Wed 2 March
Accidentally got over my block of writing in the evening by smoking a herbal joint and drinking half a can of amstel on a school night. Every time I’ve got into bed with my laptop and the intention of writing a journal, I immediately sabotage via looking for easy distractions and never getting back to the task at hand. Well I’m here now, so I’ll make the most of it.
As well as a lack of sporadic creativity I’ve had a revelation that is very telling of the shift within myself that has been gradually fermenting under the surface. The not-writing has been correctly reclassified from an inability to write to a desire not to write. There’s been no internal “should”-ing, and therefore no guilting. It comes as a surprise to me because I don’t normally let myself get away with it. Kindness begets kindness. The compassion I have began to receive from me looks a lot like the brand I proliferate for the other loves in my life and then I realise it is exactly the same but I’ve never seen its soft face.
Both my brother’s and mother’s birthday today so the day started with a videocall with the fam. Nan was cracking jokes about our facial hair, still such joy and mischief at 94. After yoga I had leftover pancakes with a random selection of toppings that I could grab: soy yog, toasted trail mix, stewed pears, blood orange, peanut butter and cherry syrup. Around 1pm I started processing some of the surplus produce from local organic farm while watching the legendary Pao Liu give a seminar on Taiwanese tofuru for Kojicon fermentation festival (run by Rich Shih and Jeremy Umansky); pears, kiwis, apples and ginger for jam; apple rings, beetroot sugar, allium salt for the dehydrator.
Paula, a cook/artist from Cologne who is currently staying at DARP came into help me and we took over the kitchen. It’s been so energising to have another obsessive foodie in the house, today we literally egged each on to transform a crate of organic eggs into a bunch of different treats
veggie scotch eggs using hemp burger mix and leftover falafel mix
devilled eggs with wild wood ears
3L of pancake batter for Solomon’s bday
garlic mustard aioli
cardamom custard to go with apple crumble
A few weeks ago Paula’s friend Julius (who serendipitously i realised i had met on an online course called Art & Permaculture, run by Temporary Gallery in Cologne) zoomed into our kitchen from Germany and taught us to make fresh vegan pasta, explaining his experimental recipes and giving advice on drying, storing and cooking. Sonia joined us for the rolling out and we made two meals –vegan tomato ragu with the silkiest pasta water sauce, and a twist on cacio e pepe with fennel, chickpeas and lemon. This eve I returned the favour with a session on fermentation, talking them both through some of the cultural, emotional and social aspects of my practice, before walking them through a practical workshop.
Usually in public workshops, it feels like I’m racing against the clock to explain everything as quick as possible, making assessments on levels of engagement and understanding from facial expressions, balancing in-depth description with accessible information. But presenting to cooks is a whole different ball game. By contextualising my approach to working with food from the outset, they both understood my diet and practice are driven by feeling, materials and chance, and we were able to connect through this. With their own knowledge banks already based in experience, and embellished with tips and tricks, the process was relatively self-evolving; both Paula and Julius could both guess next steps and ask clarification questions that preempted my next move. The synchronism and telepathy between us deepened the meaning of the session, allowing me to impart more of my anti-consumer philosophy and interspecies intrigue.
After sharing knowledge through workshops for the past four years, I’ve observed many of the unconscious expectations that people bring with them to learning environments to unload on me. Whether it’s the desire to prove superior knowledge, impatience or refusal in letting the process guide the session, intensified anxieties around food safety, or difficulty taking in nuggets of info, the prevalent mode often feels to me like the internalisation of the consumer role. Every word, movement, opinion is a chance to form a reaction, to make a comparison with other experiences, to illustrate a total cognition. Does the facilitator know what they’re talking about? Should it taste like this? Am I getting value for money here? Should I ask a question that I already know the answer to or one that is totally unrelated to the subject? I know all these questions exist in the ether because I have thought them all, and occasionally verbalised some. In this egoist headspace, there is no room for play or failure or chance.
As a consumer, you feel entitled to a product you desire, and for the right fee, you can take it. It’s no different for how we absorb culture (paying for exhibitions). Any sort of (self-)education takes years, and for many it’s a lifelong hobby. The notion that paying for knowledge means it will immediately enrich you is sus for a few reasons. Firstly,
We can only absorb so much information in a few hours, but to share a reasoning or purpose beyond the material is like giving a little bit of starter culture. I can give you a jar of my sourdough, but you have to bake the bread. I can give you a kombucha SCOBY but you have to brew the tea. My food practice is about reorganising my life around learning and prioritising opportunities for pleasure.
We had an impromptu Eastern European buffet based on our whirlwind afternoon: the scotch / devilled eggs, aioli, smashed avo, sourdough crackers, warm bread, mustard, apple salad, various pickles and ferments, with crumble and custard and Solomon’s birthday banoffee pie for deserts. The spread was super colourful, with colour / texture / flavour combos that made everyone smile. Another legendary meal at DARP. How do they do it?