LR Kitchen Diaries

the inaugural issue / LR as food blog

At girls brunch on Sunday, I flick through Nigel Slater’s The Kitchen Diaries Volume III. Disco-licious is an unassuming cafe and farm shop in Bedford, England. I’m told that the restaurant is not disco-themed, instead named after the proprietor. Still, I’m tickled when I spot the glint of a single shimmering mirror ball hung above the cornichons and chutneys.

Cookbooks in varied stages of wear are stacked messily on a shelf behind our table. Kate grabs a pile and we pass them around, pointing across the pages, reading upside-down. I am not familiar with Nigel Slater, but I am drawn to the royal blue linen book cover. We look up the entries for our birthdays, like horoscopes for our bellies. He writes in a casual style, each recipe included for its moment in time.

I plan my days around what’s for dinner, categorize memories by the meals we have shared. I am often teased for this enthusiasm. And here is a man who has capitalized on this very passion! Inspired by Nigel Slater and Instagram, here I publish the first of the LR Food Diaries: a collection of meals and moments from the past few days.

Saturday, July 29, 2023

I’m here
In express pick up
I must ‘attend’ my vehicle at all times

I read the messages from Kate while I brush my teeth in the Gatwick bathroom stall, my electric toothbrush humming against the drip of the faucet and whir of the hand driers. My eyes are bloodshot. When do they expect us to sleep on a six hour flight? My flight was pleasant enough, the food worse than I remembered. The passenger in the seat ahead of me grips my right foot for several moments too long, possibly fumbling for a fallen personal item, but it is during this panic of forced intimacy with a stranger that sleep escapes me for the duration of the flight.

At last, the sea. Bright summer skies, the first sunshine in weeks, I am assured. Thank you for bringing the sun with you! Two coffees (one weak, one stronger) paired with a steady stream of Vitamin D and my humanity slowly returns. We trek along the coast (against the wind) to Holy Cow, the ice cream recommended both by Google and by a photographer we’ve befriended by loitering at his stall.

I desire a classic beach ice cream cone: soft serve twist with rainbow sprinkles on a cone. This ice cream order is evidently not universal, and more American than I had considered. So I order two scoops on a cone; Madagascar Vanilla and Belgian Chocolate. I’m insecure that this is a ‘boring’ order, but ultimately it is what I want, and good ice cream is good no matter how adventurous your tastes. My first meal in the United Kingdom in over three years, and I eat hastily, mopping up the melting cone with my tongue, my hair whipping across my face, crying and laughing.

Monday, July 31, 2023

I text Sarabeth almost an entire week ahead of my visit and ask her what is for dinner. She replies with several options, all drool-worthy. Then she sends this:

I romanticize the two of us in aprons, side-stepping each other on the Tuscan-inspired brown tiles in her Putney kitchen. We sing familiar songs and add more garlic, more salt, definitely more salt.

The temperature dropped and I pull a sweater over my t-shirt. Undeniably pasta weather. In reality, Sarabeth prepares the entire meal as a solo chef while I work remotely on east coast hours. I shovel down as much pasta as I can before my meeting, incinerating the roof of my mouth. A meal prepared by a loved one always tastes even better, even more rich. How did I get so lucky, to have friends like this?

Tuesday, August 1, 2023

After a busy morning of shopping on Ealing Road, this feast is our reward. I am beyond starving. I don’t slow down and I don’t take breaks. My jeans are uncomfortable and I can’t imagine ever needing to eat again until……………….I’m sat here at Sarabeth’s enormous monitor, my face illuminated by the screen, and I feel that tickle of hunger. Is it time for dinner?