Conversations On Love
A conversation with Natasha Lunn, writer, editor and author of the blue-spined book everyone is reading, Conversations On Love
Food For Thought.
There is a book with a bright blue spine that has made its way into almost every conversation I have with friends. I’ve recommended it, quoted from it, re-read passages from it, found great solace in it; and at times deep discomfort. So is the nature of a book about love – or a book about how many people define it, for all its greatness and its difficulties. I spoke to the author and curator of Conversations On Love, Natasha Lunn, about the process of writing about something so vast and personal, and the meals and dishes that have brought her love over the years.
Why do you think our generation is so interested in dissecting the intricacies of love?
I don't think our generation is any more interested in love than other generations; humans have been fascinated with the subject for centuries. That seems very natural to me, because it is threaded through our lives, it's everywhere, and yet it is still so mysterious. It can be beautiful and boring, easy and complex, joyful and painful, all at the same time. What a thing to try at! I've certainly felt the deep joy and challenges that love requires, and the former makes me want to spend more time working on the latter. So more personally, I am fascinated by love because I understand how important it is, and how fragile it is, and I want to give it my best shot while I am lucky enough to be here.
Writing about love and discussing it with people must bring with it a dual reaction: one of hope but also reflection. In your book you beautifully apply these discoveries and learnings to your own experience – can you tell me a bit about that process and whether there were challenges in examining your own romances? Did you ever find yourself disagreeing with any of your learnings?
It was challenging for me to write the first section of my book, because I had always felt a lot of shame about the way I behaved in relationships in my teens and twenties. I was particularly embarrassed about staying in situations where the person I was seeing would never commit to a relationship (and I would never ask them to), or would be open about the fact that they didn't love me and I took whatever scraps of affection they were offering. That felt embarrassing at the time, and so I wasn't looking forward to returning to it (which is why I actually left that section to last). But when I did write about it I actually found a lot of compassion for that version of myself, who was just so desperate to be loved. It helped me see that I wasn't an awful, embarrassing person for losing myself in relationships. I was just someone who was very scared and afraid of being lonely. And actually, as I have found since, a lot of other people feel that way too! It was much easier to write the sustaining love and losing love sections, because I was writing them as I was living them, and I had so many of the details from my life I could use. Those parts felt urgent. I was asking the questions because I needed the answers at that moment in time. So the lessons I learnt in those conversations weren't challenging at all — they were a great comfort to me. When I felt lost, they kept bringing me love. I say in the conclusion that sometimes it felt like there was love in the conversations themselves: people were vulnerable and honest with me, I tried to know and understand them, and we tried to find meaning together. And it really did feel that way to me, which was unexpected.
Love is a never ending quest – what are you still learning about it as you move through different phases of it?
I am learning so much, all the time, and I know I always will be. The challenges change - one for me right now is trying to find time and energy to be a good friend and partner and not lose myself in motherhood - but the way we have to approach them doesn't really. It still comes back to consciousness. Not just moving through our relationships and lives on autopilot, but being conscious in them. That could mean asking ourselves questions about how we really feel, what we want, what we fear...and then telling the truth of those feelings to another person. It could be catching ourselves before we go too far into a fight, or noticing when we aren't really listening. Or it could be sensing when frustration or distance is seeping into a relationship and then actively seeking to break it down. All of these things require us to make daily conscious efforts in love, rather than just coasting through it, expecting it to always be there.
The past 18 months have been hard on those in and out of love. What has brought you comfort during this time?
Eating carbonara, drinking margaritas, listening to Taylor Swift and laughing with the people I love (especially with my brother Oliver, who still makes me laugh the most).
Is there a meal, dish or food memory that particularly recalls a feeling of love and romance (whether joyous or even perhaps a little painful)?
I first knew I was falling in love with my husband after eating a dodgy salami baguette at Lisbon airport. I started feeling sick on the train back to London after the flight home, then spent the next 24 hours vomiting out of my mouth and nose in front of him. He made a camp bed outside the loo and held my clammy hand through the night — and something shifted between us. It wasn't how I imagined I would fall in love, but actually, it was a wonderful way to learn to be vulnerable in front of someone, which was something I had struggled with so much in the past. So I am now very grateful for that perilous salami baguette! Although I've never eaten a sandwich from a counter in an airport since.
I often think of food and cooking as a great love – something that quietens my spinning thoughts or helps me recover from heartbreak, loss or sadness. Does this resonate? If so, how? And if not, what is it that gets you through the highs and lows of life?
I've only started to enjoy cooking in the last few years, probably because I'm not very good at it. It's much harder to relax into enjoying the things we struggle with I think! Today, in moments of sadness, I tend to always cook pasta. Probably - boringly - spaghetti bolognese! I treat myself to martelli pasta (my favourite). But I would say that if I think about food, more than something to help me through heartbreak, I see it as a big part of loving. My mum poured love into the sunday roasts she cooked for us as kids, and into the recipes she now emails me as an adult, even though I know it annoys her every time I ask for a step-by-step guide because she prefers winging it. And then I fell in love with my husband eating carbonara, I fell in love with my friend eating Polla ad astra in Pizza Express, and when I batch cook my daughter a Joe Wicks cod, spinach, pea and potato dish there is a whole lot of love in there too. In every relationship in my life, food has played a part in some way. It is a way of loving each other, and of commemorating the small, precious moments we share.
If love were a dish, what would that be for you?
Spaghetti carbonara.
You ask many of the people in your book and newsletter this question; but I’m interested to know your answer, especially after being immersed in the subject. What do you wish you’d known about love?
I wish I had known that learning to love doesn't mean learning to avoid every mistake, or rejection, or painful, boring, difficult part of your life's story. Because I did try to do that. And firstly, that's impossible! But more importantly, I now understand that love exists in the way we keep trying to show up for each other, and choose each other, even when things get difficult. Actually, a lot of my relationships now are richer because of all the ways worked to find a way back to each other when distance crept in. Because to love is to keep trying to reach each other. So now I am less afraid of the moments that require me to do that.
Thank you Natasha for answering my questions so beautifully. I obviously HUGELY recommend buying the book and reading it with a bowl of tomato confit and a piece of focaccia in the hot summer sun (whenever that comes).
Here's to those necessary, heartbreaking, beautiful and delicious conversations on love,
Cat x
Recipes-not-recipes™️
If summer love was an ingredient, it would be tomatoes. More specifically it would be tomatoes floating in olive oil, surrounded by sprigs of herbs, scattered chilli flakes and crystals of sea salt. Tomato confit is the perfect way of using up ripe tomatoes during their season and basically goes with anything. A crusty baguette to dip with; drizzled on top of creamy labneh; stirred through pasta or tossed in with a crunchy salad.
For 3-4 servings you'll need:
Four large plum tomatoes sliced into thick rounds
Two cherry tomato vines (or a punnet), halved
5-6 large garlic cloves (or more depending on your love of garlic), crushed and skins removed
1/2 shallot sliced lengthways
A few sprigs of herbs (like thyme, oregano, tarragon or rosemary)
A big pinch of red chilli flakes
An even bigger pinch of sea salt
A few twists of black pepper
Around 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
(1) Preheat the oven to 180ºC. (2) In either a high-sided, medium sized baking dish or a small dutch oven (I like to do mine in a smaller vessel so all the flavours collide more intensely), add your ingredients. (3) In terms of oil, I do enough so it just coats the tomatoes – there will be a lot of juice coming from them, so I don't think you need 'too' much as it sometimes distracts from the sweetness of the tomatoes. (4) Make sure the shallots and garlic cloves are nestled amongst the tomatoes and oil. (5)Once the oven is hot, place inside (I kept my lid on – but if you don't have one, no dramas) for about 2 hours. (6) Check every so oven to make sure it's all cooking evenly. (7) You'll know they're done when it's looking real jammy. (8) Leave it to rest for 15 minutes so it cools, then taste. (9) You might want to add a little salt, some lemon zest, more herbs or a little lemon juice. (10) I served mine with big hunks of sourdough one night; on a salad the next; and finally added to some sausage meat for an instant ragu vibe.
Leftovers.
You’ll never see my making a pie crust, but galette season makes me want to try.
A perfect summer sandwich: asparagus, egg, onion on baguette, via @tenderherbs.
I feel so Boomer when I watched cooking reels/TikToks, like this guy making a summer slaw.
I’m sorry but the tomato content will - not - stop.
I rewatched Chef last night and want Cubanos and this soundtrack forever.
A perfect tuna melt, IMHO.
Stir fry your green beans and eat them with rice and chilli oil.