I have been sitting here for almost two hours trying to think of something to intro this newsletter with. I thought about the beginning of March - boring. Maybe I could talk a bit about participating in Substack Go - meh. I can talk about heading to Barcelona tomorrow - better for No. 015. There’s a few design tweaks - emphasis on tweaks. Nothing is calling to me, babes. But maybe you’re feeling called to share this post. Did you catch that stunning segway? After 14 of these, I’m sure there’s someone out there that you know who’d enjoy this biweekly little endeavour in their inboxes.
Maybe after reading my take on knife etiquette you’ll feel really compelled to spread the good word. Or maybe my history with lentils will strike a chord with a friend of yours. But I can guarantee that if you’re feeling the need to share the flamenco running playlist, you’re just as unwell as I am.
I. Have you ever noticed how you place knives to dry? How you place them in your dishwasher? Do you face them up, or face them down? Recently, I had a revelation about knives-face-up. People are dumb, but also people don’t know better. As a former retirement village dishwasher, it was drilled into my head to always keep knives in safe places so as to not accidentally chop off your finger and bye-bye down the garbage disposal it goes. From silverware butter knives to heavy duty kitchen knives, there were protocols. Knives from the silverware were placed face down in their respective trays. Knives from the kitchen were placed in the far corner of the workspace so that they didn’t get mixed in with everything else. If a knife was left in a tray by one of the chefs, they screamed it out to us in the dishroom. Kitchen knives were sent through the dishwasher all on their own. If this seems very oddly specific or a little over the top, it is. And that’s because nobody wants to be responsible for a dishwasher stabbed. They already have it tough enough being a dishwasher. So, what’s today’s take away from this little rant? An affirmation to start your day off the right way: I won’t place knives face up to dry. I won’t cover knives with plates, cups, or bowls while they dry. I won’t load the dishwasher with knives face up like it’s a dangerous game of Whac-A-Mole and my hands are the moles and the knives are the Whac.
II. If you know me from my infamous year of teaching in Southern France (shoutout PACA squad), you know I have a troubled and storied past with lentils. So it may come as a surprise that I have decided to squash my beef with that particular legume after 6 long years. Here’s some backstory for those uninformed. Quickly upon my arrival in Cannes, I realised I was not going to be living the glitzy and glamorous life that the city promotes. Turns out that happens only 12 days a year. And as a way to keep myself alive, I bought one of the cheapest brands I could discover - Tous les jours. Aptly named ‘every day,’ I ate this brand…every day. If I found anything that was dirt cheap and not Tous les jours, I would also throw that in the cart. And this is where the Casino box of golden lentils entered my life.
It became a running joke that all I ate was lentils and elbow macaroni. But as the year went on it became less of a running joke and more of an unsettling reality. After I survived that year, my relationship with lentils understandably changed. Would I eat them if they were prepared for me? Sure. Would I seek them out on a restaurant menu? Absolutely not. Did I avoid the legume aisle of grocery stores? You betcha. But something stirred in me last week at Mercadona. I bought a bag of lentils and made the most delicious dish: lentils with sweet and sour red peppers on couscous. That little diva was the kick in the ass I needed to get over my past with lentils and start anew. Here’s to me and legumes back in action, baby!
III. Over on A Message From, we’re doing health and wellness month for March. (You should call in at 202-630-4509.) That and the warmer weather in Madrid has gotten me back into my running groove. Because I run to whatever playlist I’m binging at the moment, I tend to run to very strange music. I once ran for an hour and a half listening to Taylor Swift’s Speak Now on shuffle. My current playlist is no exception. It’s a mix of Kim Petras’s Slut Pop, new Troye Sivan singles, and flamenco. As I live next to the river, it’s my go-to running spot. Up towards el Palacio real y Plaza España, and back down to el Puente de Toledo. It’s a nice little loop that used to feature the Atletico Madrid stadium before it was torn down. So cue to me doing my thing, and the flamenco portion of my playlist starts. Running past the squat pine trees and looking up at la Real basílica de San Francisco el Grande, it felt like a movie sequence. I was the star of a Pedro Almodóvar movie if he ever decided to make a film about un guiri (foreigner) en la capital. It was a very surreal experience. I ran a few days later and when the flamenco started up again, it didn’t hit quite right. The emotion from Lola Flores and the energy from Lolita Flores wasn’t filling me up with that main character energy. I guess it was a one time thing. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend running to flamenco unless you have nowhere to go but up in the motivation department. In which case, vamos amiga!
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The Subscript - a collection of things I’m into at the moment sans explainers.
Even though I yell "behind" when crossing anyone in my kitchen (which is a wall of my studio) I am still an all-cutlery-up in the dishwasher gal. I just don't believe they get clean face-down! There has to be space for the water to swish?! That said, ever since 816 Ivy Street I always load my dishwasher back-to-front. <3
Tous les jours truly came through!! Up next you must try some lentil soup.