1Dish4TheRoad
"1 Dish 4 The Road".. Fusing food writing with whatever else I find on the road – fiction, history, poetry, humour, diversity, family stories & London.

Some News – I Am Writing A Book!

Interim book cover for Friday Night Chicken by Aaron Vallance

 

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you may have noticed that my posts have slowed up somewhat. But I haven’t hung up my pen (or my typing fingers). In fact, far from it. Instead, I have been beavering away on my laptop, devoting more energy to writing than ever before. That’s because… I am writing a book!

‘Friday Night Chicken’ is a personal story, with themes close to my heart – a coming-of-age food memoir set in North Manchester’s Jewish community, told through the eyes of my food-loving childhood self. Here my world was steeped in chopped herring and chicken soup, challah and bagels; my Grandma spooning out crisp baubles of gefilte fish from the deep-pan fryer. It is both an intimate portrait of family life, where food is connection and devotion, and a wider lens to explore themes of immigration and identity, religion and ritual.

It’s still in its early stages, and isn’t due out until April 2027. However, the book was recently shortlisted for this year’s Jane Grigson Trust Award (for books in development by first-time food book writers), which has resulted in a bit of a reveal. It is a recognition I am very honoured to receive, not least as it’s a prodigious award and features a panel of judges whose writing I really admire.

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Article in Pit Magazine

 

I realise it’s been a while since my last blog post… but that’s only because I’ve been focusing on two other food writing projects, both of which I’m really excited about! One I’ll talk about another time. The other is a piece I recently wrote for the wonderful Pit Magazine, and its latest edition on the sandwich.

It was such an honour to contribute to this award-winning publication, especially as Pit looks at food as a lens to so many other things – cultural, sociological, political, economical – whilst also celebrating the real joy and connection that food can bring. So if you’d like to read about Palestinian arayes, Puerto Rican bodegas, Hong Kong western toasties, Wigan pie barns, Xi’an roujiamos and the humble tuna melt – plus my own piece of family memoir about the Passover matzah sandwich – then please order your copy here.

A huge thanks to editor Helen Graves for commissioning the piece, and to Holly Catford for her help with collating all the photos and images.

Hope you enjoy!

 

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Breakfasts and Blessings – Rituals and Spaces in Synagogues and the Regency Cafe

The exterior of the iconic Art Deco Regency Cafe in London.

 

“Ko-ha-nim…“

The cantor stands on the bimah, the raised platform in the centre of the synagogue, facing out towards the East, towards Jerusalem, towards where the Holy Temple once stood, before it was destroyed by the Babylonians, and then rebuilt, and then destroyed again, this time by the Romans, and yet whose legacy is such that it remains a spiritual lodestone, to where all synagogues are orientated, all the synagogues around the world.

The cantor now addresses the kohanim: the segment of the community who affiliate as descendants of the biblical priestly class. They shuffle in as one, cloaked in white tallis prayer shawls, setting themselves in a row at the front. Then, turning silently to face the congregation, they slowly raise their arms aloft, as is the tradition for this prayer.

And then they chant.

 

*

 

“Set beans, set tomatoes, hash browns. Any sauce?..”

The Regency Cafe is an old-school caff in the heart of Westminster: an old cabbies’ haunt where the drivers take their early morning victuals before a long day crisscrossing the city streets and circumventing its dysfunctional ring roads.

Nowadays, you’ll find more international tourists than taxi drivers, lured by glowing reviews in guide books, or its many featured cameos in films aiming to portray a characterful slice of London. Still, there’s always a smattering of old-timers and greasy-spoon traditionalists, and the occasional gang of ravenous construction workers on a morning break. It does the best fry-ups in town.

But more than that, thanks to an operation that stretches for almost eight decades, and a proud management with nostalgic sensibilities, the place is awash with rituals and symbols. And that is why visits here, however obliquely, remind me of synagogue.

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Article in Vittles Magazine

Drawing of a Jewish kiddush wine cup used for Shabbat

 

Not a blog-post this time, but just to mention an article I’m delighted to have published in Vittles magazine – ‘I have been young, and now I am old‘. It’s a special piece for me, for various reasons.

Firstly, it remembers my dear late grandparents – Beryl and Reuben – and especially how as a family we’d all sit around their dining table, singing together the Jewish blessings over food (‘Birchas Hamazon’).

Secondly, it’s a multimedia piece, and it’s been wonderful to have my family join me on this, with my uncle Harry’s illustrations (he drew the wine cup above), and cousin Abi’s beautiful singing. My sister Rachel, auntie Deborah and son Ben have all pitched in with some great writing too.

Massive thanks to the Vittles team for the opportunity, and all their brilliant support. Especially Sharanya Deepak, the lead editor on the piece, who wrote such a beautiful intro. And to Jonathan Nunn, for all his advice and editing along the way.

Finally thanks to my friend Dan Malakin for reviewing an early draft, and to my wife Sophie for all her suggestions and support on the piece.

The article is free to access, but you’ll need to register – which I’d recommend anyway, as Vittles is such a superb publication!

Hope you enjoy!
Aaron 

Bitter Herbs

Bitter herbs, the horseradish, on the Passover seder plate

It was a memorable view, out of my old bedroom window. I can picture it now, decades later, like a watercolour imprinted across my mind.

Behind the back fence, a hill climbed precipitously. It was a semi-wild space, basically scrubland, with trees and shrubs that doubled up as secret dens and climbing frames for curious limbs and bright-eyed explorers.

To the right, in the distance, loomed the cooling towers of Agecroft power station: a column of solemn sentinels belching white plumes of smoke that slowly rose and melded into clouds, before drifting beyond the window frame. I still remember how mysterious and brooding those chimneys seemed.

In the afternoon before the Passover seder, in anticipation of the long night of storytelling, singing and food, my family would always take a rest. It wasn’t a formal tradition, just what my family did. But what child likes to rest? I didn’t want to rest. So boring! Passover seder was far too exciting for that.

Still, I would try and lie quietly on my bed, and stare out the window, contemplating the hill outside: the dens to be built, the traps to lay for would-be invaders. Or imagine the smoke stacks as mighty stone giants, marauding the earth. Eventually though, my patience would wane, and I’d tiptoe downstairs – to the kitchen, where everything happened. View Post