X Marks the Spot
X. Ex. Eggs? I’ve been searching for the word to suit the letter X, one of my favourite letters in the alphabet thanks to its capriciousness, and the search has been futile. Instead, I will muse on the search itself. The treasure hunt. X marks the spot, but what is the spot that we are looking for? For me, working out what it is I am looking for is harder than the search itself. The pre-search if you will.
Deciding on what to write in this newsletter sometimes comes naturally, I read back over my posts, like discovering an old diary, wondering how the words came so easily before. Today, on the 1st of May*, La Fête du Travail, I am committing myself to working and writing and thereby forcing myself to sit with the discomfort of not knowing what to say.
The first difficulty is finding the word that fits the letter and also fits the mood I am in or a sentiment I’d like to explore. This sentiment has felt hard to touch for the last few weeks, maybe I can blame Spring Asthenia, a feeling brought about by the change in season and our bodies adjusting their hormone levels. I could blame this, or a number of things, but alas the feeling has not been a desire to write.
Along with the desire to write, the desire to cook has dwindled, this is certainly caused by my new working hours, running the evening shift and starting at 15h30 has thrown off my standard eating schedule, which has therefore eradicated the need to cook. I am desperate to hold myself accountable for these two markers of inertia. My works hours change next week, to a more dinner-cooking friendly schedule, which will possibly help and my new flat has a real oven (!!!!!) which will definitely help.**
Finding Identity
In branding and marketing, everything has to have an identity in order to thrive and this word is bandied around as if it is so easy to find. But in reality, it’s the pot o’ gold at the end of a rainbow, pinning an identity onto a brand, a newsletter, a person, or a restaurant, is much easier said than implemented. Of course, these identities can be fluid, changing with the times, flowing with the go, but the original thought is hard to affix.
When I attempt to attach these thoughts to a more culinary thread of consciousness, I am drawn to talking about the restaurant where I work. As inquisitive friends and strangers often ask in polite conversation, I have found myself answering the question, “what type of food does your restaurant make?” and the go-to answer is “Ma cheffe, elle est Franco-Vietnamienne, donc c’est un peu Frenchie avec un twist”. But recently, our menu has consisted of; pigs in blankets, Earl Grey scones, scotch eggs, crumble, hot cross buns, all foods that hark back to the green and pleasant land. English food is definitely having its renaissance at the moment, clawing its way back onto the scene after an ongoing hate campaign against it. Personally I think English food is topnotch, the things we do, we do very well, whether that be a Sunday roast or Coronation chicken sandwich. I’ve been in France for 3 and a half years now, and without question, each time I have a friend coming to visit, they will ask if there is anything I need bringing over. The answer is usually yes please; tea bags and marmite, for my sister, it’s dark chocolate digestives. This reiterates for me, the fact that we, nationally, all know that there are some things that work in England that you cannot find elsewhere.
And so, to arrive in my new French kitchen, and see Earl Grey scones on the menu, I was slightly bemused. Scones with icing… They are delicious but I ponder, somehow, over this identity question.
In applying for a cooking residency recently with a friend of mine, we had to design a menu. A day’s worth of eating. We structured our pitch around a mixture of our backgrounds, American, English, Vietnamese, influenced and pulled along by the French carriage but with systematic slides back to our own food heritage. Food, evidently, stirs memories within us that can otherwise be hard to tap into. My colleague Anaïs stopped in her tracks in the kitchen the other day, after a cake that was baking in the oven gave her a visceral childhood flashback. It has such a power of recollection. According to the Professor Emerita of Psychology at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, “Food memories involve very basic, nonverbal, areas of the brain that can bypass your conscious awareness,” meaning that eating or smelling a certain food can arouse particular memories that you had otherwise forgotten or left dormant in your brain. I think that is pretty magical. So whether we are embracing our cultural identity or sharing that of others, food has an enchanting way of reminding you of your roots.
* It took an extra fourteen days to find the right words
** It did help, I roasted a chicken last week
Shopping list for you
Ruby Tandoh on perfectionism
The soundtrack to what I hope will be an Italian summer
Exploring the difference in textural palette from T Magazine
The humble chip butty from Norman’s. Followed by explaining to some French friends that yes, we really do eat this, and yes, it is fantastic
And a video just for a laugh