The Food Stories

A few years back I moved to Leeds, West Yorkshire, and was in search for people to live with. I posted an advert on gumtree and received a heartfelt response from Fern, from Thailand, expressing her love for food and desire to experiment in the kitchen together. So that’s what we did. We found a house, along with a girl from Iran, and we spent long periods of time procrastinating in the warmth of our kitchen where we’d put all our creativity into making bizarre dishes and sharing stories about the food that we ate growing up. It was timeless. I knew nothing about Thai food at this point, so Fern would often go to the Thai supermarket where she’d attempt to explain what everything was. I like to call this our visit to the food museum. We galavanted around the city with the hope of finding a decent Thai restaurant and a particular Thai desert which Fern insisted I should try. Mango sticky rice, made with sticky rice, mango and coconut milk, sometimes topped with crispy y...

Congee, the mother of breakfasts  It amazes me how a dish from a completely different part of the world can bring back memories of a specific dish from your own childhood. Food is interconnected. It is not just taste and pleasure. It is emotion. Is is memory. It is the one thing that we can all in some way connect on. Unless you hate food... I was visiting my friend Fern in Chang Mai, Thailand.  It was 4.30am and Fern's dad decided that this was the best time for us to wake up and catch the sunrise at a buddhist temple on top of a mountain called  Doi Suthep . He drove us up the scribbly roads like a maniac, just in time for the sunrise. I could have vomited everywhere but I was distracted by the most vivid of sunsets. As the sun slowly came up, we spent some time in quiet reflection wondering around the monastery. We were disturbed by the sound of our tummies rumbling, plus, Fern's mum was “secretly” eating pulled pork round the side of the temple. W...

Burma, my Grandad and Alphonso mangos I followed food to trace my roots.  I was brought up eating the sweetest Mangos in London. Every Friday, my grandad would buy Alphonso Mangos from Wembley and bring them over to my family in North London.   They were Alphonso Mangos , originating from India. There are thousands of different types of mangos in India and there are several different varieties of Alphonso. I remember grandad cutting them open and my sisters and I would ravish them down, splattering juice everywhere without a care in the world. We’d demolished these sweet pieces of heaven and suck the skins dry. A beautiful saffron and bright yellow golden coloured coat layered the mangos but inside was a different story: The inside was the colour of the most vivid of Burmese sunsets, tender, creamy, rich…   My Grandad is an Iraqi Jew, however he was the second generation to have migrated to Burma, Yangon, which is where he was born and raised until...

Oman, nostalgi and Paratha  My ex boyfriend was from Oman, a country bordering Saudi and Yemen. With many Indians migrating to Oman to find work, his family too moved over from India. We met at an open mic in London and I was so excited to have met another fellow human who was just as passionate about food. He didn’t turn out to be a very pleasant partner, but he did introduce me to something very special... Paratha , and that is how we immediately connected.   Paratha is a flat bread, originating from the Indian subcontinent and ranges from one region to the other. There are a million different types of Paratha but my favourite is the South Indian paratha. ‘Parat’ and ‘atta’ literally means ‘layers of cooked dough’. I had my first bite of Paratha when I went to visit him in Oman. Paratha was the foundation for most of our meals. We ate it with curries, Biryanis, Daal, spiced scrambled eggs… everything. I couldn’t get enough of it. The flakiness. How the bu...

Born into a family of food lovers Born into a family of food lovers, Iraqi/Belarusian Jewish. Above is a picture of my parents at their wedding with a  profiterole cake called Croquembouche .    I was raised in London, a city rich in food from around the world. My parents are both born and raised Londoners.  It's usually when my friends meet my family do they have that 'aha!' moment. "So that's why Flo loves food so much...".  Growing up, my Friday nights consisted of staying in with my parents and two sisters where we’d do Shabbat (jewish tradition) and invite friends/family round to eat a huge meal together. This meal consisted of roast chicken, vegetables, onions and roast potatoes, topped with onion gravy. My sisters and I would ask my mum to burn the onions because they would become caramelised. Yes, we are particular. Can’t forget the Challah (traditional jewish bread), which we’d usually buy from either The happening Bagel in Finsbu...

Lisbon - food, the heart to happiness.   Travelling through Lisbon, my boyfriend and I were on a food mission to find Ponto Final after seeing it in a documentary called "Somebody Feed Phil". We were dying to eat the sea food, particularly a dish called Arroz de Marisco. Arroz de Marisco is similar to Paella but more soupy. Those who haven't tried this, it’s a mixture of rice, broth and seafood served in a ricotta coloured clay pot. Ponto Final is one of those restaurants that you would usually only know about if you know someone who knows about it who knows someone who knows about it...you get me. To get there we took a short boat ride across the river for only $2.60 return and after 10 minutes of walking along the river, we turned a corner and arrived at a homely picturesque restaurant with elegant tables outside that went up a little peer. It reminded me of a mixture between San Fransisco, Italy, Amsterdam and Brazil. The tables filled up quickly and w...

Save money or eat food that will change your life?   Save money or eat food that will change your life?  That is the question I asked myself as I sat down at a beautiful little restaurant overlooking the sea in Lisbon, opposite my sweet lover. It was my birthday.   I looked down at the menu and that familiar thought pattern kicked in that wanted to pick the cheapest thing on the menu even though I knew what I wanted and it was by far the most expensive dish on the menu. Is this to do with self worth, a general survival mode or just this western conditioning that I constantly need to save money? For what? We put in energy to find this hidden gem and yet, here I was, feeling held back by not wanting to spend too much money. At that particular point, I was financially secure, and even if I was to spend money on this dish, rationally I wouldn't be in financial trouble. My boyfriend ordered a fresh orange juice and suddenly the prospect of buying ora...