7 | Skeletons in the pantry
Carpe that diem, bitches
Hello – especially to the dozens of you who’ve subscribed in the past few weeks. It’s been a while. Did you find me through Taste? However you found your way here, this newsletter is all about food, creativity and desire – the very things that fuel us. I launched it during lockdown, when I found myself with nothing but time and a vague sense of dread on my hands. After months of illness and unemployment, I’ve finally started a new job, which means I need to be a little smarter with my creative energy if I’m to keep this project going. You’ll still get personal essays, recipes, and conversations with interesting people landing regularly in your inbox – just maybe not all at once.
It’s nice to have your here – I hope you stay a while.
I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. We all have, I’m sure; each of us wondering, in our own way: how will I weather this storm?
My own fortunes turned last March, when an offer for a dream job was withdrawn just days before lockdown. Travel stopped overnight, and with it all of my freelance travel-writing income. There’s nothing like months of unemployment and dwindling savings to throw your finances into sharp focus.
But the truth is that I’ve always been terrible with money. I live in London, one of the most expensive cities on the planet, where rents are astronomical and being single at 40 means I am unlikely to ever be able to afford to own a home. I’ve reluctantly accepted that much of what I make must go to keeping a roof over my head; that I’ll continue hopping from freelance work to short-term contract and back again; that the world is likely to be a scorched, parched, suffocating hellhole by the time I reach a very late retirement age.
With real security and stability so out of reach, I’ve made no apology, over the years, for fully carpe-ing that diem. I’ve bought dresses, snake oils and creams, more frivolities than I can remember. I’ve brunched and bar-hopped and Ubered home. I've given myself spas and plunge pools and room service. I’ve medicated stress with Deliveroo. That’s not to say I’ve been completely irresponsible; it’s just that I’ve always preferred making more money to spending less of it.
More than anything, I’ve always spent money on food. For the sake of transparency: £500.01 on groceries in June. £370 in July. An eating-out budget that would make our chancellor blush (a whopping £437.81 in pre-pandemic December, arguably a whole other plane of existence).
I’ve written before about how generational scarcity has shaped my relationship to food and about bulk-buying with renewed fervour in the run-up to Brexit. Having been hungry for a few desolate months in my youth, I made a quiet promise to myself never to skimp on food again. But how much does one person really need? Come. Take a look inside my pantry.
sea salt smoked salt Maldon salt tahini honey pine nuts prunes caster sugar icing sugar demerara sugar dark brown sugar palm sugar jaggery plain flour bread flour wholemeal flour self-raising flour rice flour chickpea flour green chilli sauce red chilli sauce chilli powder Mexican chillies Chiu Chow chilli oil sriracha peanuts in chilli oil brown rice jasmine rice basmati rice carnaroli rice chickpeas anchovies star anise cinnamon fried onions kimchi shrimp paste pickled beetroot bread crumbs panic crumbs cornichon liver pâté black truffles sunflower seeds mushroom soy sauce vanilla pods oyster sauce saffron cooking wine rice vinegar fish spicy ramen multi-pack Puy lentils beluga lentils kidney beans satay powder pappardelle couscous fusilli and that’s just the stuff I can see.
There’s a treasure in my pantry. It could feed me for weeks, if not months. There is something obscene, I am forced to admit, about stocking so much when so many have to make do with so little. So, in the spirit of optimism (yes, things will get better!) and fiscal responsibility, it’s about time I let my pantry sustain me. I must, in the tired words of fashionistas, start shopping in my own closet. I’ve made a dent already: my August grocery bill is down to £296.42, and I’ve only spent £88.59 on takeaways. I’ll look on the bright side: another 300 months like this and I might just be able to afford a deposit on a fixer-upper in zone 5.
This week…
Read Appetite, or what to do with the things lurking at the back of your cupboard
Make Nannie Gwen’s Welsh cakes
This week’s recipe: mango sticky rice
I’ve stolen this from the last press trip I took. The Peninsula Bangkok had prepared a cooking class for us; we chopped, stirred and ate our way through four courses on the swelteringly hot banks of the Chao Praya river. I came home with three things: a monogrammed apron (now on a hook in my kitchen), a box of tom yum spices (in, you’ve guessed it, my pantry ) and a folder of recipes. I always have sticky rice somewhere in the house – let’s call it a deep-rooted cultural tick – but beyond using it to flavour the occasional laarb, I can never be bothered to cook with it. Here’s a classic remedy; it serves four.
200g sticky rice
100ml coconut milk
50g sugar
10g salt
2 ripened mangoes
A handful of mung beans
Extra coconut sauce
50ml coconut milk
10g sugar
1/2 tsp salt
Wash the rice well until the water runs clear, then soak it in water overnight, or for at least 6–8 hours.
Drain it well and steam it for 30–40 minutes, or until it’s tender. If you’re using a bamboo steamer, line it with muslin or greaseproof paper and check the water level in the pan regularly.
Meanwhile, bring the coconut milk, sugar and salt to a boil on low heat until the sugar and salt have dissolved. Let the liquid cool, then mix it with the cooked rice. Dry-roast the mung beans, tossing them in a hot pan until they’ve puffed up and crisped.
Prepare the extra coconut sauce by boiling the ingredients together, then letting it cool. My mother always says this coconut sauce should be a little too salty, and a little too sweet – so adjust accordingly.
Spoon the sticky rice onto a serving plate, and top with cut mango, crispy mung beans and as much coconut sauce as you heart desires.
That’s it for today. Coming up soon: PR chat, adobo and a mythical chocolate cake.