An Introduction to A Good Table
Cheers to new beginnings!
Hello, I’m Sarah, and I just quit my job! I’m now a full-time cook and writer. Now, more than ever, it seems like the perfect time to introduce myself.
A Cook
Let’s start at the beginning. My culinary journey began in my family's London kitchen. There, at the age of five, I became my mother’s ‘little sous chef’’, intent on helping to prepare countless dishes for endless dinner parties and family celebrations. Pitting dates, frying bacon, peeling apples, grinding spices, adding a little of this, a pinch of that, over the years, I learned the art of instinctive cooking.
And all the while, inherited recipe books full of sauce stains and scribbled reflections whispered advice from grandmothers and their mothers…and my mother.
Recipes, my mother taught me, were stories.
Joy - A Ripe Fruit
My father, a man deeply rooted in the earth, was raised in the coldest North by a struggling single mother. Despite the bleak landscape of his youth, he possessed a tender heart together with an affinity with the natural world. At the age of 17, he moved to London. Here, he met and married my mother before dedicating his days to the Queen’s Garden, at Kew Palace, his dream job. Nurturing beautiful flowers and herbs with a gentle touch and sharing whispered secrets with the soil, he was fulfilled. Still, with horticulture poorly paid, two salaries were not enough to sustain the young couple. Climbing up the corporate ladder seemed the only viable option.
There he was, amidst the sterile, soul-sapping corporate environment working for an American conglomerate - a stark departure from the bountiful gentle environment of Kew Gardens. But as they say, necessity is the mother of invention. One day, he couldn't help but let out a merry whistle on his way to fetch another cup of coffee. His boss, hurling words of rebuke, demanded he stifle that tune.
Without fanfare, my father gathered his belongings, penned his resignation, and placed it upon the desk of his astounded superior. "Worst decision you'll ever make, lad," his boss muttered, without looking up.
As true rebels, my parents refused to countenance defeat and embarked on a journey that resulted in the establishment of their family business, one that persists to this day.
As for myself, I knew my time had come to pen my own resignation from the corporate world.
After all, my father had taught me that joy, like ripe fruit, can wither if not nurtured and preserved.
A Rosemary Scented Pen
The shadow of internal discord has often challenged my sense of direction. Unexplored paths lay ahead, yet remained obscure and dimly lit.
For many years I turned my hand to many things, yet somehow, I always found myself in a place of unrest, until I came face-to-face with an old friend – the kitchen.
Intrigued by the unyielding commitment and red-hot intensity of professional chefs, I had once toyed with the idea of joining a brigade, before acknowledging that a tendency to over-sensitivity and a proclivity for creative distraction, would limit my usefulness in such an environment. And I do prefer being useful.
The beauty of the kitchen is that where words fail, something special emerges.
In every slow stir of a spoon, there is solace. With every pinch of spice, memories are evoked. During the quiet solitude of cooking, the rhythm of the kitchen becomes an unspoken language, almost like prayer. The tangible, palpable, tactile processes of cooking fill the home with aromas speaking of sustenance, comfort and life. Fire, water, salt, fat, acid, and heat, it is deeply reassuring to know these elemental necessities remain unchanged. I have always returned to cooking as reassurance, and remedy. Immersive, intuitive and wonderful.
When hopelessness threatens to overwhelm, just like words spoken in rhyme, the kitchen offers an escape as the comforting, meditative rituals restore a sense of purpose. Nestling into the bosom of the warm humming kitchen - what respite!
Like a good book momentarily set to one side, no matter how long I have been away, the kitchen always seems to welcome me home. Words and flavors, flavors and words; my commitment is joyfully and evenly distributed betwixt pen and fork.
The turn of the spoon, the dig of the pen - my thumb and forefinger leave a scent of rosemary on the page. It is here I have finally found peace.
A Note On Recipes
I can now happily say I cook full time. In this newly launched newsletter, you will of course find plenty of recipes. Recipes, however, are curious things; I’ve always found the concept to be a slight conundrum.
Put simply - a recipe is a set of instructions. Of course, the instructions should be accurate. If they aren’t, what is the point? But recipes are not simply instructions. Recipes are memories - moments of time contained within flavor pairings. Recipes are narratives and archives that contain deep personal histories - documents of the most personal kind.
Although I have written and developed most of the recipes included in this newsletter as well as on my website, it is important to recognize those who have influenced my culinary journey.
You will therefore often notice references to friends and family, both near and far, present and absent, as well as acknowledgement of the inspiration I have received from culinary heroes, interesting places, beautiful images, cherished conversations and timeless literature.
Like so many cooks before me, I first learned cooking skills from my mother. From the age of five I enjoyed assisting her in the kitchen, unwittingly observing and learning the art of instinctive cooking. The best meals of my life have been from non-recipe recipes cooked in the family kitchen. My mother did not always measure or portion ingredients, but rather, added a little of this, a pinch of that, every ingredient included according to intuition. These meals remain time capsules of nostalgia and joy.
Finally friends, the recipes you will find here are not commands. These recipes are suggestions. I am not telling you how to cook. Take every word with a proverbial pinch of salt; discovery and understanding can only be realized through trial and error. You must find what works for you. Don’t take my word for it.
Read a recipe and then forget it! Be an explorer; a seeker willing to travel to parts unknown.
Yes, that's the spirit. You may be surprised where this leads you.
Fascinating story, beautiful images - can't wait for the recipes!
Hello! I’m Sheryl [still in a corporate job, but the kitchen is my happy place & just begun penning those moments here]. I just found your Substack and this is such a beautifully written piece! As are your other pieces. I’m a home cook & baker literally learning from Substack so thank you for all the insight and flavour pairings you share - they are very insightful and inspiring :)