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Welcome back to Insta Stories, a column examining the London restaurant scene through the often-problematic medium of Instagram. This week’s filter is jaw-dropping.
News of the week
It’s one of many weird ironies of the year AD 2020 that a lockdown in which the whole country was forced to try its hand at home cooking was without a consensus-pick cookbook to inspire and nourish its readers. Think of how Tiger King unified appalled-fascinated viewers everywhere, or how How I’m Feeling Now provided the definitive quarantine soundtrack (sorry, Taylor). Now think about the equivalent for cookbooks: nada, just various extremely online recipes for banana bread and sourdough. But all that is about to change, as FLAVOUR — the latest from Yotam Ottolenghi and co-author Ixta Belfrage — arrives with all the pomp, circumstance, and 747-through-an-airport-terminal spectacle of the average Christopher Nolan movie. This week sees the start of what is sure to be a months-long period of social media domination, with the writers themselves, PRs, and other influential supporters just the first step on the path towards global domination for a dizzyingly global selection of recipes. That cover? Get used to it.
Seasonal glut of the week
The title of Colin Nissan’s 2009 McSweeney’s essay ‘It’s decorative gourd season, motherfuckers’ has become such a shorthand for general autumn vibes that three years ago The Atlantic went back to the source and performed a deep dive on the piece’s cultural impact. But — lost in the majesty of that headline — it would be easy to disregard the body of Nissan’s work, which contains any number of one-liners to rival the phrase that ended up plastered across thousands of commemorative mugs. “Guess what season it is — fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash,” perhaps, or: “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.” Both of which, in fact, would be excellent summaries of 93 percent of Instagram content over the last seven days, as a gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards (to borrow Nissan’s phrasing) swept through the grid. Is it a little alarming to realise that it’s already the year’s endgame? Maybe. Does it feel like spring and summer have been swallowed up by coronavirus-adjacent anxiety, and the nation has basically fast-forwarded from February to September? Absolutely. As Colin Nissan knew all too well: it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it’s fall, fuckers.
News of the week meets seasonal glut of the week of the week
*Makes TENET hand gesture*
Vindication of the week
Poor a bit of anchovy-infused oil out for Tincan, that much-maligned 2014 Soho pop-up that was met with something approaching incredulity when it announced it would serve only tinned seafood. Turns out it was just six years ahead of its time.
Much-awaited return of the week
A ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day. Now just pray that it extends its usual summer season into autumn and maybe even beyond.
Future icon of the week
London’s countless fancy sandwich mavens, take note.
Future… Something of the week
*Makes Leo Inception face*
Returning presentational trend of the week
Welcome back, rockpool, London’s missed you.
New presentation trend of the week
Introducing the… Quarry?
Dish of the week
Finally, something that doesn’t have gourds in it.
Shot of the week
Yep.
