I long for summer but it’s also terrible for me because I only want to lie in the grass or run my fingers through sand or drink impossibly cold glasses of sparkling whites or submerge my body in cold water or make crispy, tart, juicy salads or sit under the sun and think about nothing. It’s not conducive to writing, and perhaps that makes me not a writer. I’m not consumed by it, and whilst I stand by Joan’s adage of writing to find out what I’m thinking, I find it all too easy to dismiss my thoughts as too banal or too self-indulgent or too basic to share with the world.
It’s the constant battle – of wanting to write but finding other things to prioritise. The narrative of the writer is that she is so wrapped up in telling stories, she can’t concentrate on anything else. I feel like I’ve run out of stories. I’m reaching in my back pocket for untold dramas because I cannot seem to unearth any now. I’m yearning for a crush – a real one, with all the hopeless possibilities and edgeless desire and prickly tension – to remember what it feels like.
It’s Mazey Day today, the peak of Golowan (Cornish for ‘Feast of St John’), originally part of 19th century celebrations of Midsummer. The town is awash with flags. I woke up to fiddle players serenading the streets. Pints and ice cream sandwiches will be had. Anyway, plenty of good things to dive into!
Good things to consume
I’ve eaten well this week. Argoe was slinging out lobster rolls and scallops on Monday, then I returned the next night for a proper dinner: tender, warm morsels of octopus, perfectly grilled courgettes with local ricotta, buttery brill with braised chickpeas and a perfect salad dressed in tart vinaigrette. Popped to St Eia in St Ives for a chilled beaujolais and spider crab on soda bread. Got a scoop of the brown bread ice cream from Palais Provisions, wistfully reminscent of the Guinness soda bread ice cream at Café Cecilia. A breakfast plate of dreams at Flora to follow the next morning. And yesterday I had a three hour long lunch with a friend at Cast Café in Helston. Yes to hangar steak with tomatoes, and green beans showered with aged goat’s cheese.
Speaking of lobster rolls, Sons will be slinging them out on 19th July at their spot in St John At Hackney courtyard, which I’ll be back in London for!!
More good crispy rice things, this time with perfectly pink prawns and coconut milk via Momofuku.
More Joan Didion fodder, this time on London Review Of Books. I just really liked this essay that analysed the latest posthumously published book by Didion (Notes To John) and assesses the public/private persona of cultural figures and our right to them.
Forever wondering how to make a tortilla as good as Kitty Coles. I only want this + gildas + cold glasses of wine + oysters at my bar.
Ok fregola puttanesca, go off.
Yep you need to be putting crispy rice in your eggs. Omelette recipe here.
Fiery little salmon/kale/bean/avo salad goes hard.
Smash your potatoes, crisp them up, serve them on a bed of yoghurt and call it a day.
Some good things I made this week: crispy rice omelette, rice cooker bibimbap, ice cold noodle soup (gochujang + soy sauce + lime juice + ice), ‘girl dinner’ which looked like leftover walnut pesto potatoes, white beans with a homemade herby sauce, manchego cheese with hot honey, figs, fresh peas and a little salad. Oh and boiled eggs on salted yoghurt with gochujaru (Korean chilli flakes) simmered in butter.
Can we talk The Bear season 4? I’m two episodes in and have to stop myself from racing through because I don’t want it to end. I eked out season 3 over a year because I refused to watch it for 6 months then waited another 6 months to watch the final two episodes. I know it’s a little twee to agree with, but restaurants are important!!!
BBQ courgettes, burrata, lemon zest, salt, olive oil. It’s a no brainer.
Good, cheap wines from Co Op! This Orange Groove (hate the name, love the taste) and this Sedoso Douro – it’s a little jammier than my usual taste but great when chilled. Both under a tenner.
My friend Meg left me a book titled On The Calculation Of Volume I. It’s a Danish book and is told from the perspective of a woman who wakes up reliving the same day. It’s written in this fairly disjointed, stream of consciousness which I’m enjoying.
Also would be remiss not to mention that Mother Root Rhubarb is out. It’s limited edition and so fucking chic, served in a champagne flute - no ice, no garnish. It’s tart, crisp and gives the energy of a sparkling rosé!!!
I made this playlist the day I put an offer on this house.
