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.
The Food On Our Table
Carinya Sharples, July 2022

Contents
Writing Residences pages 5 - 20
Community Poems pages 21 - 32
The Food On Our Table

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
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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).
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Photo of Laila by Damian Wilk
Writer Laila Sumpton in residence at Chicas
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The Food On Our Table

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
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The Food On Our Table

Writer Jamie Hale in residence at Park Café Hölne
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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
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The Food On Our Table

Writer Laura Barker in residence at The Greenhouse
The Food On Our Table
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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.
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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
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Writer Y.A. Poet in residence at Vanilla's Coffee
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The Food On Our Table

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.
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The Food On Our Table

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
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Big Mouth Food Court
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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
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Writer Jody Burton in residence at Junction 876
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The Food On Our Table

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.
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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
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AFRIL / Helping Hands photos
The Food On Our Table
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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
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The Front Room Club photos
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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
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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.
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The Food On Our Table

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.
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The Food On Our Table

TimeBank Rushey Green photos
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The Food On Our Table

Spring on the Plot
inspired by Grow Lewisham
Muddy pond, just dug.
Beds in hairnets lay grave-like,
waiting for new life.
Carinya Sharples
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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)
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The Food On Our Table

The Food On Our Table was funded by