Written by Ruth Raffle
"I made pancakes for breakfast whilst the world was burning
For lunch, I warmed my soup whilst the ice caps were melting
I cooked lasagne for dinner whilst bombs were dropped 2475 miles away
And I finished the day with a crumble whilst someone took their last breath and
Someone held their stillborn child and
Someone else was hit for the first time by their partner and
Someone else went hungry and
Someone else was raped and
Someone else fled their home"
It is so very odd, this juxtaposition of banality in the face of such tragedy and
struggle. How does one respond to the world in all its devastation? It seems so
strange to simply go about your day in the midst of such crisis. But we always have
to eat. To survive is to fill ourselves with joy and hope even in times of tragedy. For
me, that joy has always been found somewhere between the oven and the kitchen
table. Amid bubbling pots and steam filling the room, misting the windows.
I find it as I test the food, add salt and pepper and sprinkle in herbs, maybe even a
spoon of marmite. I find it as I layer up the dish, sauce, pasta, sauce, pasta, sauce,
cheese, as my friend holds the oven door open, and we sit on the floor as we wait for
it to cook. I find it as I rub flour and butter between my fingers, sprinkle in sugar and
coat the softened apples, the pasta now cooked as I swap their places in the oven. I
find it as my friends gather around the table as the night draws in and the candle in
the centre of the table glows, lighting their faces as we share our stories from our
days. Worries and hopes and dreams floating through the air, mixing with the steam,
escaping through the open crack in the window. I hope a little of that steam finds
another person, fills the air around them as they breathe in and remember that they
too must be nourished.
The oven timer begins to beep, the crumble is ready, and dishes are stacked messily
into the sink as space is cleared and a big spoon and ice cream tub appear on the
table. The tiny kitchen feels so full of warmth and hope and love in this moment. It is
sweet like the apples which burn our tongues in our too eager anticipation, the
nutmeg and cinnamon warming our bodies and softening the day. It does not mean
that we forget the crisis. The spices remind us of lands and people far away but
connected to us through hope of a better world. Gratitude seeps through us and
fuels our bodies to share this radical joy with others.
I am reminded of a book I came across recently called Turning the Tables: Recipes
and Reflections from Women published by Sheba Feminist Press in the 1980s.
Sheba is an independent radical press dedicated to sharing the voices of
marginalised communities that weren't otherwise being published in the 80s. It was a
book written by and for women with a wide range of recipes alongside personal
reflections on ideas around cooking and its connection to themes of patriarchy,
migration, sexuality and politics. It served as a powerful vehicle for storytelling and
an interesting insight into the different connections people have to cooking. There is
also an interesting dualistic reminder within its pages of the wider structures of
privilege that shape how we eat and cook, alongside the individual joy we find within
that. The patriarchy, colonisation, globalisation and capitalism all dictate who gets to
enjoy what food, but even amid these structures it is possible to find moments of
connection and hope.
More recently, we have seen the emergence of recipes being shared across social
media, particularly as a way to show solidarity within the context of the occupation of
Palestine. Here, recipes and cooking serve as a means of connection and
humanisation of people who may be far away geographically but remain connected
through a global solidarity.
Food serves as such a powerful tool in the creation of community. It allows people to
come together from all walks of life and share stories and cultures, being transported
to different places and times, whether in a restaurant, a community kitchen or a tiny
flat like mine. It is a vessel of connection.
I hope that whatever your next meal looks like you can imagine a little joy and hope
filling you as you eat. It is vital that we continue to sustain ourselves and find
moments of joy in times of crisis. That way we have the fuel required to make
change.
Stay nourished.
Apple Crumble (serves 4)
For the topping:
5tbsp butter (vegan butter works great)
6tbsp plain flour
4tbsp brown sugar
5tbsp oats
For the filling:
3 Bramley apples (optional to add any other fruit here, pear, blackberries or raisins work very well)
Juice of 1 lemon
5 tbsp brown sugar
1tsp cinnamon
1tsp ginger
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1. Peel, core and chop apples into small chunks and add to a pan over a low
heat alongside the other filling ingredients until softened.
1. Whilst the apples are cooking, rub the butter and flour together in a bowl until
there are no lumps of butter (big breadcrumb consistency). Add the sugar,
oats.
2. Pour the softened apples into a baking dish (20cm square) and sprinkle over
the topping.
3. Bake at 180 degrees Celsius for 40 mins until golden brown. Best served with ice cream!
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