How’s My Thriving?
Modesty, odd jobs, note pads and Parisian potatoes
HELLO SUGAR PIES!
You may have noticed that last month I was crowned Number 1 on the 2025 Observer Food Monthly list of ‘30 things we love in the world of food’. When I asked how I was found, Editor in Chief Holly said that she saw me on Melek Erdal’s IG Stories, there being fed delights and working at her place one afternoon. Mel has been so instrumental in the confidence I've built up and in reminding me of my worth, and that kindness will prevail over all. Tears were shed when I told Mel how I had been considered, let alone that I was on the number one spot, and discovered via her, Which feels very full circle considering our fond friendship sparked when I was working at The Dusty Knuckle, and long may it continue. x
My kindness, of course, is not to be mistaken for humility. If you’re looking for humble, you may want to look elsewhere.
I will be celebrating my wins unashamedly. For two reasons, one being that there have been times where I didn’t believe I would make it to this chapter of my life. However, I am so delighted to be here. I’m so happy I’m not waking up in the morning without the feeling to run away or flee from jobs I absolutely hate. Two being the fact that I don’t believe in being too humble about your wins, they are hard earned and I do not fall into the bracket (that should never be) of ‘well behaved women’.
Speaking of jobs I hated, I obviously have a CV longer than a TGI Friday’s menu. I waited tables at Wimpy when I was 13, was a line worker in an exceptionally cheap furniture warehouse making mediocre drawers to go in mediocre chipboard wardrobes, a cafe on an industrial estate (even though I only spent two days there - the tinned sliced mushrooms hurt my heart), a mirror shop assistant where I spent all the petty cash on fried chicken (because one of the owners used to say horrible sexist things) - I just thought fuck it, I’m having another round of chicken for lunch today on company money. Dog sitter, delivery driver, hand model and food styling assistant to friends if they need it, the list continues to go on. There's basically not much I won't do for a pound note, although the rate to get me out of bed is getting higher these days. The common denominator amongst all these and the biggest role I’ve played…is quitting. I don't believe in sticking around if something feels awful. So best believe if I feel disinterested, I'm gone, I'm out, I'm done. back in the day often resulting with a side-eyed interrogation from my dad asking ‘do you still have that job?’ ‘Yes’ I would Lie.
I love the delivery jobs I’ve done; I like driving, setting off for a journey, I love being by myself. My favourite time is alone time, especially in the car. Music on. If my passengers fall asleep on long journeys, I am grateful for the time alone again. It's where I like to ponder. A journey in the car gives opportunity to get lost on the way to your destination, and thus discover a better route of getting there. My mother used to panic if we were lost, like the car, her and all her kids were going to disappear somehow. But it never did. We always got there in the end. Resembling life, a car journey however short, will seem exceptionally long if you don’t pick your passengers wisely. I'm getting a new car soon. It's a toss up between a pale lilac BMW (an ode to my mother) or a transit van…both elicit joy inside me. Both VIP: Very Important Passengers.
Mid morning and I am on my knees searching for (and sadly not finding) one of my old pay checks from Wimpy that I have kept for decades. A tragic loss to someone that keeps these keep-sakes for decades only for them to escape the box of treasures when their time to shine has come. The small brown square envelope in question marked with a black grid, filled in with biro stating my hourly rate of £3.40. Every Saturday, I would receive this small brown envelope for 3 hours work totalling a hefty £10.20. Having hoards of bits and pieces, I cling on to memories of people who aren't here and the children that are now adults, including myself. This rummage was sparked by my thoughts and feelings after reading ‘Receipts as Objects’ by Panayiota Soutis, a piece from her superb weekly Substack, ‘The Goal Is To Eat’. Each week I am astounded by Pani’s writing and the seemingly-effortless-fluidity of quality talk she lets out each Monday. Who is giving her a column? Pani, a true icon who helped me conjure up the name of Suet Mansion over drinks in Bethnal Green, sitting with open pads and pens, plotting, scheming and failing to reach our original destination that night. We discussed a synonym for ‘house’ as a name for a title and I said I like ‘mansion’. Pani asked, ‘what's the name of the pastry that you make your pies with?’ ‘Suet!’ I replied, and so Suet Mansion was born and has been quietly unravelling behind closed doors ever since.
PARIS IN PARIS
I was in Paris last week. Not for Fashion Week, but to eat, and it ended up being a well timed trip with some gorgeous girls I know. Being gorgeous girls, we ate at some gorgeous spaces, including Lapérouse - chosen for its over-the-top interiors and renowned ex-brothel. It houses dramatic settings including tiny rooms off of a wonky dark corridor, now habituated for dining however their prior use of course was solely for ménages à trois…
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