes some leftover lemons from the chicken (veggies ignore), herb stalks that I've kept in the freezer (because why would you throw them away!?) and I bring it to a simmer then let it rumble under a lid for at least 2 hours.
ANYWAY, basically I added some chicken stock to the pasta (enough so the pasta is coated but not so it's drowning, would recommend a higher pasta to broth ratio; I spooned in about 3-4 tbsp), a pinch of chilli flakes and put a lid on and let it all come together. I added a little more pasta water for those emulsion vibes, and by the time it was done (about 5 mins), my orecchiette was perfectly cooked. I added more lemon zest and parm and tore off some super fresh parsley leaves.
Apols that this isn't a 'real recipe', but by now you've probably guessed that I'm not a 'real recipe writer', so hoping you'll all just find this quite easy and relatable and will eat this brothy pasta listening to Sofia Coppola's Valentine's playlist like I plan on doing again quite soon?
food for thought.
– This piece on Grub Street which explores how COVID has accelerated a fight against food deserts ("neighbourhoods in which residents have a difficult time finding healthy and affordable food, including vegetables and fruit"), which is really important for us to understand, especially if you (like me) have the privilege of living somewhere/being able to afford healthy food.
– Happy Lunar New Year! May you celebrate with many dumplings and also a read of this Vittles piece, Comfort Me With Chopsticks by Brian Ng. While you're at it, please educate yourselves on the recent spate of violence against Asian elders (this has been particularly visible in America) and remember to continue to support Asian (and all POC-owned) businesses.
– I've been spending my lunchtimes reading essays from Daunt's collection, In The Kitchen, and have found such comfort in the words of writers like Daisy Johnson and cooks like Rachel Alice Roddy.
leftovers.
– Anja Dunk realising all my desires with this bubbling lasagne + fresh flowers on the table
– Might need to ask George Reynolds to share this "nduja and fried radicchio grumulo orzotto baked thingy"
– Next on the list of recipe books is Today's Special which a) looks v aesthetically pleasing and b) highlights the new, rising stars of food
– Just waiting for tomato season and dreaming of these Midnight Roma toms, c/o chef Dan Barber
– This print needs to be on my wall: I'm Staying Home & Eating Spaghetti For The Foreseeable Future
– When I next get another order of hand-dived scallops from the legends at Pesky Fish (they're cutting the middle man, helping fisherman deliver their catch to every buyer in the chain), I'll be making this dish
– And can we just appreciate this 👇🏽illustration by Karl-Joel Larsson. I'd call it sad girl lemon and I am very into it.
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!