Last weekend, it snowed here—the flakes sifting and swirling downwards with hushed, mesmerizing grace. Stepping out of the kitchen, I felt like had walked into a 3-D Christmas card, or a snow-globe.
The surreality of the scene was heightened by its rarity (we only get snow once a year or so) and by how quickly it would end up melting.
This weekend, after a couple of days of dizzying sunshine, it’s back to (the much more typical) drizzle. The only snow for miles is the powdered sugar dusting distant summits (visible, when the clouds clear, on the drive into town).
Following a recommendation1 by
(shared in his wonderful newsletter, ), I’ve been reading Elizabeth Bowen’s The Heat of the Day, which is deliciously evocative of London in the Second World War.I had the great pleasure of listening to Randall Mann read and reflect on his gorgeous poem “Leo & Lance” in a poetry class I’ve been taking, and then reading the collection it comes from—subversive, sexy Proprietary. That, together with Thom Gunn’s The Man with Night Sweats, have reminded me how heady, moving and rich poetry can be—and that I ought to be reading more of it.
I’ve felt less enchanted with what I’ve been watching lately2. Despite Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman’s ravishing talents, May December seemed just as OTT and superficial as the made-for-TV melodrama it was attempting to critique. Andrew Haigh’s All of us Strangers was moody, beautiful and at-times moving, but a tad over-wrought and drawn-out. And Dan Levy’s directorial debut, Good Grief, is perhaps the schlockiest thing to ever earn a critic’s pick star from the New York Times — a monumental waste of 100 minutes (and of its sizeable decor and oversize sweater budget).
If you demur with my assessments, I’d love to hear your counter-arguments. Send over some recommendations for good a watch, too!
I recently made a new sourdough starter, following a two-year hiatus3 (during which time I’ve made the occasional loaf with commercial yeast). With some trepidation, I baked this morning. The results were delicious, though didn’t rise to the occasion quite like I’d hoped4.
I’ve had more success with making my own granola. Quite why I never included this in my pandemic-era roster of culinary experiments5 is beyond me. It’s so easy, delicious, and significantly cheaper than buying it. I use a modified6 version of the recipe in Samin Nosrat’s Salt Fat Acid Heat.
With it being roughly four years since much of the world went into lockdown, I’m curious to know: which of your recipes and rituals from 2020/1 have you kept up with? And which were you only too happy to discard?
Garth says it resembles “a spy novel as written by Henry James”; I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t read any James, but I take his word for it.
One exception to my run of unsatisfying screentime, is Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog, which I adored. Not entirely sure why it took me this long. Maybe it was the Oscar buzz that put me off.
Brought on by a combination of international travel and inattention. A lethal combination, one which likely led to gazillions of starters meeting a similar fate in 2022.
I’m not entirely sure if my starter wasn’t perky enough, or if I didn’t strengthen the dough enough during the first prove. Hoping the results will improve with more practice.
Which did include making mozzarella, biltong, pretzel bread, pasta, pies, tarts, cookies. Smoking a brisket (and various other meats) in a Weber. And so many braises.
My two biggest tweaks are skipping the brown sugar the recipe calls for, and using honey instead of maple syrup.
I hope you are still enjoying your early morning Coffee. I always look forward to your Dispatches