1Dish4TheRoad

"1 Dish 4 The Road".. Fusing food writing with whatever else I find on the road – fiction, history, poetry, humour, diversity, family stories & London.

‘Food Podcasts: A Tethering to Sound, Food and the World’ – A Guest Post by Adrienne Katz Kennedy

A montage of logos from different food podcasts

food podcasts

– Foreword –

I initially researched and wrote this piece two years ago, during a challenging period. Sadly, it never made it to publication, an inevitable reality of the freelance writing world that never really seems to get easier. Two years on, and suddenly Aaron offered this opportunity to guest post on his blogsite. To have it revived in this way (and by someone who takes such care with his words) seemed genuinely impossible: it felt like cheating, or playing with a hand of cards that weren’t mine. Besides, would it even be relevant now?

Yet, as we mark the third anniversary of the first Covid 19 pandemic lockdown in the UK, I find myself reflecting on the past. If I were to pick a soundtrack to accompany my life at that time, it would be the voices of those I’ve listed below. Voices and stories that carried me up and away, tethering me to other places as a reassurance that they still existed. The reliable, weekly or monthly appearance of a new podcast episode or comforting reassurance of older ones I had yet to hear helped to push me through the drudgery, even if only as a dangling carrot, coaxing me back out on a walk through the same streets with new sounds and stories and familiar voices as my reward.

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Breakfasts and Blessings – Rituals and Spaces in Synagogues and the Regency Cafe

The exterior of the iconic Art Deco Regency Cafe in London.

 

“Ko-ha-nim…“

The cantor stands on the bimah, the raised platform in the centre of the synagogue, facing out towards the East, towards Jerusalem, towards where the Holy Temple once stood, before it was destroyed by the Babylonians, and then rebuilt, and then destroyed again, this time by the Romans, and yet whose legacy is such that it remains a spiritual lodestone, to where all synagogues are orientated, all the synagogues around the world.

The cantor now addresses the kohanim: the segment of the community who affiliate as descendants of the biblical priestly class. They shuffle in as one, cloaked in white tallis prayer shawls, setting themselves in a row at the front. Then, turning silently to face the congregation, they slowly raise their arms aloft, as is the tradition for this prayer.

And then they chant.

 

*

 

“Set beans, set tomatoes, hash browns. Any sauce?..”

The Regency Cafe is an old-school caff in the heart of Westminster: an old cabbies’ haunt where the drivers take their early morning victuals before a long day crisscrossing the city streets and circumventing its dysfunctional ring roads.

Nowadays, you’ll find more international tourists than taxi drivers, lured by glowing reviews in guide books, or its many featured cameos in films aiming to portray a characterful slice of London. Still, there’s always a smattering of old-timers and greasy-spoon traditionalists, and the occasional gang of ravenous construction workers on a morning break. It does the best fry-ups in town.

But more than that, thanks to an operation that stretches for almost eight decades, and a proud management with nostalgic sensibilities, the place is awash with rituals and symbols. And that is why visits here, however obliquely, remind me of synagogue.

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Article in Vittles Magazine

Drawing of a Jewish kiddush wine cup used for Shabbat

 

Not a blog-post this time, but just to mention an article I’m delighted to have published in Vittles magazine – ‘I have been young, and now I am old‘. It’s a special piece for me, for various reasons.

Firstly, it remembers my dear late grandparents – Beryl and Reuben – and especially how as a family we’d all sit around their dining table, singing together the Jewish blessings over food (‘Birchas Hamazon’).

Secondly, it’s a multimedia piece, and it’s been wonderful to have my family join me on this, with my uncle Harry’s illustrations (he drew the wine cup above), and cousin Abi’s beautiful singing. My sister Rachel, auntie Deborah and son Ben have all pitched in with some great writing too.

Massive thanks to the Vittles team for the opportunity, and all their brilliant support. Especially Sharanya Deepak, the lead editor on the piece, who wrote such a beautiful intro. And to Jonathan Nunn, for all his advice and editing along the way.

Finally thanks to my friend Dan Malakin for reviewing an early draft, and to my wife Sophie for all her suggestions and support on the piece.

The article is free to access, but you’ll need to register – which I’d recommend anyway, as Vittles is such a superb publication!

Hope you enjoy!
Aaron 

Kitchen Peeves

Kitchen utensils on a drying rack by the sink

I do love a kitchen. And if you’re reading this blog, I’m assuming you like a kitchen too. The room where everything happens. Where all the cooking goes on. The scene of a hundred smiles, occasional tears, and a fair few cracked eggs gone rogue over the counter.

I loved the kitchen when I was growing up too. I’d tail my mum like a duckling, hand clasped tight around her apron strings, eyes wide as buttons as she drew out a steaming tray of her famous fudgy brownies, or helping her flip my favourite lamb chops on our 1970s’ electric fryer.

Nowadays, it’s my own boys who love the kitchen. And it’s not them making a mess with those rogue eggs: they can crack them cleaner and truer than I. My youngest scrambles, my oldest poaches, and it makes me proud.

Ah, the kitchen. Special space, precious memories, the beating heart of the home. And, just sometimes, I really hate it…

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Goats, Stews and Stories; Ayamase at Chishuru

Nigerian goats ayamase stew at Brixton restaurant Chishuru

Goats have a habit of finding themselves in stews and stories. It’s their fate, their destiny, and it’s been like that for over ten thousand years…

 

🐐

 

According to a Nigerian folk tale, there was once a rich man, who went by the name of Abdullahi. He owned a considerable number of cattle, sheep and, most of all, goats. However, he was a lonely man, with no family or friends for company.

One day, he met the judge of the town, who advised that when he died, all his cattle, sheep and goats would pass to the chief.

‘I don’t want the chief getting all these things,’ replied Abdullahi disgruntledly. ‘I’d rather sell them and enjoy life while I still can.’

Now words have the habit of catching on the wind, and little did Abdullahi know that he’d been overheard by the town rascal, who was already hatching mischief with his gang.

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