Samin Nosrat Arrives Right on Time

Mother Jones illustration; Photograph by Aya Brackett

In the crowded world of internet gourmands and celebrity chefs, it’s difficult to imagine a cookbook more eagerly anticipated than Good Things^[2], the second from James Beard award-winning writer Samin Nosrat. After all, she’s beloved. “Everybody loves Samin Nosrat,” a 2019 Bon Appétit headline^[3], rather accurately, noted after the publication of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, Nosrat’s first cookbook and Netflix series of the same name. The debut has since left many craving what makes Nosrat so magnetic: her unbridled delight, never self-conscious or performative, for the best bits of cooking.

But in the eight years since the success of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, Nosrat, like many of us, has collected wounds. Some are shared, like a pandemic; others are deeply personal, such as the confounding loss of an estranged father. “This period of turmoil and melancholy led me (slowly, slowly) to recalibrate my values,” Nosrat writes early on in Good Things. “It was either that or perish.” What follows are recipes and rituals simply worth spending the time to make in a world constantly distracting us from each other and ourselves. This includes something Nosrat delightfully calls “Pane Criminale,” bread so abundant with garlic butter and carbs it feels nearly illicit. Or it’s the simple yet radical advice she shares in a section about gathering within an honest framework. “For example, the more socioeconomically secure members in our group take on a greater share of the financial burden so everyone can participate worry-free,” Nosrat writes.

For me, this is the standard by which to measure the success of Nosrat’s latest. Not by production or kitchen prowess, but by the inspiration she instills within us to value our time. Below, I caught up with Nosrat on the essential joys of communion, ICE’s impact^[4] on the restaurants we love, and what it takes to build a good life.

It’s a strange time for joy! Talk to me about the idea of gathering—producing, sharing, being physically present with others—as a tool to push against these bad times.

I think about this all the time. I mean, the world feels like it’s on fire—and often it literally is. It’s so easy to just hunker down and despair. When things feel terrible, the most human, healing thing for me is spending time with my people. It can be driving with a dear friend to a farm in search of a perfect apricot or cooking a meal and hearing the sound of someone’s laughter from the other room. And beyond that, just the physical act of making and eating something tends to help me get out of my head (where things are often particularly dark).

I so appreciated the section on building an “oasis in time.” What advice do you have for those who want to gather and build similar rituals, but haven’t found their community yet? 

If you don’t have “your people,” start small. Like, really small. You don’t need a mile-long guest list or an exquisite tablescape; you just need a reason to spend time together. Invite two people over for tea and a snack, or to go for a walk one evening each week. There are no rules, just make it up as you go! 

Building ritual is really about repetition and intention more than anything else. If you do something on a regular basis, people start to count on it. And before you know it, you have yourself a little home for joy to come and visit you week to week. 

I’ve been a huge admirer of how open you’ve been about mental health struggles. How has your experience with depression influenced or evolved your relationship to cooking?

We all have days when even boiling water can feel like a task. Instead of forcing myself into what I think I “should” be doing, or cooking, or eating when I’m having one of those days, I spend a little time making something incredibly simple. It can be as easy as my favorite jam on some olive oil-fried bread, washing and cutting up some fruit, or even tearing open a bag of cheese puffs. But when I cook from that more gentle, forgiving place, it can make my day better. A good life is one where time—and its fast companion, attention—are the most precious gifts I can give or receive.

There are so many competing forces fighting for our attention, especially on social media. How do you find the discipline to stay intentional and maintain attention on the things that bring you joy? 

What a big question! With all the noise vying for our attention, I try to build little anchors that I can count on to pull me back to myself. Gardening, cooking, or doing anything with my hands, really. When I’m mindful about making time to do those things, my attention and intention naturally follow. Preparing dinner on Mondays or grocery shopping on a certain weekday helps me mark the passage of time. And nothing will make you appreciate time and attention like gardening! I appreciate how I’m forced to pay attention to each plant and its needs—if the tomatoes need more sun, things like that. I find it soothing to watch things grow slowly, but surely, knowing a fruit or vegetable is on its way keeps me present and patient. 

My kid is three, and dinner can feel like such a battle. Sometimes I get so anxious thinking I might be ruining his relationship with food! For young parents out there, what advice do you have for developing a child’s appreciation for cooking and gathering?

I’m not a parent, but I’m lucky to have kids in my life who are family to me. I think the best thing you can do is keep time in the kitchen joyful and low-pressure. Kids are naturally curious, so invite them to be part of the process of making a meal. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just mixing ingredients, washing veggies, or setting the table for everyone gives them a sense that cooking and gathering are important and they’re a part of it. If you can make being in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and even doing dishes feel light and joyful and uncomplicated around food, that’s a great start. 

Similarly, for adults, it seems as though we’re living in a moment packed with lots of things to fear in the kitchen: microplastics, cooking utensils, MAHA. Headlines about bagged spinach^[5] freak me out! But Good Things feels like a powerful antidote to this kind of looming dystopia. Any thoughts on how the broader conversation treats food and cooking right now?

That’s very kind, thank you. There’s so much out there right now—about what’s safe, what’s healthy, what isn’t—but at the end of the day, we need to be fed and watered. In my own life, I try to shift the focus back to nourishment, asking myself, “Do I need a vegetable?” Or, “Will a little biscuit make my day brighter?” Smaller, more digestible questions tend to get lost, but those are what should guide us when we cook in our kitchens each day. The main aim is to feed ourselves. And if we can remember that, food can feel a lot less scary and a lot more like what it’s always been: a way to take care of ourselves and each other.

You’ve talked about your perspective as an outsider, an Iranian-American kid trying to fit into a white world. For those made to feel otherized right now, how can cooking show us ways to embrace what others see as different? 

Regardless of what the powers that be may tell you, the American food landscape would look vastly different if not for immigration and different cultures brushing up against one another. We all bring our pocket of culture around with us, and the kitchen is no different. It took me some time, but I’d encourage you to lean into the parts of your cooking that are different. Even bring them into other recipes! For me, Persian cooking uses a lot of herbs, and I always find myself adding double the herbs a recipe calls for—does that mean my spanakopita ends up a lot herbier than yours? Absolutely!

It’s an excruciating time for restaurants and food vendors right now. How can we show up for restaurant workers, especially those prompted to stay home out of fear of immigration raids^[6]?

I don’t think most of us can really fathom the number of people whose work it takes to put food on a table at a restaurant, on the counter in our own kitchens, or on the shelves at the grocery store. So many of those people are living in fear, and we can show up for them by continuing to be a customer and educating ourselves on how to handle ICE showing up in our neighborhoods, because the truth is that our food culture just wouldn’t exist without immigrant labor.

Any restaurants in your community you want to shout out to support?

Oh, so many! But I always find myself coming back to Lunette,^[7] a Cambodian spot tucked into the Ferry Building [in San Francisco], for some deliciously comforting rice and noodles. And La Taqueria^[8] is my go-to for when I am desperately in need of a fantastic burrito or taco.

I want to end on salt. I never thought about its varieties until watching Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat. And ever since, I eventually found my way to Maldon salt, something I now refuse to cook without. What’s one ingredient you’ve discovered more recently that’s become a staple?

One ingredient I’ve somewhat recently discovered and now love is aquafaba^[9]. It’s a fancy word for the liquid that comes in your can of chickpeas. Not fancy, not rare—and it’s probably something you already have in your pantry. When I led a kitchen, I once told cooks very sincerely to never toss any aquafaba because it is just so, so precious. It’s perfect for salad dressings, sauces, and if you happen to be cooking for a vegan in your life, it can be a really great egg substitute. It’s become an absolute staple for my kitchen.