Alexandra Shulman’s Notebook
I reached nirvana… at the back of my freezer
AS THE wider world appears to have unravelled into chaos, what better time could there be to sort out one’s freezer? We might not have much agency when it comes to who’s running the Government, any new horrors Putin will inflict on Ukraine, or the current cost-ofliving escalation. But, there’s a degree of sanity available in domestic organisation.
Which is what’s brought me to excavating the freezer, something I haven’t attempted for a good decade. When you’re looking for distraction from the problems of the world, a freezer is as good a place as any to start.
I was inspired to dive into the depths of my cold store by the seemingly endless list of chefs extolling the virtues of batch cooking as a way to help counteract the fuel crisis. Why cook just one meal’s worth of meatballs when you can knock up enough for several and save money on the fuel involved in the process?
I also have a confession to make: I love nothing more than to pore over Instagram posts that show me how to make my freezer look like Gwyneth Paltrow’s larder, or at least how I imagine hers looks, with perfect ranks of clean, labelled storage.
But what treasures there were to be found deep in the icy bowels of my freezer! The packets of mini croquemonsieurs I’d bought for my last book-launch party which was scuppered by the Covid pandemic; the frozen beetroot ravioli with a date stamp from the last decade; the many plastic containers labelled ‘Turkey stock’ with no date attributed, and a huge number of sausages from who knows where and from which century.
Then there were the endless portions of lockdown soups, all an indeterminate orangey brown. Oh, and a lonely lamb chop.
The only way I could reach the nirvana I sought of a beautifully organised freezer was to chuck the whole lot out. Well, everything but the chicken stock I made last week and the remains of slightly unsatisfactory mushroom casserole from the other night in an attempt to be economical and which I hope will live to see another meal, but this time with a much-needed addition of some tasty beef.
The sight of a near-empty freezer is giving me the kind of calm that endless attempts at mindfulness rarely achieve. It’s the same feeling you get when you move into a new home – so spacious and beautiful and full of possibility that it feels criminal to put in the furniture. Now, going into this winter of austerity, my freezer is ready to serve. It will be the kind of place where it is possible to find a meal that you just defrost when unexpected guests come over (have you ever managed that? I haven’t). It will be the depositary of all kinds of leftovers, stored beautifully with handwritten labels ready to be turned into magical new dishes. It will never again see a clutch of one quarter-filled packets of frozen peas. I have a plan and there will be no U-turns.
Will Camilla’s hair be her crowning glory?
AT THE other end of the style spectrum, the debate over whether Camilla, the Queen Consort, will wear the crown mounted with the Koh-i-Noor diamond at the Coronation is just the kind of diversion we all need. I very much doubt she much cares about which crown she wears (they are all heavy and deeply uncomfortable). Far more pressing will be the issue of her hair and what to do with it on the day. Crowns and women’s hair are difficult companions. As the first woman to be crowned since the late Queen in 1953, there’s not much guidance around this particular dilemma.
Cool Frieze is just another village fete
FRIEZE Art Fair has become one of the great London events, drawing in buyers, artists and gallerists from across the world, filling up Central London hotels and restaurants. It’s a massive enterprise, but visiting the huge tents in Regent’s Park the other day I realised that it resembles little so much as a local village fete.
This year Frieze even has an outsize vegetable display, courtesy of artist Anthea Hamilton’s giant pumpkin sculptures lying on the floor among the more conventional paintings. There’s the same fight for prime positioning, whether it be among the cluster of global megagalleries like White Cube or Hauser and Wirth or among those who want to pitch their home-made marmalade stall in a central spot. Nobody wants to be stuck in the corner.
Putin can’t crush our stoic guests
AS WE wring our hands over Putin’s latest attacks on Ukraine, our two lodgers (or guests, as they are more often called) who came from Dnipro (which was bombed last week) maintain an incredible stoicism. Every evening, we have greeted them with solemn Sunday faces, not wishing to seem insensitive about the hard times their family back home are having. But they greet us with brisk and practical chatter.
We’ve learnt a lesson in how to behave in the face of grim circumstances. They are dealing with what we can’t really imagine. ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down’ just about sums them up.
Vanessa grabs her second chance
LOVELY to see pictures of Vanessa Redgrave with her family after receiving her damehood. She turned down the honour in 1999, and it would be interesting to learn why she changed her mind. Or indeed what made the honours committee offer this accolade to her again, having once been rejected.
There’s still life in the printed word
WE’RE always reading about the death of print, but in recent years there’s been a resurgence of really good small publications. I draw your attention to Noble Rot, a quarterly that has some of the most entertaining food and drink writing; the magazine Delayed Gratification, with its excellent long-form investigations and infographics; and The Fence, a kind of youngergeneration Private Eye.
It’s certainly premature to bring out the hearse.