In a cramped West London kitchen, Paris Rosina slowly stirs a soffritto of carrots, fennel and celery — the mixture turning into a thick, fragrant mass with notes of smoked paprika and garlic. The smell fills the flat where her cult supper clubs Come To My House I'll Make You Fat once took place, and it is immediately clear: autumn here is not merely a season but an occasion for long, generous cooking.
Her approach to food is not quick recipes but laborious rituals in which every step matters. Black beans, soaked overnight, are cooked with bay leaf and fennel, then mixed with fried merguez sausages and fresh coriander. The result is a thick, warming stew in which the heat of cayenne pepper is balanced by lemony freshness and vinegar. Such dishes are born of a desire to feed people properly, as at those very suppers where guests did not know one another but grew closer around the table.
The second recipe is a pie with Cypriot potatoes and halloumi. Thinly sliced potatoes are partly boiled, mixed with sautéed fennel, spring onions and grated halloumi, then baked under a shortcrust pastry lid with white pepper. The filling stays juicy inside while the outside is crisp, with a mild sharpness from the cheese that unfolds when the pie is cut. This dish bears the imprint of her earlier work at The Dusty Knuckle: an attention to texture and balance, where every ingredient works towards an overall sense of comfort.
The third is a fish pie with crab and mortadella. Mussels are opened in white wine, their liquor goes into a béchamel with tarragon and nutmeg; pieces of cod, salmon, prawns and cubes of mortadella are added. A mash of Maris Piper potatoes with white pepper and cream is spread on top in a thick blanket. Baked to a golden crust, it holds within a tender, creamy filling with a faint saltiness of seafood and the spiciness of the sausage — an unexpected yet logical combination that speaks of her delight in experimentation.
Today Rosina continues this style in a home setting: she does not chase trends but follows what requires time and attention. Her recipes are a response to the change of season, when tomatoes are no longer in favour and the table calls for substantial, warming dishes that can be frozen in portions or served to guests. In them one senses the history of London cooking — a mingling of Mediterranean, Cypriot and British ingredients passed through the hands of a person for whom food has always been a way of bringing people together.
To try these dishes in their true form, it is worth watching for announcements of her suppers or cooking from the recipes yourself: beginning with soaking the beans and the long frying of the soffritto, without hurrying. Best of all — in company, with natural wine and conversations that last late into the night. That is precisely how these recipes reveal themselves fully.
In each such pie or stew, Paris Rosina leaves a little of her approach: food as an act of generosity, where time and attention turn simple ingredients into something that cannot be repeated without the same love for the process.
