If you read this letter regularly, you may have realised I love to cook. I’ve loved it since childhood. Aged around eleven, I made pesto for the first time, and was blown away by how combining basil, olive oil, garlic, parmesan and pine nuts created this luscious, bright green sauce. Ever since, the alchemy of bringing ingredients together has brought me much joy.
In my teens, I harboured a vague desire to have my own café one day. In my late twenties, by now an architect as passionate about creating wonderful spaces as I was about creating good food, my dream resurfaced when I became friends with a guy who worked in finance. He too wanted to open a café. And possessed the business acumen I most definitely lacked.
We had a few meetings, in which we brewed up our vision: a beautiful, minimalist, light-filled space, our pale grey terrazzo counter laid out with white china bowls full of colourful vegetable dishes and homemade cakes. But we never got further than imagining it.
I have no regrets. Partly because the restaurant industry is a notoriously tough one, not least in a city like London, where the failure rate is very high. But also because it’s meant cooking can remain something I do simply for the love of it.
Which is a huge relief.
I’ve turned other passions – yoga and writing – into things I get paid to do. Which I’m very grateful for. But doing so brings its own challenges. At times, self-doubt arises: are my yoga classes good enough? is my writing good enough? The hunger to do more also arises: more articles, more yoga workshops, and more time in which to explore it all. And when I’m on my yoga mat, practicing, I’m often scribbling down ideas for classes, or when I’m reading, I’m often thinking, why does this work or not work. Which, in some ways, is lovely. But also means I don’t totally switch off.
Cooking, however, remains a sacrosanct space, untouched by angst or striving. In the kitchen I have nothing to prove; it’s where I’m at my most non-judgmental. Not because I’m an especially brilliant cook. I’m decent enough, albeit with vast gaps in my knowledge - clueless about baking, for example. But even when I produce something that doesn’t taste very nice, the disappointment is less with my performance and more at having denied myself the pleasure of a good meal. I’m also pretty unbothered by what others think of my food. In fact, my husband, who comes from the north of England, where pie, with chips and gravy, is practically a religion thinks little of my Ottolenghi-inspired creations.
Cooking ignites my curiosity and joy, whether it’s the prelude, of leafing through cookbooks at night to unwind, or visiting the farmer’s market and seeing the season’s final fennel bulbs sitting next to its first pumpkins, and thinking about what I might create, or the act itself: slow-cooking the fennel with thyme and honey until it’s almost molten, or combining the pumpkin with ginger, coconut milk and Thai basil, for a punchy stew. This is the space in which I play, unfettered by the pressure to prove or perform.
Our lives tend to be full of pressure. Self-inflicted, as well as by others. Be it the pressure to do our work well, to earn enough money, to be a good parent/daughter/son/friend, to look after our health, and so on. There’s even the pressure we experience showing up in online spaces such as Instagram, or here on Substack, where we can get caught up in how many likes or subscribers we get, or how our performance compares to others’.
Which is why I feel it’s essential we each find at least one place in our lives we can escape to; somewhere we’re pulled simply by the currents of joy. Whether it’s knitting or photography or hiking isn’t important. What is important is we spend some time there, nourishing ourselves.
Recently, I gave a friend some of the raw chocolate I’ve been making for years. On more than one occasion, other friends have suggested I sell it. This friend was particularly persuasive – I ate the whole lot in one afternoon, she told me – and insisted I approach a popular local deli. Who said they’d like a sample. I brought one in, and never heard anything back.
Had I received this radio silence on an article pitch I’d sent to an editor, or a yoga studio I’d auditioned for, self-doubt would have inevitably bubbled up: they obviously didn’t like my idea; they didn’t like my teaching…But when I heard nothing from the deli, I was unfazed. Even slightly relieved. Because it meant I could keep my cooking exactly where I really want it to be: simply for the love of it.
Love,
Annabel x
What’s your happy place? And favourite cookbook? I’d love to know…
5 OF MY FAVOURITE COOKBOOKS
Flavour by Yotam Ottolenghi & Ixta Belfrage Vegetables, of every sort, alchemized into dreamy creations, and (mostly) pretty simple to make.
Jikoni: Proudly Inauthentic Recipes from an Immigrant Kitchen by Ravinder Bhogal Playful, unexpected and very delicious fusion recipes, the book is also full of wonderful stories about the author’s heritage and upbringing.
Chriskitch: Big Flavours from a Small Kitchen by Chris Honor & Laura Washburn Hutton I’ve always had a soft spot for Antipodean chefs – they’re so good at combining flavours in creative ways. I first came across this one when a friend took me to his café in Muswell Hill for an amazing lunch, after which I had to buy the book.
The Sugar Club by Peter Gordon One of the first cookbooks I owned, and by another fabulous Antipodean chef, who used to own the Providores café on Marylebone High Street (whose demise I’m still getting over, 4 years on!).
One: Pot, Pan, Planet by Anna Jones Delicious global vegetarian/vegan recipes, simple to make, tasty to eat.
This is something I'm always struggling with myself. Should you turn your passion into your work? I love how you broke this out to say that it's okay - as long as you keep something sacred. I often think about this in terms of hobbies. Like, if I turn writing into a job - then what would my hobby be? Luckily, I have a million hobbies so I'm not so afraid of that. But all that to say - I think you're right in that it becomes a little less sacred when you're doing it for a paycheck.
And in the meantime, you have me wanting to go cook something! Ha
Ah I loved reading this Annabel and totally relate to the joy of cooking. Strangely it is something I have lost a little in motherhood as my arms seem to be in demand by little ones a lot of the time, but when I do get to spend time in the kitchen, I feel I am able to recentre. Love that you include the Chriskitch book, I am very lucky to have the cafe at the end of my road! In fact, I spent most of my morning there solo which is a true delight and we just made a quick stop off there for hot chocolate and a pear muffin after nursery! xx