26 grains

Everyone has a story about porridge. I frequently hear tales of how people like theirs, which toppings they prefer, the bowl they make it in, or who made it for them in the past, and where – a lot of ritual surrounds porridge. It’s the ultimate nostalgia food because it has been cooked at home as part of day-to-day life almost forever.

Like many, my porridge story began with my mum. Hers was a simple affair: watery oats, a sprinkling of brown sugar and a splash of milk, but with a large family of five kids to feed this was the perfect breakfast for hungry mouths. But, in truth, when I was younger, my dream wasn’t a life in food. Growing up, the one area I excelled in was cleaning. My passion was so strong I had frequent territorial battles for the vacuum cleaner with my older sister (the photographer for this book). These went on until the day when, mid-fight, she suckered the vacuum nozzle right onto my head and I lost a perfect circle of hair right on the crown. That day I realised I wasn’t cut out for a life of cleaning and so began my embrace of the chaos of the kitchen. But it was years later, after a year abroad in Copenhagen as a part of my degree, that my love affair with porridge really took off.

Living in Denmark was one of the most special times of my life. Pockets of sunshine would draw out crowds of Danes, fully cherishing each last ray. The quiet pace of the bicycles, undisturbed in their own lanes, set the daily rhythm of the city. Instead of lovers locking hands while walking, cycling couples would hold hands side by side. Cheeks would flush a light rusty orange, different from the English rosy red. The Danes are masters of baking and wafts of freshly baked bread and pastries would assail you as you made your way around town. I loved it there; it made such an impression on me. And what struck me most was the quality of life, particularly when it came to food. The tiniest coffee shops, with the most limited of menus, would deliver seemingly effortlessly delicious and creative food. Each day presented a dilemma: return to a place where I’d had an exceptional experience or try a new restaurant – always welcoming, unique in style, and invariably utterly delicious.

After a few weeks in Copenhagen, I came across a new term, hygge. This Danish word has no literal English translation, but evokes feelings of warmth, cosiness and comfort. It was everything I associated with Danish food in general, and in particular the sensation of wrapping my hands around a steaming bowl of porridge. The Danes do porridge properly. As well as oats they use ancient grains like spelt and barley, and top it with fragrant Nordic spices and fresh fruits. A bowl of grains may seem like simple fare but the Danes, wisely, never underestimate it. It is exciting to pair the unique texture and taste of a particular grain with appropriate spices, milks and toppings, thinking about sweet versus savoury, and creamy versus crunchy elements. I now build every porridge recipe according to these principles. And I will forever associate hygge with my memories of food in Copenhagen, even as it takes on new inflections for me as I cook today.

When I got back to the UK I couldn’t stop thinking about the Danish approach to eating. I wanted to work in food but only for a company with the right ethos when it came to quality ingredients and well-produced food. After graduating I started working at Rude Health, and my bosses there were an inspiration. They encouraged me to demand more from food and to understand how eating well can make you feel better. I realised that what I’d intuited in Copenhagen was really just this: simple food, prepared in the best possible way, makes you feel good – and it tastes sensational.

It was during this time that the seed of an idea from Copenhagen began to grow. I decided to start my own business, 26 Grains. 26 being a number I’ve always felt drawn to, and grains being where I wanted to start; as well as a play on the idea of grains of knowledge. My plan was simply to try out ideas around my own fascination with grains and see if anyone out there was interested too. And it turned out they were. We first opened in July 2014 as a pop-up at Old Street Station, London, a busy commuter thoroughfare. I was apprehensive at the prospect of launching a porridge business mid-summer. But as one customer rightly said: everyone – your mum, your trainer, your nutritionist, the lot – is telling you to eat porridge. And people are returning to it more and more and cooking it at home, but it is still hard to find a good bowl on the go. When you think of the ubiquity of sugary pastries, porridge really doesn’t get the space it deserves.

I often tell my co-workers to not worry if something goes wrong, because it has probably already happened to me. Take our first ever stall at Old Street Station: I had rented a tiny kiosk space and, calling on friends and family for design, carpentry and manpower, built a beautiful white-tiled bar with a light cherry wood front, kitted out with a hob, bain marie, fridge and storage shelves. We’d designed it to roll out into the station during the day and store away in the kiosk at night. We had done the planning and building off-site so when our move-in afternoon came, on the eve of our first day trading, we set off to set up shop. With the freshly tiled bar in tow, we slowly wiggled across London through what seemed like the most painfully bumpy roads. Upon arrival, the heavens opened. We lifted the bar from the van, rolled it down the ramp into the station and located our proud little space. Slight problem: our bar was 1cm too wide each side for its new home. The measurements we’d been given hadn’t accounted for an old glass frame fitted from the previous shop. Luckily we found a space under the stairs in the station to store the bar ready to roll out the next day. At dawn on that first Monday of July, we rolled out the bar and set out all our gear: pots, labels, wooden spoons, compotes and, of course, enthusiasm, all at the ready. But our excitement was soon quashed: the hob didn’t work. In the end we spent that first day introducing ourselves, outlining what we’d be serving over the month and psyching ourselves up.

Once we got going it was a super month. We had commuters, fitness enthusiasts, techies, foodies and kids – of all ages and nationalities – chatting to us, dancing to our music and eating our food. It was incredible. I’m often asked what has been my biggest achievement starting my own business, and while there have been a number of amazing moments, for me there is nothing better than seeing a face who has spared a few minutes while I make up their breakfast, return the following morning for more.

After nearly a year of events and pop-ups, I set my sights on finding a space to make our own. With the help of a few incredibly kind people who believed in the concept and generously put inordinate time and energy into finding and negotiating a potential space, I came across an unused shed in the beautiful courtyard of Neal’s Yard. The walls were dark and damp, and there was no water or electricity, but a rich history of independent traders and a tight community made me realise that this was the site for us. We pitched to the landlord – a situation I could have never imagined a year before – and thrillingly, they said yes.

Opening the shop felt like a huge leap from our previous pop-ups and I was uncertain quite how many porridges I might sell in the early days. I needed the security to be able to hire a brilliant team and buy the right equipment, so I turned to a crowd-funding platform. After 30 days and 184 unbelievably kind individuals, we hit our target, enabling us to go from pop-up to permanent. 26 Grains is now made up of ten amazingly bright individuals who make it a pleasure to come into work every day. If I don’t tell them enough, let me do so now: they mean an enormous amount to me and to the business. I learn from each of them every day and their dedication and support has been the difference between closing after a year or getting this small idea off the ground and looking to grow, as we now are, with a new site in our prospects. Working in the shop alongside them, in a magical pocket of London, has truly been one of the best parts about this whole adventure.

As the months have gone by I have learnt so much about our capabilities, customers and how best to develop our menu and methods. Changing the menu according to the season has sometimes been a challenge. We would have loved to keep our best-selling blueberry porridge on throughout the year, but it quickly became apparent from the quality of the fruit that the season was coming to an end. We adapted and played on winter spices using beetroot, cranberries and apples together to make a wintry compote. We also experimented with blending the grains in our porridge depending on the way they taste and the texture they add. Our lunch and snack menu has expanded, drawing inspiration from a number of different cooking styles to create warming and nourishing recipes. With a new site I hope we’ll be able continue this flow of ideas. The more I learn about grains, the more I want to devise new recipes, from porridges to salads, mains and baking.

Writing this book has been a brilliant opportunity to explore my favourite grains in more depth. I feature nine grains in the recipes that follow: hopefully enough to broaden your horizons without overwhelming your store cupboard. I could have written more recipes but what follows are my absolute highlights. Some draw on what I learnt in Copenhagen, others have been guided by how I have felt and what I’ve craved, both in times of excitement and when I’ve been entertaining as well as when I’m tired or keen to take my mind away from the bustle of everyday life. Every grain is added to enhance, and I have enjoyed learning just how versatile they are.

Since I began 26 Grains, I have felt overwhelmed by the excitement of starting my own business, but I have also realised how tricky it can be too. I hadn’t anticipated how solitary it would be to start something on my own. When I was testing the concept with my first pop-ups, I was painfully conscious of every cost and whether the long-term outcome would be worthwhile. Every pop-up or event, no matter how big or small, tended to get the better of me the night before, as I worried about what was where, the timings, whether things would run smoothly – particularly with such a short time to set up most mornings. I often shared these worries with those around me, but it wasn’t the same as having someone completely dedicated and involved in the idea, wanting it to succeed just as much as I did. That said, there are many people who have come so close to that role and given me much more support than I could have asked. I mention the people close to me in the acknowledgements at the back of this book but in some way the people beyond are just as important as my friends and family. The people who walk into the shops, come to the pop-ups, and even simply interact on social media, the people who enjoy the food and the stories behind the grains. Without you I wouldn’t be writing this book. My one hope with this book is that people will be able to share the enthusiasm we have at 26 Grains in their own kitchens.

In the meantime I hope to learn from those around me, from the people working at 26 Grains, from eating at wonderful restaurants, cooking food with friends, travelling and just taking everything in. What I have learnt is that food is more than just the flavour. It’s an overall feeling, with all the senses engaged: the music you play while you cook, the voices chatting while you prepare the food, the smells in the kitchen as the onion starts to soften, the table you eat at – inside or out – and, of course, the taste. I remind myself of that feeling of hygge and my time in Copenhagen and know that everything I have learnt about food has included the experience, the company, the atmosphere.

So, where would I like to go with this adventure? Training and gaining a better understanding of food. The subject is a funny one; at first it seems like a simple thing to explore, and perhaps at the beginning of this journey part of me was thinking, ‘I like the taste of food, I get hungry, so does everyone, therefore food is something to get involved in.’ And, in a way, my original rather naïve outlook stands true – food is simple and universal, it is a leveller. At the same time, the more I find out about food, the more I realise there is a long way to go before becoming any kind of master. But then I guess that kind of sums up what a bowl of grains signifies for me – porridge has delicious depths that belie its simplicity.

Grains

For this book I have chosen to focus on grains. I’ve become fascinated by their different properties, how they’re grown, harvested, what soil they’ve been planted in and in which climates they grow best. Compared to many other foods their many varieties have lasted through history, stored and used in a multitude of ways.

Most whole grains, husks included, can be sprouted, and in doing so, we start fermentation. Removing the husks exposes the softer inner part of the grain. The softness of the grains varies from species to species, as does the composition of germs and proteins, determining whether grains contain components such as gluten, beta-glucan and lysine. The grains can be cooked whole or processed in a number of ways, such as milling, cutting or flaking.

The most crucial part of cooking with grains is to consider the quality of the grains that you choose. A simple bowl of porridge can be made even better both in taste and the way it makes you feel if you choose a lesser known variety of grain, which has been processed the fewest possible number of times. At the shop, we roll our oats ourselves through a flaker, which simply splits the soft oats through two disks, and flattens them so that you can still see the colour of their outer layer and so that all the components of the whole grain remain, nutrients included. It makes for a creamier, more nourishing and sweeter bowl of porridge, setting ours apart from any cut, rolled, steamed quick oat.