May Peels
a new bag of flour, some brilliant books and a pasta recipe
Bonjour, you. If you’re new to The Onion Papers, Peels are a round-up feature at TOP, which comes out on the first Monday of each month. I hope you’ll enjoy them,
Margaux
In May, I’ve been asking myself why we write more than how we write. I returned to old favourite books, I talked with friends, I toyed with sentences, pencil in hand, and I typed furious words in a note to myself. . .I can’t say that I’ve found the answer, but I can report that I haven’t found any reasons not to write. We can’t let anyone steal our language, otherwise who will remember any of us?
I ran too. I’ve until 15th June to complete 150km to raise funds for MAP, virtually travelling from the Palestinian refugee camps of Lebanon and ending in Rafah, Gaza. Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) works for the health and dignity of Palestinians. £10 could pay for 2,000mg of lifesaving antibiotics and £25 could help buy 15 bloodline inlets for blood transfusions. If you’d like to, you can donate via my page or directly via the MAP website.
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Bread update
If Jean Valjean’s nineteen-year-long jail sentence, which precedes Victor Hugo’s story of injustice, Les Misérables, has taught me something is that bread is a powerful symbol. (Valjean was originally imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread, then the sentence was extended for his repeated escape attempts.) If bread can be a symbol for equality and hunger at the same time, one’s ability to make and to buy bread is a dangerous tool in the hands of authority. May is Taurus, stubborn and rebellious, loaded with history and, pardon my French, bread should be baked, shared and appreciated in May. In reality, as far as my kneading-self goes, I baked my tastiest loaf of bread in a long time this month, thanks to a gifted bag of 3 Malts and Sunflower, organic brown flour.
This was a first for me. Based on my scribbles, an unreliable recipe:
350g water
300g malted flour
200g white rye
120g starter
I started the autolyse, without salt, around 14:00. I added the unmeasured salt before my first stretch, at 20:09, followed by 2 other rounds over the next three hours. Overnight proof in the fridge. Another two rounds of stretch and fold the next day, from 7:30, and I baked the loaf at 10:26. 30 minutes at 240C (lid on) and 15 minutes at 220C (without a lid)
‘If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!’
― Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
Talking about flour, I enjoyed this piece about the dominant presence of Canadian wheat in British supermarkets, by Luke Churchill for Vittles.
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Listening, reading
In audio, Katherine Rundell put a spell on me with Super-Infinite, The Transformations of John Donne. Donne was an English poet, amongst many other things: a scholar of law, a sea-adventurer, a priest (he also converted from Catholicism to Protestantism), a MP, a lover of fashion. . .he was imprisoned, he struggled to feed a family of ten children, he suffered from chronic illness and pains. John Donne impersonates ambiguity and, I suppose, this is what makes him such a contemporary figure four centuries after his death. When it comes to this biography though, Rundell deserves tones of credits for delivering such a playful, clever study of a character and a thought-provoking book about identity. It’s the work of a devoted and critical reader.
On paper, I was lucky enough to read an advance copy of Olga Tokarczuk’s The Empusium (translated from the Polish language by Antonia Lloyd-Jones). In September 1913, a student suffering from tuberculosis arrives at Wilhelm Opitz’s Guesthouse for Gentlemen, a health resort in what is now western Poland. Everyday its residents gather in the dining room to imbibe the local hallucinogenic liqueur, to obsess over money and status, and to discuss the great issues of the day: Will there be war? Monarchy or democracy? Do devils exist? Are women inherently inferior? Meanwhile, disturbing things begin to happen in the guesthouse and its surroundings.
As is Tokarczuk’s skill, the novel is both funny and horrifying, nuanced and intelligent. The Empusium forced me to slow down as a reader, a pace for which I was grateful, as it blends horror story, comedy and folklore. I loved how Tokarczuk tackled the question of memory – and what we choose to forget – in subtle, daily instances. This is an original and timeless book. The Empusium will be released on 26th September 2024 with Fitzcarraldo.
I also travelled to a remote island, where a mysterious commune of women called the Iníons and strange murmurings that emanate from the depths of the island cohabit with artist Nell. Hagstone by Sinéad Gleeson is a gorgeous and surprising novel. Playful with sentences and rhythm, filled with nature writing and reflections about the meaning of arts and what it entails to feel and to be safe, Hagstone reads like a folk tale.
‘People come here to cure ailments: psoriasis, eczema, gut troubles. Nothing major, like claims of cancer cured, but the islanders believe the silvery water is sacred. Tourists always want to throw in coins, but Nell explains it’s bad luck to mix paganism and capitalism. Instead, she hands out sprigs of lavender or rosemary from the garden.’
― Hagstone by Sinéad Gleeson
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In the kitchen
I’ve had to take a few deep breaths between the highs and the lows of releasing a book. Breaststrokes published on 9th May, which means this newsletter will return to focusing on other books, stories and food after this edition, but not without a final recipe because I’m feeling needy and happy.
On my way, but slightly drunk. Can we have pasta for dinner?
I’ll pop down to the shop. Long or short?
Long. I’m in the mood for love.
Recipe for eggy, courgettes spaghetti:
serves 2
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 small chilli, chopped
2 courgettes, grated
40g Parmesan
2 eggs, plus one extra yolk
200g spaghetti
In a pan, fry the onion and the chilli gently with olive oil. Add a pinch of salt and the grated courgettes. Keep swirling the veggies with a wooden spoon, until they’re tender. Turn off the heat and set aside.
Bring a pot of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta. In the meantime, in a separate bowl, whisk the eggs. Add the Parmesan, salt and pepper (as much as you’d like) and keep whisking until you’ll have a creamy coating.
Drain the pasta (but keep some of the cooking water aside). On a low heat, warm up the courgettes again and add the drained pasta, mixing continuously. Add a small gulp of cooking water, stirring continuously. Once the mixture is warm, turn off the heat and add the egg mixture. You don’t want the eggs to cook and scramble, so keep stirring and stirring. You can add another drizzle of cooking water if you like it loser. Be careful, this pasta dish as a tendency towards the soggy side of things.
When you’ll read Breaststrokes, you’ll find there is a pivotal pasta dish, so here is hoping the above recipe will come handy afterwards. Thank you, all, for your support.
*There is music in it too, so a playlist:
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From The Onion Papers
Drafting in Kitchens: a dispatch from rue de Fleurus, hanging out with Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, and a recipe for brothy butter and broad beans, topped with grilled asparagus.
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On menus and how chef Numra of Empress Market and I collaborated on the menu for our Eating the Novel supperclub:
Putting a menu together is one of my favourite procrastination gigs. Everything is still possible – no seasons, no cost, no shortage, no allergies – and time is a variable that can be extended or shortened as I see fit. Whether I’m cooking for one or for twelve, for a stranger or for an old friend, a new neighbour or someone I’d like to impress, a good menu is about the ‘we’ that will be sharing the future, cooked meal; it rejoices and it disappoints, it compromises. Menus are poems to scribble and to read out loud; they can thread a metaphor as much as they’re plain and direct.
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The Silence Within, on differentiating aloneness from loneliness and a personal farewell to Alice Munro, the first author I read in the English language.
It requires attention to hear the silence within us, or a certain peace with the outside world and how we think it mirrors our existence. Going back to ‘Silence’, Munro ends the story as follows: ‘She [Juliet] keeps on hoping for a word from Penelope, but not in a strenuous way. She hopes as people who know better hope for undeserved blessings, spontaneous remissions, things of that sort.’
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Looking ahead (Glasgow, GMT)
June started with a swim in Loch Lomond (an old, Canadian days tradition of mine) and ended at the pub watching the sun cross Great Western Road past nine o’clock. I can’t get enough of this late daylight, both exhilarating and confusing. I anticipate I’ll be having dinners later than it is recommended, but the good news is that broad beans, endives, beetroot, chives, basil, mint are all in season and they’ll suit themselves in plates like a re-found summer outfit does in a wardrobe (with a drizzle of lemon juice or olive oil too). I’ve been preserving courgette flowers in the freezer as they popped randomly in our indoor garden throughout May, so June will be for cooking them. Take care, rage and love, all the way to the summer solstice on 20th June when, at solar noon, the sun will reach 58 degrees altitude in the Glasgow sky.
Margaux
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