MIKEY BELL

Have you ever watched The Royle Family?

There’s a bit where Nana says:

‘Oh, there’s nothing like your own toilet, is there?’

And she says it with such fond affection for the security of her own lavatory, that I knew exactly what she meant because, truly, there is nothing like your own toilet. Or bed or sofa or, my particular affection, your own kitchen. And while you can enjoy the temporary spoils of unfamiliar things, nothing will ever, truly feel as right as the known.

I once wrote about my emotionally charged (okay, erratic) feelings about moving out of the kitchen I cooked in for a decade (which you can read here) and I can now provide an update almost a year on.

What I have learned is this: any kitchen can feel like a home if you open yourself to cook with a new rhythm.

It took me a while, but I got there.

Once I was familiar with where everything was, I was fine. I learned which bits of the counters don’t wobble, which hobs runs unevenly (all of them), whether the oven runs hotter or cooler (both and annoyingly, whenever it feels like it) and how to navigate stepping around two dogs and a partner who comes in snacking when I’m mid-cooking.

Once all of this became a new dance for me, rather than trying to force my kitchen to dance to the beat of a new drum, I found a new rhythm.

But still, now and then, you have to cook somewhere else, and then the music stops and restarts again.

Be it a little Airbnb or a holiday cottage or a self-catering apartment abroad or even a friend’s house, you’re suddenly in a strange environment and starting from scratch, and even when you’re in the most perfectly furnished kitchen, there will always be sixteen spatulas, three can openers, nineteen plastic jugs but not one single bottle opener or champagne flute.

But maybe this is good for the soul.

A new kitchen – whether you’ve just moved house or you’re in it temporarily – forces you out of a routine. It forces you to rely on your instinct, and suddenly ‘making do’ becomes an absolute. You have to be aware, willing to improvise, willing to accept that yes, you might be drinking champagne from an IKEA mug, and you know what? Let it be so.

Because life, like a new kitchen,  is never about curating the perfect moment but about being fortunate to have one to celebrate to begin with.

Too sickly?

Good. That’s what I’m here for.

So let’s talk logistics.

I went to the beach recently with some friends and was on cooking duty (the nerve).

This was not a chore, you see, because I love cooking for people and what’s more, knowing what I’m going to eat well in advance of eating, always brings me joy no end.

But I have learned over many years of cooking that the difference between cooking successfully and happily in a new kitchen and wanting to collapse and scream into the floor of said new kitchen is preparation.

So what to prepare? I’m glad you asked.

Some thoughts on ingredients:

Salt – do not trust the salt in a temporary home. Take your own, always. Not a challenge for me because I am never not without a tiny pot of Halen Mon fine flake salt in my bag.

Vinegar – not malt, but something with a sharper, cleaner and more versatile bite. I decant a tiny amount of distilled white vinegar into a spray bottle so that I can spray salads and chips at a moments notice. Also a good cleaning product, in a pinch.

A house blend – just a tiny jar of it. It will get you out of so much trouble. You can buy it in the shop (sometimes called all-purpose or even sometimes just a garlic and onion powder mix is fine) but if you want to make your own, we’re literally talking 1 tbs garlic powder, 1 tsp onion powder, and maybe 1/2 tsp of smoke paprika with 1 tsp of a dried green herb of your choice (oregano would be fine) into a jar and then shake. Put it on everything and anything that will benefit from a sniff of flavour.

Olive oil – decant some good stuff into a little bottle. For cooking, for salads, for life. You won’t regret it.

As a basic, basic, basic package, just those four things alone can dress up any meal, I promise.

Now, some thoughts on equipment:

Knife – I am a nutter and travel with my own. Yes I do. Carefully so, and only when I’m travelling domestically, I don’t board flights with one, of course, but when I can, I travel with my Global G-2 20cm cook’s knife which I’ve had for over 10 years. Not being funny, I’d rather have to explain why there is a knife in my bag to someone than try and cut a soft tomato with a blunt one. Have you ever tried? Nah, mate.

Microplane grater – a strange thing to travel with, but used once in a kitchen, you’ll understand why it’s better to just have it on standby than finely cut garlic or parmesan. Rentals and temporary homes often come with box graters but that fine-hole side, the one they say is for parmesan and what not, are lies. They are complete lies and should be banned.

A bottle opener – preferably one that pulls out wine corks as well as wrench off bottle tops. Nothing worse than everyone realising they’d taken their bottle opener off their keys because university is well and truly over. Nothing ages you quicker.

Tupperware – these ones specifically for meal-prep (more on this below)

Cool bag and ice packs – self-explanatory. 

And then after this, work with what you have.

Let go and let good food find its way to you. If you cook with good intention and pure purpose, chances are, it usually does.

But there’s a few tiny things we can do in advance to up those odds.

Let’s take that beach trip for example.

Now, I will say, we were staying in a caravan owned by my good friend Claire who is… admittedly… a professional caterer and cake baker… so the kitchen was far from bare bones, but my principle of preparation still stood because while I love cooking, I didn’t want to be doing too much of it on my holiday.

So here’s my philosophy if you’re in charge of cooking:

1. One main you can cook quickly when you’re there
2. One carb you can mostly prepare in advance
3. Two vegetables you can totally prepare in advance
4. One side salad you can make quickly before serving
5. And someone else sort dessert

Let’s start with the main.

So I figured it’s easier to cook something that comes together in no time at all, on a hob, so I don’t have to worry about unreliable ovens.

I chose prawns – these prawns specifically.

I bought them from the fish monger from Cardiff Market put them with some ice blocks in a little travel box (which came free with a wine club subscription we forgot to cancel… don’t ask…) and put them in the fridge ready to go.

We already had butter, garlic, and parsley on the shopping list, which was getting delivered when we arrived.

Fab, so that was a main event sorted. Delicious, quick, zero prep, impressive to look at, almost no effort to cook. Just what you want.

For the carb, I made a potato salad in advance. This potato salad to be exact, which meant it had time to sit and develop in flavour.

I could have just preboiled the potatoes and then assembled the rest at the caravan but… meh… the more I could do advanace.

So that was potatoes sorted.

For vegetable one, I made this bashed cucumber salad.

Again, perfect to sit in it’s own dressing for a few hours so that the flavours can truly penetrate the cucumber.

Done.

For vegetable two, I roughly cut some tomatoes into chunks, flung them into the Tupperware with some oil, balsamic vinegar, some toasted fennel seed, and salt and black pepper.

Like the cuces, perfect to put the lid on and let steep in their own juices until later.

For the side salad, I made a yellow plum and feta salad, which I wanted to assemble just before serving, so threw some plums, a packet of feta, and some romaine baby gems into the ice box with the prawns.

With the ice box full, and three Tupperware bowls of potato salad, cucumbers, and tomatoes, I was ready for the caravan.

When the time came…

There was absolutely no stress. 

I melted the butter with a little oil in a frying pan with some garlic, tossed the prawns in the golden foam until they were pink and cooked through, and scattered them with parsley.

I threw another dollop of butter into the pan and cooked it until it was brown, freckled and foamy, pouring it into three small dishes to enjoy with some torn, crusty bread and for the prawns to be dunked into.

But even without the little bowls, it would have been gorgeous just poured over the prawns.

And for the salad, I tore the leaves by hand into big, chunky rips and gently dressed them with some oil and lemon juice. I chopped up some of the juice plums, scattered amongst the leaves and then crumbled over a cold, snowfall of feta rubble.

Salt, pepper, more olive oil and a little more lemon juice and then served alongside the prawns.

Tupperware tops popped off the potatoes, tomatoes, and cucumbers, a few spoons, some plates, knives and forks, wine, a little bit of music, done.

We don’t need to make cooking harder than it needs to be. It’s unnecessary. 

Nothing needed to be massively fancy or decadent, it just needed to feel cosy. The strangeness of a new kitchen can feel daunting, which is why it’s so important to have both tiny elements of the familiarity to take with you into the new, as well as a little bit of prep to make it less stressful.

You can start the majority of it yesterday which means that everything is already good tomorrow, you’re just waiting on everyone’s appetite to hit the perfect side of hungry, and then all you have to do is finish it off.

Just remember, if you are in charge of cooking, the simple rule of – one quick to cook main, one carb you can partly make in advance, two vegetables you can make in advance, a side salad you can throw together quickly, and someone else can make dessert.

Which Claire did. Again, a better baker than I could ever be, so we had this beautiful coconut and mango cake, and divine it was too.

When entering into it this way, the best thing about the meal will not be the food at all, it’s be the fact that the whole thing took no time at all because the prawns were hot, the salad was quick, the vegetables were done and there was nothing left to except enjoy yourself.

Oh, and don’t forget that damn bottle opener for another round with your mates.

Nothing worse than not having one.

I’d say it’s the most important thing to bring actually, because nobody should risk dental surgery while trying to yank a cap off of a bottle of Corona.

I repeat, we are not in university anymore.