El Principito, The Slattern & The Imposter

by Conor Baird

Oct 25

Hello! This week we have Conor Baird sharing with us on the Gazette. Find a bit about Conor (he/him) below, and then onto day 1’s dispatch.

We hope you enjoy!

Kate + Sinae

I'm an artist living in, and from, Glasgow. I look to having a few typical days juggling my day job with time for rest and exercise, gearing up to attending my best friend's wedding at the weekend. My cringeworthy joke is habitually defaulted domestic flexitarianism, cohabiting with a veggie partner. I don't have enough opportunities to wax lyrical about food IRL so will relish in it, and hope you do too.

El Principito, The Slattern & The Imposter

Introducing this breakfast to people always requires a plea for open-mindedness. And often during being told, people raise their eyebrows in a mixture of positive curiosity that quickly quiver back down in a to-be-convinced-uncertainty.

It’s a bit of toasted sourdough bread with three pasty components spread. Firstly tahini, second squished avocado, and lastly thick raw miso (red or white depending on umami level preference) spread on top of that. There is no evidence to suggest, but this order of layering is important to create the best combination of flavour and texture, apparently – as introduced to me by my partner Alejandro (Ale) a couple of years ago when our relationship began. I think he came up with it himself. An experiment gone right. In vegetarian tricks of self-assurance he says the tahini is good for protein… if you needed a health excuse to eat this delicious quirk. The balance of chewy carbs, sludgy nuttiness, creamy green fat and rich umami seasoning is perfect. It’s like three people from completely different continents and backgrounds coming together in harmony. A three tongued choir with bread as the supporting instrument.

I was so quickly unskeptical, and it’s now a regular feature – the go-to breakfast. So regular and shared that we christened it ‘Ale’s Tostadas’. This title my only creative contribution. Although sometimes variations are had, like mixing all the pastes together in a bowl and then spreading, making a more rounded experience. I’m convinced it could be jarred and sold. Or subbing tahini for another nut/seed paste. But the classic layering is the fall back. Just make sure avocados are in the house. We take turns to make it, having been fully inducted. If our love was symbolised as a dish, could it be this? Romantic beginnings. Romantic breakfasts. One of us awakes and gets started in the kitchen, whilst the other drifts peacefully in an out of slumber like a little prince awaiting his serve. The plate enters the room hovering above and as the gestured gift drops to the bed, eyes widen open. Both smile. Los principitos comen.

Today however I prepare and eat this alone, making space for another bit of toast with tahini, a boiled egg, flaky salt and tajin. And coffee, of course.

I go to view a studio space and to no surprise in Glasgow find out it has no heating. I conclude it would be too cold to be generative. El principito needs comfort. After going swimming, I have the swiftly oncoming post-exercise hunger. Lunch is some leftovers of a gnarly but delicious puttanesca I made on Saturday to line my stomach before going out clubbing. An excuse to open that tin of anchovies, mixed with garlic, Aleppo pepper, tomato puree, olive tapenade and capers sizzled in tons of oil. I love that episode of Nigella Kitchen (I mean, I love any episode of our Queen) where she makes this in her usual appropriating and popularising fashion. Googling to retrieve this clip I find out that Slut’s Spaghetti is cancelled, now to be known as Slattern’s Spaghetti for Nigella’s fans. Slattern, the word for a dirty, untidy woman. I think about how I could be a slattern in areas of my life, an unruly beard that I find too high maintenance, my aversion to commitment, my lack of motivation. The slattern needs deadlines. Or a sloven if I want to complicate my gender further. Lost in translation, pasta alla puttanesca is here to stay it seems.

Ale comes home and we share the last triple chocolate cookie from Sainsburys out the bag. You know the sort, good on paper, but despite its colour and promise, it is never quite chocolatey or satisfying enough. But it has its place. The lazy treat, one I bought for yesterday’s hangover to hit a sweet spot.

I ask Ale what he wants for dinner and we agree on noodles. Every time I make noodles I try to use the rich taste of ramen as an inspiration point, but I don’t think I could really claim them to be ramen. They are imposter ramen. I never use a recipe and just bung whatever we have in a pan with some hot water. Today it was garlic, green chilli, gochuchang, miso, veg stock cube, maple syrup, peanut butter, soy sauce and the bare remnants of a crispy chilli oil jar. I let this deep blood red chunky concoction bubble away before water turns it into a coral orange soup. I have two leftover egg whites which I slowly pour in and mix, giving that stringy thicker texture. I can’t be bothered with slurping tonight, so I cut the rice vermicelli portions in half before plopping in. I’m not sure if I’d do this again as dry noodle shards flew off in different directions, one behind the oven that I think will now be there for eternity. Once the noodles have absorbed it becomes much thicker than intended – a common mistake I make, but it results in a nice sauce. Now so far from ramen. I roast some veggies and soy sauced tempeh to go with. Not bad, and quick. Satay like. Filling. My sister asked me what I want for my birthday in a few weeks and I get an idea: “ramen bowls?” At least I could look more the part.