meet the frais magazine team
we are nothing without a collection of our favourite things
Harriett, 20 Kelsi, 22
favourite taste? homemade madeleines lightly salted cashews
favourite sight? tulips macaroons
favourite film? The Great Gatsby (original) Last Night
favourite sound? soulful chill
favourite beverage? a glass of iced tea a bottle of ginger beer
Words by Harriett Monaghan | Photographs by Sophie Davidson
Living in one of London’s concrete tower blocks, Richard Reynolds found the depressing lack of greenery inspiration for a very different type of hobby. Planting the scented and the edible, he began to cultivate once overlooked and neglected public land starved of vegetation, into areas of nature and beauty. Stirring conversation, it also reignited a sense of community. Nine years on, Frais talks to the man behind the movement on inspiration, foliage, and the future.
“Some may see it as art, but it only really becomes art for me when framed in that way, seen in a context of having an audience. It is more purposeful than a lot of art; I am an instinctive campaigner, “says Reynolds, who by now is a published author and role model for those across the globe sharing greener agendas. Still living in the ten-storey council block which sparked it all, transforming rundown pockets of London hasn’t tired Reynolds passion for gardening but strengthened it.
“What first drove me to guerrilla garden was having no garden of my own, not even a windowsill outdoors. It was also thinking I could have a lot of fun doing the gardening myself rather than complaining to the Southwark council, “he recalls. Describing the estate as run-down and embarrassing, Reynolds felt strongly that Perronet House, an estate reminiscent of the seventies high-rise boom had to improve. Re-planting its dying flowerbeds with bulbs and seeds, Reynolds soon realized the potential gardening on public ground could have, from improving the mood of passers-by, to encouraging the presence of bees and butterflies. “I was also already a fairly confident gardener, so to me it seemed quite natural.”
When faced with the daunting prospect of growing anything in a city, the wet, warm and fertile soil of London made it an un-likely but ideal environment when planting flowers and herbs like poppies, yellow crocus and lavender. But it is perhaps most surprising, his planting of fruit and vegetables, intended to gently provoke and inspire.
“I must admit it’s not so much about wanting to eat the food. Because most of where I plant is largely too polluted for the crops to be tasty or healthy, due to air pollution. So I plant fruit and vegetables to see if they will grow, for the challenge, and also as living advertisements. I’m particularly focused on small pavement garden projects as I’m keen to show how guerrilla gardening can be bite sized and how these spaces can still be glorious. I put a lot of time into nine of these on a very ugly road near me, by building raised beds around the trees and planting a long season of colour for 2013 that has begun now and is doing very well.”
Now transforming the look of roundabouts, pavements and potholes regularly, Reynolds doesn’t dwell too much on the illicit side to his hobby, in-fact, it is the community reaction which he feared initially as the projects became bigger and more abundant of public view – despite paying for all costs himself: “I blogged about it because I wanted to share what I was doing with friends and other people who might be sympathetic to what I was doing. It was a sort of insurance against criticism because online I could publicly show what I had done and how bad it was before.” Luckily, London has embraced the urban growing through a curiosity and tolerance for the eccentric.
When asked of planning, Reynolds shrugs off any assumptions that guerrilla gardening should be premeditated: “Not a lot if you’re already a good gardener. It’s mainly about being fairly familiar with the area first so you have a sense of how the land is neglected or looked after, so you know your plants have a good chance of surviving. I like to guerrilla garden with at least a season if not longer ahead of me.” It’s this passion and expertise for gardening which sets Reynolds apart from being just a ‘rebel’. His intentions are to sustain the projects, not just to make a statement, but to make it last against vandalism and city terrain – to bloom, naturally.
Along with his efforts and the power of social media, Richard Reynolds has made guerrilla gardening the loose global movement it is today. Inspired by those who started in the seventies; it has become an increasingly popular form of protest and freedom, even reaching the far corners of the globe in countries like Libya, Korea and Berlin.
“June Turnbull, who sadly died recently in her 80s, was a guerrilla gardener in the little village of Urchfont in Wiltershire. I finally got to meet and photograph her last summer. She tended a traffic island there and was full of energy and an attitude of knowing what is best for people, and I still hope to have that drive when I am her age. Adam Honningman was an incredible character who had helped create the Clinton Community Garden in Hells Kitchen. I wrote about him a lot in my book. He also died a few years ago. A lot of what I do now, guerrilla gardening strategies of dealing with officials, I learnt from spending a day and a half with him.
What is happening now is wonderful. As new guerrillas emerge and feed the movement from different places, for example in Los Angeles and in Bologna, where I will be visiting, there is a dynamic group of us.” (And a group to reckoned with).
As Reynolds expects the birth of his first child in September, the ‘fighting of filth with forks and flowers’ shows no signs of stopping and it is a wonder if fatherhood will change what he does, or inspire him further to make the world a greener place. Would a new book be on the cards or something much bigger for Britain’s 24th most influential gardener? “One day yes, all will be revealed.”
Words and Photographs by Kelsi Farrington
At the bottom of the Old High Street in Falmouth, Cornwall, the staff at Stones Bakery are busy gathering steady praise for their established art of bread baking. Lightly dusted in flour, its owner and in-house baker, Oli Kingdon and his wife Rosie, are assisted by their small team in this retro-styled ‘shop’. By offering their following of customers an essential selection of everyday farmhouse and specialty granary loaves, their breads come straight from ovens which are about 10 feet away from where they’re shelved and displayed; hot and ready to be grabbed.
Pre-2009, Stones was merely a stall set up in its hometown of Falmouth. They would also take their goods to St Ives for the weekly farmer’s market but after realising the impracticality of freshly baked produce being exposed to the Cornish elements on cold wintery or worst still, rainy days, Oli and Rosie hunted for somewhere to really set up shop. Now, just five years in, it’s got what Oli refers to as a ‘core’ of followers.
Stones has been ticking the boxes for their regulars with their baked products for the past five years because all of their loaves are guaranteed to be free from artificial flavourings and ‘improvers’ and crafted to stay naturally fresh from core to crust. By only adding the ‘good stuff’ like nuts, both fresh and dried fruit, herbs and spices and a lengthy time to ferment, Stones’ bread revives the belief of quality home baking. With the shop door usually slightly ajar, Oli and his selected staff are always open to customer feedback and requests:
“We have input from customers and input from what we want to make as well so we try to meet somewhere in the middle.”
Oli explains how on a normal day they’ll replicate as many as possible of the eight or so different styles of loaves they have on offer. “You need to get as many of that eight as possible. Because we make everything fresh daily, you can’t really afford waste so we ended up cutting them down to a limited number for a batch. When it turns out that it’s not worthwhile for the time it takes and the labour, it’s not worth it.”
And Oli, Rosie and team don’t specialise in bread alone, they also stock freshly baked cakes, sticks, petite pastries and both sweet and savoury tarts made with just as much care as their specialty breads. Their windows, usually stacked full of the daily goods, also show off their ingredients and hardworking staff which creates a unique package deal that appeals to not just the regulars, but the casual passersby and holidaymakers, too. Quickly dash into Stones to grab a freshly baked loaf of your choice and bring to the counter. What you’ll have tucked away is a handcrafted work of art, still warm from the Kingdon’s ovens.
Words and photographs by Kelsi Farrington
This work is the first of a photo series documenting island life within the small community on the Bahamian island, Green Turtle Cay. Through photographing and interviewing some of its locals, it aims to give a better understanding of what it’s like to live on an island that others perceive to merely be a holiday destination. Within a population of just under 500 people, Vertrum Lowe is just one of the cay’s best-loved characters.
Green Turtle Cay is one of the Bahamas’ smaller, ‘out islands’ and lies just off of what is referred to as the ‘mainland,’ the larger island and a 15-minute ferry ride away, Abaco. Visited regularly by tourists from around the world, it seems that word manages to spread far and wide of this 3-mile-long paradise without real thought about some of its characters having known or wanted anything else but day to day life there.
Having lived on the cay his entire life, 80-year-old Vertrum has three children, five grandchildren and a great-grandson, Carter, that also live on Green Turtle Cay. His younger brother, Alton Lowe, is one of the country’s most famous painters. For majority of Vertum’s working life, he was a handyman and engineer at the Green Turtle Club, the cay’s oldest resort. For nearly thirty years, ‘Vert’ has quietly put those weathered hands to good use by making beautifully ornate model ships and in doing so, Vert’s Model Ship Shoppe has become a notable place of interest on the cay.
Vertrum is known on the island for being much more than just a craftsman; he is one of the town’s ‘wise men,’ the older generation of the cay who sit outside on the wooden bench and steps of a closed church, sharing stories, memories and witty-jokes. A few feet away, Vertrum’s home and workshop house his carved and painted ships ranging in size, colour and price, and are replicas of some of the country’s most recognisable sailing vessels.
Having only just returned home from hospital, Vertrum lent some of his time away from visitors and family for a quick chat:
Why did you start building model boats?
“My father died about 28 years ago and he used to build them. I had never made one before but I decided to give it a try…I wanted to see if I was up to the challenge.”
How many ships have you built?
“I’ve built over 600. The largest one was 7 feet long and a four-masted schooner.”
Where do you get your material from for making the ships?
“I get my materials from the US, the wood in the Bahamas is so hard which means it is difficult to carve.”
What do you think has change the most about the island since you were a child?
“The people, they’re not the same. People used to gather at one another’s house to play music on a weekend, back when there was no TV. Now, people go home now and stay inside.”
Although Vertrum is unsure about being referred to as an artist, he makes pieces that people from across the world have either ordered to be sent to them or have come to the cay to collect. Vert’s Model Ship Shoppe is located right in the centre of town on Green Turtle Cay and is also home to both Vertrum and his dachshund, Pumpkin.
Words by Harriett Monaghan | Photographs by Samuel Glazebrook
Cornwall is one of the UK’s favourite holiday destinations and is often visited for its breathtaking views, sunshine and seafood. Yet perhaps most awe inspiring of all are its locals. From those working its beaches, to buskers, postmen, couples and bee-keepers, the best way to explore its native charm? Is by bike, says 22 year-old photographer, Samuel Glazebrook.
‘Cycling the circumference of Cornwall’ is a photography project in search of every-day Cornish life. Travelling to areas like Padstow, Whitstone and Polzeath, by bike, the unique series by student and photographer Samuel Glazebrook documents Cornish existence in a fresh, unpronounced way, and the results are beautiful.
“I’ve wanted to travel for a while, having not done much due to education and lack of funds I figured this would be a good chance to find some kind of cure for my wanderlust, but on my doorstep. So the project started out exploring this idea,” says Glazebrook who began the on-going venture in April of this year.
On a typical day of the project, he will set out early morning on his burnt-yellow, two-wheeled companion with a backpack full of photography equipment. Engaging in conversation with the people he meets along the way, those dotted across the county in small villages or buzzing tourist destinations like Newquay, he will learn about their life stories or day jobs – the benefit of this he says as “reciprocal”.
Born in London but raised in Exeter, Devon, he originally came to Cornwall’s coast in 2010 to undertake a degree in ‘Press and Editorial Photography’ at Falmouth University. As a self described “south-west lad,” he has produced work since that has explored local sport and even issues of ethnicity in the small seaside Cornish town, which has been home and inspiration to the likes of Florence Nightingale and Wind in the Willows writer, Kenneth Grahame.
“The ocean is a big part of my life. I’ve been told while in Cornwall you’re never more than 12 miles from the coast, which is a very comforting thought,” says Samuel, who is also an avid surfer.
“I’m a keen cyclist, so I didn’t really think about doing the project any other way when the idea came about. It’s also part of the physical challenge, and also the panoramic views you get from a bike you can’t really achieve in a car, and I wasn’t going to walk it… I’m not very good at walking! It also made me more approachable, with the ability just to stop and chat to whoever I wanted to was very handy.”
Cornwall is a county plenty with allure and character, but it seems that by immersing himself in laid-back life here as both a student and photographer, his work has become increasingly at ease with the ‘real’ Cornwall, and it is refreshing to see photography which steps away from the glossy, travel endorsements which Cornwall is so closely affiliated with.
Recalling the most memorable moment of his project so far, Glazebrook feels at home: “Meeting Bill Arnold, he was the last keeper of Pendeen lighthouse. He took me in and gave me a warm cup of tea, we talked for a while about his experiences and past as a keeper, and the journey towards the automation of all the lights across Cornwall. He was really lovely.”
“I really got into cycling when I was about seventeen and I bought a crappy old retro racer to ride to college on… I started doing longer rides with a few friends from work. This turned into a tour down the coast of France. I do love cycling now, and I can’t really imagine not having a bike.”
The series is a collective snap shot, a timeline and visual diary, but it is also something much more. Rarely does a photographer embed himself in not just a way of living but the landscape itself, which to most of those he meets, is worn and a familiar treading. “This work is very relational, and involves being very honest and open with people about who you are and what you do.” Despite the ‘fate’ aspect of the project and not knowing who he’ll encounter next, Glazebrook doesn’t want it to be “fleeting” in nature, but one that has much more meaning, for him and for his subjects.
With his degree now finished, Glazebrook’s photography career is already looking incredibly promising, and one that has proven to be full of passion and energy. Continuing with his cycling endeavour across Cornwall you never know who he’ll be meeting next, you may have even passed him on his travels…
Make sure to check out his work here and keep up to date with his project on his Tumblr.
All photograph’s are copyright of Samuel Glazebrook ©
Words by Kelsi Farrington | Photographs by Lucy Piper
Being cramped and hard to find aren’t normally advantages for a business, but for Nicola Willis, her ability to put a positive spin on her unique and off-the-beaten-track café ensures Pea Souk’s season-dependent vegetarian menu is fresh, colourful and continuously inspired by her far-east travels.
Walking through the door of Pea Souk in Falmouth, Cornwall feels like you’ve stepped into the owner and chef’s personal kitchen. Nicola’s end-of-alley blackboard menu entices you up Well Lane, opposite a view of cascading green vines. Hung above the door, its sign incorporates the hand of Miriam and indicates a middle-eastern charm and its size seems more like a ‘sit while you wait’ café with two tables and a sharable wooden bench.
“People say I should get a place on the high street. Why,” she asks. “I’d get more customers…but I’d get more annoying customers! Like people pushing prams saying ‘do you do chips?’ Oh fuck off…”
A colourful character to say the least, Nicola steadily attracts tourists and locals alike to her monthly Supper Club evenings or daily servings, the café can be fully booked and can fit an astonishing 19 people at a genuine squeeze. It’s interior boasts clean, white walls with a prided collection of Arabic mirrors, framed posters and artwork and red cushioned seats.
And even after she thoroughly scrubbed its two-man kitchen of its greasy past as infamous fry-up joint, The Clipper Café, Nicola has yet to break Cornwall’s celebrity status as the ‘home of the pasty’ (meat enveloped in pastry). Regardless, Pea Souk has done nothing less than pull its weight since opening. Famous for her Happy Pig Porkless Pies, Supper Clubs, bespoke catering and even her ‘no nonsense’ approach to both cooking and serving, she’s restored hope for the recent, lifelong or occasional veggie.
“I’m not a perfectionist but I’m not a slap dash cook. I’m trained and I have specific skills and that’s why I like to have a small café because if you’re making huge batches of food, you lose the attention to detail and you lose the flavour. I mean…if I was cooking a curry in a pan this big,” she says as she creates an image of a cauldron with ingredients carelessly being chucked in, “it’s very difficult to keep the flavouring…to have such sharp flavours as if I was making a small pan,” explains Nicola.
Nicola has found the past five years of being owner, chef and waitress, challenging. “You just can’t do all three” she says. “And when I go home, I don’t do any cooking. My boyfriend does – I just supervise!”
Nicola, like many owners of small eateries with an online presence, has stomached both sides of customers’ testimonies of experiences at Pea Souk. Some of the reviews on TripAdivsor read how the food is dated and “old fashioned vegetarian…something you’d find in the 70s or 80s” or that you should “only go here if you like cramped conditions, sharing a table with strangers, and being abused by rude staff.”
Not words she takes lightly, but somehow manages to not lose steam. In her head, she’s stored what she learnt through her specialist diploma (and fascination) in the influence of Arabic and Muslim cooking and her own personal experience in French and Italian cooking. She also carries in some of the produce her green thumbs planted in her allotment just four miles away and she does that for her more humble customers like two who visited Bequia and “came back with two Egon Schiele prints that they’d seen in a shop and they’d thought of me.
“Wild,” she says, looking genuinely astounded. “How do you think of me on your holidays? Do I really mean that much? I obviously do and it’s really lovely.”
Although for the bulk of her dishes, Nicola relies on sourcing locally from organic farms and farmers near Falmouth. Fond of the Tuesday market, Nicola will also grab a selection of freshly cut anemones in purples, yellows, oranges and pinks to add to her already laden counter. The fact that she studied Textiles at university shows in her choice of interior decor. If sat there long enough, you realise what a tranquil place it really is.
Nicola’s favourite food memories stem from Sicily and she loves nothing more than summery dishes full of ripe tomatoes, aubergines and basil which will be perfectly displayed in the glass center-pieced cabinet that at the moment gives you visual tasters of freshly baked cakes, her Porkless Pies and vegetable tarts. Just as an added touch, an all day veggie breakfast can be fried up (for old times sake), one of her Doorstep Sandwiches or mouthwatering veggie burgers.
“Everyone raves about the tarts. I never, ever roast vegetables in the same tray. I never steam vegetables all together because they take different amounts of time. Just having the knowledge of knowing how to cook vegetables to their best. And the fact that the tarts here are I’d say 70% veg and 30% egg custard,” she explains. “That is why people like it here. I use different cheeses, I layer different kinds of vegetables that have been really, really well cooked, well seasoned. I use fresh herbs with different types of vegetables and you can’t get that anywhere else. That’s why I’m a trained vegetarian chef.”
It’s certain that if you make the effort to travel up the slightly inclined hill of Well Lane and have a chat and some ‘grubbins’ at the petite noshery that is Pea Souk, you’ll be one of many who have taken the first initial step into a whole other transition of traditional Cornish eating all together, even if it is a bit intimate.
“I don’t want to expand it,” Nicola concludes and yawns loudly.
Words and photographs by Harriett Monaghan
Amongst botanies unique to British soils, one acre of Cornwall is dedicated to an unfamiliar sight to most; the art of tea picking. A hidden treasure located within South West Cornwall’s countryside is the privately owned Tregothnan Estate, the only place in the United Kingdom to grow, pick, and produce its own tea.
Tea is a staple in most households around the World. It’s social, a symbol of ritual, and to some a form of solace, but to Tregothnan it is also a way of life. In 2005, the estate embraced the perfect conditions for tea growing which have been unique to their land for decades. A cool, salty climate and rich soils meant they could begin commercially growing their tea and they have never looked back.
Surrounded by winding roads, the twenty minute route to the estate from the neighbouring village in Truro feels like needlework, weaving us into its pastoral landscape. Reaching a large wooden gate, the brisk sea air of the Cornish coast is noticeably absent, an indication that we are entering a calm, serene place with the promise of over two-hundred years of untouched heritage.
Walking through the estate by foot is somewhat daunting. Soaring native trees, dense woodland and mirrored turnings mean that the dedicated workers of this estate must rely on a compassed heel. Past a rustic wood yard and a red metal-sheeted building where the tea is processed and packaged, what are we to expect from a place twinned with India’s Darjeeling? Would it be fields speckled with workers carrying slings of jade leaves on their backs, or polished machines picking quickly and with purpose? No, it is neither. On the edge of River Fal and a river-sloped bank, producing ten tons of tea a year is helped along by two French students employed on internships to the estate, given accommodation, waterproofs and wicker baskets.
Morning’s tranquil ascent is now a downpour of rain, something which doesn’t deter the picking process but promotes it. One of the workers meets us and agrees to take us to the designated spot, the oldest part of the estate hidden behind an arched mystical door. As we enter the plot of land dedicated to tea growing, the rain dances and trickles off flowers and seems to relish in such torrential conditions – the unique estate feels alive and robust. The hedgerows of Camellia Sinensus overlap with hills and engulf the two pickers in a visually striking contrast of cultures – Britain’s rural terrain is celebrated by a European friendship, it feels very special.
The bud of the plant and its two surrounding leaves are plucked from glossy stems ready for the next stage. Picking starts from dawn and lasts an hour until their baskets or hands are full. A quiet and modest task, each bud is acquired with care and attention and our preconceived thoughts are refreshingly dismissed. When finished, the leaves are taken to the processing barn for a thirty-six hour journey of drying and oxidizing- an overwhelming sensory experience. Placed side by side on special wooden drying racks in the dark, the leaves are vulnerable in their shrivelling state and the strong earthy aromas linger and are a familiar warm fragrance. Tea making is a seasonal ritual for generations, but it also seems a memory for this estate.
Outside, silence encompasses the Cornish land, still raining and laid bare to the elements, there are no outward indications of place or identity. Part of the estates charm is that it could be anywhere – there is something wildly peculiar and fascinating about it all. Marketing its tea as quintessentially English; French people pick its produce while it is twinned with India’s tea capital. An evident winning quality and blend sold in high-end stores like Macy’s and Brown’s, but it is curious.
In 2012, Tregothnan announced that due to one of the mildest winters on record, they were able to pick for twelve consecutive months, something almost unheard of anywhere other than the hot, humid climates seen in India and the Himalayas. While during my time here it has seemed foreign and exotic, I am reminded that tea is a staple in most households around the world, all differing shades of greens, grey’s and terracotta reds – Pantone swatches of preferred infusions. Tea is a common understanding.
Finished and feeling inspired, we make our way back towards the entrance having been tipped to keep straight. The rain has thinned and birds can be heard stirring in the distance – some are just waking up. It is quiet and the work that goes into this estate is palpable, freshly planted forage, well worn tools, all sustaining a beauty that compares with the natural splendour of any National Trust property. The closer we get to the wooden gateway, the more we hear the hustle and bustle of people carrying on as if this tranquil place didn’t exist. As we leave this mysterious land, precious to those who keep it, I feel just as secretive and proud as its workers do. Part of what makes the estate so successful is its role as a family – run business, not open to the public but still available for those who are most interested in visiting it, just as a secret garden.
On their bespoke website, you can book private tours with head gardener Neil Bennet, which is a great opportunity to get up and personal with the estate, which most don’t get to see. You can even finish the tour off with cream tea in their Edwardian summer house, especially beautiful in the summer months. “We are proud to represent Cornwall, and are keen to raise awareness of our unique tea plantation as we are putting the English into English tea for the first time in history.” – Abby Keverne, PR at Tregothnan.
Thirsty to say the least, our journey home becomes a visit to one of Tregothnan’s local stockists, the Cornish Shop. Buying their earl grey brew with lime green, purple and silver packaging, it tastes all the more refreshing knowing the process and its rewards. Whatever your preference may be, strong, bitter or sweet, with lemon perhaps or lashings of milk, the estate’s celebration of Cornwall life, community, natural produce and climate, is complimentary to a Cornish palette, instinctive and effortless.
Increasingly it is important to know where our food is sourced and the same applies to what we drink. It is a wonderful feeling to track the provenance of these and to feel more importantly its authenticity, so join the exclusive few that visit Tregothnan, it promises to be a visit you will never forget.
“Age appears to be best in four things; old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.” – Francis Bacon
Words by Kelsi Farrington Photographs by Finn Beales
One of the greatest gifts in life is finding a friend who comes into your life without force or preempted introduction and they’re at their best, like most things, when they just happen. Although they are most often formed around similarities, as in your age, your interests and your life experiences thus far, differences in all of these things can equally become the ingredients to a timeless friendship. Suzanne Marley is in her sixties and although that makes her forty years my senior, we’ve still managed to prove that as true friends go, age really is nothing but a number. Suzanne and I met when we were both hired to become weekend shop assistants in a gift shop in the book-lovers’ town, Hay-on-Wye, just outside of Hereford.
In our first few weekends in late 2009, we independently agreed that as coworkers, we formed the perfect balance of the old-age wisdom of a 61-year-old and the youthful energy of (myself), an 18-year-old, to effectively run a popular shop. After hours spent stood behind the counter, taking turns tidying or wrapping, we’d continuously chat about the dailies and slowly built up something that made coming to work a joy. Even though I had the inability to know when to stop talking about my teenage dramas, Suzanne would always listen. If I mentioned that I’d had a rough week on our Saturday, she’d come in to work on the Sunday with a Tupperware of homemade brownies. There were never any spoken rules to exchanging things, just a token, an act of kindness and over the two years, books, lunches, recipes or fashion advice would be thrown in, too.
When I decided to start university, it was Suzanne who really pushed me to pursue what I loved, something she said she’d not done herself, and gave me the same advice she’d given her 30-something-year-old daughter: to go and find yourself. She said every time we worked together that she’d miss our chats and that I’d have to make time to come back and visit her. I kept that promise and we meet up in Hay at least twice a year. Even though Suzanne and I no longer work together, we live over six hours apart and our catch-ups are restricted to two, half-hour lunches a year, we always pick up our old ways of sharing laughs and tokens. What we always seem to forget is our forty-year age difference. Suzanne is old enough to be my grandmother but in my eyes, she fluctuates between a mother figure and a teenager’s best friend.
‘Suz,’ as she refers to herself, is a wonderful woman; almost surreal in her calming demeanor. She stands almost level with me at about six feet in total. She drapes herself in green and blue linen sets with one of my tokens, a ceramic brooch from Cornwall, pinned to her jacket. She has short, naturally white-grey an ever-present golden hue, earned from decades spent gardening. With every greeting between us, her blue eyes become even more accentuated by fine, laugh-incurred lines.
After promising to visit her home, something I’d heard so much about and pictured in my head like you do your favourite storybook, I was finally able to make the fifteen-minute drive with Suzanne to her and her husband’s picturesque, stone cottage in the centre of rolling farm fields; their home for the past forty years. I’m not quite sure if it was the January sunshine cast over the Golden Valleys of Hereford, the reality of being sat in front of both her husband and the baby-blue aga that she’d lovingly described or the butternut squash risotto that made that catch-up the most memorable; both a memory and a token to add to many.
Suzanne’s Butternut Squash Risotto
1 butternut squash, peeled and diced
olive oil
1 onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, crushed
75ml (or a splash more) of dry white wine
300g of pearled spelt (or absorbio rice aka risotto)
1.2 litres hot vegetable stock
parmesan
Preheat the oven to 180°C / gas mark 4. Place peeled and diced squash in a roasting tray with a tablespoon of oil and a little salt and pepper.
Place the tray in the oven and roast for 35 minutes. Then remove the diced squash making sure the flesh is cooked and soft.
Meanwhile, fry the onion and garlic in 2 tablespoons of olive oil over a medium heat for around 5 minutes, adding a pinch of salt to help them soften. Tip in the ‘rice’ and squash and cook for a further 5 minutes, making sure to stir regularly.
Pour in the white wine and allow to reduce down. Then, start adding stock a ladleful at a time allowing the rice to absorb it before pouring in the next ladleful. When the rice is just cooked through, finish with a knob of butter, a sprinkling of cheese and some salt and pepper. Leave the pan to sit with a lid on for a couple of minutes before serving to give it a silkier texture.
Words and photographs by Harriett Monaghan and Kelsi Farrington
Keeping old things near can bring to mind a never-ending list. From large and small possessions to family and friend relationships, we cherish individual ‘things’ more reverently and more passionately depending on the individual piece. Here at frais we share our favourite kitchen possessions in preparation for a photographic series…
a madeleine tray
Historical background: A bit older than the bundt cake, traditional madeleine cakes originated in France around the 19th century and the distinctive shell-mould has made it one of France’s iconic treats.
Personal background: ‘When we used to live in France, my mum and dad would buy my sister and I madeleine cakes and I thought they were just the nicest things. The tanginess of the lemon and the perfect size of them just made them quite comforting. I never grew tired of them.
Christmas last year, one of my closest friends bought me an antique madeleine tray in really good condition. It’s steel and has a lovely sheen to it…it also has remnants of its previous owners which I also love about it. It has a history. Even the madeleines that you bought in French supermarkets, they still tasted just as good as the ones that were homemade. I think that says a lot about French baking which is something I always try to emanate when making them.’
Favourite use for my madeleine tray: Rachel Khoo’s Lemon and Raspberry Madeleine Cakes
-Harriett
a bundt tin
Historical background: The bundt tin was traditionally used for European fruit cakes and rose to popularity in the 60s. Its rounded, fountain shape has ridges that not only make the baked cake look more unique, but allows a cutting guide for the perfect slice.
Personal background: ‘My nan gave my mum a bundt tin exactly the same as this many years ago…at least before I was born. It’s the same colour…a royal, chipped, blue and she used it for all of those special cakes like our birthdays.
I got given this tin when I started university from my nan and to have the identical twin to the bundt tin at home in the Bahamas makes it really special to me. More recent memories of the ‘original’ one include my dad making me a chocolate and banana cake every time I come home to visit. The best part is that the chocolate chips sink to the bottom so they end up on the top when turned over.’
Favourite use for my bundt tin: Chocolate Chip Olive Oil Courgette Bread
-Kelsi
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