Thurs 12 Jan
Have been sleeping horribly this week and rise late. Not feeling hungry so clean my room and meditate. I make it down in the confusing time of day when some people are making late breakfast and some early lunch and it kind of feels like I’m in a hostel. This naturally happens when there are so many different working schedules, sleeping patterns and eating habits; I think it’s quite beautiful how everyone’s body rhythm is totally different and what might seem strange to you may be totally normal to someone else.
I used to really push the idea of trying to eat together multiple times a day, cooking house breakfasts or trying to coax others into making communal dinners. It came from a good place (my intentions have always been to connect with others over food) but I eventually realised that it was quite intense for those who generally cook and eat alone, and I would often come away feeling rejected or unfulfilled.
I’ve had to change my approach, working within the pre-existing framework of communal living as opposed to hammering away at something I’m precious with. Perhaps one day I will have a cooking residency where I take care of organising regular communal meals using forage, ferments and things I’ve found in dumpsters. This seems like something I would enjoy! But for now, the reality of living with a group of people who were strangers and are now companions dictates that I need to be more respectful of boundaries (including my own) and appreciate the moments that we are sharing food and space, alone or together. Or alone together.
I use up a few bits for lunch; the other half a half-price quiche; a dozen okra fried with sauerkraut; a hunk of kimchi. I notice a gap on the plate and fill it with yoghurt. Since I cleaned it, the fridge is looking quite bare, and I feel thankful that I can depend on the pantry and my housemates to sustain me until I pay my tax bill. I brew a pot of fermented pineapple skin, camomile and black tea for Sonia and I, made from the solids in a recent batch of tepache and the dust from last year’s dried flowers. It’s delightfully bright with a teaspoon of honey.
Around mid-afternoon I return from a meeting at the community garden and sit down with my phone to read an email about a significant funding application being rejected. Dejectedly, I eat three quarters of a family-size chocolate bar that Sonia brings me upon catching wind. She has had it stashed since she visited me in Estonia last summer, melted and reformed without defined shapes. I eat it with gusto, reminding myself not to personalise the results of things out of my control. That combo keeps me going for a few hours, along with a mint, sage and beetroot skin tea in a Minion’s mug that I hate but choose based on its capacity.
The kitchen this evening is hectic. Solomon, Adam, Will and I all enter successively, like wrestlers in a Royal Rumble, arms bulging with ingredients. Within a few minutes there are four chopping boards out and four oiled frying pans heating up on the induction hob. There’s so much going on: kung pow chicken, kimchi fried rice with shredded sprouts, charred cabbage and pasta, stuffed arepas, smoke everywhere, boisterous rap music, shouts of “backs”, shoes shuffling, cupboard doors closing, spoons tapping on plates, dirty pans clattering in the sink. Four bodies cooking four meals from four cultures. It all smells and looks great. As we all sit down and breathe out I suggest we try and unite forces next time, cook one dish each to share.
Not normally a dessert person, however tonight I continue on the jar emptying exercise and layer up stewed rhubarb, yoghurt, toasted oats and a whizzle of honey in a very short and stubby glass for pleasure.
Sean Roy Parker is a visual artist, fermentation enthusiast and community gardener based in Derbyshire, England. He writes on fermentalhealth.substack.com and posts as @fermental_health on instagram.