There’s something terribly wilted about a sandwich eaten at one’s desk. Continuing to stare at our screens while we barely notice the food we consume, let alone the people around us. The crumbs collecting in the gaps between keys and board. As a writer I’m sometimes guilty of this. But wherever possible, food is meant to be shared. I feel sure of this. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about lately. For the past few years I’ve been writing a novel that explores themes of belonging, forgiveness and the healing powers of the family table. A good meal is restorative. Not only because of its nutrients, but because of the care that goes into making it. The idea of food as a love language fascinates me, but it’s not all about the cook. The act of receiving and sharing a thoughtfully prepared meal takes us away from our interiority, our screens, the news, and focuses our attention on others, rebuilding our human connections.
These days on the farm we harvest, pack and deliver our produce to restaurants and food stores five days a week, but in the early days we only had one delivery day. We also only had five employees including Oliver and myself. Mondays were our big harvest and pack days and around midday all of us would down tools, head up to the house, remove our boots and sit down at the family table to carb load on a big bowl of pasta. Oliver would cook for everyone: orecchiette with broccoli, garlic and anchovies stirred through with fresh ricotta; spicy penne arrabbiata with last summer’s tomato sugo; spaghetti cacio e pepe made with plenty of pecorino romano. We wolfed it down then sat back with a coffee. We’d have loved to stay right there (especially on rainy days) getting to know each other better, hearing about kids and hobbies and partners. Alas, there was so much work to do. Which was a good thing really. Then covid hit and we weren’t able to host farm lunches any more. We weren’t able to do a lot of things. Somehow, through that stressful time of constantly pivoting to new ways of working, our business made it through and even grew.
Now we have such a fantastic, large team (20 employees and counting!) that it’s not possible to all have lunch together even if we had a pasta pot big enough. But that doesn’t mean farm lunches have stopped entirely. The wash and pack team still gather beneath the shade of an acacia to share their lunch break. Coffee time at the shed by the tunnels is a group activity and often someone will bake or bring in treats. The guys who work on Saturdays have been known to order a few pizzas to share.
We find it’s so easy to get lazy when cooking, to make the same meals over and over. To feel bored and frustrated with our own cooking. Last weekend we looked inside the veg drawer of our fridge and decided to get back to basics. It’s all about knowing what goes with what and we do our best to design the contents of veg boxes around this principle. Mint always gives zucchini a lift and so we cooked ours in olive oil then tossed through some finely sliced fresh mint and served with mozzarella. Fennel and orange are a classic flavour combo so we squeezed some orange juice to add to the dressing of a warm salad of pan-fried prawns, broadbeans and fennel. A new crop for us is badger flame beetroots, developed by chef Dan Barber’s Row 7 Seed Co. and sourced locally from Transition Farm. These beetroots are less earthy in flavour and the colour is fantastic on the plate. We boiled them in salted water, peeled them, tossed them in fresh thyme and served on a bed of Greek yoghurt. Then, because beetroots always respond well to a bit of sweetness we pan roasted walnuts with honey and drizzled it over the top. Simple, unfussy, delicious food that made us feel good and was quicker to cook than waiting for a takeaway.
Until next time … eat well!
Lisa, Oliver and the Ramarro Farm team
Words by Lisa Davis
This is making my mouth water! And food to be shared / eating as an event was something I learnt when living in Rome 25 years ago. My first day there, I ordered a panini, took it out of the paninoteca and ate it as I walked the streets, window shopping. People were staring at me. I thought I must have looked foreign (although I was sure my brunette hair would have me pass as possibly Italian). It was only after working in Rome for months that I realised I’d been eating on the go which was not the done thing (at the time). And funnily enough, penne arrabbiata was one of my favourite dishes. A colleague told me it was fitting because it meant “angry”. Like (young) me! Haha.