I have had a change of heart

Once a confident carnivore, I've become a morally perturbed pescetarian in a little under a year.

I always subscribed to the idea that as long as the animal had had a good life, then I was perfectly  happy to eat it.
Until I realised that this meant the animals most qualified to be eaten, were actually, our pets. This unsettling thought was one of a number of worries beginning to bother my conscience in relation to eating meat late last summer.
Another was the striking similarity between my dog's legs and a leg of lamb. I have always had long haired pets until Lola, so had previously been shielded from this resemblance. This idea, along with the many others that suddenly seemed to be targeting me from every angle, prompted me to reconsider my relationship with animals, dead and alive.
Although a lover of meat, I am also fortunate enough to have a fairly pliable pallet, and am therefore open to trying new things. I decided this put me in a good position to give up meat, as I can eat so many alternatives. Ones which wouldn't cost a life. And that, so far, is that.

The guilty parties.

The Grace British Food Rivial

The same way a smell, or a piece of music, can relocate you to a specific moment from your personal history, food is greatly evocative of the past. I am sure that everyone can think of a food, good or bad, that can rewind the clocks. The first one that pops into mind for me is fresh, crusty baguettes filled to the brim with tuna and sweetcorn which were often a quick and easy lunch on my family holidays when younger. Probably not what most people would associate with the south of France, but for me it is a portal straight to Narbonne.

 

As well as individually connecting us to our past, food connects us to the communities, the traditions and the people of history. This is celebrated in the BBC series The Great British Food Rival, where well known chefs research and promote support for traditionally British ingredients that are, unfortunately, neglected in the modern day. This, not only reminds us to appreciate the wide range of food available to us, but educates us about the part various foods play in our national history. And, in doing so, often provides some wonderful recipes!


Monica Galetti was championing British asparagus, tempting us with a wonderful Seared Salmon with Asparagus Salsa recipe.
However, due to its short season only Peruvian asparagus is available at the moment, so Greg and I substituted the asparagus with peas, an ingredient featured on a previous series of the programme by Ainsley Harriot.

 

It was delicious, and I look forward to trying the original recipe next spring with some British asparagus.

Tomato Chutney

Tomatoes are one of the plants that we grow every year. They grow pretty easily, we eat loads of them, and we seem to have accumulated packets and packets of tomato seeds over the years. It would be silly of us not to grow them each year. But it does mean that every year, at about this time, we end up with a surplice of unripened tomato's. And every year I mean to do something with them.

 And every year I forget.

 

Well, not this year!

This year me and my Mother made Green Tomato Chutney.

 

We combined a number of different recipes, because none sounded like they were quite what we fancied. So this is our own made up recipe.

 

Ingredients:

 

175g Light Brown Sugar

150ml of White Wine Vinegar

1 Onion

1 Carrot

4 Garlic Cloves

3cm of Root Ginger

1 Dried red chilli

600g of mostly Green Tomatoes, with a few Red Tomatoes to make up the weight.

1tsp Fenugreek Seeds

1tsp Corriander Seeds

1tsp Cumin Seeds

2 tsp of Black Mustard Seeds

The Seeds from inside 2 Cardamom Pods.



 

 

Instructions

1. We fried all the Spices, except from one of the tsp of mustard seeds, in a dry pan for a couple of minutes until they began to crackle.
2. We crushed them in a pestle and mortar
3. We fried the chopped Onion and Carrot in a little oil until soft.
4. We added the spices to the Onion and Carrot.
5. We added the Garlic to the frying mixture.
6. Then, in went all the Tomatoes and the Brown Sugar.
8. Closely followed by the White Wine Vinegar.
9. We then grated in the Ginger, and added the chopped up Chilli.
10. After about 30 mins to an hour of letting it simmer we added the other tsp of Mustard Seeds.
10. It was then a case of letting it simmer for around another hour or two.
11. Then, once it had cooled a bit, we transferred it into sterilised glass jars.

One of which we will let mature for a couple of months, the other, we've already tucked into... with crusty bread and cheese.

Love, disgust and food

Everyone has foods that they love, and foods that they hate, which makes disgust a common theme in discussions of food. Some people can't stand slimy foods, some are repulsed by certain potent smells, and I, for one, used to have such a strong aversion for jelly beans, that I would begin to feel sick at the mention of them.

It is therefore natural that disgust is also heavily represented in food literature; and it is abundant in Nigel Slater's Toast. However, it is noticeable that disgust's effect is lessened by the presence of love.

This is a relevant part of an essay I wrote on disgust for my degree.

"Elements of disgust are present throughout Toast, however, it is only when his loving mum dies that it becomes so apparent. The opening paragraph of the memoir ends with the image of butter with “black bits in it” (1) and we are soon after informed that there was always a “whiff of [the incontinent] Auntie Fanny” (4) in Nigel's house. However, although these depictions are unpleasant, they never fully disgust the reader. At this stage, they are surrounded by images of love, comfort and on the whole, happiness. After describing the butter Nigel goes on to say that despite his mothers “failings” “it is impossible not to love her” (1). Auntie Fanny's incontinence is only referred to as “a pity” (4) because other than that he believes that “every child's Christmas memories should smell like that” (4). Both the reader and Nigel are inattentive to the disgust at this point because there is the presence of love. William Miller in The Anatomy of Disgust suggests that love is “that state in which various disgust rules are relaxed or suspended” (132). Love's ability to relax disgust suggests that is a more powerful emotion, and able to overcome disgust, explaining why it does not offend either Nigel or the reader in these early passages. However, as the narrative progresses, and the love in Nigel's life gradually vanishes, disgust becomes more apparent.

The “Tinned Ham” episode is one of the first passages in the memoir that disgust has full impact. Nigel's disgust is the first to be constructed. He describes the “cold boiled” ham and the “evil jelly” (33), comparing it to the things usually considered most abject, such as a corpse and excrement. He portrays it as being “prise[d] from its aluminium coffin” and compares it to “poo on [his] plate” (33). Describing the ham in this way not only informs the reader of how much Nigel was disgusted by it, but prompts them to consider the disgust they would feel if being presented with such things as “poo” or a corpse to eat. The next persons disgust to be constructed is Nigel's Father's. Nigel suggests a few things that his Father could have been disgusted by, but it is the description of himself just before “pushing the jelly to the edge of his plate” that the reader can relate to; the disgust felt towards someone 'playing with their food'. Finally, with the ruthless action of Nigel's Dad flinging Nigel's dinner across the lawn, the readers moral disgust is constructed. It is with the wearing away of his mother, and the replacement of her with the unloving father that disgust becomes noticeable; there is no longer the strength of love it relax it, and it comes to Nigel's aid as resistance."

 

 

I don't believe that disgust can be completely overcome by love, (I still don't eat Jelly beans - although I have no problem being in the same room as them now) but I think love can help make disgusting things, bearable.

A Mere Trifle

"... Its such a shame I have a boyfriend who's more afraid of creepy crawlies than I am" I sighed with a momentary glance towards Greg.

He wasn't taking the bait.

I was hoping to rope him in to de-caterpillaring the gooseberry bush that was under attack in my garden.
Now, I would like to point out that I am not always so scheming, nor always so whimpish. The poor gooseberry bush has now been striped by sawfly caterpillars three years in a row, and every other year I have and squished, and squashed, and pulled them off, devotedly. However, this year the little green and black caterpillars really, really, repel me. I am normally quite fond of caterpillars, (The Hungry Caterpillar being one of my very favourite children's books) but these ones look entirely evil. Or perhaps they only look so evil because I've witnessed their devastating effect on my Gooseberry bush for the last few years. Either way, I didn't fancy facing them again.




The Culprits, truly disgusting? or all in my mind?

"I need someone brave to rescue me from these awful caterpillar's" I continued, dropping all subtly and replacing it with more of a 'damsel in distress' stance.
"OK" said Greg, "I'll try."
And, indeed, he squished, and squashed, and pulled them off, very bravely and did rescue me... and the gooseberry bush.

I am well aware that this may not appear to be the most heroic or romantic story ever told, but to me it is very significant.

I don't like trifles, but Greg does, perhaps I'll thank him with a gooseberry one... when they're ready.

Miso Meetings

I began my blog by talking of my best friend, Hayley.
So for continuity, here are a few of the food things we've done lately.

Hayley and Gemma at, our regularly visited, Miso.

Me eating Singapore noodles in Miso

Miso is our regular restaurant to catch up in when we haven't seen each other in a while. (Or when we're hungry for our favourite Thai Green Curry.) It is affordable, but incredibly tasty, making it ideal for us students.

Afternoon tea in London.

I bought Hayley a voucher for Afternoon Tea with cocktails in London for her birthday last year, we luckily managed to fit it in just before the final date.

We love exploring food together. I've recently heard of a 'Cookbook Cafe' where apparently the chefs will cook anything from the recipe books around the shop. I think this will have to be our next adventure. I can't think of anything more up our street...

The Gift of Food.

It was my Birthday almost exactly a month ago (the 27th of March... in case you're wondering). I got lots of wonderful presents from friends and family. Unsuprisingly the majority of them were food based.

My Mum's Victoria Sponge

My friend Evie baked and decorated me a cake and so did my mum.

Dickens and Knitting balls cake from Evie

We went out to one of my favourite resturants, Albert's Table. This are a few of the star dishes around our table.

 These gifts of food made me feel very loved.

We're animals after all.

Obviously food is necessary for survival. But could this be why it is so important in our relationships?

Our first food relationships are surely the ones formed at birth (or even before that) with our parents. We are dependent on them for food, and it is the first way we interact with them. Once this initial bond, based on food, is established, we can then go on to form the multidimensional relationships that are central to the rest of our lives.

So, when attracting "mates" could the involvement of food be a subconscious, animalistic message, signalling that they are able provide? Even to this day, men are more often thought of as the "breadwinners", and the ability of providing for your family is still important for the pride of many men. Acknowledging the practical properties of food (rather than the pleasure elements) reminds us of our animalistic nature, and that it must still play a part in our relationships.

I think it is most plain to see in our relationships with animals. I have a cat and a dog, and both are raaaather greedy creatures. My dog is not yet a year, so I can still remember clearly how our bond was formed,and food certainly played a large part. She depends on me for food and, therefore, survival. However, this is not where its importance ends. When training her we use food as treats. The training we do is nothing elaborate, but it establishes and cements the bond between us. We have essentially taught her to communicate with us, with the use of food.

April is the cruellest month?

Nowadays, with the constant availability of most produce, seasons can seem redundant, and their associations with different foods have become trivial. We can have strawberries, cherries, tomatoes, peas, asparagus (I'm sure you get the idea) all year round. However, being an old woman at heart (and therefore, a keen gardener) I believe it is still important to understand the cycle of the year and how this relates to the food we eat.


Spring is probably my favourite season. Especially when it's sunny. It suddenly becomes easier to get out of bed in the mornings. I actually want to get up, rather than having to employ all my will power to wonder around bleary eyed and grumpy. I love checking each morning which of my seeds have germinated, particularly if it's something I've never grown before. This year, along with my usual vegetables, I've planted "Asparagus Pea", "Lemon Cucumber", "Purple carrots" and an odd looking "squash hybrid". Probably my favorite thing of all that I grow are peas. Ever since I can rememmber my mum has grown peas, and I cant think of many things I enjoy more than picking, and popping open, a pod on a beautiful summer day. Now you may wonder what all this has to do with love. Perhaps it's not blaringly obvious, but to me, there are pleanty of links between love and my growing of vegatables.

Firstly, it is a past time that both me and my mum enjoy. Every spring we plot, plan and plant our garden together. Therefore, one link with love is that it's one way I spend time with someone I love.

Secondly, it is a love of mine. For me, it evokes similar emotions to that of the early stages of a relationship. Excitement, anticipation, eagerness and above all, happiness.

Thirdly, (in fact this is just the "secondly" continued) the cycle of the seasons are comparable to the stages of a relationship.
Spring, as I mentioned above, is similar to the beginning of a relationship.
Summer is the "honeymoon period" where everything is sunny and wonderful.
Autumn is the settling in stage. Perhaps when the first excitement has faded, but your beginning to be comfortable with one another... (or perhaps when the cracks begin to appear)
Winter This is the comfy and cosy stage. You know each other well, and can just appreciate each others company, calmly. (or perhaps when the frostiness and coldness creeps in)

When thinking of the seasons and relationships I was reminded of Nora Ephron's novel Heartburn, where the stages of a relationship are judged through different potatoes.
She also divides the relationship into 4 stages. :
The "crisp potatoes" beginning.
"The middle (I)" where the potatoes get thrown out and replaced with pasta.
"The middle (II)" where a low-carbohydrate diet is annonced by the loved one
The end - the mash potato stage.

Crab regiment

Clearly communication and team work are important in relationships.

This, I have recently decided, means couples that cook together must be strengthening their relationships meal by meal. Cooking together allows a couple to test the ground for future team tasks, possibly increasing or decreasing attraction depending on their ability to work together in the kitchen. It also allows a bit of practice to improve these skills before more essential teamwork... and we all know that "practice makes perfect".

Me and Greg don't have the responsibility of a house or children yet, but our communication skills do not go unused. We do cook together a lot, but it was when faced with a new challenge in a restaurant that I realised that food had had us practising our "couple skills" since the very beginning.

For part of my birthday present Greg took me to a lovely Seafood restaurant we'd been meaning to try for a while. As we'd woken up late that morning, we'd only had time to fit in one meal before going out to dinner, so by the time we arrived at the restaurant we were so peckish that we demolished the "courtesy hand fried crisps" that had replaced the standard bread and olives, in no time at all. We eagerly ordered, desperate to fill the ever increasing void in our stomachs. To start Greg had "Yellow fin Tuna tartare, ginger, lime and radish" and I had "seared diver scallops with pomegranate and pancetta". As usual we exchanged a little of our own for a little of the other persons. (Me and Greg have a rule for when we eat out, that allows us to see and sample as much of the menu as possible. No one on the table is allowed to order the same thing.) Our starters were thoroughly enjoyed, both for their taste and for filling our tummies a little.

Next came our mains... and our challenge.

As I mentioned in my previous post Greg and I enjoy the excitement of trying new foods, so when I spotted "Whole grilled crab, garlic, chilli & ginger butter £19.50" on the menu, having never tackled a "Whole" crab before, I ambitiously ordered it for my main. Now the starters had been taken away, and unusual cutlery was being placed before me. I began to get nervous. It arrived partly dismantled, but with the meat still tucked away in the many crevices. It was also very hot, meaning I had to juggle getting meat out of it with not burning my hands. After a couple of minutes of bewildered struggle, mine and Greg's team work skills we've built up over the last five years jumped into action. He set about using the long spindly utensil to push and prod the white meat out of the body, I got the easier job of cracking open the legs and claws. By the time the crab had given up every last morsel, we were both covered in bits of shell, pieces of meat, and had long forgotten that we were in a restaurant and surrounded by other dinners. It had been a military operation; both of us so focused fully on the task and its efficiency, that our only conversation had been instructions (or orders) to one another. It was then, with crab shell hanging in my hair and my hunger finally diminished, that I realised our harsh lieutenant, food, had once again taught us one of the most important relationship skills. How to work as a team.

Just in case you get stuck with a crab but are without your other team member, this is how you tackle it...

Excitement

Earlier in my blog I said that food is often mistaken for love due to their similarities, but is really only a imitation of it. Now, this sounds rather damning considering I have claimed that most of my relationships are heavily based on food. However, I also believe that their similarities, in some circumstances, compliment each other rather nicely. Somewhat conveniently, I think this is the case in my relationships.

I've been with Greg for about 5 years now, and as I am only 21, I consider that rather a long time. The excitement Sophie Dahl describes in the previous post is long since gone, so instead we generate our own. Now before you turn away disgusted, I must quickly assure you that I am talking about seeking out, cooking and trying new and exciting foods.

Recently a trip to Surrey Street Market provided us with a few products we hadn't cooked before. A few we hadn't even eaten before.

Greg Posing with a yam and a Kohlrabi

 

"I am not a glutton – I am an explorer of food."
Erma Bombeck

Scotch Bonnet Chillies

Greg's Aunt has a holiday home in Cornwall which Greg and I occasionally visit. The purpose of these holidays is almost purely food based. Last time we went down (September 2011) I insisted on us lugging my huge hardback River Cottage Fish Book along (which took up at least a quarter of my suitcase, meaning many of my perhaps "more essential" items where ousted and left behind.) The thing I really wanted it for, and the thing I was most excited about, was foraging for razor clams. I'd seen Hugh do this on river cottage and I was dying to give it ago. Greg was rather less enthusiastic, but when it comes to River Cottage, no one can discourage me.

This is River Cottage regular John Wright demonstrating how its done.

The day arrived for us to finally give it ago ourselves. The flat is around a ten minute walk from the beach, so off we trotted down the steep hill and onto Carbis Bay. It was fairly empty, but we kept walking until we were far away from any other holiday makers (partly from embarrassment of what we were about to attempt, partly for the peace, quiet and the wonderful feeling of having the beach to ourselves.) I hadn't bought wellies (they certainly wouldn't have fit into my suitcase). So I popped of my flimsy shoes and left them on a rock away from the waves for a sceptical, spectating Greg to watch over. I took out the little sachets of salt I'd 'borrowed' from a café, and crouched down by the tell-tale holes we'd been looking for. I poured in the salt and waited. And waited. Nothing. I moved over to the one next to it and did the same. Nothing. Then, the holes began to bubble. Suddenly, Greg was no longer the sceptical spectator, but was crouching next to me, fingers each side of the hole, poised and ready for the razor clam's appearance. Nothing. Greg soon gave up and got up. He occupied himself trying to remove barnacles of the rocks while I patiently remained watching the holes. Occasionally a bubble or two would rekindle hope and excitement, but the long periods of stillness in between would soon control my expectations again. The tide was fast approaching, and my enthusiasm had been well and truly damped by this point.

Looking over to see how Greg was getting on, I saw he had a small pile of barnacles and mussels forming. OK, it wasn't razor clams like I'd hoped for, but my fish book defiantly said we could eat barnacles, so that would be an experience. And we'd had a pretty nice day, in a pretty nice environment, certainly nothing to moan about. Looking out over a beautiful sea, the blue waves crashing into white nearby, my eyes where caught by two small objects floating out to join the sparkling ocean. A thought struck me. My shoes. What had happened to the sceptical, spectating shoe watcher? He'd stopped being cynical and got stuck in, leaving my shoes unguarded. Unsurprisingly, the greedy waves had helped themselves. "GREG!! MY SHOES!" I shouted, wading in after them. Greg, managed to steam ahead and reach them before they were irretrievable. He brought back my misshapen shoes which had absorbed half the ocean, but our dinner had been swept of in a sort of exchange.

Walking back, me barefooted and Greg soaked up to his knees, we agreed "Oh well, I guess its fish and chips tonight".

Sophie Dahl

Here's Sophie Dahl talking about food and romance. (there's about a minute of credits first I'm afraid, but you can jump them.)

She talks of the "dizzy, head spinning, teenage bit, [where] you tend not to eat very much at all". This shows how love can replace the role of food. At the beginning of a relationship, you nourish yourselves with the excitement, instead of meals.

But is it just the excitement that takes the place of food? Or does the person themselves become a kind of food as well?

In Margret Atwood's The Edible Woman, Marian feels she is being consumed by her fiance, Peter. The novel culminates in her baking him a replacement cake woman to feed on, and accusing him of "trying to assimilate" her.

Once looked for, this idea of consuming our 'nearest and dearest' can be found in abundance. Phrases, language and names used for loved ones often imply absorption.

"Honey"

"Pumpkin"

"Sweetiepie"

Eggs

My mum hates eggs. She cannot help but express her disgust every time they're mentioned.

My boyfriend wont go near them if they're served cold. He is especially disgusted by egg mayonnaise sandwiches.

The smell of frying eggs gives my sister a headache. We can't cook them when she's at home.

Consequently, I have suppressed my enjoyment of eggs... particularly egg mayonnaise sandwiches.

My Dad loves eggs.

Senses

In my opinion the link between food and love is not just one of coincidence. Their interaction is more than just their mutual existence and importance in our lives. I think one of the things that bind them so tightly in most cultures is their similarities, meaning that they are often substituted (and perhaps mistaken) for one another.

Throughout Nigel Slater's memoir, Toast, the closeness of love and food is prominent, and their apparent interchangeability questioned. The parallel is set up on the first page, where he states that “It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you”. This presents food as a reason for love, and is confusing his love for the food, with his love for his mum. Is it the similarities between love and food that is causing this confusion?

Later in the book, after his mother dies, Nigel realises that food cannot replace his mother's love. He'd previously believed that marshmallows were the “nearest food to a kiss”. However, after his mum dies he reflects that “No Walnut Whip, no Cadbury's Flake, no sugared almond could ever replace that kiss. I'm not sure a marshmallow really came that close.”

Nigel's senses had misled him to compare food with love. He'd compared Marshmallows to a kiss because they were “Soft, sweet, tender, pink” (Touch, Taste, and Sight). This highlights a key similarity between food and love, their engagement of multiple senses, the use of which, draw us in.

If you consider stereotypical dating devices, ingrained into our culture, different aspects target each of the senses.

Firstly Sight: The initial attraction. The extra effort we put into our appearance. The pretty gifts given and received.

Smell: Flowers. Perfume. Aftershave.
Taste: Dinner. Boxes of Chocolates. Popcorn at the Cinema... Perhaps breakfast.
Touch: Holding Hands. Embraces. Kisses...
Hearing: Conversation. Mixed Tapes.


Food also involves all the senses.

Sight: “We eat with out eyes first” - proven I would say, by the amount of pictures of food that litter the Internet.

Smell: Either enticing or repelling.
Taste: Sweet, Sharp, Salty, Sour, Spicy...
Touch: Texture.
Hearing: Sizzles. Pops. Crunches. Etc. 

Realising how sensory both love and food are has led me to wonder if it is one of the reasons they are so often indistinguishable. The senses we use to perceive them are the same.

Perhaps one of the reasons food is so popular in dating is because we are subconsciously trying to simulate one of the most animalistic and sensory of experiences of all, sex.

Plate Expectations

I think you'll agree that both cooking and relationships can be emotionally absorbing. They consume time and effort, they cause excitement, nerves, pride ... and when it all goes wrong, they can cause great disappointment.

Greg and I decided to make a chicken pie. From scratch. For the first time.

Beginning with the pastry, Greg carefully weighed out the flour and butter, leaving me to do the messy bit described in the recipe as “rubbing in”. We then added water and stirred with a “cold knife”, which, I even observed at the time, is unlucky (“stir with a knife stir to strife” as my Grandma used to say) but we'd been told by many a TV cookery program that when it comes to baking, you had to follow a recipe strictly, so a knife was reluctantly used. We rolled the pastry into a ball, cling-filmed it and popped it into the fridge. Pastry done.

Now to make the filling, which we were more comfortable with. Chicken. Bacon. Leeks. Garlic. Flour. Stock. Bit of thyme. Done. We didn't have to follow a strict recipe as this wasn't baking. Now to assemble it all. The filling goes into the dish. Pastry on Top. Beautiful. In the oven it goes.

The pie came out looking wonderful. We had done some vegetables to go along side it that we hastily dished up, eager to be tucking in. All that was left to do was the gravy, something we weren’t doing from scratch. However, we would use the water we cooked the vegetables in to retain the nutrients. We spooned the last of the gravy granules into a glass jug and reheated the vegetable water to avoid it becoming congealed. There were fewer gravy granules than we would have liked, but it would certainly do; If I was sparing with the water, we'd have just enough, thick, meaty gravy to go with our pie. I poured the boiling water onto the granules. Greg finished dishing up the pie onto the plates. The smell had taken over the kitchen, causing our stomachs to rumble. We grabbed our plates, I brought the gravy, and we sat down to dinner. Greg went to sort out some music for us to listen to while we ate, calling out different options from the CD rack. I distractedly poured gravy over our dinners whilst trying to decide between Back to Black and Grace. “Its got to be Grace”. I looked down at our plates, expecting to see the creamy pie surrounded by, and soaking up, the glossy brown sauce...

Our wonderful pie was swimming in what looked like steaming, grey, dish water. I'd not been “sparing with the water” and our dinner, our beautiful pie, was ruined.

Risotto for Two

The first compliment I can remember Greg giving me was "I really love that you eat your spaghetti with both you're fork and spoon. Not many girls do nowadays". Odd, I know, but I think it demonstrates to extent to which food is present in our relationship.

We 'got together' at a party Greg hosted one weekend, when his Mum was away. Food may well have been involved, but I am afraid I can't remember much of that night. However, I can tell you, it was very much involved on the Monday after the party. Again, it was used in coping with the awkwardness of our new relationship. We had conquered being friends, but the uncertainty of this new position sent us back to the that “common ground”. We decided to skip the rest of our day at sixth form and go food shopping in Tesco. Greg suggested we make a risotto. Instantly, our awkwardness was evaporated, rapidly replaced with debates over ingredients, discussions of previous risottos, and, just a little bit, of hunger. We bought:


Arborio Rice

Onions

Garlic

Tomato Purée

Bacon Lardons

Vegetable Stock

We went back to Greg's house

1. We softened the Onions.
2. We added the Bacon Lardons.
3. We added Garlic (lots) and the Rice (also lots)
4. I stirred and stirred until my arm ached, whilst Greg added the Stock bit by bit.
5. The Tomato Purée went in (to the risotto instead of the fabric of my top)

For an authentic re-creation, eat whilst watching a fabulous bit of food related comedy, such as this...





When you read you begin with ABC, when you cook you begin with GREG AND ME.

I will start with my relationship that is most strongly governed by food, and (as Maria would recommend) I will “start at the very beginning”...

Greg and I went to the same secondary school. We 'moved in the same circles' but had never particularly been friends. So when we started sixth form, and found that we were sole companions in our free periods, it was a case of trying to establish common ground. We found that, like most human beings, one thing we had in common, was that we both ate. So, food eased us into companionship. We would wander down to the small row of shops and cafés near our school, and buy sandwiches and cakes. (Sometimes we even bought full roast dinners, that we would have to eat rather speedily to fit into the one hour we had.) Food gave us an activity for the hour and provided conversation, allowing us to become more than just acquaintances. It also filled the gaps in our conversation; if we had nothing to say, we could always absorb ourselves in the food (and we all know its rude to talk with your mouth full). More than just alleviating social awkwardness, the animalistic nature of eating established an immediate intimacy and familiarity between us. Our relationship developed through our senses as well as conversation. 

One day, we bought a tube of tomato purée and a loaf of bread, and sat in a nearby field eating them together. Greg soon decided that squirting the tomato purée on me, rather than the bread, was more appealing, resulting in my having to spend the rest of the day at sixth form with what looked like bloodstains all over my top. We had progressed from just a café companionship, to a friendship that was founded on food.

Two Peas in a Blog

Unlike most twenty-somethings at the pub, my best friend and I only liven up once we get the menus out, and conversation turns to food. We begin quizzing each other on what we would order, (if we hadn't just had dinner), or we try to guess each others preferences (Thai Noodles? Or the Steak and Ale pie), usually over a packet of crisps. This performance perks us up so much that we foolishly decide to “make a proper evening of it” and go on to some awful club after the pub closes. This is always regretted in the morning, when we are kept away from our beloved food by churning stomachs. Despite this we'll still be discussing food as soon as we see each other again.

However, when it comes to discussing food, I'm certainly not loyal to my best friend (Sorry Hayley), or to my boyfriend (Sorry Greg; I'm a food polygamist). Be it my best friend, my boyfriend, or many other important people in my life, food features heavily in my relationships. When I think back over my relationship with Greg, for me, it is memories of food that map out our four years together. Unsurprisingly, I am keen to argue (particularly in order to present myself as less of a pig) that this is the case with many people's relationships.

On some level, most relationships do involve, and possibly revolve around, food. Both in reality, and in fiction, food forges and cements relationships. Think of the typical 'going out for dinner' as a first date, or even the standard American “do you wanna grab a coffee” (and all the subtext that involves) so common in films. So what is it about food that makes it so integral to our relationships?

By examining food, and the part it plays in bringing people together in literature, and also in my own foodie relationships, I would like to explore this evident link between these two vital organs - Our Hearts and Our Stomachs.