Leftovers #114
The ephemeral past; the art of criticism, Sal's mango chutney; my mum's Korean chicken
It’s the end of the month (how?), which means this bumper edition of Leftovers is for all subscribers to read and enjoy. I often think about how recommendations feel like a real judgement of your taste; you tell someone to go somewhere or read something because you think it’s great, and you wait nervously to see if they like it. Sometimes I’ll watch a film I truly love with friends and spend the entire time looking at their faces at my favourite parts, wincing when they don’t crack a smile or tear up. It’s pointless, of course. Recommendations are really just you cracking yourself open and offering up your heart on a platter. Whether someone agrees and feels like they could crack open themselves is nothing to do with you. Or so my therapist would say (must book another appointment). As I send this (scheduled, don’t worry) I’m driving to Bristol and then onwards to Snowdonia for a weekend of mountains and very cold bodies of water. Hope it’s sunny. I’ve gotten better at letting go of any expectations for good weather, instead simply enjoying it when it arrives, and embracing the greyness, too.
Eating
My wonderful friend Sal – literal sunshine in human form, absolutely hilarious – makes delicious condiments rooted in her Pakistani heritage. Her Kashmiri chilli oil is fiery but smooth and is constantly being poured over rice, eggs and pretty much anything I make. Her latest batch of mango chutney – limited edition because mango szn is a real thing! – is so special, not just because it tastes incredible but because Sal’s family have been cultivating mangoes in Multan for three generations. She knows her stuff. I’ve been thoroughly educated on mangoes by both Sal and our friend Mehlaqa, and Multani mangoes are considered the sweetest in Pakistan. You can buy Sal’s Multani Mango Chutney on Delli.
A mango is not just any fruit. In Pakistan, it is the embodiment of pride, the king of fruits. We compare notes about varieties and harvest times; our taste buds instinctively know whether it’s a Chaunsa, Sindhri, Langra, Dussehri, or an Anwar Ratol, to name a few. Back home, summer is synonymous with mangoes. It’s the main event, the highlight of the season, the essence of summer itself. We are a country that can’t agree on much, but a mango ends all debates.
I cooked for six adults and one child in my friend Sandy’s kitchen which is highly unusual for me (I usually cook for one adult who sometimes acts like a child) and caused a strange amount of anxiety the night before. I’m obsessed with people thinking I’m perfect which is irritating on so many levels and also impossible, so I woke up the next morning and thought I’d make a tray bake of marinated chicken thighs (here’s my mum’s recipe). It went down well. All you need is a tray of chicken, a pot of white rice and a big bowl of salad and everyone’s happy, apparently!
I finally went to Argoe in Newlyn, a gorgeous Cornish seafood restaurant right on the water. Everything was delicious but shout out to the portion sizes (too used to London, we were AMAZED) and also the ray wing that was perfectly cooked, served with roasted tomatoes and jalapenos.
Things to cook this week:
I have no interest in making pasta but much interest in spinach and ricotta gnudi
Summer nights = salad days. This one’s a blood orange, bean and fennel number.
Never not wanting chicken and rice, especially when it’s sticky char siu style
Thinking a lot about marinades and dressing for ceviche, especially this prawn agua chile
Love quiche, don’t love pastry, unless it’s filo filled with cottage cheese and smoked salmon.
Made a version of this grilled broccoli and halloumi salad but not on a barbecue and it banged.
Tart cherry juice + espresso + sparkling water = drink of the weekend
Wearing
DARN’s Tonto pyjamas but outside the house. The cut, the cotton, the print, the fit. It’s all great. Amelia, DARN’s founder, is a total gem; we spent hours talking over breakfast and then at her studio that looks over rolling hills.
Drinking
I bought this bottle because a) it has oysters on it b) it was in an Alsace bottle c) the grapes hail from California d) it was expensive (although it’s on sale here for considerably less than I paid) so I thought it would taste great. It was a total JOY to drink. I personally like my white wine ice cold so I popped it in the freezer for a couple of hours and it was perfect. Minerally. Crisp. Fresh like a swim in the sea on the hottest day.
Reading
Your phone is why you don’t feel sexy, Catherine Shannon
As a perennial reader of internet criticism, I’ve read a lot of pieces that despair at our modern obsession with technology. I loved the angle of this piece, which digs deeper into how scrolling has made us lose that fun, flirtatious energy necessary for human desire. I’ve written about the death of sex before, and this feels like a really great layer to add to that piece of thinking.
Today, everyone and everything is always available, and there’s nothing less sexy than that. There’s no chase. Our phones don’t allow us time to dwell, and they don’t allow us time to yearn. Why force yourself to daydream about the guy you’re seeing when you can easily look at dozens of photographs of him online? Why walk into a store in Soho and see what’s on offer when you can stay home and scroll the entire inventory from the comfort of your couch? Why go to the library to find books about a topic that interests you when you can look it up on Wikipedia in two minutes and move on with your day?
I was a bestselling recipe writer - then burnout killed my appetite for food, and life, Meera Sodha
A reminder that any job – no matter how dreamy it sounds – can burn you out if you don’t have clear boundaries. Meera Sodha, whose recipes you’ll all have seen or cooked, talks about her experience of falling out of love with food and how she found her way back. I really resonated with this part of her piece; how cooking has to be an act of love first and foremost, not a chore.
Hearing someone I love admit that they were struggling caused an automatic shift. As a kneejerk reaction, I stepped back into the kitchen, grabbing a pan and looking in the store cupboard. I intuitively picked up the red lentils. I found an onion, some coconut milk, and lemongrass and lime leaves in the freezer. Hugh ran out to a local Pakistani shop to pick up fresh naans, and I began to cook again; a simple Malaysian dal, similar to one we had eaten together in the markets in Singapore.
We ate this dal in relative silence, but we both knew it was a special moment. I could see how much it meant to him, just doing this one thing. He had been starved of everything – love, care, attention and food. By this simple gesture, I was beginning to resurface.
I Want A Critic, The New York Review Of Books
I love Andrea Long Chu’s criticism because she is unafraid to speak candidly about how the work moves or does not move her. She never panders to an author. She delivers brutal honesty – but without glamourising the role of the critic. And she’s clearly good at her job because she just won a Pulitzer Prize. No big deal. This is a transcript of an conversation between Chu and Merve Emre about the art of criticism.
But another part of it, I think, is trying to have some fidelity to the experience of liking or not liking something. I am a fan of knowledge, usually in the abstract. I like the idea that people have it, and sometimes I have it myself.
When I say of a piece of art, “This is good,” what I mean is the rest of you should think so, too—not necessarily in a dictatorial way, but it’s why anyone else should care. In theory, we write to persuade. You don’t necessarily believe me, so I’m going to write something, I’m going to give you evidence, and I’m going to make it stylish. Then hopefully maybe you will agree with me by the end of it. I don’t think that is exactly what criticism is about, but not because I don’t feel a desire to do that. I really do want to convince you if I’m talking to you. The analogy for me is flirting. A lot of people think that when you flirt, you are trying to get the person to like you. This is wrong.
Listening
To a lot of Sam Fragoso’s interviews – I love his soft, velveteen voice and the way he goes so deep with his questions. This one with the playwright Annie Baker floored me. I love how she pushed back against Sam’s way of questioning (quoting his guests from previous interviews they had done and interrogating those answers further), and how candid she was about feeling like she was caught in a lie when she heard back her previous answers. She says that the past is so ephemeral and as you get older, your version of events – or perception of events – changes incrementally. She also says, “my talent doesn’t live up to my taste” and I felt that hard.
And to this absolute GROOVE of a song featuring my girl Maggie Rogers (Ky and I are seeing her live in Seattle in October and I am pumped).
Your article has so much to say and reflect on, that you will have to give me time to respond. ( I have been enjoying three beers, one giraf( 10%), to orangie (8.5%). I will come with my comments tomorrow,
Enjoy life, James