My mother cooks curry in a sarong and shower cap. My mother has both my daughters. My mother is strong, caring, violent and beautiful. My mother makes the best ice cream. Last week I wore a different sarong every day, well except for Friday as that was shopping day so I put on ‘proper’ clothes to go into public. I love my sarongs, every time I go home to Sarawak (the Malaysian state I am from) I buy a new sarong, most of the time I use the excuse of buying one for a friend, but often I also get a new one for me. Sarongs mean home, in so many ways. They are what I wear in the evenings in Sarawak, after my shower, before dinner; I put on a sarong and have a beer with dad or a pre-dinner snack, sitting on the veranda. In London they are what I potter about the house in. And are for me, inexplicitly linked with cooking. During my PhD I worked with four women, all performers, PhD was particular practice-based and involved performances. One of the sessions we looke...
This is a project about the conversations and thoughts that food, drink and the location of London brings.