Food For Thought.
This is how I felt about writing this week's newsletter at 10 o'clock this morning. I did everything I could to not write it (watered my plants, put on a wash, hoovered my flat, meticulously cleaned my laptop screen and keyboard).
"I don't want to write" has been a common theme and can often be twisted in my mind as "I can't write". It's a similar creative block which inspires "I don't want to cook" and can extend to "I don't want to go out" or "I don't want to speak to anyone".
I couldn't think of a good story or food-related nostalgia to write about today; which made me feel like I'd run out of steam. I began to fear that 'writing about food' has become overdone and cliché as it seems like every book/tv series/film I consume has a character who is a food writer (I've been watching On The Verge on Netflix and fear I may turn out like Julie Delpy's character. But less French). I started this newsletter as a way of keeping these food memories alive, and although these should be endless – seeing as we eat food everyday – there's a strange pressure when you write about them that every moment should be note-worthy and translated into a beautiful script.
At the risk of repeating myself, the sentiment of last week's newsletter (not cooking) is still very much alive. I don't know if it's the weather (I'm all for an extended summer, but heatwaves are like those toxic exes who come back into your life for a brief hot moment and disappear just as suddenly; I'm more about that constant, steady relationship with the sun), but it just doesn't feel like the time or environment to cook. Perhaps I'm just uninspired.
This week instead of cooking, I've been seeing friends and eating in restaurants and falling asleep early with the lights still on. The last meal I cooked was a pile of pasta shapes tossed through with the lemon chicken my mum made and a few crumbled pieces of chorizo, which when heated, formed a salty, spicy, lemony sauce. We ate it on Monday at 6pm, when the air was still thick with heat. I packed a Tupperware of leftovers for him to eat on the train and waved him off at Euston at 9pm. He's hiking in Scotland this week and the last time we spoke was Tuesday (I thought it might have just been a myth that there is no signal in the Highlands, but it turns out the rumours are true). Perhaps my cooking is missing him, too.
Sometimes "I don't want to" is actually "I don't know where to start". And just like with cooking, not knowing where to start is usually cured by just... starting.
Recipes-not-recipes™️
These lentils are kind of a life saver when you seriously cba to cook but vehemently don’t want to order take out or eat toast for dinner.
You’ll need:
1 cup puy lentils
2 cups water
1 stock pot
1 carrot, finely diced
1 celery stick, finely diced
1/2 shallot, finely diced
3 garlic cloves, finely diced
1 tbsp dijon mustard
1 tbsp wholegrain mustard
2/3 tbsp good quality crème fraîche
Small knob of butter
Fresh parsley + chives, finely chopped
salt and peps to taste
(1) Sweat the carrot, celery, shallot and garlic cloves in the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pan on medium heat. (2) Once they begin to soften, add the lentils, water and stock pot and turn up the heat so they come to a boil – (3) then turn it down to let them simmer. (4) Pop on the lid and leave on low/medium for about 30 minutes. Take the lid off and check the lentils. They might need more time – but you want them to still have a little bite. You could add more water if you need to. (5) Once cooked, take off the heat and stir through the mustard, crème fraîche and herbs.
You could eat them in a bowl with a big hunk of bread, serve them with sausage or roast chicken. Either way, a large glass of French wine is strongly encouraged.
Leftovers.
I went to Little Duck the other day and am now determined to make gnudi.
Like every other literary millennial woman, I’m reading Sally Rooney’s new novel and this review of her previous work from NYRB.
I’ve become obsessed with Alison Carrol’s home reno in Provincetown, Maine (it looks exactly like Cornwall) and her fridge set up.
I’m off to Menorca in October and found George Reynold’s IG post extremely helpful for restaurant planning.
Never not wishing I was in the Bay Area to eat food with Ethaney (especially this French lunch situation).
I feel like every writer can relate to this.