May in October
Strange heat, cicoria, a comforting recipe, and eating notes
Hello! My name is Rebecca May Johnson, I am a writer and cook and this is my Substack. This week’s newsletter is a diary entry about May in October on the allotment, a recipe for a comforting dish that brought about a useful regression, and eating notes.
SMALL FIRES, AN EPIC IN THE KITCHEN will launch in the US in June 2023, and is available for pre-order.
You can read about it in The Observer, The Sunday Times, the i Paper and The New Statesman. Also on BBC Radio 3.
Recent things
I spoke to Jessica Andrews and Jack Young of Tender Buttons podcast about Small Fires – the episode just came out.
‘What We’re Reading’ in the Guardian last week, in which I mention Turning the Tables, a feminist cookbook published by Sheba in 1987, and Amina Cain’s novel Indelicacy.
May in October
I have the sharp feeling that it is late May. Nasturtiums are rampant again, their brick red flowers appearing like a shock. Seeds that dried and fell in late summer are sprouting. They will surely be killed off soon. Wasps buzz, seeking blossom on a spent plum tree. Soft weeds have risen up like an expanse of green foam drifting across the plot. Mallow and fat hen and grass and ground-covering plants with tiny leaves that cling to the earth. An artichoke plant, having died back after a vigorous display a few months ago, is showing tender silvery growth. An aubergine plant I had considered pulling up is producing new flowers. Tomato plants are flowering again too. A second spring.
When temperatures fell a few weeks ago, growth slowed down. I considered wearing a jumper and looked forwards to catching up after a neglectful end-of-summer. But the mercury rose again and plants that had shrivelled in the summer drought became lush in the uncanny return of May warmth.
I pick an armful of chard and re-weed a bed I only recently cleared to make space for cicoria seedlings. This year I am growing three varieties from seed. I am also seeing how last year’s grow back from the root: a few weeks ago I cut down the dried out stems after they finished flowering (periwinkle blue!) and arranged compost around the base. They are producing new leaves and I am hopeful. I have found cicoria to be extraordinarily hardy, surviving winter and summer, under-watering, and drought. They are not to the taste of slugs, snails or butterflies, unlike e.g. cavolo nero, and kale.
When I was in Rome this April cicoria was everywhere: in canteens, fast food places, street stalls, sandwich shops, at the market and in restaurants. In pies, on pizzas, in sandwiches, with chickpeas, and served as a side with meat – among other things. Most often, cicoria was cooked ripassata, boiled in salted water until soft, water squeezed out, and then fried in olive oil with garlic and dried chilli. I am excited about my fledgeling plants growing big enough to cook in a few months.
Recipes and eating notes below
