Finally Some Good Grief 2.
mamma mia, here we go again!
hello again! It’s been a month (or so)! And what a month it’s been.
Firstly, thank you to all the lovely responses to the last edition of the newsletter. It reminded me why I love writing and gave me that excitement about why I do this again.
Secondly, I’d like to apologise to my mother after someone rightfully pointed out to me that if you read this newsletter through Substack you may not open the emails. It’s nicer to think that maybe it was simply a classic older-generation-mum-style tech issue. After all, she was one of those women who had to read her phone at an arms length over her glasses, so it’s plausible. What is annoying is that I now can’t take the piss out of her for it.
So, what’s new?
the homeland
Well, if I could give the screenwriter of my life notes, I would say they’re overdoing it a bit now. A week or so after my last newsletter, my grandma also passed away. To be honest, it’s just rude at this point. She died of dementia, which most people are unfortunately familiar with these days, but it is still awful. When someone is dying, you have to reckon with watching someone disappear in front of you. Dementia is perhaps one of the worst versions of this, where someone can remain physically intact for years, but bears no resemblance to who they used to be. It traps you in a limbo of not wanting to lose them but also wanting them to not be in distress as they are visibly confused. So, that sucked.
Also as she was Irish, her loss has raised weird feelings about losing that connection to my family identity. I come from a family who lives all over and no one is from where they live. I moved down to Cornwall from London when I was a toddler and spent most of my childhood in Cornwall, but I can’t say I was made to feel like I belonged there. There were the kids whose families all knew each other and then there was us. We never felt like locals. But despite being born in London, when I moved to London at 18 it became clear very quickly that I didn’t really know London at all either.
So part of me likes to cling on to my Irish-ness, historically because I think a significant chunk of the Martin-Strong’s trace back to Ireland at least, and I was once told, unprompted, that I look Irish by a friend’s mum who was pissed at a campfire. (Still uncertain what that actually entails).But when I went to Ireland with my (English) boyfriend, people in the street asked him for directions and presumed he was bringing his English girlfriend home. I clearly don’t look that Irish.
Wherever I go, I cannot help but feel I am the interloper, the stranger in a new land. I would love to go somewhere where touching the soil feels like an anchor, tying me back to some rich history and family I never knew but unsurprisingly, I’ve never really found that feeling. I don’t know if it even exists. But it’s partly why living in cities feels easier. At least a lot of us are interlopers here.
Maybe it’s because I’ve moved house at least sixteen times in my life. Technically seventeen, if you count emptying Mum’s house. This means there is no childhood bedroom I can return to, except in my dreams. Instead there are just buildings I don’t belong to anymore but I watch from a distance, lingering on the outside. Home as a physical place is something I have never been able to hold onto, because I know just too well how it can be taken away. So like the hermit crab, I build a home in whatever I can hold onto in that moment. Objects - of course, I am a hoarder. But also people. Of course family, but also friends.
With these people, you create small traditions and rituals that happen time and time again without thinking. It’s having a cup of tea and watching a reality show on your friend’s couch, or having drinks in someone’s tiny kitchen at a house party, or sharing bread and dips at an evening with the girls. With Mum, it was having tea and toast in her garden in the mornings, or her making a chip butty the first night I would arrive. That was my home, more than any building or place ever was. But like every home, it can fall away. So I keep moving, and I hope I find something else that will shelter me from the rain.
the milkshake
Mum died right before lunchtime. So, when I did have to finally leave her, it was to get lunch. It feels stupid to say. Hunger should feel inconsequential to the immensity of grief but after two days of no sleep and the worst moment of your life, you need to eat something to carry on. So my uncle dropped me and Ed into town and we sat outside a cafe with toasties.
I ordered a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream. I love strawberry milkshake but it doesn’t often feel right to order with most meals, especially as a thirty year old woman. But raised on the bright pink of Nesquik, it still holds a soft spot for me, especially as it reminds me of this little cafe that me and Mum would visit near Lands End. After my parents separated, if we were at home just the two of us, Mum knew I’d never say no to a drive somewhere. Having not had a car until I was fifteen, every drive felt like an adventure to a whole new world. We’d drive down so we could walk to the beautiful hotel near the cliff face, before walking back to the cafe for a slice of cake and a milkshake. It was decorated in this slightly funny old fashioned way, with glass cabinets full of elaborately decorated cakes and pies. We’d sit just the two of us, the place almost empty. It felt like our secret. It was funny years later how the milkshake that awful afternoon looked and tasted just like how I remembered that cafe all those years ago.
the supermarket
The other place we used to drive to a lot was the supermarket. It was always easily justifiable, even on a school night. During COVID, venturing to different supermarkets provided much needed variety during the day. Because of this, I find them immensely comforting, especially in the quiet of the late evening or a lazy weekday afternoon. Or at least, I used to.
Currently, my grief is tucked away under my ribcage somewhere, I think, in order to survive. Every time a memory resurfaces it feels like that moment before you plunge under cold water, that sudden breath that you hold onto as you fall. It will surprise you what plunges you under. The other day, it was one of those miniature cans of Fanta in Lemon and Fruit Twist flavours - we’d often get one after the trip to a big Asda somewhere, and drink it in the car park before we’d set off home. I wonder what she would think about the new flavours. I get sad that I’ll never know.
But I am finding some joy in it again, slowly.
With the newsletter back, I find myself scouring the shelves for new things to try. ‘For science’, I mutter to myself as I skip to the self-checkouts with Kewpie mayonnaise in one hand, KitKat Funky in another (can recommend both, FYI.).
Some other recent highlights include:
everything bagels - an extra savoury version of the bagels we know and love.
cheese topped pretzel roll, Lidl Bakery - finally a supermarket branching into Pretzel bread.
Morrison’s Aioli Dip. - Morrisons had no reason to go this hard on their own garlic dip but they did. Also equally good but a bit more spenny is the Sainsbury’s Roasted Garlic Aioli Dip
La Famiglia Rana Garlic and Mozzarella Filled Gnocchi - thanks to our friends Greg and Alice, excellent cooks and consummate hosts, who introduced these to us recently. I fried at home with sundried tomatoes, the sundried tomato oil and crispy chilli oil for extra savoury goodness.
Four Colour Bic. Mum was always particular on pens, both on accounts of being dyspraxic and being creative (she advocated being ambidextrous her whole life). As one of the few that passed the snuff, she always had one of these pens kicking around. I don’t know if I need more pens, but when I hold it, I feel in safe hands.
the feed
One of the things I appreciated most right after Mum died was being fed by other people.
Cherelle, a good friend to me and the newsletter, almost immediately brought us over some homemade bread and butter(!!)and a delicious tomato and aubergine sauce so we could at least make some really nice spaghetti without any real effort on our part.
Then my Dad turned up at my flat in Manchester, and spent the next few days buying and making food for me and my sibling while we binge-watched Never Mind The Buzzcocks. He introduced me to watermelon, feta and mint and It was really nice to have this little bubble of a family life in the immediate wake of everything being awful.
A group of my friends from London clubbed together to get me a Just Eat voucher, which proved a godsend during the various treacherous trips to clear Mum’s house.I couldn’t bear to cook much while emptying that kitchen where we had spent so many hours.
It’s all been so, so appreciated. So, after thinking on this for a while, I’ve decided to end this newsletter the way I started it - with gratitude. Specifically, I thought in true Finally Some Good Food style, I would do a shoutout to some particular highlights from what other people have fed me over the last month or so.
Emma’s boozy tiramisu
I love my friends. I love it even more when they live physically close to me. I advocate that all friendship groups should consider proximity to each other when they move. Living right by your friends has the pros of a commune, without all the weird class politics and nonethical monogamy or whatever. Particular if your friend/neighbour makes a tiramisu and needs immediate help in eating it. So thanks to Emma for this surprise treat, and for the ingenious idea of subbing in Five Farms Irish Cream liqueur as your booze of choice! Just don’t eat it like Josh did.
Medea’s cake for MASH
I went to a pole jam at Asteria Studios in Radcliffe where Medea, one of the instructors, made both an incredible chocolate cake and strawberry and rose tres leches. Not only were they downright delicious, they were raising money for a great cause: Manchester Action for Street Health, a charity that helps sex workers in Manchester with their health, safety and emotional wellbeing, needs funds for their roof that has a leak. Without it, they can’t run their drop-in centre which provides a lot of their face-to-face support. If you have a quid to spare, you can donate below.
hot honey cashews
I’ve been having a regular crafts night with some of my girl friends and it has been incredibly beneficial to my wellbeing to make things with my hands. I will write about it in full in a future newsletter, but in the meantime I can talk about how it is an excuse for us to all go true Girl Dinner mode and eat bread and crisps and many aforementioned aioli dips. Special shout out to Pascale for sourcing this Aldi rarity, a rare combination of both your fave sweet and savoury nuts!
ackee and saltfish
I got to try ackee and saltfish for the first time, as aforementioned queen Cherelle made it for us as part of a Jamaican Independence party. It is Jamaica’s national dish, and is made with ackee, which is the national fruit of Jamaica and a version of salted cod. It has a really interesting background as a dish which Jamaicans have reclaimed from its history with enslavement, which you can read about here.
To eat, it’s light but flavourful, and unlike any other fish dish I’ve had. So when I went to the Campfield Weekender market, I saw Palette Bakery at the Weekender advertising it in a patty and I had to try. The ackee and saltfish patty was a lovely portable version with crisp pastry and just enough spice for a kick, but not too much to leave me, a fragile white person, in tears. However, while eating the patty was something pretty new for me, I thought it looked familiar.
It turns out that Jamaican patties also have an interesting history; they are believed to be influenced from the Cornish pasty due to, you guessed it, colonialism. But over time, they were transformed using spices brought by indentured labourers from China and India as well as the Scotch Bonnet chili, which is native to Jamaica. It is definitely worth trying if you haven’t already, and you can read more about the history of patties and the Canadian Patty Wars(!) here.
a trip to Scotland
I got to go on a very brief weekend trip to both Edinburgh and Glasgow recently. I managed to microdose the Fringe Festival with my Dad, which was pretty good actually except when we accidentally went to Jena Friedmen’s new show about losing her mum to cancer. Whoops! But after then, I got to be hosted by my childhood friend Sam and their lovely partner Charlie in their gorgeous flat in Glasgow. It’s great to hang out with people who are not only obsessed with food in the same way, but will share their late night air fryer snacks. Here is a highlight reel from my flying Scots trip.
Lays Green Onion crisps - so good I ate the entire bag over 1 Drag Race episode to the surprise and not horror of my hosts (hopefully).
La Gelatessa - I’m sure I’ve mentioned in the newsletter before that I am a fan of Mary’s Milk Bar in Edinburgh, however, as this trip was during the fringe, I knew I simply couldn’t be arsed to queue. Luckily, Glasgow has their own star gelateria that I would say comfortably rivals Mary’s, La Gelatessa in the Southside. I had their peach and basil flavour as well as buttered corn and both were incredible. I love basil as a savoury note in a sweet dish so of course I loved that one, but the buttered corn was a pleasant surprise - like a slightly stronger cornflake flavour! If you’re in the area, I’d say it’s a must-go.
Not Just Coffee’s pistachio brownie - While everyone and their mum seems to be selling a pistachio baked good these days, I wish they could make something as good as this brownie. Not only did it actually utilise the flavour perfectly, but it was just a brilliant brownie by brownie standards. The texture was perfectly fudgy with pistachio creme running through it as perfect creamy and salty notes. It’s true, they don’t do just coffee.
Soda Folk Blueberry Soda - I’lll say it now, the ‘health food shop’ as my family call it, is a UK staple of every town and city that does not get enough praise. Anyone with a dietary requirement or a love of yogurt covered things knows this to be true. Yes, they are pricy as hell sometimes, but they are the most reliable source of your fave veggie sausages, herbal teas or gluten free pasta. Also, they are a niche food paradise of small brands and producers, and if you’re a real foodie, it’s worth checking out your local one for any good curios. In Glasgow, we went into one called Roots, Fruits and Flowers that stocked this delightful blueberry soda and personally, I’m now convinced blueberry is not used enough as a soft drink flavour.
Pizza Crunch - a true Scottish tradition or a pandering to tourists? I don’t know - the history is hard to find online. However, do I care? No. With the crispy batter, it’s kind of like fish, if it had a thin layer of tomato sauce on the inside. Either way, what’s there to hate? Do you not want to live deliciously?
That’s all for now, but I’ll hopefully see you all again soon. If you enjoyed my work, you can either chuck me a quid or two here:
Or if you’d like, you can check out Dementia UK, which you can donate to or you want to look at their resources, you can do so here:
As I said last time, if you relate to anything in this newsletter, I’d love to hear from you, because one of the hardest things about grief, whatever kind, is how lonely it is.
Otherwise, if you enjoyed this newsletter or found it meaningful/helpful, please feel free to share on social media or pass onto any friends who may need it.
Thanks for sharing these, they're very moving. Sorry for your losses.