Preservation, of food and of the self

To perform and ‘create content’ constantly is exhausting. And yet we live in a world, I suppose of our own creation, that demands just that. Success is measured by smiling faces captured on screen and hyper-performance of having and doing it all.

Last month in my September Open Letter, I wrote to you about my difficulties in fulfilling this impossible task. I do not want undermine my emotions or the way I respond to world events, but to absorb all of it in all its seriousness will make me implode. So, to ease the tension, I’m going to do what I do best and be a bit silly. Queue Mean Girls meme.

The other thing I do is take a breath and reflect. I tap into my animal instinct to protect myself from harm, and by any means, survive. This by definition, is self preservation.

Michaela Cole, eloquently describes the need to retreat from the world in her acceptance speech on winning the award for Writing for a Limited or Anthology Series or Movie (73rd Emmys 2021). If you didn't get a chance to listen to the speech from a couple of weeks ago (where have you been? It was a viral sensation!), I'm sharing it for you here. 

“In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves and to in turn feel the need to be constantly be visible, for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success. Do not be afraid to disappear. From it. From us. For a while. And see what comes to you in the silence.”

It’s so important to be reminded of this. And it’s a relief to know I'm not the only one out there feeling it.

Food gives us comfort, it’s a cliche because it’s true. I’m not talking about gorging on a whole box of Celebration chocolates or polishing off a bottle of red wine (not to say I’ve not done that!). I’m talking about cooking. And for me, more specifically, making preserves; pickles, jams and chutneys.
 

To understand the science of it, preservation is food processing to prevent the growth of bacteria, fungi and other micro-organisms as well as as the retardation of oxidation of fats to reduce rancidity. Dehydration, refrigeration, canning, brining, freezing, the introduction of chemicals etc. are methods of preservation to make food last longer by days, months or even years.

Traditionally, preservation was a method to enjoy perishable produce all year round, across all corners of the world. Spam, for instance, is canned ham invented in 1937 and gained popularity during WW2. It was a major source of meat protein for soldiers stationed all over the world in varying conditions and formed an integral component of aid packages in post-war Europe and Russia.

With a wider variety of fresh food today, preserves can be appreciated for more than just their long life. We can indulge in food in ways we never thought imaginable. The crunchy, pungent red onion is caramelised in sugar as jammy sweet chutney. The inedibly bitter fresh olive is cured in salt brine to offer a milder and moreish flavour. Fresh anchovies are delicious in their own right but when preserved in olive, the little fish conjure a complex umami flavour, that can uplift the simplest sauce or salad. But then again, who needs a sauce or salad; I have been known to eat a whole jar of anchovies in one sitting.

It is no wonder we are faced with the abundance of fruit and vegetable produce just before the chillier months. The harvest season of September and October means cooking in large batches. It requires a sort of military order to stay organised, one job following the other.

The metaphor of making preserves extends so perfectly as a method to heal the mind. To change the environment of raw ingredients, to prolong and evolve their best assets. The method gives a new lease of life we wouldn’t have experienced otherwise.

The process becomes a meditation. Working with my hands, I don’t need to rush anything, I take my time. I find joy in the process, focusing on one task at a time.

And then there is the waiting. The patience required to let the flavour develop is itself a lesson in mindfulness. The need for rushed reward, the fleeting feeling even as we experience it, begins to retreat. Instead we are forced to sit and allow time to do its work, over days if not months. And then that moment finally comes when we can enjoy the fruit of our labour, the concentrated sweetness spread across warm toast on a chilly winter day.

Yes my dear, the best is yet to come.