Eating crumpets when visiting England as a child
is something I don’t remember. Nowadays, though, I make a point of it. Supermarket ones, toasted. With butter, maybe honey. This time, my husband suggested putting cream—yes, cream!— on the crumpets. Had never heard of that. Cream goes with scones, silly. (Like ducks on water, or Americans & their unsolicited advice.) But one day, disheartened by the Lurpak spreadable (a greasy counterfeit tbh), I gave it a try. It was Cornish clotted cream— borderline artisanal albeit from no-nonsense Morrisons. My knife pierced its crusty yellow skin, slid through soft paleness. I smeared it lavishly on the steaming crumpet. I took a bite. Merging with the honey & the brilliance of toasted batter (the crisp edges, the chewy interior) clotted cream was an epiphany: sublime. Like unsalted butter, but creamier in colour & texture—though I fear that grossly undersells it. This danced on the decadent edges of comfort. Like heated towel rails or underfloor heating or a wood fire on a rainy day. “Simple” & “delicate” can sometimes be pejorative; here I utter them as veneration. There is a moral here. Don’t always be too quick to dismiss outlandish advice from your spouse.
HALF-TIME
En route to Cape Town this week, I had an afternoon layover in Frankfurt, which is dour even by German standards, and was over-run with beer-swilling Scots in town for the Euro Cup. Fortunately I had the London Review of Books with me (and döner) to take the edge off it all…
WHERE THERE’S TEA, THERE’S HOPE, LUVVIE.
One of the first things I’ve done since getting to the Mother City was tea at the Mount Nelson Hotel. Instead of the fancy (and rather pricey) “high tea”, my friend Cleo and I opted just for a greatly pared-down version: a pot of English Breakfast each, and scones1 (baked to order; not bad!). Faffing about with three tiers of cakey things can be fabulous when you’re in the mood, but it’s nice to keep things simple, sometimes.
BACK AT THE RANCH
The unintended consequences of nearly 15 months of me not drinking2. I’m sure the Golden State’s vintners must be praying I relapse soonest! 😝
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
I’m currently reading Rachel Cusk’s new novel, Parade, and it feels like I’m nibbling away at a plate of steamed broccoli. Before bed, I take a few sips of In Tongues by Thomas Grattan (so far it’s been like a salted caramel milkshake).
Nabokov’s Pale Fire, which I recently finished, had a summer berry pavlova vibe. The Children’s Bach by Helen Garner? Asparagus grilled on a wood fire with an ample drizzle of chilli crisp. Monkey Grip (also Garner3) was more of a braised oxtail with buttery golden potato mash. Possibly with a sneaky sprinkling of oregano and magic mushrooms.
I couldn’t get tickets to see the play version of Maggie Nelson’s Bluets, so as consolation, I bought the book from Foyles to read while I’m in SA instead.
GRIST FOR THE MILL
Two poems inspired by my short-lived stint as an innkeeper at the Harbor House made it into the Noyo Review. You can read about my brush with Michelin-starred greatness here.
The poem4 that opened this dispatch (see the frothing over clotted cream above) was one I wrote as “homework” for the food/poetry workshop5 I’m currently doing with the marvellous Melanie Tafejian. Listening to/discussing food poems every Sunday has been a scrumptious affair, though by the time we’re done, I’m ravenous.
DO I STILL EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO HARVARD REFERENCING?!
After a hiatus of several months, my sustainability studies resume with in-person classes on Monday. Fittingly, the module is titled “Food Systems Transitions”6.
I interrupted writing this Dispatch with lunch (leftover Monks). When I came downstairs, my mom grinned and asked me how my prep assignment (the one I’ve got to work on today for next week’s module) was going. It’s funny how a mother just knows. And there’s nothing quite like being back in mom’s house to feel like you’re a teen again.
Anyway, thanks for reading! I better quit procrastinating and get back to working on that aforementioned assignment. Please send restaurant recs, recipes, books-compared-to-food reviews, invites to tea etc. by reply.
I’ll leave you with one last thing — some thoughts (and links/excerpts) on when doing less (working less! buying less! eating less meat!) is good for the earth. Written by moi for
(’s online magazine, which I have the great pleasure of editing):
There was cream, but it was whipped not clotted (it tasted like it had been sprayed out of a can, though hopefully that’s just my overactive imgination). Perhaps I should’ve brought the Cornish stuff in my suitcase!
I’ve managed to resist the siren calls of Stellenbosch’s famed Cab Sauvs so far — but I’ve only been back for less than a week. Early days indeed.
I really enjoyed this podcast Helen Garner was interviewed on. And I’m glad the rest of the world is finally recognizing what the Aussies have known for DECADES: that HG is bloody brilliant.
Melanie is teaching another poetry workshop in September. Consider signing up — she’s a terrific facilitator.
While I’m in South Africa, I’ll be also doing a module on sustainable cities/urbanism, and another on governance.
Hooray! Welcome back to (almost) all the pleasures of Cape Town. The creamy poem is delish.
Hi Alexander welcome back we away till 29 but let’s catch up regards tony