I have mixed feelings about end-of-year reviews. On the one hand, they appeal to my nostalgic tendencies and love for filing away and categorising information. It is satisfying to be able to say ‘that was 2022’ and connect it to a series of other data points from that period.
But I also worry that they end up being arbitrary, and strip their contents of the context that made them valuable in the first place. Who knows whether what feel like the defining features of the year at the time of writing will age well? But that is part of the charm, freezing a moment in time, in all its arbitrariness and saying just that: from where I’m standing, this was 2022.
Perhaps this hesitancy is why my recent newsletter about Brussels bakeries was presented as a walking tour rather than a best-of list: it didn’t make sense, to me, to describe these places out of their usual context of a walk through Brussels.
So, in that sense, think of this as a walking tour through my 2022. A few things I liked, how they shaped my year, how they relate to the rest of 2022 as I lived it.
Books
This was a very good year for reading. Probably the best since I graduated from university, maybe ever. This is thanks in no small part to my discovering a wealth of incredible food writing that has inspired me, broadened my horizons, and opened my eyes to what this ill-defined genre is capable of.
I think my favourite book of the year is Simran Sethie’s Bread Wine Chocolate: the slow loss of foods we love. This, along with Small Fires, which I have already mentioned in this newsletter, represents for me the pinnacle of food writing done right. It is wide-reaching and ambitious in its scope, and yet incredibly deeply rooted in personal experience. Neither author forgets that eating is, first and foremost, a physical experience, and remains grounded in that reality throughout while bringing along wide-reaching reflections on habits, relationships and the environment.
On the fiction front, there were also many gems, and a lot more in translation than last year, but Chilean Poet by Alejandro Zambra was a stand-out. The literary coming-of-age tale is a genre that it seems to be inexhaustable, and this one is done with wit and charm, and a richness of language that made it fly by.
Special mention also goes to Other People’s Countries: A journey into memory, by Patrick McGuinness. It had been on my list for a while and I’m glad I finally got around to giving it the time it deserves. It will be particularly interesting for anyone else based in Belgium, centred as it is on the author’s experiences of the Wallonian town of Bouillon, but makes interesting reading to anyone interested in learning more about a tiny corner of this tiny country.
Places
Second only to some of the fantastic books I read in 2022 are the memorable bookshops I visited. While Pele-Mele and Candide remain among my neighbourhood favourites, I finally made it to Luddites in Antwerp. Twice, in fact. Once in January where I drank a delicious glass of Putes Feministes orange wine, and once in December on a long overdue trip with two of my dearest friends. What a way to bookend the year.
On the travel front, I revisited several familiar favourites (Barcelona and Palma), but also explored Puglia, my first trip to Italy in several years. A particular highlight was Lecce, and the charming ceramicist who opened his shop specially for us when he saw us staring lovingly through the window from down the street. Sadly, we weren’t in town long enough to take him up on his offer a Ghost-esque pottery lesson with him.
I also made it back to Paris for a long overdue visit (it’s less than two hours by train). Very aptly, given that most of the time I lived there in the summer of 2016 was a heatwave, the daytime temperature barely dropped below 30 the whole time I was there. The joy of visiting familiar cities is balancing old favourites and new discoveries, and this trip was perfect for that, featuring my go-to bakeries and coffee shops as well as trying out Tapisserie, Sain, and my first ever Paris ballet experience (watching not dancing, obviously).
Food
I had a lot of fun in February making and selling a collection of Valentine’s cakes. Having a creative project that was fully mine, and something to get my teeth into was a bit of a lifeline at the end of winter. The standout (in my view) from the collection was the chocolate and salted caramel cake, one that has always been on my repertoire but which I really think I perfected this year. If you’re lucky, the recipe will make an appearance next year.
These cookies have also made regular appearances ever since my friend Lara made them for us back in February, becoming a mascot for our friendship group (we have all made them at least once). I ate one of her latest batch while writing this today.
This was the year I conquered my fear of tarts with a lemon meringue pie, and my most successful experiments with vegan baking so far.
Finally, I have returned to savoury recipes in a big way. While at the time of writing I haven’t done much more than boil an egg for over a week, I can vouch that being guided by printed recipes can have a curative effect if you are exhausted at the prospect of cooking or bored with your usual rotation. Particular favourites included Nigel Slater pork and anchovy meatballs, stuffed courgette flowers, and some Claudia Roden discoveries too.
Last but not least, 2022 was the year that I finally started this newsletter — it has been a joy so far, and I hope you’ll stick around. On the horizon for 2023 are more recipes, travel tips for some of my favourite cities, strategies for weeknight cooking, and reflections on that all-too-familiar feeling of not wanting to cook at all.