february is a murky bowl of time-soup
saved by karaoke, 3pm pancakes, & paul mescal's side profile.
I wrote a draft, and I was going to tell you about the weather.
I was going to tell you that yeah, I get it now. That I’ve spent the entirety of my time in London so far saying “it’s not that bad..” when asked how I’m faring with it, but that I now understand I was wrong! It’s boring to talk about the weather, and it’s why I’ve scoffed at every question about it. Sure it’s not fantastic, sometimes fickle, other times endlessly monotonous—but, god who could care when the street trash cans read LITTER in fancy, gold lettering?!
Newness has clearly been on my side and I was going to remind you of it.
Then February came. And I now fall into the ranks of the grumbling, bitter people with skin nearing translucence here to tell you that god, it really is that bleak. My friend Grace referred to the way these grey weeks have been turning as a murky, not-so delicious kind of “time soup.” I wake up, it’s dreary. I find myself calculating how many hours I have left before it’s acceptable to go read under the covers. “Taking myself to a 6 pm movie” is the daring kind of evening “plan” I’ve had to gear myself up for. The sun sets early, and then I realize it’s been a week. Two? Maybe three? Who knows, but I’ve somehow felt every tick of the clock. Time soup!
No, I haven’t been feeling my spriest, sparkliest self. Call it the mid-year mark after a big move, or the hellish start to Trump’s next term, or simply call it February. I crave heat and color and nineteen thousand other things and it’s my newsletter and I’ll cry if I want to!!!!! But when I wrote this for you, I was going to tell you about the funny little irregularities that have, albeit momentarily, been reminding me there is pleasure to have, and joy to feel. Like my current insatiable craving for cake.
Never one with a fierce sweet tooth, always preferring the slice of salty cheese to any dessert, nearly every day of February I’ve salivated over, hankered for, been in dire pursuit of a thick slice of pumpkin bread…a pillowy pull-apart roll of cinnamon or cardamom… a fat sliver of wet, spiced carrot cake. Even ordering savory, I’ve swayed towards the stick-to-your-bones kind of bakes, hungering for steaming bao buns filled with tangy pork, pillowy corn muffins, dumplings.
One Thursday afternoon, waking up from a post-class nap, I simply scrolled past the word “pancake” and was suddenly charged with the most intense, edgy need for them. I marched upstairs, pulled out my flours, and within 30 minutes was staring at a tall stack of steaming, completely unnecessary, buckwheat pancakes (no one else was home, might I add). I plated three of them, wrapping the rest in foil, scooped on yogurt, a dollop of marmalade, and in that first fork-and-knife slice, was offered the kind of burrowing, warm hug that I’d clearly been looking for in a dish. Baaaaaby if February is the time for emotional eating.
I planned to explore and write about what was being delivered inside each buttery bite: pleasure, a little hope, and even some freedom in simply deciding *not* to throw myself into a body-tizzy about the sugar cravings. I would end it there, remind us all that even if it’s not much, it’s something— that the glimmers of enjoyment are there to be found, even if that’s just a 3pm stack of pancakes, and a hot cup of tea.
But then my two friends flew 3,000 miles from New York to visit me in London, and the entire post felt foolish.
Because though some of those sweet solo moments had softened my edges a little, when my two friends flew 3,000 miles to visit me in London, the quality of the air was made different because of all the laughter we were stirring up into it. And well, that’s different.
They visited me in my sprawling new city, and the time flew and it flew and it flew. And it reminded me, that’s the real salve, isn’t it? Chasing what makes the light feel airy and the hours gobble up into nothing, but in a nice, non-murky kind of way, where you leave feeling warm and your cup very full. Those other linings I’d thought were silver looked suddenly very dull in the light.
Where did it go? The time?
It went to sitting in creaky pubs for hours, commenting (in the same breath) on the cute Irish guy behind the bar, and on how we feel such fear for the state of our country and wonder how we could ever parent a child one day given all of it.
It went to pouring red-wine gravy over heaping plates of chicken and potatoes, the meal hardening fast into a vivid memory because of the ecstasy found in the hearing each other go “Oh my God,” “Holy shit” and “Wait, so which is the Yorkshire pudding again??”
Walking off a big lunch, conversation meandering; remembering childhood fears, like the time I put a snake skin in my sister’s bed. Laughing with each other, ignoring the fact that we’ve been friends for a decade and have surely heard all these stories before, but who cares because we’re so full and tired, and we still have to make it to the tube a mile away.
Scream-singing only the best, angriest, fuck-you bridges of Alanis Morissette and Chappell Roan in a tiny karaoke booth, gripping our microphones tightly and miming the back-scratching-down-someone-else’s-back-that-we-hope-you-feel, completely forgetting it’s a random Sunday in February.
Time spent just sitting and staring, sharing germs and airspace, interrupting each other a little when we’ve thought of the perfect follow-up. Three forks resting on an empty dessert plate.
It feels trite to talk about how the world happens outside of our living rooms and when our phones are locked in our bags because we know it to be true. Yet, we’re still somehow desperate to crack the code. Date without an app. Keep up with friends without racking up screen time. Talk with strangers in line at the coffee shop without it feeling radical. Make plans when it’s dreary and everything just feels hard “out there.”
But we have to keep trying. The only way to chase the taste of that unnerving time soup, I think, is with laughter and music blaring out of speakers and a lot of direct eye contact. Just remembering that getting out of the house is a really fucking good, necessary, thing. That the time will fly because of it, but in a wonderful kind of way. And that yes, it’s depressing that this simple fact can be hard for us to remember (and for a lot of reasons that aren’t our fault), but that there isn’t time to get into all of that right now. . .because the bus is almost here, and there are people to see, and it’s time to go.
🍒 ICYMI 🍒
I want to whisk eggs for you. The subject of my February daydreaming…and the only sort of piece I had in me for “Valentine’s” “Day.”
My Substack re-introduction. Plus, recipes for big-bean beer chili & tahini-honey carrots.
🫐 HOW TO SUPPORT OOSF 🫐
Please share anything that resonates with you!
Everything I’ve Cooked
Soups, Salads, and Sides
The high-heat halve-and-roast sweet potato method for really gorgeously caramelized flesh.
Miso-soup-packets in boiling water with added silken tofu, softened spinach, rice noodles, lime, and sriracha.
Sauteed spinach and chickpeas with minced garlic, sliced ginger, turmeric and nutmeg, stirred into yogurt for a fabulous dip/side dish!
Proteins, Pastas, and Mains
A delicious and super umami Sesame Tofu Eggplant Bake.
Big-Bean Beer Chili for what felt like 25 days in a row?? Tasty though.
I wanted to taste
’s Everything-Seasoned Salmon, but didn’t have it in me to pan-sear, so I covered the fish in the TJ’s seasoning and oven-roasted at 350/180° for 15 minutes and then cranked up the heat for the last 2 or 3.
Sweets, Brekkies, and Baked Bites
Buckwheat Pancakes with orange marmalade and yogurt at 3pm on a Thursday.
Easy “healthy” skillet cornbread whipped up nice and quick for my chili leftovers.
- ’s coconut-milk-based Cardamom Lemon Bars! Cakey, indulgent, sticky, aromatic, delicious.
So many oat mornings to get me out of bed:
Variations on porridge with peanut butter and mashed banana…kefir, cardamom, nutmeg, and pumpkin seeds…pea protein, Greek yogurt, and frozen berries. Cold overnight oats prepped with cocoa powder, pecans, chia seeds, raisins, cinnamon, salt, almond milk, and yogurt. MMM.
A fixation on sort-of Turkish-style plates of spiced yogurt, eggs, leftover sweet potato, sauteed kale, and hot sauce. Poached and fried, both delicious.
& once again,
’s Candied Orange Brown Sugar Cake, this time made with a gluten-free flour blend (just as showstopping!). Can’t recommend this bake enough.
Everything I’ve Ordered
In terms of cafes I tried for the first time this month…too many coffees and toasts and treats from FWD, Clerkenwells, Bureau, Abney Park Cafe, and Buns from Home.
A lobby dirty vodka martini, and a vinyl-booth cheeseburger and fries! Room-service morning avocado toast with salsa verde, poached eggs and an episode of Severance! All from The Hoxton, where my big sister so lovingly gifted me a birthday gift card for a night of winter hotel staycationing and eating.
A super thick and fluffy pita stuffed with chicken, hummus, and pickles from Syrian spot Arnabeet in Seven Dials Market.
Green curry and rice takeout from Lime Leaf Thai Kitchen for my first wine-and-delivery kind of friend night in since being here :’).
A quick, solo dinner at BAO in Soho. A great spot for solo dining—great menu deals, bar seating, and it’s cozy.
Scotch eggs, a perfectly done chicken roast, and the best sticky toffee pudding I’ve ever had at The Spaniards Inn.
Fantastic pre-theatre dim sum at Dumplings Legend, standouts including the BBQ pork bun and the crystal prawn dumplings.
Very mediocre eggs at The Breakfast Club to satisfy a sudden craving for gossiping with a friend over an American-style brunch & hot coffee.
The afternoon tea bites at Seymour’s Parlour were fiiine, but the decor inside the Hotel tea room was so charming I’d tell you to stop by for a cuppa.
Everything at Gunpowder was delicious, but the saag with tandoori paneer and the rum bread & butter pudding were especially yuuummy.
Leo’s is very Brooklyn: hot servers; smart, retro decor; daily rotating Italian bites. But then I spent four uninterrupted hours there on a Sunday sipping tea, eating a lovely frittata, and talking with a friend, and realized nope, not Brooklyn at all.
Everything Else
Short Reading:
12 writers on 12 meals in 12 different movies for
.Would You Rather Have Married Young? by Lillian Fishman for
, on Sally Rooney, that one bottle episode of Girls, and the eternal young-and-single quest for “experience.” Really great read.What Can Love Do, According to Us by
touched me.What is rotting, if not rest? by
, who always gets it.On the Politics of Attention in 2025 by
.How to avoid the friendship trap by
.- ’s I am good at online dating made me snort laugh. Hard-agree with her list of immediate Hinge red flags, specifically “The photos are all very high quality and Instagram-able” & “he is looking for a ‘short-term, open to long’ relationship. What on earth does that mean? It means he is evil.”
Long Reading:
Cleopatra & Frankenstein. Wandering Souls. & Killing The Horses by John Newsham, which was my favorite by far.
Watching:
Paul Mescal’s Romanesque side profile, four rows away from me, in Streetcar Named Desire on the West End (after I sneakily moved from my horrible cheap seats at intermission).
A screening of NTS Live’s VANYA, the one-man adaptation of the Chekhov play starring Andrew Scott. Blew my mind to bits?!
Inexplicably, the 2013 revival of Merrily We Roll Along, watched in full on Youtube from my bed on a Sunday night.
Despised: Emilia Perez. Was disappointed by: Queer. Was in awe of: The Brutalist. Felt my heart swell and pop from: Janet Planet.
Listening:
Here’s a playlist I’ve been listening to and adding to on my February bus commutes. Perhaps you’d enjoy it?
Spotify’s Kamasi Washington Radio for writing and schoolwork.
Jake Cornwell on Solicited Advice discussing travelling to AirBnBs with bags of lightbulbs in case of harsh overhead lighting. Felt in my soul.
StraightioLab’s episode on “Boutique Hotels” w/ Cole Escola. L O Ls aplenty.
Doing:
Several productive Writers’ Hours with the
. If you want to feel the collective support of hundreds writing simultaneously with you on Zoom, check it out. 8 am, every single day, London, NYC, LA, and then Melbourne Time. Thank you to for sharing this great resource!Steph at MASAJ in Shoreditch changed my life? I’d had a gift card there, but will 100% be coming back on my own dime, the massage was so excellent.
If you’re in Shoreditch and need a non-shopping activity, Autograph is a great, small-but-not-too-small, free gallery. I so enjoyed the Abi Morocco Photos: Spirit of Lagos exhibit that’s on through March.
Buying:
Several used books, under 5 pounds each, from AbeBooks.
Yogi Tea’s Turmeric Chai, my new favorite herbal blend. Perfect for golden milk, the boxes keep coming.
A trip across an ocean as a salve for the soul for REAL. Always so in awe of your writing, you perfectly encapsulated the trip🥺🥺🥺
...I'm also suddenly needing to watch the 2013 merrily revival in full on YouTube in my bed this Sunday.....
A rendition of “I’m With You” is nothing if not a must on a karaoke night! ✨