Leftovers #113

Spiced yoghurt roast chicken, cherries in salads, essays on solitude + Shelley Duvall

I started writing an essay named “Panic (working title)” but I figured I should stop giving my neuroses so much airtime, but what I will say is this: Panic does that thing to my body where it feels full to the brim and empty to its core all at once. Something is bubbling up, but it might also be a whole lot of nothing? The days and nights and weekdays and weekends all blur into one here, marked only by the rising and falling tides. Every morning I check whether it’s high or low, and decide when is best to walk down to Battery Rocks and slide myself into the sea. When my skin isn’t slicked with salt, I’m crushing it between my fingers and sprinkling it on manners of salads. Tonight I’m heading to Argoe in Newlyn for my first meal out since I left London (this is a big deal) and I’m not holding back on the seafood.

Roasting a chicken in blistering sunshine = bikini top + denim apron + palazzo pants

Eating: Almond chocolate, cherries in salads etc

• Forgot how amazing Lidl’s milk chocolate with whole almonds is. Genuinely my favourite chocolate in the world?

• A bowl of cold British cherries in the fridge is on rotation – I’ve been eating them on hot days, slicing them into salads and muddling them at the bottom of Mother Root drinks (a splash of Mother Root, coconut water + sparkling water + cherries = LA Woman, a recipe we conceived inspired by Annie from

  Nour
  ).