The Food On Our Table

Graphic by Tinuke Illustration

Photos by Carinya Sharples unless otherwise

stated

The Food On Our Table

When The Food On Our Table project began, the idea was to bring creative

writing into community spaces, and to connect local writers with

independent cafes and restaurants in Lewisham. Finding venues was no

challenge, as the borough is full of fantastic food spots, though not every

owner was convinced they wanted a writer in residence scribbling among

their ketchup and salt sellers. Luckily six came onboard: Peruvian

bar/restaurant Chichas in Lewisham; The Greenhouse Café and Park Café

Hönle, both in Deptford; Jamaican restaurant-lounge Junction876 in Forest

Hill; Singaporean-inspired Big Mouth Food Court in Catford; and

Indian/English brunch spot Vanilla’s Coffee, close to Hilly Fields Park in

Ladywell.

To each venue, we sent one local writer to get stuck into some meaty

conversations and (not necessarily meaty) food. We were delighted to have

Jamie Hale, Jody Burton, Laura Barker, Laila Sumpton and Y.A. Poet taking

part. Following their mini residencies they each wrote a poem based on the

weird and wonderful things they encountered, which we then printed, framed

and shared with each of the venues. The aim was to support local writers and

businesses – both hit hard by the Covid pandemic – but sadly it was too late

for some. Though it was bustling when we visited, The Greenhouse recently

closed down: the busy periods were just not enough to cover for the quiet

days.

Huge thanks to all the participating writers, venues, and groups, and to Ruth

Harrison, Laura Kenwright and the wonderful team at Spread the Word, and

last but by no means least to Lewisham Council for their backing through the

London Borough of Culture Creative Change Fund.

Carinya Sharples, July 2022


Contents

Writing Residences pages 5 - 20

Community Poems pages 21 - 32


Chichas, Lewisham

Red macaws swoop the door,

a carnival of flags shimmies to greet you -

a fiesta for the eyes!

Peruvian skirts pause mid swirl

as the chatter rises over trumpet trills -

it’s like we’ve travelled - found Peru in Lewisham,

at Chichas - a charismatic dancer,

an outrageous aunt brimming with stories.

She grins when her home is full,

after a year of stillness and partial chatter.

The waiter keeps saying sorry we're fully booked,

it seems strange to say… and if Chichas could rise up

and build tables over rooftops, she would.

Her feathers took centuries to fan into wings -

she serves corn from Inca ceremonies,

Latin gold fermented underground

for 21 nights till Independence Day

till a girl who grows to be our host

finds the flask, then finds sleep.

Chichas gathers some of the 4000 styles

of potato which all rolled down from the Andes,

drizzles soy sauce bought to Lima by Chinese sailors,

then harvests chilis hot off contestant lips.

The Americas mountains, cities and ports

jostle and collide in bowls as Chef Francis

brings palm heart ceviche with coriander zing,

suckerd limbs curling round pomegranate gems,

fhe fragranced chew of lomos saltado,

then cauliflower taco and tomatillo sauce

with a guzzle of grandma’s corn cake.


The Food On Our Table 5

Diners take heel spur kicks of pisco sour

saying - food is life, whatever your day

you live for dinner - you can plate happiness.

Don’t measure, go with feelings, and remember:

food does not matter without friends.

When our hosts arrived in London

there was no ceviche fresh enough,

so they welcomed Chichas to townpeople

need to talk and dance,

we wanted to bring in some Latin Love.

Laila Sumpton

(with words from the diners and staff of Chichas).

The Food On Our Our Table Table

6

Photo of Laila by Damien Wilk

Writer Laila Sumpton in residence at Chicas



park café hölne

We are mostly local

We are mostly local. The park. The brass

band is local, and the sunshine and the

people are also local. Martin lives round

the corner and so do the vegetables - a

greengrocer, some 200 metres away. The

butcher in Bermondsey makes his sausages

and the rest of his meat is British too. Bread

is delivered from Greenwich and the juice

comes from Chegworth in Kent. Martin,

himself, German, like his beer. The salami

comes from Sardinia. We are mostly local.

Hamid is local, enjoys stewing aubergine

with courgette, but not so much red meat

or spices, he comes from a family of butchers.

And he’s right that the local fish in England

often isn’t organic. He cooks at his local home,

round the corner, and likes to come here.

The food is simple. affordable. European.

It is local, fast, fresh and healthy. Flavourful

low-waste, cooking into a community. Half

the staff here are also musicians, friendly.

The silent boy eats his brownie, the local

men talk around him. The sun is soft, and it’s

just-about still winter, the wind is sharply fresh.

The park here is local, the local children are

learning to skateboard, crowding into the cafe

after, in a joyful lunchtime rush. Sometimes

it’s the simplest things that are local. Here,

local laughter, and local grass, and, watch,

as the world turns its face to the summer.

Jamie Hale



Writer Jamie Hale in residence at Park Café Hölne

The


Table

9

The Greenhouse

Letters from The Greenhouse

H is for hamantaschen, three sides of Harlequin hope

I is for intense butter sandwich, infamous shortening idolatry

J is for jalebi, jubilant, jaunty, jolly

K is for kluski na parze, kitted kingpin of kitchens

N is for endoscopy, and Nora Ephron’s Heartburn

P is for pineapple rash, ten thousand pounds of prickly

S is for sim, sensational, sensuous

T is a thing for my husband because we were supposed to have lunch together

V is for villa and variegated veggies

W is wet, wily, and warm

In the Fridge

Take-away container of Dad’s congealed intentions, a still sweet lump of pongal,

disused pickle jar of Granddad’s no banana, slimy vegetable crisper, three meals of

postpartum stew, scorpion butch hot sauce forever

Based on decisions I’ve made and can no longer reverse

I need your help

Turmeric, coriander seeds, simmer not completely

Pasta, pizza, roti

Toast Foundation, Heinz baked beans

Plain pasta with television and cheese

Subnaturally replenished dumplings

Soufflé collapsing

Sauna for newborns

Maida wheat mocktails

Cake and wine

Blunt knives

Laura Barker



Writer Laura Barker in residence at The Greenhouse



Vanilla's Coffee

Everyone thinks their mum makes the best food

I never thought tradition could feel so new but this Son’s belief is true.

Vanilla reminds us.

She places love in each dish and seals it with kindness.

It’s more than India and yet it honours a nation.

It’s uncertainty and fear, perseverance and patience.

It’s ancient.

It’s the legacy of her love.

It’s everything as it is now and all it once was

It’s life.

It’s the most authentic statement.

It’s a mother and a wife.

It’s family history in the making.

It’s an observation.

A commitment to community.

A place for connectivity, a devotion to unity.

To beauty. To family. To the guarantee of life’s changes.

It’s a mother’s sacrifice for her children ignited in flavours.

Gifted to strangers and passed through generations.

Dad’s old sweets shop, now their Son can dream.

A trust in him, a support system, it’s everything it means to be in their family.

The menu is a map, the foundations are more than bricks and mortar,

they whisper “there’s no going back.”

We’ll be happy here.

They ask how bold one has to be to relinquish all their fears?

To pack up her hopes, to gather her clothes, to travel from her home.

So a home cooked meal, could help to heal and make one feel less alone.

Vanilla garnishes with memories.



She folds her bravery in her dosa.

She honours her history.

She breaks in her samosa.

She stands with her ancestry and her mother in laws recipes.

Remembering her origins and declaring “We belong”,

Past the paddy fields or the concrete streets, our heritage lives on, we’re strong.

It’s the compromise, the inclusion, the innovation, the fusion.

It’s the consulting the community with ideas before deciding what they're doing.

It's fearless and authentic, extravagant and energetic, it’s vibrant and eclectic, it's a

retreat.

It’s “I cook the daal, and my son cooks the meat”.

It’s belief.

Y.A. Poet


Writer Y.A. Poet in residence at Vanilla's Coffee



Big Mouth Food Court

Twist & Shout

Can you Katsu,

Kung Pao or Kopi?

Turn raw rainbows

into dishes with depth

that defy geography,

transplant tongues.

Walk through the jaws

of Big Mouth Food Court:

sunshine-yellow oasis of

Catford's Sangley Road,

where Singapore is chopped

tossed, sizzled into life.

Behind the swipe screens

of this new Covid normal,

secret-recipe sauces are

marinated with memories;

a heart of red sambal

to quicken the pulse.

Fire roars under and over

shrimp, chicken, diced,

poached, pan fried to

your portioned plate,

cornered with lime,

quartered to complement.



It’s the breaded eggplant,

the egg planted on the

classic Singapore fried rice.

Half moon dumplings,

golden tipped, dipped

in Japanese sauce.

Mom's Curry Chicken;

tender, full of warm

spices, stirred through

with lemongrass,

love and music,

by Ed and Dupree.

Carinya Sharples


Big Mouth Food Court


17

Junction876

London calling

Jamaica 876

Come

Discover this home from home

A slice of Caribbean sun in the SE

Seafood Friday

Jerk Saturday

Roast Sunday

& Vegan fare too

Fresh & tasty

Come and dine

Meal for two?

Family, friends &locals

A warm welcome awaits you

Too Good To Go

So relax

Lounge in our front green

Sip on something cold

Something sweet to eat?

London Calling

Junction876

Order direct

Or come

Discover this home from home

a slice of Caribbean sun un the SE

Jody Burton


Writer Jody Burton in residence at Junction 876



Participating restaurants of Lewisham with their poems

Community workshops,

Community Poems

Four community workshops were also held as part of the project. Greenfingered

volunteers of Grow Lewisham gathered at The Plot, their

allotment in Downham, to scour the beds and branches for inspiration

to write haikus – sharing tea and homemade cakes before the cold drove

us all home. The next weekend, parents pushed prams and small

children up the hill at Honor Oak Allotment, where Action for Refugees

in Lewisham (AFRIL) has a handy activity hut, to swap food memories,

play ‘Guess the seed’, and make nature notes – before the cold wind

again sent us packing. Heading safely indoors, volunteers of TimeBank

Rushey Green gathered for their usual Coffee & Chat Morning; this

time with added writing, and even music. While the regulars of The

Front Room Club at St Luke’s Church in Downham – and a few

volunteers from a nearby school – put pen, glue and scissors to paper to

capture their favourite foods, before eating a bargain slap-up lunch

made with ingredients donated by FareShare.


From seeds we grow

Inspired by AFRIL/Helping Hands

How to plant a child:

take seed, plant it deep

in dark, rich soil. Water it.

Feed it. Breathe words

that synthesise fresh air.

How to transplant a child:

extract seedling from earth,

shake soil loose, wrap roots

with care – it will need them.

Hold gingerly, do not crush.

How to re-home a child:

dig fingers in compost,

let dirt encrust nails,

scoop out a fresh bed,

tuck in with steady hand.

How to tend to a child:

share food, water, words.

Remember: it will take time

to settle, to acclimatise

to this new micro-climate.

How to grow a child:

let them unfold, blossom,

reveal their true colours,

bear fruit of your labour

and nourish you both.

Carinya Sharples

The Food On Our Table Table

22

AFRIL / Helping Hands photos



The Front Room Club

I shouldn’t be here, she winks,

crutch propped, crunching through

crispy seabass on paper plates.

Doctor said: Give it a few more weeks.

The room warms with not just food.

A waitress in a school blazer offers

Weetabix soup! Weetabix soup!

that tastes of earthy mushrooms.

You’re eating the burnt bits?

asks a girl drawing speckled doughnuts

and piles of spaghetti bolognese.

I say, I like it crispy.

The table is littered with elbows,

mobiles, newspapers, expectant

bingo cards, Scrabble, knitting –

scraps of stories and poems.

Food and time is donated, shared.

We put our £3 in the kitchen kitty

and for what we receive

we are truly thankful.

In an empty home round the corner,

shadow fingers grip knife and fork;

the ghost of a crutch leans weightlessly.

The quiet is deafening.

Carinya Sharples

The The Food On Our Table Table

24

The Front Room Club photos


TimeBank Rushey Green

Our lives are a bank

of time,

of stories still to be told.

On this day, the hour we give

is to ourselves

– and each other.

From Birmingham to Spain,

we gather to remember,

to write

every shade of the blues,

every beat, every bar

and ballad.

She was born in a bomb.

They’ve been best friends

for 50 years.

I’ve been writing my life story.

My mind is a blank

page.

A duo of guitar and harmonica

play us out, over

empty cups

tea and coffee, biscuit crumbs,

an optimistic bowl

of fruit.

As always, it’s an hour

well spent.

Carinya Sharples

The

The Food On Our

Our

Table

Table

26

Writing by volunteers from TimeBank Rushey Green

during their The Food On Our Table writing workshop

The Food I Remember

I remember when I was young my mum always was making ginger beer, which

was nice when it wasn’t too strong. She also used to make sough buns, which

were really nice. I can remember her standing at the table in her wrap round

pinny. That was the only time she really spoke to anyone.

I also remember my nan, mum’s mum, taking me shopping to get new shoes.

All the shoes I liked she didn’t, so I ended up with a pair that were meant for

someone in their 20s. I was only nine at the time.

I remember when I was small, five or six, being in my nan’s kitchen with my

mum and they were getting ready for Christmas. Nan had a big, white pudding

basin she would make the Christmas puddings in and the Christmas cake, and

she always said to me, “Have a stir and make a wish’, then she would put a

couple of sixpences in the pudding. The Christmas cake she made long before

Christmas but every now and again she would bring it out and put a bit more

alcohol in it. I just used to have a small bit of pudding to see if I got the

sixpence, but never the cake as I didn’t like fruit pudding or cake and I still

don’t.



Writing by TimeBank Rushey Green volunteers

It takes about one hour...

to mend a bike

to darn a dress

to make a call

to cook a lunch

to sort the admin

to fix a laptop

to give a lift

to make a hamper

to wrap up toys

to run a class

to give... happiness.

Are you more like a spoon, a fork, or a knife?

The spoon

I am more of a giving person. I like to help people and give as much of myself as I

can. That is why I do a lot of volunteering and look after my family. I think a spoon

can be full to overflowing.

The spoon

I like dipping into things just to see what happens, also I am quite nosy. I’m also

round and deep like a spoon. I am quite a reserved person and don’t like to be at

the front of things too much. I like to reflect on life and stay in the background,

and I think a spoon represents that. I haven’t much confidence in myself; I try, but

I find confidence hard.

The knife

If I were a knife I would be quite blunt.

For the want…

For the want of a phone call, the connection is lost.

For the want of a connection, the hope is lost.

For the want of hope, the connection is lost.

For the want of connection, a phone call is lost.



TimeBank Rushey Green photos



Spring on the Plot

inspired by Grow Lewisham

Muddy pond, just dug.

Beds in hairnets lay grave-like,

waiting for new life.

Carinya Sharples


The Our Table

Public submission

Red Herring & Ackee, Boiled Dumplings & Green

Bananas

I was 14 when I first tasted red herring & ackee. My paternal grandmother was the

first to prepare and cook it for me. At the time a lot was going on in my life in

Kingston, Jamaica, but that was a memorable moment. I thought I knew most

Jamaican dishes so I was a little hesitant to eat it. But that smell, that taste. Mmm!

The hesitation was soon gone.

This dish holds a special place in my heart and in my life. I don't have it regularly

but when I do it's a beautiful thing. It has a unique taste. The red herring is

smoked and dried, then you pick the flesh away from the bones. The green

bananas and dumplings must be boiled with a little salt, depending on your taste.

The traditional dish is ackee & saltfish but quite a few Jamaicans prefer ackee &

red herring. A meal that is breakfast, lunch or dinner. I love it!

Malcolm Richards

(Lewisham resident)



The Food On Our Table was funded by

The Food On Our Table

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