June Peels

confusions, plenty of basil seeds and swims and books and bottomless bread

Bonjour, you. If you’re new to The Onion Papers, Peels are a round-up feature at TOP, a retrospective almanac which comes out on the first Monday of each month. I hope you’ll enjoy them,
Margaux

June has been a negotiation. I challenged myself to remain true, perhaps vainly, and I’ve spiralled through the looking glass of what truth is or could be – where does it sit, who holds its narrative and who can be and keep being truthful if the world is interconnected but riddled with inequalities? I’ve been patching parts of myself back together and made more knots along the way, always trading performance with my identity, and my principles, and my desires, and my limitations. I’ve worried between elections, anxious about asking the wrong questions and troubled by the geography of polling stations – those in Europe and France for which I can vote from the Alliance Française in Glasgow, those in the UK, for which I can’t vote even if I live in Scotland – I’ve lost sleep against chronic flare-ups and other medical advice, meandering between the appalling state of the nation and of women’s health infrastructures. Then the light came through people and nature, small particles stretching into lengthy streams of light, bright and fading and brighter, through conversations with old and new friends and a stranger’s smile up the stairs at the library, through kneading doughs and swimming in the cold loch Lomond I’m learning to brave so I can melt inside it and be free as water, through gathering vegetables and herbs on my windowsill. This indoor garden was my first vegetables garden ever and there hasn’t been a greater satisfaction than biting into that homegrown fleshy courgette. No peels spared for that one but do read on for June’s peels —

bread update

Confused baker, confusing dough behaviours so goes a new saying. I’ll mention the daily change of season as one of the factors and take my share of responsibility. My starter is warmer, and my anticipated hydration levels are off – I attempted to bake bread with wet doughs, leading to epic results such as a type a loaf we now call ‘bottomless bread’ in our household and other lukewarm loaves. Ludo argues this kind of bread makes fantastic open sandwiches, and he is the most encouraging partner one could wish for.

the said bottomless bread, truthfully and in disguise, and Ludo's resourceful sandwich

I’ve played hard and forgot my basics, so I’d love to know your go to reference for bread-making. Cookbooks, online articles, substack recommendations welcome: thank you. 

listening, reading

I felt in safe hands with Colm Tóibín’s Long Island. A similar feeling to reading Elizabeth Strout or the joy to meet favourite characters again, in a book form rather than on TV, and to see them grow old. Tóibín’s prose is direct yet packed with emotions; I can’t recommend enough, but I’m a fan. Favourites from Colm Tóibín include Nora Webster, The Master and Brooklyn.

I was also spoiled with discussions around books. I was in conversation with Madeline Docherty, author of Gender Theory, at Waterstones in Glasgow. We talked about writing GT and Breaststrokes, about responsibility and writing chronic illness, sex and interiority and starting conversations. At the SPK Book Club, which I co-host with my best friend and pink-biz partner Irene Olivo, we also welcomed our first author for a live bookclub. And what a guest too: Dr Eleanor Barnett about Leftovers: a history of food waste and preservation. We talked about the invention of tinned food and celebrity chefs, the origin of Pudding Lane as we walked through Victorian London – and you can catch-up with our conversation via the SPK Podcast.

(If you’d like to join our book club, it’s a relaxed cooking and thinking space and open to everyone. We meet online every 2 or 3 months. Our next read is When I Sing, Mountains Dance by Irene Solà, translated from the Catalan by Mara Faye Lethem, and we’ll reunite on Tuesday 3rd September at 7pm GMT. Follow @SPKbookclub on Instagram and subscribe to our mailing list to receive the login details nearer the date.)

Finally, I was horrified and mesmerised by María Bastarós’s short story collection: Hungry for What, translated from Spanish by Gerry Dunn. It’s a confronting book, set between power games and grieving feasts, both nuanced and anchored deep inside the human emotions that have normalised being alive. I’m always in awe of authors who have the language skills to make me laugh and nauseous in the space of a few sentences and, just like that, Bastarós has become one of my favourite short story writers.

in the kitchen

A month of risotti, eaten on the sofa. Risotto is my favourite dish to eat when the heavens can’t settle on one weather as it suits temperatures and spans between bitterness and creaminess in a few ladles of broth. Recent favourites include artichokes and lemon; smoked haddock and peas; asparagus and dill; mushrooms, always.

From the windowsill garden mentioned above, plenty of dill was consumed (more on that in due course for the Monday’s annotated recipes), courgettes and courgette flowers. The tomatoes are getting there, but for now I keep eating store-bought ones. Radishes were in honour too, and basil seeds to top salads.

cherry tomatoes, radishes, cannellini beans, tuna and basil seeds

Speaking of salads, recipe for a vinaigrette:

In a cup, pour 5 tbsps of olive oil, 3 tbsps of white vinegar, 1 tsp of mustard and the juice and zest of half a lemon. Mix well with a fork and add salt and pepper to taste.

from the onion papers

‘There is no muscle memory involved in looking attentively. Regardless of how one looks, by ear or by sight or by touch, in any manner someone decides to inhale the world around them, that idea will change by the second because, soon enough, there will be someone looking at you looking at them.’  — or some thoughts about muscle memory and a recipe for a pistachio and orange polenta cake (ft. rose whipped cream):

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Barthes, Ginzburg and Pavese and some snacks – Merenda: On Deserving, or some thoughts between poll stations and reflections about power structures and what we now call ‘norms’:

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Last month, I mentioned that I was freezing my courgette flowers as they grew in pair and at different pace; in June, I collected enough of them to make a delicious courgette flowers and goat cheese tart. Recipe for that one, and in praise of the light we let in on the back of the summer solstice here:

looking ahead (Glasgow, GMT)

29th June, 21:55

We’re on the other side of summer solstice and the midges have arrived to haunt our hikes. The grass is tall, the trees deep green and nests hang on branches heavy. Spring has sprung and summer has settled, between downpours and heatwaves, the breeze fresh and strong and the days still long yet shortening. Earth will be in aphelion on 5th July – ‘the point in the orbit of a planet, comet, or other body most distant from the Sun’ – also when the moon will renew in Cancer. Emotional and protective, July is intuitive and is my favourite of the warmer season. It’s a brilliant month in the kitchen too: globe artichokes, broad beans, French beans, mint, fennel, cherries – it’s uncooked, no fuss and tasty, a simple and grateful time to welcome. 

Margaux

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