In The Kitchen With Marie Mitchell
Marie started hosting bi-monthly supper club, Pop's Kitchen, back in September 2015, with her dad, Earle, helping in the kitchen and mum, Barbara, on hosting duty. That led to her meeting rum pop-up hosts, Joe and Biko, and the trio began collaborating in 2016. It became obvious they were on to something, and from residencies at Styx bar in Tottenham, and Green Rooms hotel in Wood Green, they soon created Island Social Club.
Marie, you begin Kin with a mention of your draw to the symbolism of the Sankofa bird. The Sankofa is a symbol of the Ghanaian proverb that roughly translates to "go back and get it," with the bird on your cover trying to catch a golden egg. How does this idea impact the way you work in the kitchen?
It’s not as clear on the cover of Kin, but the Sankofa’s feet are usually facing away from the egg too. It’s to demonstrate the way in which our past informs our future. I think this informs my work in two ways. The first is the way in which my own journey continues to evolve. The practice and process of repeating tasks has meant I am now better at cooking than when I started, and in another nine years even more so. The second is more theoretical, in the sense that I always have personal debriefs when I’m trying to crack something – whether that be a recipe, a process or after an event. The more I lean into the world of cooking, the more I see how the way I think about it is just as important as the act of doing.
A friend once reminded me that I should focus on whether I have done the best job with the tools I have available, rather than simply questioning whether I have done a ‘good’ job. This created a dynamic shift in how I work; until then I could be exceptionally hard on myself when I didn’t feel I had done my best. Shifting the framework, and thinking about where I started, where I’m going and how I’m getting there, all comes into play. I now chose to honour all these elements as they’re all part of growth. It invites a curiosity into the kitchen because the result is always one that will continue to change.
Do you find cooking enriches the everyday moments of life?
In a basic way, yes. The intersect of early parenting and being a chef has often left me feeling somewhat deflated. I’m someone who wants to share joy and pleasure with food, so having your fiercest critic often refusing to try the food you’ve lovingly created can leave you less enthusiastic.
The times I do get to enjoy cooking in the ways I used to, at home, is on the weekends, when the pressures of the day to day are less involved. It really makes me think about the way we’re having to exist, and that often we’re having to do too much with less and less time.
When I am intentional about making time for cooking, I get to be more creative, which helps me lean into things like: what do we have that needs using up? Or how can I pair that with something that we all want to eat? It becomes creative and fun, and nothing feels more joyous than to see someone I was lucky enough to create really enjoying the food presented before them.
Food seems to be a way that you make sense of the world. There is a thread running through your book between the natural world, history and your own individuality. Does cooking every day make you feel connected to each of those elements?
In many ways, trying to nourish my daughter through food speaks to a wider framework in how we nourish those who are vulnerable or dependent, and how that nourishment impacts our everyday.
I really do make sense of the world through food and it’s why I use it as a springboard to discuss other pressing issues that we are experiencing globally. Food is a real marker of how we’re doing, if we’re surviving, thriving or needing support.
You write about the Caribbean legacy with compassion and kindness, towards a thoughtful future based on community. You also mention that food itself is political and you intonate that the writing of a recipe is an act of recording history and the soul of the people it represents. You do mention that there are different parts of your ancestry including Syrian and Scottish, do these different cultures come into the way you develop recipes or cook?
They do, in the way food reflects back and represents complex histories, in how a cuisine changes and shifts through the movement of people and the convergence of those different influences. I’m certainly more drawn to investigating some parts of my history than others. I don’t think of myself as someone with Scottish ancestry, though my family names are all Scottish, because of the violent nature in how we got those names. It doesn’t mean that I won’t get curious about those parts of my genetic makeup at some point, but colonialism and slavery have dominated the rhetoric about the Caribbean, and we’re more than that.
It happened, and it needs to be more widely educated but I also want to look at the ways in which I can humanize those who suffered, find the parts of them outside of that suffering, rather than continually place the energy and conversation on those who put us through that and oppressed us.
The Syrian part of my lineage is much closer in time: my Nan speaks about her Syrian Grandmother. She was, in part, mothered by her, so that’s something I’m naturally more curious about and hope to understand in greater depth in my next book.
You mentioned a love affair for 1960’s/1970’s vintage cookware. What features of these pieces inspire you?
The colours, the patterns, the durability! I spent much of my time researching and buying furniture from this era, so it makes sense that I also love the warm textures that featured in the cookware and crockery of the time too.
What dishes do you feel best work with cast iron?
One of my lifelong loves, the Buss Up Shut roti! But the cornbread works incredibly well too.