Moving in pasta

When you have no knife or utensils

At approximately 1.15pm on Thursday, I was handed a set of keys to my house. I awkwardly filmed crossing the threshold, boxes of beans under one arm, key in the wrong lock, the camera angle mainly aimed at the floor as I pushed it open with my shoulder. Alone, it felt a little anti-climactic. And then I decided to cook.

First, of course, I unpacked the kitchen – the only boxes I had driven down with were ones filled with fragile ceramics and glasses; favourite mugs, precious plates, various vases begging to be bloomed. Notting Hill played in the background, a film so deeply about London it often makes me want a martini in a hotel bar, but instead it was a pleasant distraction. Something familiar to put on in the background as I assessed the new space.

The cupboards and counter tops must go. But the bones of this room are perfect. A kitchen that stretches into a dining space – a luxury I’ve never had unless you count the shed, which was a kitchen, dining space, living room, bedroom and bathroom all in 28 sqm.

It was feeling a little overwhelming then I heard my first knock at the door: Sarah and her son Solly strapped to her back, bearing gifts of prosecco to toast the new house. She left an hour later and I thought about ordering pizza from the local spot down the road, but then I saw all the pots and pans and felt like I’d regret not cooking my first meal in the house.

A new packet of Northern Pasta Co fusilli – a gift from my friend Lucy – was sat in the cupboard, and I’d brought a small box of pantry staples (salt and Korean chilli flakes). With no fridge, I needed something that could be eaten that evening with no leftovers and nothing too fresh.

When I was walking to the shops I realised I had no knife. And no utensils. Luckily I had packed my mandolin, which would act as my knife, and I asked Becky to bring a couple of forks.

We drank red wine and ate this with a tart green salad sat on old deck chairs, using the Yeti as our table. I showed her around the house and we ate birthday cake before she left and I thought how nice that she was walking home, just five minutes down the road, and that I’m now her neighbour.

You’ll need…