You know Annie Smithers as the chef and owner of Trentham dining landmark Du Fermier, as a broadcaster, a gardener, a writer and as a doyenne of country cooking. Now, in her third book, she steps further into the realm of memoir, and shares a picture of that country-cooking life that is by no means all sunshine, heritage carrots and yum-yums. It’s frank, it’s powerful, and it’s a great read. Here’s Smithers’ take on how she got here.
What, in a nutshell, is Kitchen Sentimental about, Annie?
Kitchen Sentimental explores my relationship with food and cooking through the lens of my life in kitchens—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
But with recipes?
Always with recipes. Where there is food, there need to be how-tos.
Your last book took you more into the territory of memoir, albeit with a lot of gardening along the way. This book is more autobiographical still. What’s the direction of travel here? Why?
While it’s technically a memoir, I like to think of it as telling stories – stories from within a world that fascinates many. I’m fascinated by the human condition. Over 40 years, I’ve seen much of it within restaurants and what plays out with the customers on the restaurant floor. Each of us has a complex relationship with food, cooking, and eating. By basing Kitchen Sentimental within my own world, it becomes a memoir, but it is really a collection of stories about our collective relationship with food.
The Dangers of Cooking with Anger or Spite. Food to Feed Grief. The Black Dog. Do these chapter titles signal a departure here, perhaps, from the food-is-beautiful, good-cooking-is-the-answer-to-everything school of culinary autobiography?
I want to write with honesty. My life has never been one where good-cooking-is-the-answer-to-everything. My life is more about balancing the extremes. While there are times of immense joy and satisfaction, there are also times of deep despair and questioning if running a restaurant and cooking in one is really worth the cost.
You describe some very tough times in your life in the book. Was revisiting them cathartic? Painful? Neither? Both?
I think both. I often think of us humans as a piece of woven cloth. There is the warp and the weft. Each experience that we live through creates the pattern of who we are. The warp threads are that I love food and cooking, and that is my career. The weft provides the pattern, made from all the experiences I have been through. When I’m dead and buried, I hope that this illusionary piece of fabric that represents my life is one that intrigues and is not plain and boring.
Fragility, vulnerability, and strength come up in the book over and over again, not least in the chapter titled The Taste of Vulnerability. Why?
Again, it comes back to honesty. By having a hand in growing the food that is used in the restaurant, I have become very connected to the vulnerability of the food chain. By operating a restaurant in a regional area, I am very aware of the vulnerability of the transport and logistics chains. The world is in an incredibly vulnerable position; we are in an incredibly vulnerable position. These are issues that need to be raised and discussed.
Calling a chapter of a memoir Food For Those in Your Care Who You Love, But May Not Like is a bold move for anyone, not least a restaurant owner. What’s going on there?
I think that’s an admission of how bloody difficult it is to feed me at home. Always adventurous and excited at restaurants and other people’s houses, I’m terrible to cook for at home.
You had some tea towels made to go with Recipes for a Kinder Life. What sort of merch did you consider for Kitchen Sentimental?
Thames & Hudson have produced some lovely little recipe journals to go with the first 500 sold at Readings. But by the tone of your questions, perhaps a sleeve of Valium with each copy?
Annie Smithers’ Kitchen Sentimental (Thames & Hudson, $34.99), is available now from all good booksellers, as well as from Annie direct.
