TALKING ABOUT FOOD

“To me hospitality is an industry that has always been about people, and bringing people together” I guess this is an extended 'About Me' post... I’ve mentioned before that’ve worked in hospitality, so I thought I should probably break down what I mean by this. And it seems appropriate to discuss it after I posted about working in hospitality over the December/Christmas period.  

My Dickensian romantic dreams go into overdrive and then shatter as December draws on, and no snow arrives. As a person of the commonwealth/ postcolonial spaces of New Zealand and Malaysia, England is a place created from fairytales. It is through literature that I learnt about England, and December is the ultimate time for the British fantasy - the lights of Oxford Street, the cold air, the christmas trees and mulled wine. All the things I had been reading about in Dickens, in Enid Blyton, in the adventures of Milly Molly Mandy and Little Friend Susan where suppose to blossom and come true. I arrived in London in September 2001 and the year after, my sister came to visit me at christmas. She was 18, and I was 21. And it snowed. I was living on St Johns Street in Angel, Rachel and I bought a tree and dragged it home, through the 2ft of snow. And so, London, that’s what you did to me - showed me what was possible and let me down time and time again.

I love Primeur. I love the wooden floor, where my muddy puppy is at home on, padding his wet paws all around my feet.  I love the golden mustard, velvety chairs. I love the slick look, but cosy feeling that the furniture and colours seem to conjure up. I love the chalk writing on the tables. Primeur is glorious in summer, with doors open; and is light and warm in autumn.   I fail so often at being a grown up, but have in my life the wonderful Josie who walks my puppy when I work, and the lovely Elaine who cleans my house once a week – so I have successfully managed to be middle class, if not entirely grown up. Today I heard my ex-husband is having his second baby. This isn't a life I wanted, or quite possibly he wouldn't be an ex, but I still feel incredibly anxious about this fact, it is another point to prove that I haven't “successfully” grown-up. Therefore my concepts of 'grown-up' are, rather boringly, rooted in societal norms. But, even if I don't ...

So me and my mates do a little dance whenever we say Duck & Waffle – we literally 'duck' and then it's a wiggle. We also sometimes call it Fuck and Waffle cos, rhyming. Anyway, we think we're fucking hilarious.  One Friday, very recently, I went and had lunch with my sister, 40 floors above London. It was glorious. Glorious for so many reasons. One, because of my sister. She has an 18 month old son, and is a workaholic, so finding time to have pure uninterrupted Rachel time is like holding riesling in the palm of your hands – thick, heady, goldenness, that would still slip through your fingers, as in, neigh on impossible.  My sister and I are very close. She is one of those incredible people that I want to be one day, (even if she's my little sister). She is currently about to have her second baby (any moment now!), she worked full time till over 8months pregnant, yet I have not heard her complain, once. Plus she is so encouraging, supportive, to the pe...

I started writing about my recent food eating experiences because I needed a writing exercise to get over my writer's block. But I've really enjoyed writing in detail about food and all that accompanies food. When I first started writing these little posts I thought about liking each experience to an ex-lover, as each restaurant had its own little quirks, likes and dislikes, and eating is such a personal, visceral experience that conjures up strange connections that can only be likened to love and lust. Then I realised that I eat out quite a bit. If I continued writing these posts I'd get to the point of running out of ex-lovers and I'd be referring to an eatery as 'like that guy, with the funny hat I made out with near the bathrooms in Fabric all those years ago', plus it was possibly a slightly clichéd analogy and a little crude. Pollen Street Social is anything but crude. It is a restaurant that is in delicate, soft focus - romance through calm, clea...

Mission is that lover you want roll around with all day on a grey Sunday, till your hair is in knots and you just don’t care. The lover whose scar on his left hip you want to run your tongue over and hear the story of how it got there, time and time again. Unlike Pollen Street Social, who has no scars. Side note: these are restaurants; restaurants do not have hips or scars. This is a metaphor, in English class at high school we were told that these were good to use in creative writing. How and why we ending up at Mission was because of Drapers Arms, our favourite pub. Favourite because we can bring the dog, eat great food, drink great wine and have great service. Pretty standard needs, but often hard to get. On Broadway you would say Drapers Arms was a triple threat. One day we went and the food was great, but different. With a little sleuthing we discovered it was a new chef – so where was James de Jong? Another sleuthing affair (Google) lead us to Mission. Who were Mission? ...

For me the night began in the line outside, behind the white girl wearing a bindi. Someone didn't get last year's memo about cultural appropriation! (If you missed it too, my little brother writes an  articulate blog post  about it, in particular check out 'part 2' – “sacred things are a no, no”).  The line moved along fast enough, there were heaters outside, it was fairly pleasant. I was there by invitation, as everyone was, because I am holding an event next year at Sushi Samba for 350 people. I went because I wanted to see how the space worked as a drinks reception. You won't be surprised to hear that it does work. I will change a few things, like what doors to the balcony I have open, but that's mainly due to the fact I'm having May event, as oppose to a November one.