In search of a soft, slow life

I was thinking the other day while making curry puff pastry from scratch (as one does) — what a luxury it is to be able to do this.

To rub cold butter between my fingers into pristine white flour, to gather it all together, to knead knead knead a buttery dough with the promise of becoming something delectable.

As I simmered potatoes in a rich sweet-savory sauce for the filling, and worked the dough into small discs of pastry wrappers, filled and pleated the curry puffs, then fried them — a process that took a good 4 hours (in part due to my inefficient wrapping techniques), I kept thinking about how privileged I am to be able to spend 4 hours simply making food.

I had a similar thought as I stood over the stove a couple of weeks ago, stirring freshly grated piloncillo into milk, watching it turn from white to a pale brow…