This newsletter has become less of a place for polished essays or investigative features and more one I share what I’m learning and doing as I go along. Six months after a fast and furious book launch phase for In Good Taste, I'm slowing down for the summer. Before I have a little rest and plan my next chapter, I wanted to pause and take stock.
By way of a recap or introduction, this is my 20th year of writing about food. I started with a food blog, which quickly led to my first cookbook Miss Masala - a handbag-sized lifestyle and narrative guide to Indian cooking. It proudly wore a “parental advisory” label. My second cookbook Masala was published in 2018 by Bloomsbury. I co-founded a premium spice company the same year and broadened my interest in spice, flavour and food production.
My latest publishing venture has no bad language, recipes or pictures. In Good Taste is an accessible and non-judgemental guide to the system behind and around our food, its impact on people and the planet. It has ideas for positive, practical change for food lovers who’d like to have a deeper, more meaningful relationship with what they eat and drink.
It’s a big change from what I was writing about earlier. It’s been quite the journey so far. So here are a few lessons this book has taught me.
I was a very different person when my first cookbook came out 16 years ago. I was an outlier: not a chef, nor an elder, simply someone who taught herself to cook the food she missed and wanted to play a role in changing its perception overseas. I internalised my doubts and remained outwardly confident.
I wrote In Good Taste because I would have loved to read a book like this four years ago. But it brought a flood of those misfit feelings back. It has taken me six months to stop worrying so much about whether I’d be accepted and start enjoying the ride.
The lesson: Imposter feelings don’t disappear forever. They come back and you need to deal with them again.
So many years in, it didn’t feel like I was climbing from the bottom of the mountain. Experience gets you halfway up, and builds your tenacity. But it doesn’t remove the rest of the climb. You still need to earn your stripes and build your presence.
This has felt harder for a book covering topics that a lot of people don’t want to be bothered with. And while I’ve written it so readers can dip in and out, it still needs more investment of time and energy than a casual flip through with some post it notes for recipes (does everyone still do this?).
The lesson: Grit and determination remain important, no matter where you are in your writing career.
I met some incredible people as I published my second book and then moved into commenting and advising on culture and diversity in food. I expected to bring them with me on my journey. And assumed they would. Some did. Many didn’t.
What I didn’t expect was the ghosting. The sudden disappearances of people who’d contributed to my book or previously championed my work. Some had even benefited from the expertise I’d now written into a whole chapter on people. There are no imaginary karma points to claim. And there is really no point wondering why as there could be a myriad of reasons and everyone moves on.
The lesson: Support isn’t guaranteed.
I have been bowled over by new champions and supporters since I published my latest book. And I couldn’t have needed it more. Fraudsters zeroed my bank balance ten days before the book launch, at a time I needed all my strength and positivity. The ombudsman has now ruled in the bank’s favour so that money is lost forever.
I will remain ever grateful to everyone who stepped in to contribute, paying for newsletter subscriptions, making space to feature me in their newsletters (looking at you Jeannette Hyde and Anna Jones) and speed-reading and sharing effusive praise my book. The love I have received online and off is really quite overwhelming.
The lesson: When you get love, cherish it.
I’m physically incapable of throwing an intimate gathering. I blame growing up in the noughties comms world in central London. So yes, my book launch included lugging boxes of snacks to the venue in a metal trolley dressed in my finery, as my teens argued and then got lost with sacks of ice in new Covent Garden Market.
My publisher Kristin Jensen and publicist Emma Marijewycz were immense, from setting up, chopping crudités, selling books through to clearing up and always with a smile and an encouraging word or two. The hard graft hasn’t stopped since. I’ve been at 12 book events since February, including Fortnum & Mason, Ballymaloe Festival, Groundswell and the Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership where I studied and which wrote my foreword.
Many turned me down and away, including my local bookshop who sent me a curt message to say they already had Jay Rayner and Diana Henry. I enjoyed replying to say I’d ask Jay whether it was worth his time next time I see him for The Kitchen Cabinet! We had a very pleasant exchange after. There is a brief slowdown now before I start the next exciting leg of the book promo tour in September.
The lesson: Writing a book is like being pregnant, but the hard work starts when you have the baby.
Most events will cover your travel and accommodation, and some are very generous with the meals during your stay. But there is no fee involved. It also involves taking time out of paid work or working weekends, and with the knock on productivity dip from returning to the desk bleary-eyed.
Friends have stepped in to fill gaps. For my Edinburgh bookshop event, for example, my friend Nicki paid for my ticket cost so I could travel to Scotland from London. Fiona Richmond from Scotland Food & Drink personally paid for a handful of tickets for food media. Chef Sarah Rankin refused to take a penny from any of us for the treats she laid out on the night, despite our protests.
My trip to Groundswell wouldn’t have been possible without generous comp accommodation at Fuller’s Hill Cottages. Jenny Jefferies gave me a vast cottage to sleep comfortably in, while her farmer husband collected and dropped me to the site, and gave me a farm tour while sharing lots of insight and experience. The hot tub outside was a fitting end to a busy work phase.
The lesson: Accept help graciously and gratefully
There is no fee to attend book promo events. My top tip is to build commercial thinking into the events so they pay in other ways. Request that there is a ticket fee and that it contributes towards the cost of your book. If people are already spending money to attend, it makes sense to pay the extra pounds and get a shiny new read. That way you maximise the ROI (Return on Investment) from your attendance.
Also, when you’re doing your talk, sell the darn thing, elegantly. Weave why everyone should have a copy while you’re talking on your panel or adding value more broadly. My books sold out at Ballymaloe by day two and by the end of my third and final talk there. Planet Peach, the one-day hospitality sustainability event, had 60 copies for attendees which went by lunchtime.
The lesson: Make book promotion pay
My love for recipe writing or home cooking hasn’t gone away. I heard Ruby Tandoh say she moved away from recipe writing because she thinks there are enough recipes already at a talk. I agree and disagree. There are too many recipes. The problem is that they don’t linger in our heads forever. We need the constant reminders and the creativity.
But recipe writing is a tiring pursuit. It pays very little. Commissions often prioritise social media stars, the trendy or the youthful. There isn’t a lot of recipe publishing food media left. And I did the maths, and can’t afford to invest time in another cookbook.
So I will contend with mostly talking about food and drink, eating it and educating on it and stay open to recipe commissions without making the latter a priority. I’m always available for your recipes in whatever shape that takes, particularly if you want to feed me one of your family or menu specials.
The lesson: You can’t take everything with you on a new journey
So what’s next? Six years ago, I said yes to an opportunity with no idea where it would take me. July always reminds me of that moment. I had just become self-employed, a single parent learning to co-parent as the sole breadwinner, all in the middle of a pandemic.
Then Katy Jackson at the The British Library commisssioned me to run a food writing course. It's become an annual two-day, sold-out masterclass covering broader food matters and food storytelling, introduced me to so many curious food lovers and changed how I think about sharing what I know.
This summer, I've finally found the confidence and courage to open my Food Matters for Food Lovers course beyond the British Library, running three online one-day Summer Intensives. We'll spend the morning exploring how our food system works and why it matters. In the afternoon, we'll turn that knowledge into action, looking at how we can influence change through our eating, our writing, our work or our ventures.
If you're a food professional, writer, communicator, founder or simply someone who wants to understand the bigger picture behind what we eat and drink, I would love you to join us. You’ll leave inspired, informed and equipped to make a positive difference in your own way. And join a community of like-minded food lovers.
The dates are Saturday 25th July, 22nd August, 19th September.
You can book here and there’s more information on what we’ll cover.
I hope to see some of you there!
I’ve now been commenting and advising on language and labels on food and drink for six years, training hundreds of industry bod. So I was annoyed to find “Keralan Prawn Curry” on a supermarket shelf. Keralan is not a word. It irritates people from the state Keralites or Malayalis to no end. The correct word is Kerala. Incidentally, the state is renaming itself Keralam to move away from its colonised pronunciation
If you get a chance to watch a 30-minute documentary called The Glastonbury Nut Farmer, please go for it. It was a heartwarming and inspiring story about farmer Andrew Kent who used government agroforestry support to grow hazelnuts and walnut trees for perennial plant protein by his daughter Elsa Kent.
This new report on market concentration in our meat, eggs and dairy in UK and Europe makes for grim reading about how it skews the market and the impact it has on animal welfare and nature. There are some benefits to scale, of course. I was on the board of an egg company that increased what it paid its farmers of their own accord. Last week I celebrated Clarence Court’s Royal Warrant. The company specialises in eggs from heritage breeds.
That’s all from me this week. More when I’m rested and ready. Thank you for reading, caring and sharing and see you on the other side.
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