Hello! My name is Rebecca May Johnson, I am a writer and cook and this is my Substack. After 24 newsletters (& audio versions) I realised that I need a short break. As I am going to be spending several days on a self-directed residency of sorts at a branch of IKEA this coming week, I thought I’d send out a newly recorded audio version of an essay about canteens I wrote a couple of years ago, with the text below, too. Originally published via TinyLetter in 2019. Back to regular weekly service in two weeks. If you’d like to pre-order my book SMALL FIRES, AN EPIC IN THE KITCHEN out 25th August with Pushkin Press, you can do so here (UK) and here (UK, US, & Europe). I Dream of Canteens Hospitality, Massness & Calorie Density Space There is a space for everyone. A space, a glass of water, and a plug socket. Chairs and tables and cleaned toilets. So many chairs so that no one is without one. Enough napkins to blow your nose or wipe your mouth. The chairs take different forms and there are chairs placed in designated areas (a praxis of positive discrimination). High and low chairs create a varied landscape and the opportunity to avoid eye contact if wished (privacy); low, brightly coloured plastic chairs are a good height for children; there is an area reserved for people who want to breastfeed without negotiating the uncomfortable gaze of uncomfortable men if they don’t want to. An adequately equipped counter allows people to warm up baby food or homemade food and this acknowledges that babies exist and that people who bring their own food exist and that these people need space to eat, too. Stacks of trays, clean and ready to use, are placed at the start of the queue for food. Some trays can be placed onto Zimmer-frame-like devices on wheels with shelves for trays so that people for whom mobility is challenging, or people with children, or people who need multiple plates, can lean on it while queuing and place food on it without having to bear the weight of the tray. Food is cheap. I can afford it and everyone else here can afford to buy it for themselves and their child without anxiety. There are no instances of that tightening around the throat when you do not have the money to buy food, but you are hungry and in a place that serves it. For those who have more money the price is a joyful novelty; for those who have less, the prices are a blessed relief that allows eating to take place. The food is as cheap as fried chicken shops and like the meals served in fried chicken shops the food here has enough calorie density to sustain a child or an adult for a good while. Most people put their used trays that are covered in crumbs and licked plates in the designated area for used trays, and pick up all of their soiled napkins. Most people do not leave the remains of their lunch on the tables, even though there are no signs telling them not to do so. Furthermore, there are enough staff so that too much rubbish never builds up and also, staff are not overburdened or racing around, stressed and exhausted. Time There is also time for everyone. No one is asked to leave and no one feels anxious about out-staying their welcome. Of course people do leave, but still, staying is not suspicious. No laminated signs about leaving or staying or eating food bought here or elsewhere are on the tables or the walls. Indeed, in the fine Western tradition of hospitality that dates back to Homer’s epics ~xenia ~ no one who is hosted here will be asked to leave and everyone will be fed and watered and allowed to wash without question. No body becomes abject and disgusting through staying and crossing over an ambiguous but clearly defined boundary of time and space (at least not during opening hours). Such provision allows the existence of privacy in public, that is, if privacy is defined as the ability to be present without being suspected of anything. The causes of suspicion in London in 2019 are principally, to have no money, along w