A slow return to writing

Rather abominably I've had to dedicate 89% of my attention to the pursuit of my new career, leaving very little time for my beautiful newsletter that tells you what to eat. I went through an incredibly intense recruitment phase over the past few months and completely burned myself out. I am very pleased to report I won a big scholarship from Gray's Inn, one of the four Hogwarts-esque professional organizations for barristers, that will pay for the one-year Bar course. Huge achievement. (To give you an idea, there was a written application round in October with six competency questions of 200 words each; then, the candidates who clear that round get a 15 minute interview with barristers who lob similar competency questions at you, but in person. And off the back of that they decide whether to give you thousands and thousands of pounds.) I am less pleased to report that I did not secure a pupillage, which is the one-year paid training that takes place after Bar school. I did have two interviews, which is an achievement in itself, but they both told me no. But also I'm not surprised - I burned all my spiritual energy towards getting the scholarship.

Celebrations are also in order because Rachel secured a job as a Fact-checking Editor at Reuters. She just finished her third week into the role. Nearly every media org is making gigantic staff cuts citing either the economy, the war, politics, AI, whatever. Take your pick. So landing a journalism job these days is a big deal. It's a six-month contract to start, but with a strong chance it'll be extended.

Thank you all for sticking around and putting up with the long hiatus. More cooking content to come.

A list of London winter-springtime anecdotes in no particular order.

1. Our new flatmate Beth and her friend put together a book of love sonnets set in London. The gimmick is that it's a flipbook and all the stanzas can be swapped out, leaving the reader to fit their own poem together. My friend/flatmate/former underling Sam and I went to the book launch at Pelican Pub in Peckham. It's a single rectangular room and looks very little like a traditional British boozer: more of a cozy DIY community space with concrete walls, ramshackle mismatched armchairs and wooden benches, and rotating art shows on the walls. Sam and I had a very funny moment where we discovered in situ what we liked so much about the place; namely, the acoustic panelling, gentle lighting, and lack of choice of beer made it very friendly for overstimulated people like ourselves somewhere north of "abnormal" on the neurodivergent spectrum. The launch was structured like a poetry reading, with Beth's friends coming up to read their own work interspersed with selected creations from the book. I read one out to be a good sport. Some of the better community poetry included a long series of couplets from a disabled woman to her old wheelchair. Some of the worse examples were from a white man in a rugby polo who resembled an overinflated Doug (from the cartoon Doug) who delivered three airless minutes of freestyle rap about his ex. Sam and I were seated on a sofa facing the audience, and not an eye strayed stageward. All were cast towards the concrete floor or the acoustic panelling on the ceiling. It was bad. The poetry book was good.
2. In my eternal quest for scraping by, a friend passed me one of the more unusual gigs I've done. A scholar who introduced himself as a "piratologist" wanted access to some manuscripts held in the British Library. I had to sign up for a free membership and head to the manuscript room and request these enormous 18th century handwritten tomes to be sent up. They were all about a series of voyages to Madagascar made by French adventurers. Quote: "I'm studying the golden age of piracy around Madagascar. These texts contain information about a town funded by the son of an English pirate and a Malagasy princess. This half pirate became a famous chief." I took photos of every page and sent an big zip file to him. Incredible gig.

3. My friend Jess and I continue to workshop our idea for a supper club. This has been in development since we met. Many things have derailed this project (she gave birth, I went to law school) but we actually came up with a menu and made the first test run. We are doing an insane international fusion of all the cuisines that represent our international lives. Everything that we cooked was profoundly disastisfying and needed workshopping, except the Basque cheesecake with rhubarb compote, which was way easier than either of us expected, and also outstanding.

4. There were a lot of notable dinners over the past few months, many of which featured lamb. I've promised recipes to so many people. We had:

1. Holiday party dinner - in keeping with my penchant for street pots, I found a clay tagine on the street, soaked it in the tub overnight, and seasoned it with olive oil in the oven. Rachel put together a big holiday party and had a bunch of people over, and this became the opportunity for a lamb tagine. I have promised two tagine recipes to Liv and I include them below.

b. Celebration week dinner - this was the week that I got the scholarship, that Rachel got her job, and Rachel also had a birthday. Her brother Joe made absolutely the best lamb I've ever had, and I contributed some eggplant salad and other bits.

c. Easter - rather than have another roast lamb and saddling Joe with the work, I promised Easter tacos, and made lamb barbacoa and blackened fish. I'd never made barbacoa before and was intensely nervous. It was very rewarding to pull the lamb out of the roasting dish, unwrap the many layers of foil and parchment paper, and see how easily it fell off the bone. Caroline gets all of the credit here for purchasing the lamb (and wine, and sides, etc) and for hosting (in b and c) in the above anecdotes.

5. Cat has worked out how to jump up on Big Red, our cabinet. He looms there like a muppet while we eat.
   

6. The Mansions had its Springtime party BBQ where all the neighbors come out and engage in various revelry. There is folk music, conversation, a fire in an old engine shell, many grilled things, potato salad, and the Mansions original game of "Nailhammer", a rustic endeavor where everyone takes turns driving their nail into a plank of wood. One participant commented: "It's like a medieval village in here."

Chicken Yassa

(Lemon/olive chicken tagine)

Get a bunch of chicken thighs - skin-on, bone-in - and put them in a big saute pan, skin side down. Turn on the heat to a steady medium flame so the skin renders out some of its fat and sears to a golden-brown. Flip it, cook for a minute longer, and remove from the heat to a plate somewhere. Sometimes the skin sticks in the pan when you flip it, and that's ok, because it makes everything taste better in the end. Don't worry about cooking it through - we just want a good sear on one side, and maybe just a minute on the other side.

Chop a bunch of onions into half-round slices. (I think the long chunkiness makes it more interesting.) Liberally add olive oil into the pan (or your tagine) and saute them until they turn pale gold and transluscent and smell great. Use a wooden spoon to scrape up any errant bits of stuck lavorful chicken gunk. Add a few parseley stems and about two cloves of garlic. Unlike nearly every other time I recommend adding garlic, do not overdo it. This dish is not a garlicky dish and too much will make it yucky. Pour in a good glub of white wine. Add in a few stripes of peeled lemon rind, or maybe a tablespoon of zest, and then about two handfuls of roughly chopped and pitted olives. I like to use a combination of spanish greens and turkish black - i.e., something cured in vinegar, and something brined in salt. Let it all simmer away for maybe 5-10 minutes, until it's reduced. You've been seasoning this whole time, right? I hope you salted the chicken thighs before you seared them.

Arrange all the chicken things back in the pan, skin-up, and slice lemons in a fancy way and arrange on top of the stuff. Put the lid on, turn it down low, and let it all baste until the chicken is falling-apart tender, about half an hour. Add a little bit of water or chicken stock if there isn't enough liquid at the bottom, but the chicken should release a fair bit. Finish it off with a sprinkle of chopped parsley and a squeeze of lemon.