It feels weird writing a food newsletter at a time like this, when the world feels like it’s burning. I’ve wanted to do this for a while now, but the timing feels off. Do people still want to read about pesto while killer cops are getting away with actual murder?
In the last month, I’ve vacillated between feelings of helplessness and abject rage. Like a lot of people, I turned to Instagram to try and regain some control and feel like I was contributing: Hyper-posting and re-posting resources, donating. From my apartment in Hanoi, in a country that’s been fortunate enough to have been spared by COVID-19 (not without struggle), these small actions have felt like the only things I could do.
I’ve thought a lot about the politics of food lately and how food media can be used as an actual vehicle for social change. The reckonings at Bon Appetit and Lucky Peach have forced me to look critically at the food media I consume and how I’ve contributed to upholding systems of oppression through mindless consumption. Thanks to Alicia Kennedy’s weekly newsletter, I’ve been able to tackle trying to better understand and parse some of the complexities that exist in that world and how I fit in amidst it all.
As a writer, the temptation to reach for seemingly thoughtful, but ultimately empty, platitudes about food is always there. I feel like a lot of food writing and food shows have leaned into this heavily in the last few years. It’s a shortcut for adding depth and legitimacy to the work. Throwing in phrases like ‘food is the great uniter’ or ‘food is political,’ is much easier than doing the actual intellectual heavy-lifting and confronting the inequalities that exist on tables and in kitchens across the globe, and in the case of food media, in offices. We’d much rather believe that food brings us together rather than talk about our roles in promoting a white supremacist, capitalist, and patriarchal system, of which we are all complicit.
So this is me, trying to grapple with some “hard truths” and no longer allowing myself to passively consume media without questioning the motives or the people behind it, or my own role. I’ve got a lot of work to do, we all do, but I’m hoping this is a start. Along the way, I’ll be including recipes and talking about my own, sometimes complicated, history with food, cooking, and identity. This is the only way I know how to do this for now.
And hopefully not to pivot too awkwardly, today’s recipe is roasted red pepper sauce. It’s something I make at least once a week and it goes with a lot of things: roast potatoes, fried eggplant, beans, stir-fried vegetables, or spooned over eggs.
Ingredients:
1 red bell pepper
2 garlic cloves, chopped
a handful of cilantro (roughly 10 grams)
1/2 tsp rice vinegar
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp MSG or, if you have it 1 tsp nutritional yeast
2-3 tbsp neutral oil like sunflower or light olive oil
Directions:
Slice the bell pepper in half, remove seeds, and place on baking tray cut side down. Roast for 20-30 minutes at 220 Celcius until parts of the skin are charred.
Remove roasted bell pepper and place in a bowl. Cover with a plate for 10 minutes to steam and make the skin easier to peel. Then remove the skin.
Place peeled roasted red pepper and the rest of the ingredients in a blender and blend till smooth. Taste for seasoning, add more salt if needed.
This newsletter will go out (hopefully) every Wednesday. I always appreciate feedback so please comment or message me at chiaracui[at]gmail[dot]com.
Thanks for reading.