Jesus Christ with the loaves and fishes, this one thinks she invented food altogether!
"There’s a stockpot simmering on Andi Oliver’s stove – for days, the broth has been bubbling. A mugful of the rib-sticking, rich elixir lands in front of me as I’m ushered into her east London kitchen from the cold. She ladles out a flask-full for Garfield, her boyfriend of 30 years, then peers into the saucepan. “I’ve not been well,” says Oliver, “and this has healed me.” She spent the past two months filming in Stratford-upon-Avon, where she always had a similar soup on the go. “It’s giving yourself the care you need. And sharing it with other people doesn’t just fix you, but briefly, the world around you.” Supplies depleted, she begins to rebuild the brew from its bones: pinches of cloves, juniper and star anise are dropped in. A glug of white wine. Taste, then season. No measurements, just instinct. “I started cooking young,” Oliver explains. “To me, it’s everyday magic. Giving you that broth is sharing a little bit of myself – a soul exchange.” Briefly, there’s a moment of serenity."
“We have a sprawling found family,” says Oliver, “that’s precious to me.” She unfurls into an upholstered chair at her long dining table. “Whether or not we’ve had cash, I’ve always had an open-door policy.” When money was tight, and often it was, she’d still feed the hungry. “We’d cook feasts: chicken wings, sacks of rice and potatoes. Whatever was cheap. We might have been using the emergency credit on the electricity meter and ingredients from the shop bought on tick, but if I could get a meal together, then the world felt manageable. When I couldn’t, I knew we were in the shit.” She uses her deep belly laughs as punctuation."
“Cyprus was where I first fell in love with the idea of food and gathering people.”
“We’d throw a party, then buy a bathtub full of mackerel to gut, clean and fillet. We were creating safety and family through food.”