I know summer’s not over, but I knew I’d forget things if I put it off. And I do love writing these. It’s been a feral few months of eating; given what a furnace London’s been, I’m surprised I had it in me. But that’s the thing about appetite—you eat until you feel like you’ll never be hungry again, and yet!
This was a summer of courgette pastas: quickly browned till streaming through spaghetti, slowly and sweetly cooked with rigatoni and breadcrumbs, and diced and softened, with orzo and mint (served with roast chicken and jammy carrots). If you are what you eat, I am now at least a small percentage courgette.
Speaking of courgette, the downstairs café at The Lavery does a very hearty vegetable lunch plate. I had a solo lunch there with my fellow unemployed/freelancers before an event upstairs. The roasted courgettes and fregola were seasoned just so.
A plate of aubergine, peppers, and yoghurt, along with the pan con tomate, at Morito on Exmouth Market, which feels like the Center of The Universe on a hot summer night. The flesh of an aubergine that’s been grilled till soft and doused in chilli butter is such a luxury. Just look at it.
The ants on a tree (螞蟻上樹) I made using this recipe. Making Sichuanese food at home is both humbling and frightening because you realise a) it will never taste quite the same, because b) restaurants use so much more oil and/or lard. Spoonfuls of Mama Yu black bean chilli oil go a long way.
The appropriately enormous big plate chicken at Dilara, which I can say with some certainty is the best thing there. I miss her, and the bites of a burger at The Plimsoll I had right before. (Anything can be a snack.)
The sweet osmanthus tofu pudding at Gégend, a Chinese tea room in a suspiciously serene pocket of Shoreditch. Enjoyed with a cold brew tea, whose pot made me feel underdressed.
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