Snug Suppers and Campus Romance

Cod Baked in Spiced Tomato Sauce + Mrs. S.

This week: A British romance that’s poetic AF, and a dish fit for dinner with friends.

Read

Mrs. S. by K. Patrick, pub 2023
Buy: Europa Editions or your local bookstore (you might have to special-order it if you go local)

Every once in a blue moon I read a book that leaves me awestruck. One that, after finishing the final page, I must allow time and space for it to breathe its meaning into me; this feeling can last hours, days, even weeks. Eventually, I’m able to synthesize it and move on. In rare instances, though, I can’t move on, because the book’s claws continue to gently grip, challenging me to coax a deeper understanding, contextualizing it from multiple angles, until I finally reach a point of satisfaction. Mrs. S. continues to bend my mind weeks after reading.   

The book’s unnamed narrator is a 22-year-old Australian lesbian working as the “matron” at a religious boarding school for girls in England. Her identity is cloaked in secrecy, and you sense a history of shame in her story that continues to follow her (her father stopped speaking to her when she came out; her mother keeps her at a careful distance, forgetting her birthday). She’s young, butch, lustful, knowing of her identity yet forced to temper it in the company of colleagues. We meet the title character, Mrs. S., the headmistress’s wife, on page one. Graceful, potent, feminine, she’s a figure of obsession for The Girls (as our narrator refers to them) and, quickly, our narrator herself. The connection is instant and piquant, but, for the first half of the book or so, you aren’t sure whether it’s all in the narrator’s head. 

What I love most about this novel is that it’s at once both horny and poetic. Patrick, who identifies as trans-masculine, writes gorgeous, aching prose (and who, upon Googling, I learned is fully a poet.) They’re a master at building tension, stringing desire taut. Our narrator’s hunger for Mrs. S. is primal and visceral. Weeks of inner-monologuing and fantasizing lead to an erotic culmination, which, over the course of the affair, is juxtaposed with moments of misunderstood identity, shame, carelessness with words. She yearns not just for good sex (and believe me when I tell you the sex is better than good) and connection, but – even more than being loved – she wants to feel fully seen. Attraction, identity, privilege and personhood are rich subjects to excavate, and Patrick delivers, providing depth that only a poet with a deep personal experience of otherness can achieve. 

Each character is rendered deftly both physically and emotionally until their full essence shines through (the Housemistress is particularly unforgettable). I’ve read many a queer book in my day, but none have ultimately given me a fuller understanding of the rawness that queer people experience due to the blatant, nonchalant writing-off of certain parts of the self by society at large. 

After you finish reading, I highly recommend Googling K. Patrick and listening to them read from the book. They’re Scottish, and the accent, combined with the beauty of the words, simply cannot be beat. 

Eat

Sometimes, you have a dinner party and forget to take a photo of the dish you’re going to write about (hence, a photo of my leftovers). It’s the mark of good company, I think. You put your phone down and suddenly it’s been 5 hours of nonstop curious, challenging, funny, full-hearted conversation. I’ve always considered this dish somewhat Middle Eastern (I learned to make it staging at Nopi), but my friend Stephanie said it’s also Spanish in origin; Greek, too, says Google. Hearty and healthy, easy to prepare, it’s the perfect dinner party dish (serve with the Lyle’s Salad and you’ve got yourself a meal). 

Notes: 

• You can easily halve the recipe. 

• The sauce can be made a day ahead; keep in mind this will affect cooking time (see below). 

• Alternately, you can make the dish with this sauce; it’s slightly different in flavor but would still be delicious!

Cod Baked in Spiced Tomato Sauce
Serves 4

Evoo
2 large yellow onions, sliced into half moons
4 cloves garlic, smashed
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 teaspoons ground coriander
1 teaspoon pimentón dulce
1 cup white wine
2 28-ounce cans whole peeled tomatoes
4 cod filets, skin removed (halibut will work, too)
Maldon
Parsley and thick garlic- and lemon-spiked yogurt, to serve

In a large oven-proof pan with high sides*, heat a few healthy glugs of olive oil on medium heat. Add the onions, garlic, salt and spices, stir well and let soften until completely collapsed, translucent and delicious-smelling – about 20ish minutes, if not more. Don’t let them brown! Turn the heat down if necessary. Add the white wine and tomatoes and, using the end of a wooden spoon, break up the tomatoes (this is strangely satisfying). Mix well and let the pot simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sauce pulls away from the bottom of the pan, about 45 minutes. Preheat your oven to 400F, season the cod with Kosher salt and nestle the filets in the sauce. Bake until the fish is fully cooked, about 10-20 minutes, depending on the thickness of your filets and the temperature of your sauce (if you’ve made the sauce in advance and it’s cool, it’ll take closer to 20; if you’re making this in one go, it’ll be closer to 10). Shower with fresh parsley, shards of Maldon and a dollop of yogurt (optional). 

*I made the sauce in a non-oven-safe pan, then transferred it to cast iron (mine has lower sides) for the oven portion! Also an option.