Current location: sitting in my friend Lisa’s van in the south of Portugal beneath a particularly loud thunderstorm. The rain is hitting the roof pretty violently but we managed to sneak off for a breakfast burrito before it started, and there are multiple snacks to get us through. We’ve been discussing the pitfalls of capitalisms (an ongoing conversation), a feasible solution to socialism (we, the amateur politicians), food and family, and the problem with fourth wave feminism.
Since no one asked, I’m trialling a new format. Consistency has never been my strong suit, but in an effort to dish out a weekly newsletter, I’ll be splitting up Food For Thought/Recipes-not-recipes and Leftovers. So there’ll be an essay and recipe one Sunday and a list of recommendations the next. I can’t deny that I’ve been influenced by Haley Nahman’s Maybe Baby. At some point I may look at a paid subscription model (girl’s gotta eat) but for now, keeping things free and easy. So welcome to the official leftovers dispatch #1.
The fourth wave feminism discussion started after we watched Fresh – a new film described by the New York Times as “a wickedly funny cannibal romance”, starring Daisy Edgar Jones and Sebastian Stan – which amplifies the horrors of dating with impressive cinematic flair. I’m still mulling it over, but we’ve decided that it is very well shot. I want to rewatch it to further examine the role of food and what it says about the way we consume (of course).
This very brilliant song that plays as the credit rolls:
This quote that felt apt in our post-Fresh discussion where I called for more portrayals of pure and un-obstacled joy found in the book Humankind: A Hopeful History.
I believe this report about the world’s largest potato (plot twist: it’s not a potato) is food journalism at its finest.
Have recently finished Jenny Offil’s Weather, a diaristic narrative told by a librarian who becomes obsessed with prepping for imminent disaster. This line spoke to me:
The discovery of Lidl’s own brand Spanish tortilla that you can apparently only find in Portugal and not the UK: excellent warmed up, served with a fried egg on top and a side salad of rocket, tomatoes, cukes, feta and purple basil (another Portuguese Lidl find), see below:
On that note, the general gorgeousness of chopping vegetables in the sun is a total mental health tonic (see below):
Should have used this tan-enhancing SPF 50 before embarking on two full days of sitting under the sun; it’s on the list for my Sephora haul in Lisbon.
I have a renewed appreciation for courgettes and tomatoes, both of which are coming back into my cooking with a sun-soaked vengeance.
I re-listened to an old Dolly Alderton Love Stories episode with Ruby Tandoh who was talking about food, appetite and how we need to unlearn the damaging rules of diet culture and curb our obsession with being healthy. I totally agree (I ate pizza for breakfast on Friday in solidarity of this).
My former boss (hi Kate!) sent this piece about whether perfectionism is ruining your dinner (it is) for its very SNOA-esque themes.
Binged the whole Pam & Tommy series and have decided that their love was wholesome, pure and true – and ruined by the public’s obsession with demonising and tearing down celebrities (a controversial take, admittedly). My favourite part was after their shotgun wedding, they ‘get to know each other’ on the plane home. It’s a little awkward until he asks: what’s your favourite food? “Fries,” Pam smiles with unequivocal earnestness. Tommy looks at her, grins and says: “I fucking love french fries.” FOOD IS LOVE.