Kitchen Dispatch 3
Possible subtitles for this blog are: Recipes for A Broken Heart or Recipes for Living On Your Own In An Unknown Place or Recipes For When You Only Have A Single Hob-Ring And No Friends. I'm not sad about it though.
I have no idea who might be reading - if anyone - but I'm hoping this might be useful to someone. Healing a broken heart/being in a new place on your own/going through a bit of a quarter/mid/late-life crisis: these are things that happen, and which we must cook through, or else starve (which I have considered). Or there's always eating cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I know from experience this never helps the situation. In the course of trying to stay sane during these times, and, indeed, all times, what I've realised is that: the hob is your friend, so are vegetables, and to show yourself some love through food is important, and sustaining.
Cooking also can be the best therapy. I called a friend yesterday, who is deep-down in the dumps at the moment, and she told me she was making lentil soup. It made me so happy to know that she was doing that for herself, even in the midst of real shittiness, and I felt inspired. Lentils, in my mind, are the most truly comforting food there is: stodgy and filling, but not too indulgent; delicious any which way; warming and simple and easy. To feed yourself lentils is to say: you'll be alright.
And so. Last night, I thought I'd make dahl - in a slightly make-do-with-what-you've-got kind of way (as is all my cooking). It started with onions, garlic and ginger: fried till soft. (I wish I'd had fresh chilli, but I couldn't find any red ones in the shops or market - so to be added at your discretion). And then lots of big, fresh tomatoes, bought in Noailles that day. I left them to simmer down for a while, while I read my book. They slowly release their juices and turn to a red, aromatic mush. To this I added Garam Masala and lots of black pepper, and then I poured in some lentils (lentilles blondes, as they're called, to match my hair colour). I added some water too, and then left them to simmer at the lowest temperature possible on my buzzy induction hob, and sat and did some writing while I waited for them to cook, which took around 45 minutes (I think). I also drank a glass of red wine (€4.70 for the bottle and it tasted great) and ate some salted cashews while I wrote.
When the lentils were done, I added half a little carton of coconut milk to the dahl, and stirred it around to get warm. Then - I really do only have one hob ring, so it's one part of the meal at a time - I melted some butter in a pan - delicious, Grand Fermage butter which has sea salt flakes in it and comes in a wrapper with a seaside scene on it - and stirred in a few chopped leaves of chard I'd bought. These were sadly only the white-stemmed variety (there is nothing so uplifting as the red- and yellow-stemmed leaves), but nonetheless, wilted down and coated in butter and a shaking of black pepper, they were so. good. And the perfect, lively accompaniment to the warm stodge that was the dahl.
Eaten while reading Graphic Design: A Concise History, specifically the section about German design of the 1930s. All in all, a wonderful meal. Almost a cure for a broken heart.
I have no idea who might be reading - if anyone - but I'm hoping this might be useful to someone. Healing a broken heart/being in a new place on your own/going through a bit of a quarter/mid/late-life crisis: these are things that happen, and which we must cook through, or else starve (which I have considered). Or there's always eating cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I know from experience this never helps the situation. In the course of trying to stay sane during these times, and, indeed, all times, what I've realised is that: the hob is your friend, so are vegetables, and to show yourself some love through food is important, and sustaining.
Cooking also can be the best therapy. I called a friend yesterday, who is deep-down in the dumps at the moment, and she told me she was making lentil soup. It made me so happy to know that she was doing that for herself, even in the midst of real shittiness, and I felt inspired. Lentils, in my mind, are the most truly comforting food there is: stodgy and filling, but not too indulgent; delicious any which way; warming and simple and easy. To feed yourself lentils is to say: you'll be alright.
And so. Last night, I thought I'd make dahl - in a slightly make-do-with-what-you've-got kind of way (as is all my cooking). It started with onions, garlic and ginger: fried till soft. (I wish I'd had fresh chilli, but I couldn't find any red ones in the shops or market - so to be added at your discretion). And then lots of big, fresh tomatoes, bought in Noailles that day. I left them to simmer down for a while, while I read my book. They slowly release their juices and turn to a red, aromatic mush. To this I added Garam Masala and lots of black pepper, and then I poured in some lentils (lentilles blondes, as they're called, to match my hair colour). I added some water too, and then left them to simmer at the lowest temperature possible on my buzzy induction hob, and sat and did some writing while I waited for them to cook, which took around 45 minutes (I think). I also drank a glass of red wine (€4.70 for the bottle and it tasted great) and ate some salted cashews while I wrote.
When the lentils were done, I added half a little carton of coconut milk to the dahl, and stirred it around to get warm. Then - I really do only have one hob ring, so it's one part of the meal at a time - I melted some butter in a pan - delicious, Grand Fermage butter which has sea salt flakes in it and comes in a wrapper with a seaside scene on it - and stirred in a few chopped leaves of chard I'd bought. These were sadly only the white-stemmed variety (there is nothing so uplifting as the red- and yellow-stemmed leaves), but nonetheless, wilted down and coated in butter and a shaking of black pepper, they were so. good. And the perfect, lively accompaniment to the warm stodge that was the dahl.
Eaten while reading Graphic Design: A Concise History, specifically the section about German design of the 1930s. All in all, a wonderful meal. Almost a cure for a broken heart.
P.S. - Since I didn't take any pictures of my dahl, here is
some parsley with the sunshine coming through, and
a kumquat tree in the background.
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