Dive into Piglet, a compelling exploration of self-deception intertwined with culinary indulgence. Join the protagonist as she grapples with the lies we tell ourselves, finding solace and revelation in food's intimate embrace. Through relationships with family, friends, and fiancé, the novel delves into the intersection of bodily and spiritual hunger. Experience the complexity of truth-telling, especially on the grand stage of weddings. With each turn of the page, discover kinship with the author and a shared journey through life's uncertainties. And don't forget to stock up on snacks for this immersive culinary adventure.
Dear Reader
Surely we all keep the pallid, unsavoury parts of our lives private? This was the question I kept returning to in the writing of Piglet, which examines the lies we tell ourselves - to appease our egos, to quieten our fears, and to make our secret bargains with the universe. The novel asks what it means to be satisfied by our own deceptions, and what happens when we are not.
These questions play out for one woman, often through the intimate and complicated form of food, within the relationships that matter to her most: with her family, her dear friend, and her fiancé. When writing, I was interested in exploring how our various hungers intersect, how our bodily and spiritual appetites could overlap.
And I wanted to probe at the nebulous concept of truth-telling on one of our greatest and most loaded stages: the wedding. Because how do you tell people, when you've sent out the invites and told everyone you'll be making the cake, that the fullness of your life has been a pretense, and that you are hungry, you realize, for something more?
I hope you recognize something that feels truthful in the reading of Piglet. These are my favourite novels, I find. Those where - even when neat resolutions and redeemable characters are absent - I feel a kinship with the author, a sense of shared knowledge, and part of a collective experience.
I also hope you have a plentiful supply of snacks as you read. Seriously - raid the cupboards, ransack the fridge, stock up, and enjoy.
Piglet’s Pasta Alla Puttanesca
I don't know about you, but I have Found that most savoury cravings can be quelled by pasta: steaming, slick beneath sauce, and piled high into its bowl. This dish – fiery red, chilli-flecked, and salty with anchovies – is the one I turn to when I want to feel truly and amply satisfied. Piglet feels the same, I believe, and this is because For most of the food scenes in the novel, I relied on method writing to slip more easily into her shoes, or, more accurately in this case, her saucepans.
Because isn't there a particular, sensuous joy in private pasta For one? And I believe this is best understood and written about after you have personally whipped a strand of linguine into your mouth and neglected to wipe a remnant splatter of cheek-sauce in order to go back For another Forkful. I'd love you to join Piglet and I in this experience, and perhaps leave some of the pages of your proof flecked tomato red.
This recipe feeds one generously with leftover sauce, so do come back to it later, when you feel the stirrings of hunger again. Or, if you are so inclined, share with a fellow pasta enthusiast, ensuring to make extra linguine.
Enjoy.
Linguine, about 100g
Garlic, 2 cloves*
Anchovies, 4-5
Chilli flakes, ½ tsp, or more if you like the heat
Tinned plum tomatoes, 1
Capers, 1 tsp
Kalamata olives, stones in, 12 or so
Parsley, handful*
Flaked sea salt*
Olive oil*
*not included within the box!
This dish will come together in the time it takes to cook your pasta, so let's begin there. A hob, saucepan, salted boiling water, linguine, about ten or so minutes of cooking.
Fire up a second hob and place a skillet over the flame, medium heat. Slick with olive oil and, while it warms, peel and finely slice your garlic. Add the garlic - don't bother to wash the allium stick off your fingers yet, fish incoming - followed by the anchovies. Sprinkle the lot with chilli flakes and wait for the garlic to become golden brown and the fish to melt away.
Open your tomatoes and - apron advised, or stove-top lean-away - let each whole fruit drop into your hand over the garlic and anchovies. Crush each tomato into the pan and pour in any of the tin's remaining juice. Stir and let bubble away.
To the tomatoes add capers and Kalamata olives, ensuring to remove the stones first. Eat as many olives as you like. Maybe chase them with a gherkin from the fridge.
As you wait for your linguine to cook, finely chop the parsley. Have another olive, if you want to. Taste and season the sauce.
When the linguine is al dente, turn off both hobs and use a pair of tongs to drag the pasta into the tomatoes. Flecks of starchy pasta water are welcome, and if you need a little more to loosen the sauce, get yourself a mug and add more.
Tip the linguine into a bowl and add as much sauce as you like. Scatter with parsley. Pick up your fork. Eat.
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