013. The Chic Fussiness of Small Plates.
On picky picky food, and eating all your sprouts for mummy.
Hello hello, I hope September has brought a sufficient back to school mood for you, and you’ve perhaps treated yourself to some new stationery? If not, you deserve it. Today I chat about how chic it is to be fussy, and why the small plate is the fussy persons greatest gift, an insane Sylvanian Family video, and as always, some Really Good Reads™. It is, of course, quite a strange week, and aside from an outfit appreciation I don’t touch on The Queen, so if that’s not for you today please scroll on by, and hopefully we can catch up again soon.
Long time coupled people will regularly say to me “do you think you’re too fussy?!” when it comes to men, which frankly, astonishes me. Imagine not being fussy about a potential partner! Imagine the kick in the dick it must feel to hear your husband or wife accuse someone else of being “too fussy,” and the sicky feeling you’d get that they were in no way fussy but just took whoever when it came to settling down with you. Relatively awful people also love to accuse others of being fussy when it comes to food, as if eating anything without a second thought is a badge of honour. One of my best pals has nailed this sentiment with “I find people like to point out if they feel someone else is fussy, and I wonder if they feel like they’re going to get a big imaginary ‘well done!’ from their mum for eating all their sprouts and being a very good boy.” Being fussy is the ultimate chastisement for the people pleasing child, and a label that tends to make people wince even in to adulthood, leading to complicated relationships with food. However I’m here to counter - not only is it preferable to be fussy, it’s actually very very chic! We eat three times a day, every single day, surely we would want to make that a pleasurable experience?! And for us fussy fussy eaters, please enter - the small plate. You can take small, calculated risks with each thing that you order, because if they don’t pay off, you’ll still have a table of other delicious things to munch and nibble on. The thought and care and tweaking and precision that goes into a miniature plate of food, that is expected to be able to stand up by itself and fit in amongst a few others is really not to be sniffed at.
Small plates at Hicce
I have recently been blessed with an abundance of fantastic small plates, it’s something Cardiff seems to do really well. How the guys at Bacareto can make the humble spud taste so good is beyond me, but their Venetian potatoes are a borderline holy experience. The team behind Nook and Kindle absolutely excel at the small plate, and Nooks chargrilled kohlrabi with kimchi butter is the reason our veg patch has a glut of kohlrabi this year. Then further afield - essentially everything on the menu at Bubala, but two of the charred oyster mushroom skewers. The mushroom terrine at Hicce has such surprising depth and flavour that my dining pal and I went silent and started hoofing it on to the homemade bread in the same manic way raccoons paw at everything to get a better judge of vibe. Which is to say, order one each and three breads between you and marvel at the little stacks of indecency you can make with them and the salted butter. A cauldron of cauliflower cheese with the perfect amount of nutmeg in the sauce from my favourite local pub has been taking up roughly 7% of my brain power for the last few weeks, and I’ve been trying to think of an excuse to go back ever since.
Small plates at Nook
What I love most about small plates is the intimacy that must be present for you to even consider ordering them. Talking over each other as you order - “yes, she’s got a macadamia nut allergy,” “he’ll need another boat of gravy if that’s okay?” or simply saying yes to ketchup even though you don’t touch the stuff but whatever comes won’t be enough for your pal and they’re too embarrassed to ask for more, even if it is actually an ungodly amount of ketchup, and they’ll just be sad all lunch. It’s knowing that your dining partner doesn’t like tomatoes but provided they’re large enough to be picked out that’s fine, but you both draw the line at sweetcorn dishes. It’s saying “no you have the bigger bit of the croquette and I’ll have the rest of the prawns,” and knowing you’ll both be delighted with that. It’s sitting down and saying “shall we just order a few bits between us?” and knowing you don’t even have to say a word but each plate would be the one you’d have ordered anyway. It’s never having to worry about the waiter asking if there was a problem with your food because between you, you’ve made a pretty good dent in what was a reasonable amount to order for double the people and actually the kitchen’s quite impressed with your efforts.
Crispy Cauli with Chip Shop Curry Mayo, from The Black Rabbit
So be prepared, if you eat dinner with me, I’m the anti-Joey, I actively want to share your food, and ease the burden of the potential order cock up by ordering half the menu and hedging our bets. Because being fussy is fine, it’s more than fine, it’s the best way to be.
Micro Doses of Delight
Fantastic news in the fight against malaria.
The New Yorker, a little too bang on the nose, as usual.
My new favourite Instagram account.
This, a certified, stone cold, look.
The Queen, at the Royal Variety Performance in 1999.
Really Good Reads™
“Haddon has long donated “dog money”, as he calls it, to various causes, including Oxfam, Refuge and the Trussell Trust, and in July this year made public his pledge to give all future US royalties from sales of the novel to the National Network of Abortion Funds, following the US Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe vs Wade, the ruling that guaranteed the right to an abortion in America.” Mark Haddon, the author behind The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, talks to The New Statesman where he seems like such a great guy, and is refreshingly open about his health issues and how they have affected his work.
“In my family, I signed up to make sure my family always has clean laundry, not that they never have dirty laundry.” I love love loved this piece on performative domesticity, the difference between doing things because they make you happy or just because they cause an absence of anxiety, and the general reframing of care tasks. The influx of cleaning accounts and momfluencers fascinate me in ways I cannot properly articulate, and it’s great to hear someone dissect the added layer of pressure placed on women, usually mothers, in such a clear headed way. (Via Lunch Hour Links)
The absolute MESS surrounding Don’t Worry Darling has been quite hard not to get sucked in to, but this, by Terri White, on the blatant misogyny at play is really very good.
“I’m getting older, and I’ve taught myself how to get these sentences down, how to know when they’re worth getting down,” said Strout, 66. “It’s like I’ve been training for a marathon my entire life and now there’s an acceleration happening.” Elizabeth Strout in The NYT on how she writes.
And that’s it from me this week, I hope this weeks Afternoon Delights has brought a little bit of joy into what has undoubtedly been quite a heavy week. If you have any recommendations for good places that do great small plates, please let me know in the comments, and please do share with anyone you think will enjoy! I’m off to stomp about Aberteifi castle (long live a west wales holiday!) thanks for reading! N xo