9th September 2016
Interview: Molly Tait-Hyland
Photographs: Dan Dennison
9th September 2016
Interview: Molly Tait-Hyland
Photographs: Dan Dennison
On the muggy, overcast morning of our interview, the windows are flung wide. The small flat is stuffed with punk records (from Kylee’s DJ days), art books, succulents and vats of damson gin. Photographs by Wolfgang Tillmans – Turner prize-winning photographer and Kylee’s former employer – hang on the walls. Welcoming, chatty and quite excitable, Kylee is someone you want to be around – which may be one reason she’s thrived in so many different occupations (chef, draper and florist also crop up on her CV).
Kylee is baking us a cake, but first we head out into the fug to pick up a few ingredients at Broadway Market, where Newton & Pott have a stall. Among the neat rows of jars, there are jams (pear & lavender, mixed berries & lemon thyme), unusual pickles such as za’atar cauliflower and gin cucumbers, Kylee’s take on some British classics (tomato ketchup, piccalilli) and flavours from her New Zealand childhood (chutneys made with feijoa and tamarillo).
After Kylee has greeted half of Broadway Market – she has lived in this area for 16 years – we return home with apricot & almond jam, perky apricots, butter and fresh eggs. Over the next few hours, as the apartment fills with mouthwatering cakey smells, Kylee talks openly about the realities of starting a business and shares some valuable preserving tips. Then, as the afternoon draws on and rain threatens, we sit down to Earl Grey tea and apricot jam cake hot from the oven.
I began making chutney when I was working for [the photographer] Wolfgang Tillmans. I gave jars out as Christmas presents and people were really touched that I’d actually made something for them. A friend said: “You should do something with this.” She was probably just teasing, but I thought, “Yeah, yeah! I should do something with this!”
When I moved to London in 2001, I was living with a guy who was working as Wolfgang’s printer. He moved to Sweden and I decided that I was going to take over his job. One of the punters in the bar I was working at had a darkroom and I got him to teach me how to print photos. I walked into my interview with Wolfgang saying, “I am a printer”, but not really knowing that much – and I got the job. It was a little bit naughty but I ended up working with him for 10 years, printing all his analogue photos. I would still be working there if the job still existed, but he moved back to Berlin and went more into the digital world. When Wolfgang left, I had this amazing skill of printing analogue photographs, but it didn’t translate to the modern world. Out of the 200 darkrooms that used to exist in London, there’s only about four or five left.
I decided to be a florist. JamJar Flowers in Kennington took me on, even though I didn’t have any background in floristry. All my reports growing up would say: “Kylee’s very good with her hands, Kylee’s very creative.” I’ve run with that my whole life. I think visually.
About two and a half years ago. My mother lent me some money – I couldn’t have gone full-time without that. But it was starting to demand all my time and I couldn’t juggle it.
People always see the great side – it’s all constantly Instagram, always good. It’s not: it’s a hard slog
It’s really hard. I am responsible for other people’s wages. It’s scary and I have really bad days – I lose faith sometimes. Not faith, motivation. It’s important that people know it’s not easy.
I love that Netflix series Chef’s Table. They talk about the down period too, that it’s not all roses. It resonated with me. People always see the great side – it’s all constantly Instagram, always good. It’s not: it’s a hard slog. I started Newton & Pott with absolutely zilch – on a credit card, which I don’t advise. I’ve been slowly churning away and it’s grown very organically. It feels like a very long time to me because I still don’t pay myself a wage. My husband supports me. One day I will pay myself, I’m sure of it. Well, I’m banking on it…
My husband – he’s so supportive. And knowing that I have to create work for someone else, that I have employees who depend on me. Also, I want to say something about the food that I make: it’s not just creating food. I’m interested in the sustainability side as well. It sounds really hippie and I consider myself a little more rock ‘n roll, but looking after the earth, respecting the seasons, preserving things – I’ve been brought up with these ideas and they’re really important to me. The whole idea around preserving is that you use up the seasonal glut. You’re giving food a new lease of life.
I’m not ruled by it. We just try and get the best possible stuff we can for the money we have.
The seasons, and the flavours from my childhood. Tamarillos and feijoas aren’t so familiar here.
In New Plymouth, in the Taranaki region of New Zealand. I loved growing up there. Every day, after school, I’d jump on my bike and race down to the beach or the river and just hang out – collecting crabs, playing with friends, getting up to mischief. My parents split up when I was five, so we went back and forth from mum’s to dad’s. But it was a good childhood.
My father was a fisherman: he worked on a tugboat. It was my mother who brought us up. Her name is Rosalie Dawn Lovegrove, which sounds like something out of Tess of the d’Urbervilles. We lived mostly with her. She did lots of different jobs, anything she could for us to survive. She always encouraged us to be creative. We grew up doing acting and art classes.
Growing up, she always experimented with things. Kids used to come to our house for dinner because mum wasn’t into meat and three veg. We ate things like nasi goreng, stir-fried rice, chicken satay, linguine with crab. People weren’t eating that kind of stuff at the time. That’s where my first love and education about good food came from. My husband always says that I have this natural sense of how to put things together, I look at recipes and don’t follow them. It’s just from always being in the kitchen cooking.
It’s the kind of shop you go: “I bet they don’t have pomegranate syrup” and they’ve got it. They’ve got everything.
Kylee on her favourite food places in London – see Address Book
Us girls had to make dinner once a week, we had a rota on the fridge. It was the highlight of my week. I would spend hours on the kitchen floor flipping through cookbooks, thinking about what I was going to cook.
I went to art school in Auckland. I chose printmaking, which was silly – all of my art works challenged the ideas of printmaking and the value of art. I should have done photography instead. But I loved living in Auckland. I probably did more partying than studying. I lived in a massive, beautiful old villa with eight other people and worked on the floor at Verona Café, where lots of artists and filmmakers used to hang out. I also worked at a place called the Merchant Mezze Bar. I started at the very bottom washing dishes and worked my way up. Eventually I got into the kitchen and was doing all the prep work. I learned a lot there.
Sugar is not my enemy, it’s a natural preservative. We should be wary of hidden sugars, not the ones you know about. Jam has sugar but you’re not going to drink the whole jar of jam. You’re only going to have a piece of cake.
Sugar is not my enemy, it’s a natural preservative. We should be wary of hidden sugars, not the ones you know about. Jam has sugar but you’re not going to drink the whole jar of jam
We write a menu for the week, which involves going through our cupboards and deciding what needs to be used up. For breakfast we often have yoghurt with granola and jam. Mark is very good at making us a packed lunch, which is usually something pasta-based or a soup. On a Friday night we usually have pizza.
The supermarket. At our engagement party, we were given lots of prosecco and champagne – more than we could drink. Initially we thought, Oh, we’ll keep this for a special occasion, but the special occasion never came. So on a Friday night, we have a supermarket-bought pizza or a Chinese takeaway with a bottle of champagne – high and low.
A lot of soups and salads and fresh vegetables. Recipes from Ottolenghi and Peter Gordon’s new book Savour. Mark is a great cook. Now that I’m in the kitchen all day, I don’t want to be cooking when I come home.
I made ceviche, which he’d never had before. Then a pea and prawn risotto and finally miniature summer puddings. We started flirting over food
A friend had a “love” party. It wasn’t an everyone-chuck-your-keys-in-the-bowl kind of party, she was just sick of all the anger and hate in the world. I went early and got really, really drunk. I’d been going up and chatting to Mark and I found myself on the dancefloor thinking: where’s that guy? I realised, oh my god, I love him. I hadn’t felt that way since I was 12 years old and liked the boy living down the road. Usually you meet someone and it grows into something but this was a real crush. I went up to him and said: “I’m really attracted to you, do you feel this?” – those words exactly, a genuine drunken question, and he’s like “Yeah, I feel this”. We’ve pretty much hung out ever since.
I cooked a three-course meal. I made ceviche, which he’d never had before. Then a pea and prawn risotto and finally miniature summer puddings. We started flirting over food.
At Bethnal Green Town Hall. Then went to the pub in Victoria Park. We dictated the menu – we were very clear that the broccoli needed to be crunchy. We stressed it over and over again: please don’t over-boil the broccoli. There was salmon, baked shoulder of lamb, winter salads and lots of champagne with homemade elderflower cordial.
Something really simple like egg-fried rice, a salad or soup. I love chicken and savoy cabbage soup.
Unfortunately I’ve grown intolerant to raw garlic. I didn’t realise until I was saying to Mark: “You know when you eat garlic and you can’t taste anything else for the next 24 hours, and then you get a sore stomach?” He was like, “Hmmm no, that doesn’t happen to me.”
Ice cream. The one I go for, if I’m just buying from the corner shop, is Häagen-Dazs strawberry cheesecake. And I love Poco Gelato – his flavours are incredible. I should have been an ice-cream maker, but that would kill the enjoyment for me, wouldn’t it?
Jam is a little trickier than making chutney. It’s a chemical reaction, whereas chutney is about reducing. A lot of jam-makers use a thermometer to find the setting point, which is about 104°C. I find thermometers unreliable, so I watch the jam and wait until the bubble changes. You’ll find it gets to a rolling bubble, which means there are lots of bubbles, but then it starts to thicken up, the bubbles become bigger underneath and it starts to plop. Once it’s just started to change, then I know it’s time to wrinkle-test.
You can over-set jam, and there’s not a lot you can do to bring it back. That’s why it’s better to under-set. I don’t mind a nice sloppy jam. If the sugar crystallises in the jar, add a few drops of lemon juice and stir it up. Put the jar into a pot and fill the pot with water so that it reaches halfway up the jar. Bring the water to the boil, so that the jam melts and it’s easier to stir.
I’d really like the business to run itself so that I have time to do more on the creative side. It’s funny: I always thought I was an artist helper – that it was my role in life to fulfil someone else’s dreams. It wasn’t until I started Newton & Pott that I realised I can put all that creative energy into my own project.
Roger Phillips – The horticulturalist and food writer takes us around his secret London garden, discusses his deep-rooted love of mushrooms and explains why he sleeps in his kitchen
Erwin Gegenbauer – The master vinegar brewer takes us on a tour of his Vienna factory, explains why local produce is “boring” and makes us breakfast featuring his own honey, oil, coffee, beer and cider
Ryan Chetiyawardana – The cocktail pioneer devises an elaborate pairing menu, explains the deceptively simple idea behind his bars, confesses a major food aversion and recalls his favourite ever meal