On Perfectionism

The limit does not exi-

Food For Thought.

What does perfect look like to you? Maybe it’s neat lines and no mess. Or the balance of salty and sour in a dish. A loud, buzzing restaurant filled with your favourite people. A pair of jeans that fit in all the right places. It’s different for everyone. And often perfection is just a set of arbitrary rules we set because we’re humans who need a goal to achieve in order to feel good about ourselves.

This newsletter might as well be a manifesto in simultaneously admonishing and coveting perfectionism. The act of modern writing is itself imperfection striving for perfection. We constantly edit and rewrite. We wonder if our ideas are good enough to voice. Whether they’ll resonate with our readers. And yet, I write a lot about imperfect meals. The ones which don’t go as planned. The ones that taste better the next day. Or remind us of our humanity. The ones that reveal who we are in the heat of the moment.

I’m a recovering perfectionist and it’s really only until recently that I’ve thrown in the towel for getting things right. That is, in every other aspect of my life that’s not cooking. Because anyone who has seen me prepare a meal – particularly those who have seen me “fail” – will know that perfectionism still reigns supreme in my kitchen, much to the chagrin of my sink that has been a vessel in which to throw plates/cutlery/food and my kitchen which is an echo chamber of self-loathing when a dish doesn’t Go My Way (youngest child syndrome, perhaps).

But what are we reaching for in those dizzying heights of perfection - especially when it comes to cooking? Acceptance. Praise. Control. A consistent line to the identity we’ve carved out for ourselves? A photo for the gram? A sense of one upmanship?

It’s a term I find much easier to gift to other things – that aren’t human, that aren’t capable of error themselves. The perfect restaurant. The perfect pair of jeans. The perfect holiday. Cooking – by dent of it being an action that has to be done by a human – cannot be perfect. Because humans are flawed. We slip up. We turn the heat too high. We leave things in the oven. We forget to screw on the cap of our soy sauce bottles (file under Monday’s dinner: fried rice, a sodium-soaked love story). Not that all humans mess up their meals. But we’re fallible and so therefore, the very concept of cooking is, too.

The word ‘perfect’ is made up of two concepts. From the Latin word ‘per’, which means through or complete. And then the Latin verb ‘facere’, which means to do. In Latin, ‘perfectus’ quite literally translates to ‘completed’. So I’m not sure when we decided that perfection was measured by goodness. Or who decided what was good or right or proper. But somehow, we all have a collective understanding of it. We can’t explain it, we just know.

I think about this walking back through the park at dusk on a clear day. On one side the sky is an orange glass of wine. Cloudless and clear. On the other, blue fades into lilac into houses into the canal. It’s perfect. And no one made it like this. It just happened.

If we’re to take the truest definition of perfect, it’s simply something that’s been completed. Like a dish is finished. A day is done. A line drawn. So perhaps we should redefine perfection in our minds as just getting past the finish line – whatever that looks like for you – rather than holding ourselves to this higher power of invisible judgement. I think we’d be a little happier. That’s big 2022 energy for me.

Recipes-not-recipes™️

I’m sure I’ve shared a red cabbage recipe-not-recipe™️ before, but for any new subscribers or those who cba to travel back into the archives, here it is. Great to go with a roast chicken, pan fried salmon, some romanesco steaks or even your eggs in the morning.

Ingredients:

• 1/2 head of red cabbage, thinly sliced

• 1 apple, grated

• 3 medium shallots, halved lengthways, then thinly sliced lengthways

• A very big knob of butter (there's no other way to describe it but might be something like 2 tbsp, but your kitchen, your butter eyes)

• 4 tbsp balsamic vinegar

• 4 tsp of sugar

• Juice of 1/2 lemon

• Salt and pepper to season

Melt the butter in a wide, shallow cast-iron (or non-stick) frying pan on a medium heat. Add the shallots and sweat them down for five minutes. Add the cabbage and apple with the balsamic vinegar, swish around in the liquid and mix in the shallots, then once it's fully coated, pop on a lid and turn the heat down low. Keep checking on it, leaving it on the hob for about 30 mins. Then add the sugar, stir in and put the lid back on for another 15-20 minutes. It would be happy braising for around an hour in total, just make sure the heat is low. If it's looking a bit too sticky, add a splash of water. Season with the salt, pepper and lemon juice. If you were feeling fancy you could add some pomegranate and sesame seeds, lots of herbs (dill, parsley, but mainly dill <3) and some fresh citrus zest.

Leftovers.

• The first edition of Hoste’s new newsletter came out last week – I wrote all about beans. Sign up to receive the next one – it’s one particularly close to my heart (and stomach).

• Super into this roasted broccoli grain bowl with nooch dressing from NYT Cooking.

• The answer is always more garlic – a piece on the garlic girls of TikTok from Bon Appetit.

• My girl Lucy Mee knows how to boil an egg with absolute goddess-like precision (ICYMI: 6 minutes 15 seconds with non-refridgerated eggs)

• In case you’re planning a trip to Bruton, I wrote this guide of what to see and do, where to eat and drink for The Modern House. I’m writing my next guide and let me just say it’s the dream foodie brief.

• I can’t get over this Burberry-hued pasta.

• Maybe perfection is cold smoked salmon, golden beetroot and horseradish at Angela’s in Margate. IDK anymore.