New Year, New Job, New Flat, New Pants
Putting the 'news' into newsletter, plus a recipe for 'GTFO' chicken soup.
Some short, digestible facts for the New Year:
I have a new, non-food writing job starting on Monday.
We have to leave our flat by the 29th of February so that the landlord can move back in.
If you’re catering for 20 people on a budget, you can replace a third of the minced beef in a pie for cooked pearl barley and the texture is remarkably similar
My mate Ali G recently got a puppy, and despite not being a terrier sort of lass, Guster McBuster Gray (Gus, for short) is the most unbearably cute squishbaby you have ever seen in your life.
Life feels nicer when you finally replace the pants you wore when you were 14 for nice grown-up, adult ones which do not resemble greying Swiss cheese
Some more detailed musings:
Despite some massive highs, such as publishing a whole damn cookery book, appearing multiple times on BBC R4’s The Kitchen Cabinet, and winning a big Fortnum and Mason writing award (all of which I am eternally, stupidly grateful for, or course), 2023 was the year Fliss Ran Out of Beans.
Strewn in the wake of those larger successes are multiple failures and unfinished projects: a podcast I designed whose pilot episode was so shit that it never saw the light of day; a radio show for my local hospital that never materialised because I couldn’t commit to once-a-week live recordings due to not having a set schedule, plus the four unpaid hours it’d take to write it each week; a third ‘dream’ food job I was ruled out of just before interview because of my determination never to hand over the soul of my firstborn kidney in order to move to London.
And then there was the promise to review one restaurant’s set menu per month, which proved just too expensive, due to the fact my income this year won’t even be taxable; a whole kettle of worms in itself. Perhaps cooking at home would be easier, I thought - but then I found I didn’t hugely enjoy charging my friends money to cook for them at supper clubs, especially without the aid of a dishwasher. And to top it all off, I had a second book proposal (11,500 words; a week of unpaid work) rejected too. Woe is me, etc etc etc*.
Looking back, a large part of me says that I didn’t work hard enough, try hard enough or persevere for long enough before what happened on the 13th of December - the day I decided I didn’t want another year of uncertainty and gratefully accepted a permanent, salaried role as an outdoors writer (writing jobs, for those not in the know, are as rare as squirrels’ eggs). But I’ll always think that I didn’t work hard enough because in some ways, it’s true: I didn’t graft through 70 hour weeks, move to London, or spend hours a day marketing myself on LinkedIn/Instagram/Twitter (delete as appropriate). None of those things would have made me happy though, so perhaps I just don’t have what it takes to make a living on my own. And that’s ok.
Will I leave food writing behind forever? Nah - I like it too much for that. I still want to write this newsletter; to beam descriptions of textures and flavours into your heads in a way that ellicits some sort of snort-laugh, or failing that, a gnawing feeling of unease. I am still keen, also, to drift along the airwaves of Radio 4 if they’ll have me. I’m even keen to publish more recipe books, as I really did love the process of writing my first one - although I’m not putting any sort of pressure on myself for that with working a full time job too.
I think doing these things will be easier when I’m not having pitch upon pitch rejected, or feeling the pressure of someone else overpaying on their half of the rent (the only way I’ve been able to do what I’ve done this year, which I think more writers should be honest about). With any luck the job I have found myself (cheers for the link, Imy) will give me the structure, teamwork, writing experience and yes, the financial stability, I’ve been searching for - which will in turn enable me to plug up all of the nonconsensual holes through which my mojo has been leaking, and channel it into the things I love again. If only during evenings and weekends.
My smashing agent Daisy once said to me I do my best work when I’m writing about positive and fulfilling experiences. Hopefully that’ll be a more common occurrence this year. One thing I have found which makes me feel more positive and fulfilled - no matter if the landlord drops the ‘get out of my flat’ bomb on you just before Christmas - is soup. Specifically this soothing chicken, cabbage and cannellini bean soup, which is light and brothy but bulked up with crushed lasagne sheets for carbage and legumes for body and protein. I always have a surplus of lasagne sheets; so might you. Do have a go if you have a roasted chicken carcass lying about. It’s ever so lovely, even if the current rental market makes you want to grate your own face off.
‘Get Out of My Flat’ Chicken Soup
Serves Lewis three times and Fliss twice. All of which were taken over the course of one dinner in relative silence because there was nothing else to say or do, really.
You’ll need
1 chicken carcass, lightly used
Salt
2 large white onions
2 plump cloves of garlic, or 4 wrinkly small ones
4 tbsp of olive oil, or the same of butter
2 tsp of dried thyme
1 tsp of dried chilli flakes (optional)
Half a large white or savoy cabbage (around 400g)
2 tins of cannellini beans or one of those nice 800g expensive jars of them
Silly amounts of black pepper
4-5 lasagne sheets
The zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 small bunch of fresh parsley
Pick any leftover meat off the chicken carcass and set aside in a bowl. In a large pot, boil the stripped chicken carcass with 3 tsp of salt in around 3-4 litres of water. You can add any alliums you like here, or celery hearts or even veg peelings - you’re aiming to make a light stock, which you’ll have leftovers of for another time. Let that boil for around 30 minutes, and keep it simmering while you make the soup base.
Dice the onions into 1 cm chunklets. In a heavy bottomed saucepan, heat the oil or butter and fry the onions as gently as physically possible with around 1/2 a teaspoon of salt. Put a lid on. While this is happening, finely slice - don’t grate or mince - the garlic, and finely chop any parsley stalks you have. When the onions have softened a little, add the garlic and parsley stalks, along with the thyme, a good few grindings of black pepper and the chilli flakes if using. Leave all this on the lowest of low heats, stirring occasionally, until all is soft and translucent - probably around 10-15 minutes.
Meanwhile, chop your cabbage into thin slices and finely chop the parsley. Break your lasagne sheets into roughly 1 inch bits or thereabouts. By this time the stock should have reduced somewhat - test it for salt levels (you can always dilute or reduce it further) and when you’re happy, start ladling the stock from the big pan into the onions - add in around 2 litres.
Add in the cabbage, and the broken lasagne sheets and simmer until both are around halfway cooked - around 5-6 minutes. Now, tip in your beans - no need to drain or rinse - followed by the zest of the lemon. Add in the leftover chicken pieces here too. Give everything a good stir and let cook through for another 5 minutes, or until the pasta is soft and slippery and the cabbage is losing its bite. If you want it thinner, add more stock (surplus can be frozen and used for risottos, more soups, stews etc).
Turn the heat off, slice the lemon in half and squeeze in the juice. Garnish with the parsley and serve with thickly buttered brown bread.
A small clarification in case anyone thinks about me in the same terms that I think about me, which on reflection they probably don’t but I’m going to say it anyway:
*Obviously, obviously I am hugely privileged, educated, and non-oppressed and have freedoms and opportunities that some people on this planet only dream of, and I know, yes I know, that this year has been a shitshow of awfulness with war and terror and climate and food inequality going on in the world - so to write a newsletter essentially explaining that I’ve not been entirely happy with my very cushty existence, in some ways, feels gross? I had a book published! But it’s also no use being miserable and shrugging and saying “oh well, some people have it worse” because then I’d change nothing and get nothing done, and it’d all be a race to the bottom, which is never good.
With that in mind, I hope yous have a lovely lovely lovely 2024. Long may your sinks remain unblocked and your wine uncorked.
See you for more recipes soon.
F xxx
Dearest Fliss, it is REALLY hard. Never feel like your efforts aren't enough because they are; it's just that you entered the food media world about forty years too late on account of not having been born at a time when writers could make a good living.
Renting is shit. but it shouldn't be. We could be more Germany and value this form of home occupancy, and feel safe and able to make long term plans in our chosen community without fear of having to move wherever we can find somewhere that will have us. But we're not. It's no wonder you've run out of steam, lady.
Hello there,
Don’t give up. You’re too good. Tenacity. Look out for slow burn book sales.As an aged mother of six and also ran Masterchef finalist (Anno domini) I have to be honest and say my income from writing has only provided occasional icing on the cake. Back in the day, The Sunday Post food column paid the odd bill, and a D.C.Thomson family member would sign the cheques. Couthy. Sue Lawrence recommended me for the job when she moved on to The Sunday Times. It doesn’t work like that nowadays.
I work in my husband’s GP Practice but
I’m researching my next book with enthusiasm, at the weekend or when time permits. Fortunately my current publisher is kind (contract signed 2015). Weirdly, I don’t want to finish writing this book. The book is for me so I shouldn’t really be looking for big sales, should I.... Keep writing and don’t give up the day job. Nic, your post is spot on.