Leftovers #14
I’m in a ‘silly’ mood, by which I don’t mean I’m feeling full of whimsy or particularly playful; I feel like a silly little loser. Can’t quite explain it, although I will attempt to on Sunday in my weekly essay where I write silly little words! In the meantime, here are some things that have made me feel somewhat less loser-ish this week.
I love when my friend Anita – whose newsletter I contribute to once a month with a story and recipe – turns my recipes-not-recipes™️ into cute stop motion illustrated reels.
I’m writing about kitchen tools in the latest Hoste newsletter, and can’t stop thinking about the chicken that was roasted along with fresh borlotti beans in a cast iron casserole pot at the Canton Arms, along with a very welcome dollop of aioli. A dream Sunday lunch situation, really.
I adore Jeremy Lee (of Quo Vadis fame) and love Mina Holland’s profiles for Toast, so this interview was a match made in heaven: “We liked pulling away the formality, the rationale being that we had such wonderful times at home, why couldn’t we do that in a restaurant?”
Discussed ‘our generation’s’ obsession with anxiety and therapy with a friend and we agreed sometimes we need to tell ourselves to get a grip (it was implied that we should tell others this, but that it’s less socially acceptable). It reminded me of this piece in The New Yorker about the rise of therapy speak and how it’s infiltrated our vernacular, not always for the better.
Just a generally great and hilarious Gawker piece written by an Australian comedian about the ridiculousness of Americans who take themselves too seriously.
A truly outstanding meal at Plaza Khao Geng at Arcarde (conveniently right next to Tottenham Court Road station), featuring a braised soy sauce pork belly that cut like butter, and the best reason to order a fried egg on the side.
Bought a packet of goat’s cheese and spent three days eating toast with goat’s cheese and honey. Sometimes on its own, the cheese cold and creamy. Other times toasted under a hot grill. This morning I added slow cooked courgettes and oyster mushrooms and far too much garlic (the limit does not exist). Still not sick of it.
My friend Lucy and I have coined the term ‘fusillitator’, which we define as being somewhat of a connector between foodie friends, but also feeling like a ‘silly little girl’ because of it. A way of dampening the self effacement.
Desperately want this Japanese egg custard sandwich from Tartine.
An excellent way to eat Xiao long bao (soup dumplings), which I’ll exercise when I go to Chinatown for two dinners on the trot.
Remembering the lingering smell of jasmine on hot LA streets and the colour of the Horses blue door.