Lemon Soul

Pea & Mint Dip

2011-07-10T19:53:00.000Z

Today I had a craving for peas and mint and always love eating with my hands rather than cutlery (there's a reason I live alone!). The solution? A simple pea dip. Takes moments to concoct and as long as one likes to savour.

I confess that I didn't measure anything but this made a good sized bowl that I imagine will be ok in the fridge for a few days to come.

Pea & Mint Dip

500g peas (fresh or frozen)

3 spring onions

garlic - as many cloves as you like (I use ready minced for speed)

handful of mint leaves

juice & zest of half a lemon

splash of balsamic vinegar

salt & pepper

1. Cook the peas in boiling water for 3-5 minutes. Plunge into cold water to keep their colour and flavour.

2. Roughly chop the spring onions and garlic cloves. Chuck into a food processor and tip in the peas.

3. Tear the mint leaves and throw them in along with the lemon zest and juice and a splash of vinegar.

4. Grind in some black pepper and salt.

5. Blitz until you have something that resembles a dip.

And that's it. Simple.

Elderflower Fairy Cakes

2011-06-12T08:25:00.000Z

There are certain flavours and dishes that represent the seasons for me. Venison casserole and swede make me shiver at the memory of long winters. Asparagus and broad beans make me smile at the thought of nature creaking into life as spring emerges. And the floral scent of elderflower is forever linked in my mind to British summers. So what better ingredient to choose when I was asked to make cakes for a double celebration - not just my friends' wedding but their send off party as they leave Blighty and head for a new life in Oz? Elderflower.

In addition to the traditional iced, boozy fruit cake and a blueberry and almond sponge, I whizzed up a couple of batches of these little treats. Only to find that they got left behind in the mad panic to get aboard the wedding bus! The best laid plans......

Elderflower Fairy Cakes
(makes 12)

110g salted butter, softened
110g caster sugar
2 medium eggs, beaten
2 tbsp elderflower cordial
80g self raising flour, sifted
1tsp baking powder
50g ground almonds

For the fondant icing:
175g fondant icing sugar
1 tbsp elderflower cordial
2-3 tbsp lemon juice (sieved)

Preheat the oven to gas mark 4/180°C/fan oven 160°C. Line a 12-hole bun tin with paper fairy cake cases and set aside.

Cream the butter with the sugar until fluffy and combined. Beat the eggs with the elderflower cordial. Beat in the egg, a large spoonful at a time - alternate with a spoon of sieved flour to stop the mixture curdling.

Sift in the rest of the flour and baking powder and add the ground almonds. Fold in until well combined and the mixture is pretty firm. Divide it between the paper cake cases and bake for 20–25 minutes or until golden, risen and springy to the touch. Cool the cakes on a wire rack.

Sift the icing sugar into a large bowl and stir in the elderflower cordial and lemon juice to make a smooth, thick icing. Spoon the icing over the cakes and spread it to the edges to coat the cakes. Leave to set.

Enjoy with a cup of tea for that quintessential British taste. Or a glass or two of champagne.

Forman & Field Smoked Salmon

2011-04-16T13:28:00.001Z

To my utter astonishment and amusement, I was recently emailed by Forman & Field (the online gourmet shop that specialises in independent producers) who had read my blog and wondered if I'd review some of their smoked salmon if they sent a pack of their 'London Cure' to me. Being deeply cynical 'where's the catch' was my immediate reaction followed by 'what if I don't like it?'. Greed outweighed such silly concerns and so a package was promptly dispatched.

I rarely buy smoked salmon for myself and so to receive a pack of 'H. Forman & Son London Cure Smoked Scottish Salmon' was a real treat. According to the packaging, Formans are the oldest salmon smoker in Britain, started in 1905. They claim that their London Cure is one of the most delicate as the idea is to taste the salmon, not the smoke. They also recommend that one doesn't serve the salmon with lemon as it disguises the fish's natural flavour.

So, what should one serve it with? I took Formans' advice and had my first slice unadorned. The fish had a rich, silky texture and melted beautifully on my tongue. Although it was far from cloying, I decided that I personally needed a touch of acidity to cut through the richness of the fish. It certainly wasn't the smokiest fish I'd ever tasted but instead had a sweet character that was akin to chestnuts and peat.

Formans' generous gift saw me through two meals. The first, a simple open sandwich (on a gluten free roll) accompanied by a simple salad including my favourite broad beans with a drizzle of lime juice.

The lime was a touch too far and so I experimented with alternative sources of acidity and arrived at an elegant solution of preserved lemons, dill, capers and mere touch of Dijon mustard which I mixed with prawns, peas and beans and served with the final slices of salmon, nestled on a bed of finest English round lettuce. Springtime on a plate.

Personally I like a touch of zing and so sorry H. Forman & Sons - this sampler will continue to add lemon (albeit in the preserved, salty form). So, the overall verdict? Lovely texture, gorgeous natural colour and subtle sweet flavour and very rich. Not to be eaten everyday but then it wouldn't be such a treat, now would it?!

Cauliflower – My Vegetable Epiphany

2011-04-10T19:41:00.000Z

My daily diet relies heavily on fruit, vegetables and pulses (oh, and I confess, wine!) and very happy I am with that indeed. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than a pile of crisp radishes with salt and capers, a chickpea and spinach stew or an aromatic and warming dhal. Vegetables and I enjoy a happy friendship. I have even managed to overcome my childhood fear of the broad bean (curse those frozen vegetable mixes and thank goodness for my long suffering father who turned a blind eye to his three daughters picking them out and piling them on his plate before our mother noticed). And yet there is one vegetable from which I have shied and, before a fortnight ago, had never purchased in my adult life. The cauliflower.

Why? Now that’s an interesting question and I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps I associate it heavily with cauliflower cheese – which obviously is never going to pass the lips (or hips) of this cow’s dairy intolerant (and weight conscious) cook. Yet a recent salad box from Whole Foods tickled my tastebuds with the joys that this bland, white veg can hold with their curried florets. Could I recreate something similar at home I wondered? I made up the following recipe which, I have to say, is rather delicious, either alone or alongside a silky bowl of dhal. I made the recipe up by slinging ingredients together so forgive the rather vague quantities and adapt to your own taste.

Roasted Fragrant Cauliflower

(serves 3-4 as a side dish)

1 large head of cauliflower, outer leaves and stem removed, divide into florets

½ head of garlic, divided into individual cloves but left in their papery skins

1 lemon

2-3 tbsp olive oil

½ - 1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp ground coriander

1tsp ground cumin

Preheat oven to 180C

Pop the cauliflower florets and garlic cloves into a large roasting dish (ensure that the dish is large enough for them to sit in one layer)

Zest the lemon over the cauliflower, juice the lemon and pour over the veg.

Pour in the oil, throw in the spices and mix well to coat everything with the pungent covering.

Throw in the lemon halves if you like roasted lemons.

Put in the middle of a preheated oven for approximately 30 minutes, tossing half way through.

Next time I may toast some almond slices and toss them in before serving and perhaps some flat-leaf parsley.

Berry Frozen Yogurt

2011-03-31T18:09:00.000Z

I don't have a particularly sweet tooth. Neither do I own a freezer nor an ice-cream maker. Making a frozen dessert therefore does not exactly feature high up on my culinary agenda. A recent stay with my friends Deb and Chris and their experiments with goats yogurt started to get my mind, and my tastebuds racing. Goat and sheep yogurts have a pleasing tang which is perfect if you don't fancy something overly sweet. A Sunday lunch for friends presented me with the opportunity to play in the kitchen and see what I could conjure up with a pot of sheep yogurt and the tiny freezer compartment of my fridge. The result? A simple (but delicious even if I do say so myself) dessert. Delicious served on its own or, as pictured here, with leftover defrosted berries and a meringue nest.

Berry Frozen Yogurt

Ingredients

450ml yogurt (I used sheep)

275g defrosted, frozen berries

zest and juice of ½ a lime

1 tsp runny honey

Method

Scoop the yogurt into a food processor. Add the berries and their juices, lime zest and juice and honey.

Blend until smooth then pour the mixture in a freezer-proof container with a lid.

Freeze for approximately 2 hours.

Remove from the freezer and break up the mixture with a fork. Stir until smooth and return to the freezer.

After another couple of hours, repeat the process then return to the freezer.

Remove the frozen yogurt 15 minutes or so before you want to serve it to allow it to soften slightly.

Dial Dhal for Comfort

2011-03-07T19:33:00.000Z

Just when the first buds dare to poke their heads above ground, the sun graces us with its presence for longer each day and nature starts to shrug off its wintery cloak, then, WHAM, Jack Frost cracks back into action and we're plummeted straight back into a chilly gloom. These are times that call for bowl food that cossets and comforts with its pillowy textures. That warms one through with gentle spices and a hint of chili.

For me, the one dish that is guaranteed to seep its warmth down into my very bones is dhal. My version would undoubtedly horrify the purist amongst you, however it's quick, uncomplicated and never fails to bring a much needed smile as a gentle fug fills the kitchen.

Dhal (serves 2)
125g red lentils
1pt water
1 bay leaf
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1tsp ground turmeric
knob of fresh ginger, peeled and halved
sprinkling of cardamom seeds, crushed
1tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
handful of cherry tomatoes, halved
zest and juice of 1 lime
2 large handfuls of spinach, washed
can chickpeas, drained
fresh coriander, chopped

1. Rinse the lentils, pop into a saucepan and cover with the water. Bring to the boil, skimming off any white foam that bubbles up.
2. Reduce to a simmer and add the bay leaf, garlic and ground spices. Stir and simmer for approximately 25 minutes with the lid on the pan. Add more water should it start to look a little dry,
3. Stir through the tomatoes, the zest and juice of the lime (I throw in the lime halves for added flavour).
4. After 10 minutes, stir in the spinach and chickpeas and cover the pan.
5. As soon as the spinach has wilted, turn off the heat, season with salt to taste and serve.

Comfort guaranteed and no need to dial for a take-away!

Cranberry and Cinnamon Cake

2011-01-15T14:50:00.001Z

I adore baking. There is something rather magical yet simple about the whole therapeutic process which produces sweet goodies to be shared with loved ones. So, when heading over to see dear friends for lunch last weekend and a belated festive celebration, it made perfect sense to make a treat that used cranberries and cinnamon to conjure that christmassy feeling. I used the fresh cranberry cake recipe from http://appleandspice.blogspot.com but couldn't help but tweak it!

Cranberry and Cinnamon Cake

Streusel Topping

65g chopped or flaked almonds

20g unsalted butter, melted

20g light soft brown sugar

¼ tsp ground cinnamon

Cake

160g plain flour

¾ tsp baking powder

½ tsp ground cinnamon

Pinch of salt

2 eggs

300g caster sugar (I only used 225g)

100g butter, melted and cooled

¾ tsp vanilla extract

250g fresh cranberries

Heat the oven to 150C. Grease an 8inch loose bottomed or spring form cake tin.

Method – Streusel

Combine the butter, almonds, brown sugar and cinnamon in a medium bowl. Work the mixture between your fingers to form large crumbs. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Method – Cake

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, ground cinnamon and salt in a medium bowl. Combine the eggs and sugar in a large mixing bowl and beat with an electric mixer until it is well combined (around five minutes).

Add the butter in a slow stream with the mixer on low, then turn up the speed to medium and beat for another couple of minutes. Stir in the vanilla.

Fold in the flour mixture a few large spoons at a time.

Stir in the cranberries.

Pour the butter into the prepared cake tin and smooth.

Sprinkle the streusel over the batter.

Bake in the centre of the oven until it is golden and a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean, about 1 hour to 1hour 10 minutes.

Let the cake cool in the tin on a wire rack for 10 minutes, then turn out and cool completely.

Venison, Chestnut & Mushroom Casserole

2011-01-08T08:18:00.001Z

I am going to gloss over the fact that 2010 saw a woeful lack of posts from this particular blogger. I could conjure all manner of tales of devoting my time to learning to tap dance, to walk a tight-rope or saving small amphibians in the outer hebrides. Or I could admit the very boring truth - that I've been devoting too much time to establishing myself as an independent businesswoman. Too much of my life has become dictated by work that is clear and my outside interests and passions have taken something of a backseat. Well, time for a change!

I still devour cook-books avidly and every morning I eat my breakfast whilst reading food blogs and even dabble occasionally in the kitchen but somehow the outcomes have not made it to Lemon Soul. Whilst reviewing the imbalance of my life, I spied the perfect opportunity to kick-start the change with regards to blogging. A couple of meat-loving girlfriends were coming over for Sunday lunch. Not only did I have a rare opportunity to cook meat but, aha, also an opportunity to take pictures and blog. So, here it is. A stew that is perfect for a very long and leisurely lunch on a wintery Sunday.

Venison, Chestnut & Mushroom Casserole

500g venison steak, cubed

2 tbsp cornflour/plain flour seasoned with salt and black pepper

olive oil

2 banana shallots, peeled and finely sliced

2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped

2 rashers smoked bacon, chopped into small pieces

200g mini chestnut mushrooms, wiped clean

300ml red wine

300ml hot chicken or vegetable stock

2 tbsp tomato puree

bay leaf

2 springs fresh thyme

200g pack of vacuum pack of cooked, peeled chestnuts

chunk of dark chocolate

Preheat the oven to 150C/300F/Gas 2.

First remove any traces of fat or sinew from the venison. Pat the meat dry with kitchen towel, then toss the meat in the seasoned flour (I find that throwing everything into a plastic bag is easiest – just remember to zip it shut!).

Heat 2tbsp of oil in a flameproof casserole and brown the meat until browned all over to seal in the flavour. Remove the meat.

Add 1tbsp or so of oil to the plan and tip in the onion and garlic. Fry until soft. Add the bacon and fry until it starts to crisp, adding more oil as necessary.

Add the mushrooms, add the chestnuts (breaking larger ones into smaller chunks) and return the meat to the pan.

Add the wine, stock, herbs and stir in the tomato puree. Season, stir thoroughly and bring to the boil.

Reduce to a simmer and then either simmer on the oven top or put in the oven. Cook for 1 ¼ hours if you are going to reheat the dish, else cook for 1 ½ to 1 ¾ hours, adding the chestnuts 30 minutes before the end of the cooking time.

When cooked, throw in a chunk of dark chocolate and stir until melted.

Baba Ghanoush - Comfort Food

2010-03-29T18:31:00.000Z

I find it fascinating that concepts of 'comfort food' can differ so wildly between people. That 'comfort' has such a varying meaning dependent on which particular need one is looking to fulfill and how we then translate that into food. For some, chocolate (predominantly milk rich) provides the ultimate hug if they are feeling somewhat low. For others, a large dish of fish or cottage pie with its rich pillows of potato topping is what they crave to dive into in times of need. Starchy and milky dishes seem to feature high on the menu for some (and no, I won't dabble with any tinpot theories of seeking the comfort of our mother's milk), whereas others seem to favour a steaming bowl of goodness either in vegetable or fruit form.

Feeling rather fatigued and hungry after a rare late night out (made even later by the clocks springing forward) without supper, lunchtime found me seeking the silky and unctuous stroking that only one of my favourite dishes can guarantee - baba ghanoush. This Arabic dish based on roasted or grilled aubergines, has cousins known as mutababal in the Levant and patlican salatasi in Turkey, both of which have variations of seasonings although the main ingredient and method remains the same. Research indicates that to be truly authentic, baba ghanoush should include flat-leaf parsley. Sadly, hunger got the better of me after a long, brisk walk and so I simply went with the ingredients that my fridge and cupboards could offer.

Baba Ghanoush (my version)
2 aubergines
3 unpeeled garlic cloves
1/2 - 1tsp ground cumin
squeeze of lemon juice
salt to taste

1. Preheat your oven to 200C. Stab the aubergines a few times with a fork - this prevents them from exploding in the oven. Pop them in the oven with the whole garlic cloves in a dish until they are soft, approximately 30 minutes.
2. When they are cool, cut the aubergines in half and scoop the flesh into a food processor (if you'd prefer a stiffer dish, put the flesh in a colander to allow any liquid to drain. I was too hungry!). Squeeze the garlic from they're papery coats into the processor. Add a squeeze of lemon juice, the ground cumin and a good grinding of salt. Whizz until you have a smooth puree.

That's it. Simple, fairly quick and delicious to dive into when one is in need of comfort.

(p.s I'm aware that it's not the most visually appealing of dishes but the taste more than compensates for the lack of aesthetics).

Fish Pie

2010-02-22T10:37:00.001Z

Living alone has rendered me somewhat of a lazy cook, as demonstrated by my lack of posts. I rarely take the time and care to create something overly tempting or complicated for myself, and I certainly never try new recipes out if they are only to feed one. I was delighted therefore to have an opportunity to try a twist on an old favourite for two very dear friends. It was a terribly wet and cold evening and so a warming but informal fish pie was the perfect dish - and something that I would not go to the bother of making for just me. The whole process, from selecting ingredients, to skinning fish whilst my dear friend Peter mashed celeriac, warmed my soul and reminded me just how much I relish the challenge of adapting recipes and nurturing others by providing a meal.

Fish Pie (serves four) adapted from Sophie Dahl's recipe in December's Observer Food Monthly

for the topping
1 large celeriac
milk
salt and pepper

for the pie
700-800g fish fillets (I used a mixture of undyed smoked haddock and pollack)
200g large, cooked and peeled prawns
600ml milk
2 bay leaves
four black peppercorns
olive oil
one small onion, chopped
2 leeks, white part only, finely chopped
handful of peas, defrosted if frozen
3tbs chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 1/2 tbp soya margarine (or butter)
3tbsp cornflour or arrowroot
white wine

1. Peel the celeriac and cut into chunks. Boil under tender.
2. Drain, return to the pan with a splash of milk and mash with vigour (you can use a blender if you prefer a smoother topping). Season and set aside.
3. Preheat your oven to 200C.
3. Place the fish in a large, flat pan, cover with milk. Add the bay leaves and peppercorns. Poach for four minutes (you may need to do this in two batches). Remove the fish, pour the milk into a jug. When the fish is cool, remove any skin and check for bones, flaking the fish with your hands as you go. Rinse the prawns and add them to your fishy mix.
4. Heat a splash of oil in a frying pan and sweat the onion and leeks without allowing them to catch and go brown. When soft, remove from the heat and stir in the peas and parsley.
5. In a large pan, melt the margarine on a low heat and stir in the cornflour or arrowroot mixed with a little of the milk to make a paste. Slowly pour in the rest of the milk and increase the heat whilst continually stirring until you have a thick sauce. Add the fish, vegetable mix and a good slug of white wine. Season (go steady on the salt).
6. Pour the mixture into a deep baking dish. Cover with the celeriac mash.
7. Pop in the oven for 20 minutes.

And perhaps it's about time that I started to nurture myself a little more frequently. Hmmm.

Spiked Scrambled Eggs

2010-01-25T13:43:00.001Z

January in London, with its interminable dark and dank cloak that suffocates and oppresses, is not a month that I enjoy. Certainly not this year as the uncertainty of my working and financial future lies before me as a gaping abyss and threatens to cripple the few vestiges of professional confidence I've managed to salvage after redundancy. The relentless rain and a fear of spending money seem to be keeping me prisoner in my flat and in danger of descending into a routine of rituals and habits within which I feel safe, food included.

Today however I decided to make some changes and, after an injection of sunshine via a sykpe chat with my wonderful friend in the Seychelles, I took heed of Lucy's words and am going to try to 'be kind to myself'. I will make plans to see friends rather than hiding away, I will escalate the (in)offensive on alerting contacts to my availability and I will soothe my tastebuds and mood by investing more time and love into my food. I will nurture rather then feed myself - body and soul. Or at least that's the theory.

So, on this freezing Monday lunchtime which saw me with a raging hunger (and yes, I am still going for the burn at the gym almost daily!) and an impending cold (thank you dear nephews), I decided upon a rare treat of scrambled eggs on a gluten-free but no less comforting muffin substitute of grilled portobello mushrooms. Of course, being me, I cannot allow a meal to pass without an injection of greenery and a twist of some description, hence my strange but good version of scrambled eggs.

Spiked Scrambled Eggs (serves 1)
2 eggs
splash of fino sherry
large handful of baby spinach leaves
salt and pepper

1. Whisk the eggs, adding a splash of sherry.
2. Tear the leaves into small pieces and add to the merry egg mix. Stir well and season as you see fit.
3. Heat a non-stick pan (or if you like the taste of butter and prefer to cook in a normal pan, warm a pan and melt a good sized nub of butter until melted). Pour in the egg mix and stir regularly until the eggs are truly scrambled (I remove the pan from the heat after a couple of minutes but continue to stir - this prevents the eggs from suddenly veering from pillow perfection to a rubbery mess).

Serve on toasted English muffins (as in what the savoury patties we used to know as muffins rather than the toothsome, sweet American buns for which we now commonly use the term). Or if you prefer or have to avoid gluten, tip the egg onto chargrilled large, flat mushrooms.

Serve with a glass of tomato juice and a good dollop of ketchup and your vitamin and nutritional needs are met. And, whilst it doesn't come close to a real bear hug, I certainly felt cared for just that little bit more.

Gluten and Dairy Free Double Chocolate Cookies

2010-01-11T18:04:00.001Z

2009 ended on something of a sour note. Not only was I made redundant but managed to slip on ice and break my right elbow, and yes, you guessed it, I'm right handed. Suddenly my default mechanisms for lifting my mood were very limited. Not only could I not write and struggled to type, or 'go for the burn' at the gym but nor could I bake myself a positive mental pie. This was the first festive season for years that I had not reveled in knocking up batches of mince pies, baking dozens of Christmas biscuits or creating comforting casseroles. I had to resort to buying sad little packs of pre-sliced vegetables so I could at least make soup with a hand-held liquidiser. Thank goodness for pre-chopped ginger and chillies!

This winter feels especially cruel as Jack Frost has his icy talons gripped firmly around Europe and we are battling against unforgiving winds, dangerous black ice and blasts of snow. It is at times a struggle to venture outdoors (other than to slide to the gym in my wellies) and this afternoon I succumbed to the need to hibernate but also to bake a pleasing, chocolatey treat and to test my fast-healing arm out. If I can bake, I can tackle 2010 with relish and succeed. And so much the better if it's a treat does not contain gluten or dairy and so one in which I can personally indulge.

As the pleasing, biscuity aromas leaked from the oven, I sighed with pleasure and thought '2010 may indeed be a year full of challenges and uncertainty, but I will survive. And enjoy life. Chocolate and all.'

So, here follows an indulgent recipe for gluten and dairy free double chocolate cookies, adapted from the ridiculously tempting 'the hummingbird bakery cookbook' that a dear friend gave me for Christmas. Bake, breathe and consume. And enjoy the start of a new year and whatever it may hold.

Gluten and Dairy Free Double Chocolate Cookies
(makes 6-7 large cookies)
25g soya margarine
225g dark chocolate - 125g roughly broken, remainder 100g chopped in a food processor
1 medium egg
85g light muscovado sugar
42.5g gluten free flour (I used what I had which amounted to half quantity each of rice and tapioca flours)
1/4tsp salt
1/4tsp gluten free baking powder

1. Preheat oven to 170C/gas 3. Line a baking sheet with baking parchment.
2. Put the margarine and 125g of roughly broken chocolate in a heatproof bowl over a small saucepan of just simmering water. Ensure that the bottom of the bowl does not touch the water. Leave until it has all melted and has a smooth appearance. Allow to cool a little.
3. Beat the egg and the sugar until well combined. Slowly beat in the chocolate/margarine mixture until jolly well mixed.
4. Sift the flour, salt and baking powder and gradually stir into the chocolate mixture, ensuring it is well combined.
5. Stir the remaining, finely chopped 100g of chocolate into the mixture until well mixed.
6. Spoon roughly equal amounts of the mixture onto the prepared baking sheet (I made seven), ensuring they are evenly spaced as they will spread. Bake in the oven for anything between 10-15 minutes - checking regularly after 10 minutes. You are aiming for a glossy finish and cracks to appear on the top.
7. Remove from the oven and leave to cool somewhat on the baking sheet. Transfer to a wire cooling rack after around 5-10 minutes.

If this virgin batch were not potentially headed for young mouths, I would have added a few teaspoons of dried chili flakes and next time I will reduce the amount of sugar and increase that of salt. They'd also work with some salted pecan nuts thrown in and....... I shall stop there else will spoil the subject of a future blog!

And there will be more to come. This is going to be the year of food, blogging and lots of changes. 2010 here I come!

Plum and Ginger Cake (for plum chums)

2009-11-30T20:47:00.001Z

Words are such funny things. Just one word can contain such a myriad of meanings depending on its usage, context, user etc. Take the word 'plum'. To some the obvious link will be made with the gorgeous autumnal fruit with a misty bloom that dissipates with the lightest of strokes. Others will immediately think of something agreeable, pleasant, undemanding or even comfy (according to my reliable online Thesaurus).

So when searching for a fitting end to two meals with two seperate but equally 'plum' and dear friends, and, given the plethora of cheap Victorias in the local shop, the obvious solution was a plum cake.

One quick skate through my burgeoning library of cookery bakes and a hurried stock-take of the cupboards later, I arrived at the following adaptation of Nigel Slater's 'wonderfully moist, fresh plum cake', using what I had to hand. And, I confess, my irritating habit of tweaking every recipe I try.

Plum and Ginger Cake
150g unsalted butter, softened
75g unrefined caster sugar
75g demerera sugar
3 large eggs, beaten
75g plain flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1tsp ground ginger
100g ground almonds
50g chopped nuts (I used almonds)
4 nuggets of stem ginger, chopped
12-16 plums (depending on size)

1. Preheat the oven to 180C/gas 4. Line the base of a 20cm square cake tin with baking parchment and grease the sides with butter.
2. Cream the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy.
3. Add the eggs slowly, adding a spoon or two of flour with each addition to avoid curdling.
4. Mix to combine then stir in remainder flour, baking powder and ground ginger.
5. Stir in the ground almonds, chopped nuts and the stem ginger. Stir well but with a light hand.
6. Spoon the cake mixture into the cake tin and level the top.
7. Stone and quarter the plums. Scatter as evenly as possible over the top of the cake mixture.
8. Pop the cake tin into the centre of the oven and cook for approximately 45 minutes or until a skewer emerges cleanly when inserted.
9. Leave to cool in the tin for 15 minutes then remove.

I divided the results into two pieces. The first was taken as an after-dinner offering to the wonderfully accomplished cook (and reluctant blogger Xochitl) last night. The remainder is to be post-lunch or afternoon tea treat for my darling friends Peter and Max in only a matter of hours.
Plum treats for plum friends.

Warming Leek and Parsnip Soup

2009-11-24T12:55:00.002Z

When element of one's life seems to be in turmoil and the weather is doing it's best to bring one down, there is something deeply comforting about a large bowl of soothing soup. To be enveloped by the delicious, warming steam from a saucepan of root vegetables bubbling in mildly spiced liquid. A much needed soothing of one's jangled senses. The day can only get better.

Warming Leek and Parsnip Soup (makes two-three servings)
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 leeks, rinsed and sliced
2 parsnips, peeled (core removed if woody) and chopped
1 thumb sized piece of root ginger, peeled and chopped
1 tsp dried chilli flakes
1 tsp curry powder
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
slug dry sherry (optional)
freshly grated nutmeg (optional)
freshly ground black pepper and sea salt

1. Warm a good slug of olive oil in a large saucepan and add the onion, garlic and leek.
2. Once the vegetables have softened, add the parsnips and ginger and stir well.
3. Add enough boiling water (you could use stock if you prefer) to cover the veggies. Add the chilli, curry powder, cumin and coriander. Stir well and bring to the boil, covering the pan.
4. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for approximately 15 minutes or until the parsnips are soft.
5. Liquidise the ingredients either with a hand-held blender or in a liquidiser adding more water/stock as necessary.
6. Add a slug of sherry (I don't know why but it accentuates the flavours), season to taste and serve with a grating of fresh nutmeg.

You could also add a swirl of cream if you're minded to or a spoon of decent mango chutney (omitting the nutmeg if you're tempted by the latter. I know it sounds odd but trust me, it works!).

Sit yourself down with your favourite cookbook for reading material and watch the rain lash against your window whilst you bask in the warmth of your soup.

Wilkinson Family Christmas Cake 2009

2009-11-21T18:26:00.002Z

The last Sunday before Advent is traditionally known as 'Stir Up Sunday' whereby families return from church to stir sumptuous mixtures for Christmas puddings and cakes and make a wish for the New Year. I'm not sure what making wishes has to do with organised religion, however, who am I to argue with hundreds of years of tradition. And so this weekend sees me soaking dried fruits in brandy and grating nutmeg in readiness to bake the Wilkinson family Christmas cake.

As with the family fruit cake, the original recipe was I believe from Saint Delia, tweaked by my mother and has subsequently been jiggled with by yours truly. Ensure that you have an afternoon or evening spare to stay at home as it's quite a lengthy process. But hopefully well worth it. Here is the recipe for this year's;

Wilkinson Family Christmas Cake

1lb 14oz mixed dried fruit (I used a mixture that included candied peel)

2oz glace cherries

100ml brandy

8oz plain flour

1/2tsp salt

1/2tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1/2tsp ground mixed spice

8oz unsalted butter, at room temperature

8oz soft brown/muscavado sugar

4 medium eggs

2oz blanched, lightly toasted almonds, roughly chopped

3tbsp thick cut marmalade

grated zest 1 unwaxed lemon

pared zest 1 unwaxed orange

8inch round cake tin, double lined and greased with a double layer of baking parchment around the outside of the tin, tied with string (see picture)

1. The night before you are going to bake, weigh out the dried fruit into a non metallic bowl, stir in the brandy, cover with a clean cloth and leave for 12 hours.
2. Preheat oven to 140C/gas mark 1.
3. Sift the flour, salt and spices.
4. Cream the butter and sugar until it is fluffy.
5. Beat the eggs in a separate bowl and add to the creamed butter at tablespoon at a time, stirring in a spoon of flour at the same time to avoid the mixture curdling.
6. Fold in the remainder flour then fold in the fruit, peel, chopped nuts, marmalade and fruit zests.
7. Spoon into the prepared cake tin and cover the top of the cake with a piece of greaseproof paper, leaving a hole the size of a 50 pence (this prevents the cake from burning).
8. Bake on the lowest shelf in the oven for a minimum of 4.5 hours. It can take up to 45 minutes longer depending on your oven, dried fruit used etc so rely on the good old skewer test (insert a skewer - if it is clean upon removal, the cake is ready). Whatever happens, don't open the oven door for a peak until at least four hours are up!
9. Leave the cake to cool in the tin. Remove the top paper, make a few small holes in the top of the cake with a skewer and drizzle in a little brandy.
10. When cool, wrap the cake in clean baking parchment, then foil and keep in an airtight tin. 'Feed' the cake with a spoon or three of brandy every few days. The cake will keep for up to two months like this.

I have not posted a picture of the finished article as I'm aware that it will look remarkably similar to my previous post. When it is suitably adorned with marzipan and icing in December (for the Wilkinson early Christmas) I'll pop an image up then.

Happy Christmas baking!

Failproof Family Fruitcake

2009-11-14T13:12:00.012Z

I am somewhat appalled to see that I have allowed such a huge amount of time to lapse since my last post. It's not that I haven't baked, stirred, nibbled and sipped. More that I haven't taken as much pleasure in cooking, rarely bother to create anything exciting for myself and, I confess, my head space has been filled with coping with the changes that life tends to throw at one.

Today however something stirred within me. It is rather complicated and involves the acceptance of numerous changes and the excitement, rather than terror, that they have brought. More specifically though, I awoke early this morning to a howling gale and torrential rain and craved nothing more than to be enveloped in the comforting fug that is

created by the baking of a spiced fruit cake to be shared with family. A warming glow to dispel the chill of Autumn and wonderful aromas of nutmeg and ginger to counter those of damp leaves. And the knowledge that a cake still warm from the oven will be gratefully received by my sister and her family.

This is an inexcusably simple recipe for which I make no apology. Sometimes the simplest things in life really are the best, something I increasingly realise the older I get. In its original version I believe this cake hailed from Delia Smith however it has subsequently been tweaked by my mother and then by me. It has become the default Wilkinson fruit cake of choice and on a wet November day, the very tonic for every ill.

Wilkinson Fruit Cake (and no, that isn't my new nickname!).

10oz mixed dried fruit

2oz glace cherries

4oz muscavado or soft brown sugar

4oz unsalted butter, cut into cubes

1/4pt water

juice and zest 1 orange

1 medium egg

8oz self-raising flour*

1/4tsp each of ground nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and mixed spice

1. Preheat oven to 150C/gas mark 2.5. Grease a 7" round cake tin.

2. Place fruit, cherries, sugar, butter, water, juice and zest in a saucepan and simmer slowly for 20 minutes.

3. Allow to cool then add the beaten egg. Stir in the flour and spices.

4. Turn into the cake tin and smooth the surface.

5. Bake in the middle of the oven for approximately 1.5 hours or until an inserted skewer comes out clean.

*if you only have plain flour, you can convert it into self-raising by adding 2-3 teaspoons of baking powder for every 250g/9oz plain flour used.

Balls! Spicy Fish Ones

2008-07-07T17:24:00.006Z

Think balls in London in July and most people tend to think of Wimbledon. I however think of these delicious little morsels which I made for supper with one of my most beloved friends who loves all things fishy. http://newmanlegros.blogspot.com

The recipe is adapted from the super 'Steam Cuisine' by Marina Filippelli. It is uber healthy thanks to the method of cooking and is naturally gluten and dairy free.

Spicy Fish Balls serves 2 (with leftovers)

1 red chilli, seeded

1 garlic clove

nub of fresh ginger, peeled

handful of fresh coriander

1tsp cornflour

1/4tsp salt

1/4tsp caster sugar

300g white fish fillets, skinned

1/2tbsp tamari (or soy) sauce

1/2tsp sesame oil

1/2 medium egg

Put chilli, garlic, ginger and coriander in a food processor. Add cornflour, salt and sugar and whizz until finely chopped.

Feel the fish and remove any bones. Add to the processor with the tamari sauce, sesame oil and egg and whizz again until well blended.

Using wet hands, shape into 10 or so balls the size of large walnuts.

Cover with cling film and leave in the fridge for 30 minutes or over night.

Bring the water in your steamer to the boil.

Line the steamer with baking parchment and pop the fish balls inside. Steam for 4-5 minutes until they feel firm.

I served with jasmine rice, lime wedges and a cucumber, carrot and chilli salad.

Ballsy!

Fuggy Fig & Ginger Cakes

2008-06-11T20:51:00.007Z

It startles me to notice that my last few posts have been for sweet things and ones which I can consume without being ill. Indeed, ones for which I veritably relish licking the mixing bowl clean. And none more than these fig and ginger bites of delight. Clearly my days of rigorous self control are over (and combined with giving up smoking there's a risk of me turning into a figgy pudding), but these delicious babies, adapted from the Sunday Times, are so worth throwing out all the rule books for. They create a delicious fug in one's kitchen and a deeply satisfying 'aha' deep in the throat when one's teeth sink into their silky depths.

Fuggy Fig & Ginger Cakes (gluten & dairy free)

125 ground almonds

125g dark brown, soft sugar

1/2tsp baking powder (gluten free if required)

1/2 - 1tsp ground cinnamon

125g dried figs

2 balls stem ginger

juice and zest 1 orange

orange blossom water

3 eggs

Preheat oven to 190C/375F/gas 5. Put 12 paper cupcake cases in a bun tin.

Mix almonds, sugar, baking powder and cinnamon until well combined.

Remove any stalks from the figs and whizz in a food mixer with the ginger, orange juice, zest and a good splash of orange blossom water until you have a paste.

Combine the fig mixture with the almond mix. Beat in the eggs one at a time until you have a smooth batter.

Divide between the cupcake cases then bake in the oven for 25 minutes, turning the tray half way through.

When cooked, remove from the tray and cool on a wire wrack.

Delicious for breakfast with a steaming, strong espresso.

A Berry Pleasant Brunch

2008-03-06T22:43:00.008Z

What does one conjure up for a bevvy of girls of varying ages for a late breakfast? Muffins of course! And for one particular big girl, a gluten-free berry special treat.....

Blueberry Muffins (12)

Dry Ingredients:

5oz caster sugar

9oz self-raising flour

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

grated zest of a lemon

Wet Ingredients:

3oz unsalted butter, melted and cooled

2 large eggs, beaten

7fl oz milk (200ml)

1tsp lemon essence

150g blueberries

Heat oven to 180C fan/200C/Gas 6. Line a 12 hole muffin tin with paper cases (the cuter the better).

Combine dry ingredients in a bowl.

Mix the wet ingredients in a jug, pour into the dry and stir until just combined. Don't over mix else the muffins will be tough.

Gently fold in the blueberries.

Spoon the mixture into the cases and bake for 15-20 minutes until golden and firm. Cool on a rack.

Gluten Free Raspberry & Pink Pepper Muffins (also suitable for lactose intolerant) (makes 6)

90g rice flour

40g ground almonds

1tsp xanthum gum

1tsp gluten free baking powder

25g soya margarine

40g caster sugar

grated zest 1/2 lemon

1 egg

125ml milk (goats/rice/soya)

1tsp lemon essence

125g raspberries

1tbsp pink peppercorns

Preheat oven to 180C fan/200C/ Gas 6.

Sift flour, almonds, gum and baking powder into bowl and mix well (this is very important with gluten free flours). Add sugar and stir in lemon zest.

Melt margarine in a pan and leave to cool.

Whisk together egg, milk, lemon essence and cooled butter and pour into dry ingredients. Stir to combine. Fold in raspberries and pink peppercorns (I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it works!).

Spoon into muffin cases. Bake in oven for 20-25 minutes until golden and cooked through/

So, the little girls were replete, the bigger girls were happy and the token male looked content. A berry acceptable outcome.

Lemon Whatevers

2008-02-10T18:07:00.001Z

Unlike some who share my need to steer clear of gluten and dairy, I would rather simply go without baked fare, rather than subject my tastebuds to the various bread and cake concoctions which now nestle on our shop shelves. Those I have tasted seem simply dry, as heavy as a sumo wrestler and about as visually appealing. And have you seen the amount of preservatives and other strange additional ingredients which are necessary to make these goods palatable? Baking is a precise artform and so why mess with time tested recipes? No, it is enough for me to create cupcakes for others and to take the pleasure in the measuring, creaming and icing. To smell freshly baked baguettes whilst buying my coffee. Until today.

Perhaps it was the sunshine, the satisfying fug of the cake baked for friends or the realisation that life is too short to agonise over the thought of eating a few extra calories. Whatever the reason, temptation stretched its talons and firmly gripped me. Surely it is possible to make something approaching tasty with alternative ingredients?

I consulted various websites and finally opted for Gluten Free Girl. Her lemon oil cookies seemed harmless enough (and not overly calorific) and so I started converting US measurements, adapting ingredients to my taste and threw a few in of my own. Rather than cookies however, the ensuing mixture was more akin to that of a cake or muffin batter, and so I poured it into individual cake cases. Are they a biscuit? A cake? Of that, I'm not sure. The ground almonds ensure a frangipane like taste and moist texture and the lemon essence masks the strange taste I simply can't get used to of soya flour. I'm not sure that I'll be making these every week (my hips will be very glad of that statement), however more of them may end up in my stomach as opposed to the bin, than I had anticipated. So here they are. Biscuit/cake/Lemon Whatevers.

Lemon Whatevers

4tbsp soya yogurt

4tbsp olive oil

slug lemon essence (or limoncello)

rind and juice of 1 lemon

1 egg, beaten

360g rice flour

120g gram flour

240g ground almonds

240g golden caster sugar

1tsp gluten free baking powder

handful or so of dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 180C / gas 4.

Measure the yogurt and oil into a bowl and mix to combine. Add the egg, lemon rind, juice and essence. Mix well.

Combine all the dry ingredients and fold into the wet ones until combined, adding the cherries towards the end.

Spoon into cake cases and bake for approximately 20 minutes until set.

Rest for five minutes in the tin then remove onto a wire rack to cook.

Bite, chew and swallow - along with any preconceptions about alternative baked goodies.

Apples & Blackberries - Technology in a Cake

2008-02-10T17:41:00.001Z

It is strange to think that for people born from 1990 onwards, their immediate thought when faced with the words 'apple' and 'blackberry' will most likely be of the latest ipod or mac and mobile communication device, rather than a shiny, crisp fruit and a cluster of tart berries.

I am somewhat of a techno phobe however an increase of time on the road forced me to join the 21st century and to succomb to the allures of the latest BlackBerry (free of charge I hasten to add thanks to hard bargaining). That was a month ago. I've dabbled with trying to make it pick up emails but each attempt has left the air blue and, on one occassion, witnessed me hurling the blessed device across the room.

So, when invited over to my lovely friends for Sunday lunch (one of whom just happens to be the rising star of the BBC on all things techie), I seized the opportunity to seek advice on the rotten handset. As a rather apt thank you, and contribution to lunch, I decided to make a cake on a vague techno theme - an apple and blackberry cake. With nuts. Because that's what the whole damned thing is slowly driving me.

Apple, Blackberry & Pecan Cake

150g unsalted butter, softened

150g light brown muscovado sugar, plus a handful

150g self-raising sugar

1tsp ground cinnamon

3 eggs, beaten

2tbsp milk

2 eating apples, peeled, cored and cut into chunks

100g pecan nuts, chopped

100g blackberries

Pre-heat the oven to 180C / gas 4. Grease an 8'/20cm cake tin.

Cream the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add the cinnamon to the flour then add a spoon of flour and a little of the egg to the creamed sugar and stir to combine. Repeat until egg and flour are all incorporated. Add the milk and stir.

Add the apple to the mixture (but save one handful) with the pecans and blackberries. Stir well.

Pour into the cake tin and level with a spatula. Scatter over the remaining apple and then sprinkle over a good handful of sugar (this makes a lovely glaze and fruity topping to the cake).

Bake in the oven for around 1hour (until a skewer can be inserted and comes out clean).

Slices were served after my friend's delicious lamb with dollops of creme fraiche. A bit of a success. Unlike the BlackBerry which is still a rather glamorous phone.

Apples and blackberries? They may work for some but I'll stick to communicating through my favourite medium. Food.

Root Veg and Feta Gratin

2007-12-30T19:11:00.002Z

Yes, I know, it's been nearly 11 months since I last posted anything. Those who know me understand why. Those who don't can only imagine.

The thing is that I have emerged stronger, happier and with a few more wrinkles that could tell a few stories.

I have cooked for friends infrequently and for myself often, yet lost the urge to 'create' and to blog. I have taken photos of numerous dishes throughout the year, intent on blogging, but simply didn't have the headspace nor the energy to follow through. The birthday cake for one darling friend, the miso and chilli salmon with wilted Asian greens for another, the salads and Lebanese dishes for various friends, the various steamed fish dishes I have created and tweaked for myself, the batches of eccles mincepies for various parties. Memories attached to each yet the pace of my silly life has not allowed me the space to blog. I am lucky enough to have had a few complaints and encouragement about this dirth, so, in a fit of complete arrogance, I am continuing! And I will, to the few readers I had, find another way of sharing my scribblings about my other life, without inviting such trauma! I'll be in touch.......

This is a heartening dish I cooked a few nights ago. The wind was biting, the cold was nibbling at every single extremity and so root vegetables and cheese were the only option. This is adapted from a Peter Gordon recipe which appeared in this month's Observer Food Monthly recipe.

Root Vegetable Gratin with Sage and Feta

serves 2-3 as main dish, 4-6 as side dish

1 medium sized swede, peeled and sliced very thinly

2 sweet potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced

100g pack feta, rinsed and crumbled (I used 1/2 fat feta)

small handful of sage leaves, shredded

nutmeg

350g celeriac, peeled and thinly sliced

1/2 leek, rinsed and thinly sliced

150ml boiling water

splash white wine

Preheat the oven to 180C/gas 4.

Oil a baking dish and place half the swede and sweet potato slices on the base of the dish. Scatter over half the feta and half the sage with a little seasoning and a fresh grating of nutmeg. Lay the celeriac slices ontop, followed by the leek then the rest of the feta and sage.

Put the remainder of the swede and sweet potato slices on top, pour in the boiling water with a splash of wine, season again and grate more fresh nutmeg on the top.

Make a cartouche by brushing one side of a sheet on baking parchment (the same size as your dish) with oil and lay on top of the veg. Cover with foil and seal tightly.

Bake for 1 1/2 hours then remove the covers and blast under a hot grill to crisp the upper layer.

Lovely when served on top of steamed spinach.

Piquant Parsley Paste

2007-02-24T20:01:00.002Z

A visit to Borough Market (for research purposes - something simmering with the Londonist website) saw me scuttling home with, amongst other goodies, diver-caught scallops, vine tomatoes, large flat mushrooms and handfuls of one of my favourite herbs; flat-leaf parsley.

Feeling rather like a contestant on Ready, Steady Cook, I opened my fridge door, perused the contents of my cupboards and decided on the following dish:
Griddled Scallops with Stuffed Mushrooms and Roasted Tomatoes
Easy!

Piquant Parsley Paste
This is just lovely and can be used with a whole myriad of things: stuff a whole fish; spread on grilled aubergine slices, spread with soft goats cheese and roll up; spread on grilled ciabatta for a crostini-type nibble - or pop into the cavity left by the stalk of a large mushroom after grilling it.

Ingredients
200g jar pitted green olives, drained
3-4 tbsp capers
2-3 anchovy fillets, drained/rinsed
1 clove garlic
handful flat-leaf parsley
1/2 lemon

Throw the first five ingredients into a food processor and blitz until you have a paste. Taste and add black pepper and as much juice of the lemon as you like.
Keep in a jar in the fridge.

Moroccan Mouthfuls

2007-02-24T19:14:00.001Z

Although I can't eat pastry (wretched gluten and dairy), I am always fascinated by the nutty delicacies that are served at the end of Middle Eastern meals. I watch my fellow diner's eyes roll skyward and listen to the appreciative murmurs that seep out of their every pore and think "if only I could have that effect." Culinary speaking, you understand.

And so I tried my hand at Claudia Roden's recipe for M'Hencha or Almond 'Snake'.
These coils of delight look incredible yet are deceptively easy to make, although a little time consuming. But soooo worth the effort if the resultant 'mmmmmm' factor is to be believed. One grateful recipient refused to believe that they were homemade - result!

Almond 'Snake'
(makes approximately 15)
For the filling:
750g ground almonds
500g caster sugar
1 tbsp ground cinnamon
100-125ml orange blossom water

For the pastry:
250g sheets of filo pastry
60g unsalted butter, melted
1 egg yolk mixed with water

Preheat the oven to 170 C / gas 3.
Mix all the filling ingredients together and knead them into a paste with your hands (this is great for your skin by the way!). Take lumps of the paste and roll between your palms into 'snakes' about 2cm thick.
Put a pile of filo sheets in front of you with the longer sides facing you.
Brush the top sheet of pastry with melted butter and place the fingers of almond paste along the length about 2cm in from the edge to make one long log of paste.
Roll the filo up over the filling into a long, thin cigar and tuck the ends in to stop it all squirting out.
Lift the roll onto a work surface and push gently in from both ends as if (according to Ms Roden) playing an accordion! Then gently curve into a coil so it resembles a snake. Repeat with the rest of the pastry.
Brush all the coils with the egg yolk and water glaze, pop on a baking sheet and cook in the middle of an oven for around 30 minutes until golden.
Let the snakes cool on the baking sheet and when cold, sprinkle with icing sugar.

Very rich and perfect with coffee or desert wine. Or both.

A Fragrant February

2007-02-20T22:24:00.001Z

When the weather is particularly grey and one is yearning for Spring to burst forth as opposed to teasing us with a mild day which is then chased away by one of snow, it is natural to crave food that conjures images of warm sunny days. And so I find that this month I have reached for cookery books by Claudia Roden and the Sams Clark for dishes which are fragrant with spices such as cinnamon and sumac and sweetened with dried fruits and pomegranate molasses.

As ever I have tweaked recipes to suit my own particular tastes (and those of my guests) and tried to use at least a couple of seasonal ingredients - in this case, deliciously pink Yorkshire rhubarb.

Lamb & Rhubarb Khoresh (adapted from Waitrose Food Illustrated) serves 4
650-700g cubed lamb
1 large onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
450ml hot stock (preferably lamb but vegetable would be fine)
large handful flat leaf parsley, coarsely chopped
large handful mint leaves, coarsely chopped
1 stick cinnamon
400g rhubarb, but into 4cm lengths
1 tbsp sugar

Heat a good glug of oil in a large casserole and brown the meat all over.
Remove and tip in the onion, cooking until soft and golden. Return the meat to the pan, add the stock, season and bring to the boil. Turn the heat down to a simmer and leave to gently bubble for 30 mins.
Add 3/4 of the herbs and the cinnamon and cook for another 30 minutes.
Stir in the rhubarb and cook gently without the lid for 15 minutes or until the rhubarb is tender (as opposed to a mush).
Stir in the sugar, check the seasoning and add the rest of the herbs before you serve.

Mussaka' A Menazzaleh
(aubergine with tomatoes and chickpeas) serves 5 as a side dish, 2 as a main
2 aubergines
oil
3 garlic cloves, crushed
600g tomatoes, peeled and chopped
1 stick of cinnamon
1-2 tbsp pomegranate molasses
1 400g tin chickpeas, drained and rinsed
handful of flat leaf parsley, chopped

Cut the aubergines in half lengthwise and then into thin slices. Brush with oil, salt and grill for 15 minutes, turning once half way through.
Heat some oil in a large pan, add the garlic and cook until softens. Add the tomatoes, squashing them with a spoon. Season, add the cinnamon stick and cook for 15 minutes.
Add the molasses, throw in the aubergine slices and simmer for 30 minutes. If it gets rather dry add a little passatta.
Add the chickpeas at the end and serve with the parsley sprinkled on top.

(If this is a main, serve with chunks of feta cheese crumbled over the top)

And to finish, a simple fruit salad of sliced oranges, doused with rosewater and sprinkled with sliced Mejdool dates and icing sugar.

Save Our Sticky Stuff!

2007-01-28T19:13:00.001Z

England, unite! Our jampots need us. Marmalade, the sticky stuff that jells our country’s identity together, is in danger of extinction. Only we can save it.

Shockingly, a recent report from market analyst TNS, reveals that sales of marmalade have dropped by 4.4% in the past year whilst sales of honey and jam are on the increase. Apparently the sappy youfs of England can’t handle the tang of marmalade and crave the instant sugary hit of jam.

Luckily Seville oranges are currently in season so you can do your bit to save the organgey preserve. Get yourself down to the market, pick up a cartload (they are incredibly cheap right now) and immerse yourself in a citrus fug on a Sunday afternoon, as Xochitl (see link for her super blog) and I did recently.

The below is an easy recipe for simple, but delicious, basic marmalade.

Seville Orange Marmalade

(makes approximately 5lb)

1 ½ lb Seville oranges (washed and scrubbed to remove wax)
1 unwaxed lemon
3lb preserving sugar (or caster sugar)
(you will also need a large stockpot or preserving pan with handles, a square of muslin, jam pots and wax discs)

1. Cut the oranges and the lemon in half and squeeze out the juice. Put the pips and as much of the membrane as you can scrape off into the muslin square. Tie the muslin up into a ball with string.
2. Slice the peel (use a Foodaid or Magimix to save time) as coarsely or finely as you like and put into the pan with the juice and three pints of water.
3. Suspend the bag of pips in the liquid and tie to a pan handle (so you can remove it later without scalding yourself). Bring the mixture to the boil and simmer for 1 – 1½ hours until the liquid has reduced by half.
4. Warm the packets of sugar in the oven on a low temperature (this helps the sugar crystals to dissolve quicker) and the clean jam jars to sterilize them. And pop a couple of saucers into the freezer (trust me, I know what I’m doing!) and
5. Fish out the muslin bag and squeeze as much liquid as possible back into the pan (the pips contain pectin which is essential for making the marmalade set to be brutal!).
6. Stir the sugar into the pan until it has dissolved and boil hard for 15 minutes. To test to see if the marmalade has reached setting point, take a saucer out of the freezer and plop a blob of marmalade onto it. If the mixture wrinkles and holds its shape when you push your fingertip through it, then it’s ready. If not, continue to boil and try again.
7. When ready, leave the marmalade to stand for 10 minutes and then bottle into the jars, placing a wax disc on top of each jar (this prevents mould from forming on the surface).

Try to resist eating for at least a month whilst the flavours mature and develop. And in the meantime show your support for the save our marmalade campaign by voting for it as an English icon at www.icons.org.uk/nom/nominations/orange-marmelade-1-2

Mother's Ruin?

2006-12-03T19:51:00.002Z

It has been an awfully long time since my last food blog, for no other reasons than I am trying to restrain the ramblings on my personal life elsewhere and that my newly acquired single-status does not lead to the most scintillating of sensory overloads. As yet.

However last night I had a rare opportunity to cook, and not just for anyone, but for someone I love. My mother.

The older I get, the more I appreciate my parents and I increasingly relish the tastes and pleasures in which we share. And for mum and I, one of these little joys has to be the fragrant and heady flavours of gin. Dubbed 'mother's ruin' for a whole host of reasons in the 18th century (on which I can bore for Britain, my specialist degree subject bizarrely encompassed such matters - a hint is the works of Hogarth), I am happy to reveal that my mother and I find that gin, rather than ruining an evening, tends to enhance it.

The situation for our happy reunion is immaterial, suffice to say we found ourselves alone, in an alien kitchen with salmon fillets, a bottle of gin, sparse store-cupboard goodies and a camera on its last legs (hence the dirth of images). Mother's ruin? More like Mother's Success.

Tipsy Salmon (for a tipsy mother/daughter combination)
olive oil
2 leeks - washed and finely sliced
1 garlic clove, finely sliced
juice of half a lemon
gin
bay leaf
flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
two salmon fillets

Preheat the oven to 180-200 centigrade.
Put the leeks, garlic, bay leaf and parsley in a shallow oven-proof dish. Sprinkle over a good glug of olive oil, lemon juice and a sizeable glug of gin. Season and cover with tin foil. Pop into the oven for approx 20 minutes, turning at least once. When the leeks are soft, nestle the salmon fillets on top of the leeks (skin down), re-cover with foil and cook for approx 15-2o minutes depending on how well one likes one's salmon cooked. Baste at least once during cooking time to prevent the fish dying out, adding more gin/lemon juice or even a splash of apple juice if necessary.

Enjoy with steamed greens, possibly jasmine rice, but certainly with one's mother.

BBC Good Food Show??

2006-11-10T19:38:00.001Z

Good Food Show? Not so one would notice.

I should have known from the difficulties I had purchasing a ticket (down to tracking down the organiser's office which promised to call me back. Twice). What a disappointment.

Years ago the Good Food Show was exactly what it's name implied. A wealth of interesting food suppliers and products, and although there were the obligatory used-car-type salesmen peddling all manner of squeezy implements and choppers, on the whole it represented good value for money at less than a tenner and an afternoon well spent.

How things change in a few years. Or perhaps it is one's standards and expectations that alter with age and experience. Whatever the reason I came away from Olympia this afternoon feeling rather saddened. Not only by what was on offer but also by my fellow show-goers.

The products proffered were predictable on the whole and collectively uninspiring. I imagine it is prohibitively expensive to participate which would explain the large brands that were represented. I was however rather taken with the following products:

Bateel - sparkling date juice
This gorgeous nectar is not cheap however it is a superb alcohol-free drink to offer guests (and oneself on school nights) and looks rather impressive in its glitzy bottle. Two bottles are now nestling expectantly in my wine racks....... www.iskbeverages.com

www.intolerablefood.com
Perhaps not the most inviting of names but this is the first range of gluten and dairy frozen ready meals that I have encountered. Sadly the freezer section of my fridge is replete with edamame, peas and ice and I feel uncomfortable considering any ready-meals due to the laziness factor, however I feel duty bound to spread the word.

Black Mountain
When I was a younger and was coming down with a cold or flu, my mother would always offer a little brandy and hot water. Uuuegh. My tastebuds simply cannot stand the assault of harsh spirits such as neat brandy and whisky, so I was startled to find myself buying a tiny bottle of Black Mountain - an apple brandy with blackcurrant which is as smooth and warming as a French Kiss (I vaguely remember what they are like!).

Socialite London
I have been rather hesitant to share this particular find. A new venture is being launched and, I hasten to add, it is NOT a dating website. However if one likes to eat out and doesn't always have friends available to dine with, then one can find a number of dinner companions on www.socialite-london.com
Yes, the promo girl hooked me in like a pro ("You're single after how long? Oh that's tough. And you like trying new restaurants in London? This is soooo for you.") But it does sound rather fun and with a month free trial it's worth a shot.

But the people there!!! Oh my word. I think I'll elucidate on my other blog, but there must be something about free food (and especially alcohol as I remember from my wine trade days) that brings out the animal in people. And we're not talking cute, fluffy kittens here. More predatory, growling lions, ready to pounce. A rather unpleasant sight and experience all told.

So, if you're contemplating popping along I feel duty bound to advise against it. Save your money, go to Borough Market or your local farmers', fill your boots (or rather your basket) with quality, fresh produce and avoid the blatant consumerism. And the unpleasant grabbing hoards.

Mung's The Word

2006-11-06T21:00:00.002Z

I recently read that mung noodles are a good alternative to their wheat or rice counterparts, particularly if one is mindful of GI content. Whilst I'm not, I do find that carbs sit in my stomach like an unwelcome house guest and so when I spied a packet of these delicious, delicate noodles in my local Thai supermarket, I pounced on them with glee.

My shopping basket was soon full with lemon grass, galangal, limes, thai basil, red chillis and beansprouts. With the addition of a few chestnut mushrooms, spring onions and mange tout, a fiery but light supper was borne.

Huggermunger Stir-Fry
skein of mung bean noodles
1 clove garlic, finely sliced
1 red chilli, deseeded and finely sliced
2 spring onions, finely sliced
1 'thumb' of ginger, peeled and finely sliced
1 stem of lemongrass, outer leaves removed and firmly bashed
1 star anise flower
handful of chestnut mushrooms, wiped and sliced
handful of mange tout, sliced in half
handful of beansprouts
nam pla
tamari (or soy sauce)
sherry or rice wine

First soak the noodles in boiling water for 10 minutes.
Heat sesame or vegetable oil in a wok or frying pan and when shimmering-hot, add the garlic, chilli, ginger, lemongrass and star anise and briskly stir.
Add the onion, mushrooms, mange tout and beansprouts and tip in a good shaking of nam pla and tamari to your individual taste.
Pour in a little sherry or rice wine to add a little liquid.
Drain the noodles and add them to the pan.

Simplicity in itself, light on the stomach and good for fighting colds.

Yes, mung is the word.

FAT

2006-11-05T13:47:00.001Z

Lifetimes ago, when I had a very uncomfortable relationship with food, I avoided fat with a pathological obsession.

I would watch my ex-husband eat half an avocado with horror, used God awful olive 'lite' spray with which to saute (I could never countenance the word 'fry'), skirted around nuts, counted and recorded the number of stolen crisps from my ex's packet of Hula-Hoops, removed any trace of whiteness from a piece of meat (back in the days when I ate the stuff) and convinced myself that an equation existed whereby the addition of essential oily fish to my diet equaled in gigantic thighs. Not a healthy, nor rational, way to exist.

Thankfully wisdom and a desire to be look after myself has come with age and now I relish the silky character that avocado lends to my homemade sushi handrolls, use olive oil liberally to sweat onions and celery, take enormous pleasure in my daily cracking of walnut shells to access the rich meat inside and try to ensure that if I don't get round to eating oily fish, then I at least take capsules containing their goodness.

But there is one food that still challenges me when I'm feeling a bit low. Cheese.

Being intolerant to cow's dairy I have a natural excuse to avoid the yellow stuff, but my stomach can take small amounts of goats and sheeps cheeses and yet my mind still balks at the fat content. I would never buy a block, let alone a sliver for myself and so tend to celebrate catering for others with a good-looking cheese board.

Last night was no exception. After a hearty and robust fish stew (I've blogged it before so won't bore you again although this time added butter beans), we dined on lactic acid - one cow and three goat. The wine flowed, the cow was polished off by my guests and I was left, to my dismay, with a substantial quantity of cheese which I could actually eat. Not letting myself cave in to the temptation to slide the lot into the waiting and hungry bin, I forced myself to pop it into the fridge. Where it sits, planning it's calorific assault on my arse.

Determined to dispel old behaviours, I re-introduced the cheeses to their board and ate a Sunday lunch of fromage, celery, cucumber, apple and a couple of mejdool dates. Washed down with a large glass of Australian Shiraz, a shot of coffee and accompanied by the tranquil tones of Pink Martini. And boy, it was good.

Tomme de Chevre
A texture that lies between hard and soft with an incredible depth of flavour. Reminds me of garlic for no good reason. A sumptuous luxury.

Murcia al Vino
This has a creamy consistency and a slight tannic twang (the rind is soaked in red wine) which is balanced by a gentle acidity and touch of citrus fruit.

Rosary
This is a mousse like cheese, light and airy with hints of lemon and grass. Divine with celery and would be the perfect partner to a steely Chablis or Sauvignon Blanc.

So, more fat in one meal than I would normally consume in a whole day but when coming down with a cold on a chilly Sunday, sometimes a little lard is required. And yes, I did go bananas at the gym this morning in anticipation and no, I can't promise that the remainder of the cheeses will resist the call of the bin, but at least I tried.

It's cabbage, but not as we know it......

2006-10-29T21:19:00.002Z

Doing my homework for my creative writing course today sent me spiraling back to my childhood and with it, the tastes and flavours which are so deeply ingrained with those memories. Some bad - liver, broad beans, dog biscuits (don't ask, I was a curious child) but mostly good - custard, crumble topping, peas, cod, anything baked by my mother, her bucketful's of strawberry jam (literally) and, weirdly, cabbage.

Perhaps not an obvious choice for a child but there was, and still is, something about white cabbage that makes my tummy smile. I have never liked Sunday roasts, finding meat rather cumbersome and indigestible, however I used to relish the taste of cabbage softened in gravy.

Since then, trips to Vienna have rekindled my love for cabbage, this time in the shape of sauerkraut, and when I spied a perfect little baby green example in the shop today I could not resist.

Still fighting off a cold and firmly believing that the combination of garlic, chili and ginger has the power to kill all wayward germs, I concocted the following cabbage dish. I added caraway seeds as they are reputed to counter the (ahem) gassy properties of cabbage but also I love the sweet character they add to a dish.

I'm afraid that I seem to have stopped measuring ingredients when I cook for one, taking a rather haphazard approach. Happily one that works but it does mean that I can't give exact quantities. Be brave, experiment!

Combat Cabbage
1 onion, finely sliced
1 red chili, deseeded and finely chopped
thumb' of ginger, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
sprinkling of caraway seeds
1 little baby cabbage, finely shredded
white miso soup made with paste and hot water (or use vegetable stock - I just don't have any!)
tamari (or soy sauce if you're not wheat-shy)
nam pla (fish sauce so omit if vegetarian)
sherry
frozen peas
half a can of cooked chickpeas

Fry the onion, garlic, chili and ginger in a glug of groundnut or vegetable oil until soft and sweet. Add the caraway seeds and the cabbage. Stir well.
Pour in enough miso or stock to cover, shake in a good measure of tamari or soy sauce, a drop or two of nam pla and sherry, stir and cover. Cook on a low heat for approximately 10 -15 minutes, checking the moisture levels and topping up with sherry/stock as necessary.
Add a handful of frozen peas and chickpeas (if you need the protein - else serve as a side dish to steamed white fish or pork chops), cover and cook for up to five minutes.

The white miso and caraway seeds create a sweet base for this dish which is counterbalanced by the tamari and chili. Oh yes, I have rekindled my love for cabbage. Just not in gravy this time.

Comforting Cod

2006-10-27T19:53:00.002Z

I am beginning to find my groove, such as it is, for now. I won't bore you with it here (if you're really interested you can always visit my other non-foodie blog) but I am finally learning that nourishing one's self - one's emotions, self-esteem, home and ultimately, one's appetite - is a recipe for contentment and one which should be encouraged rather than one in which to find guilt.

And so, in order to guard off a threatening cold (hence the ginger, garlic and chili) and to celebrate the opportunity for a candle-lit dinner for one I concocted the following simple, but soul-warming dish.

Comforting Cod
(yes, you guessed it, serves one gorgeous blonde)
sesame oil
2 cloves garlic, finely sliced
1 red chili, deseeded and finely sliced
'thumb' of ginger, peeled and finely chopped
star anis
1 leek, washed and finely sliced
150g crimini mushrooms, wiped clean (halve or even quarter the large ones)
sherry
nam pla (fish sauce)
tamari (or soy sauce - tamari has a meatier taste and just loves fungi - but then don't we all love a chap with a sense of humour?!)
handful of baby spinach leaves
1 cod fillet

Heat a good slug of sesame oil in a large frying pan to which you have the lid. Once warmed add the garlic, chili and ginger and muddle about for a few minutes.
Add the leek, cover and sweat, check occasionally that the leeks are not sticking to the pan. Trickle sherry in as and when necessary to avoid this and to create a shallow pool of liquor. Throw in a few petals of dried star anis.
After around 10 minutes when the leeks have lost their rubbery quality and softened to a baby's breath, add the mushrooms, a good shaking of both the nam pla and tamari and pop the lid back on the pan.
After around five to ten minutes throw in a handful of spinach leaves, another glug of sherry and replace the lid.
Sit the cod fillet on top of the vegetable tangle, replace the pan lid and allow the fish to gently steam for approx. five to ten minutes (depending on thickness of fillet and how well done you like your fish to be).
Remove the fish and serve the vegetable melange on a plate and then pop the fish on top.

I am aware the portion in the photo looks enormous and quite frankly, it was rather large! However as I don't tend to eat carbs (for no other reason than my odd stomach doesn't like them and that this morning I succumbed to the hi-tech weighing machine at the gym and am apparently a bit of a light weight with a BMI of just 19), I really don't care! As I said, it's about nourishing one's soul. Lemony or otherwise.

Venison for the Vegetarian

2006-10-23T13:56:00.002Z

When I first met my friend Darren he was a confirmed vegetarian. Well I say 'confirmed' although that is patently not the case. He first turned to the veggie side for love - not of green matter but of a girl. However, dating and then being married to the gorgeous Goody have turned his tastebuds again and love has returned him to am omnivorous state.

I now take great amusement in cooking meat for him and so used D and G's company as an opportunity to cook a venison casserole.

Venison is the only red meat that I eat - not only is it the healthiest (low in cholesterol and fat) but it is the only meat not to race through my troubled stomach, leaving a trail of intestinal devastation in its wake. Casseroling meat is such a gorgeous method to cook it - the flavours have an opportunity to melt and mingle and the fibres of the meat have time to tenderise into silky morsels. Casseroles are even better when reheated and so they are the perfect dish when entertaining - all the hard work has already been taken care of leaving you to enjoy your friends and the wine.

Venison and Pink Peppercorn Casserole
400g venison steak, cubed
cornflour
olive oil
2 banana shallots, peeled and finely sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
200g crimini mushrooms, wiped clean
red wine
tomato ketchup
dried oregano
pink peppercorns
chunk of dark chocolate

Preheat the oven to 150 degrees centigrade.
First remove any traces of fat or sinew from the venison. Put a few spoons of cornflour in a food bag, toss in the meat and shake it about to evenly cover the meat.
Heat a good slug of oil in a casserole and then brown the meat. Remove when evenly coloured (don't skimp on this bit - it is so important to brown meat well to seal in the flavour).
Add a little more oil then tip in the onion and garlic. Fry until soft.
Throw in the mushrooms, chopping larger ones in half and also chuck the meat back into the dish.
Pour in enough red wine to cover the meat, add a good sized squeeze of ketchup (I know it sounds odd but it really adds to the flavour), a sprinkling of dried oregano (for no other reason than it's all I had to hand but it works), and a large sprinkling of pink peppercorns - roughly two or three tablespoons.
Bring to the boil, stirring well, season with a touch of salt and a good grinding of black pepper. Pop the lid on the pot and then put it in the oven for 1 1/4 hours if you are going to reheat the dish, else cook for 11/2 - 13/4 hours.

And the chocolate? At the end of cooking, break in the chocolate and stir it until it melts. It adds to the depth of the flavour and shouldn't all good meals end with chocolate?

(sorry - we gobbled it up before I remembered to take a picture!)

The Perfect Plum

2006-10-08T18:54:00.001Z

How fortunate I am to be able to appreciate the beauty of the simple things in life. The crust of a perfectly cooked fruit pie. The glean of expertly tempered chocolate. The gentle downy skin of a ripe peach. And the utter joy to be found in a bowl of delicious English plums with their delicate, dusty bloom. When pleasure in food is this simple, why complicate it?

Beauty surrounds us in a myriad of forms every day if only we can open our eyes and our senses to embrace it. And so a bowl of honeyed plums is a sumptuous yet simple start to one’s day, savoured whilst bathed in the warm light of an early Autumnal Sunday which comes streaming through the window and awakens my senses.

Moules Lillois

2006-10-02T14:05:00.004Z

Yesterday I returned from a long-weekend in Lille, the capital of Flanders and home to one of my most wonderful friends and his loving partner. We shared recipes, discussed politics, food and love and bathed in the warm glow of deep friendship. A truly lovely weekend and one that has helped to restore my spirit. And my passion for creating recipes.

Peter has not eaten meat for nearly twenty years and is a brilliant cook of all dishes pescatarian. He concentrates on a one or two key quality ingredients at each meal and creates simple but beautifully orchestrated food.

I have never cooked mussels, being rather nervous of their barnacles and fearful of poisoning myself or others if the little blighters choose not to open. Peter however is fearless and far more sensible than me and so he executed a vibrantly freshly flavoured version of moules marinieres which we christened Moules Lillois.

Moules Lillois (serves three to four)
2kg fresh mussels
2 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
3 or 4 stems of celery (depending on their thickness), diced
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 carrot, peeled and finely diced
3 or 4 sprigs of thyme
200ml white wine
200ml water
Large sprig of parsley, chopped

Wash the mussels, scrape off any lingering barnacles and discard those that are open or cracked.
Fry the shallots, celery and garlic in olive oil until they soften. Add the carrot and fry for a few more minutes. Add the thyme, wine and water and raise the heat so that the liquid simmers. Add a good grinding of black pepper. Throw in the mussels and cook for four to five minutes until their shells have opened and the flesh is a tender orange in colour.
Remove from the heat and serve into large bowls with the liquor, removing any shells that failed to open. Sprinkle with the parsley and serve.

Uncomplicated and truly delicious. There is a lot to be said to such an approach to food.

For more about Peter and his move to France, visit Le Log Lillois at http://newmanlegros.blogspot.com

World Blog by Mail

2006-09-24T17:41:00.001Z

I participated in a worldwide Blog By Post organised by The Happy Sorceress and eagerly awaited my parcel whilst pulling my own together to send to the States.

It is a curious concept to send a food parcel to someone whom one has never met or even been in touch with. It is akin to being given a pen pal whilst at school and writing that very first introductory letter. I visited the blog of my designated recipient to gain a flavour for her tastes and life and decided to send a thoroughly traditional British packet which I hope Nicole will enjoy, despite being on a nutrisystem diet (of which I am completely ignorant). And so my little pack of England contained:

Tiptree Little Scarlet conserve, pack of Williamson earl grey tea, tube of Coleman’s mustard, bar of organic Rococo chocolate flavoured with cardamom, disc of Gentleman’s Relish (I know that no-one ever eats this curious paste but it wouldn’t be a true traditional parcel if I had omitted this essential item), pack of rhubarb and custard boiled sweets for that taste of an English childhood and a pack of sugar flowers for decorating cakes as Nicole loves to bake.

And what did I receive? Chris Church from http://experimentationoftaste.blogspot.com/ had thoughtfully packaged up the following:

Wheat, gluten and dairy free bread and brownie mixes
Buckwheat flour
Toasted carob powder
3 organic fruit and nut bars
Sheets of toasted nori
Sindhi biryani masala mix
Fenugreek
Cardamom pods
Sumak
Garam masala
Za’atar

I can’t wait to get baking with the mixes and to see how American allergy-free compare to ones available in the UK. I have already nibbled the bars and they are truly scrumptious – great for those mornings when you have already tried on three pairs of shoes, have yet to chose the matching outfit and ‘oh my god’ you only have five minutes to run for the train to work. The rate with which they disappear from my cupboard will indicate just how indecisive I am (and how many times I am late!).

Chris’s parents hail from Saudi Arabia, hence the variety of spices. The only one that is completely new to me is za’atar which Chris informs me is a lovely accompaniment to bread and olive – even more reason to try out the new bread mixture.
Sumak is a herb that is often used in Lebanese cuisine when lemons aren’t available and so I will be sprinkling that on a variation of the vegetable moussaka I made for girlfriends this week (marvellous, tonight’s dinner is taken care of).
I have to confess that I have already consumed the nori – one of my absolute favourite foods – which provided me with a couple of lunches of handrolls (minus the rice) in which it encased strips of cucumber, avocado and slices of marinated tofu.

Thank you Chris and thank you to the Happy Sorceress for organising the blogging event. What a fantastic way to travel the world – with one’s tastebuds. Lord knows that may be the only way I’m to achieve it until I have more work confirmed…………

A Feast of Friendships

2006-09-24T17:22:00.001Z

I wanted to not only anoint my new flat with a home warming party, but also to thank those girlfriends without whom I would not have survived the last few months of pain and hurt in one piece. A true feast of friendship.

Five women, all of whom are battling with their own problems and yet have found the time and the space in their hearts to cherish me at the time when I have most needed it. The least I could do was to cook a meal for them.

All of us are interested in food and like to taste different cuisines and I realised that I have eaten in Lebanese restaurants with each and every one and so I let the Lebanon flavour the dishes. As ever I tweaked recipes that I have digested to make them my own and conjured up the following:

Nigella Lawson's Aubergine Moussaka (veggie option)
Moroccan-ish Chicken
Green salad
Saffronjeweledd rice (white basmati cooked with saffron threads and dried cranberries, decorated with toasted flaked almonds and flat-leaf parsley)
Chocolate crusted lemon and cardamom tart

I promised to post the recipes for the first and the last of the above dishes and will include the chicken for good measure, purely because it is such a simple main course to create. The tart is rather time consuming but from the licking of lips and pleas for leftovers to take home for husbands/fiancees, I surmised that it have been worth the effort.

Aubergine Moussaka (serves four as a main course, six as a side dish)

500g aubergine (two decent sized vegetables), cut into 11/2 cm cubes
1 large onion, peeled and thinly sliced
10 small cloves garlic, peeled and thickly slivered
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 ½ tbsp pomegranate molasses
500g tomatoes, peeled, seeded and quartered (do this before you embark on the rest of the recipe)
1 ½ tsp salt
½ tsp cinnamon or one stick
½ tsp ground allspice
200ml water
Pack of feta
Mint leaves

In a large pan, heat a good amount of oil and fry half of the aubergine until golden brown. Remove to a dish and repeat with the remainder aubergine.
Splash in some more oil and add the onion and garlic and fry until soft and pale.
Add the chickpeas, the molasses and return the aubergine to the pan. Add the tomatoes, sprinkle with the spices and add the water. Bring to the boil, cover and reduce to a simmer for around an hour.
Serve warm or cold, strewn with torn mint leaves and a crumbled pack of feta.

Moroccan-ish Chicken
(serves 4)
6 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1tsp each salt and ground black pepper
1tsp ground ginger
½ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp paprika
1kg chicken thigh fillets (I remove as much fat as possible)
150ml freshly squeezed orange juice
Pared rind of one orange
150g organic dried apricots (organic ones are darker in colour as they aren't dried with sulphur dioxide)
¼ tsp saffron shreads
150ml sherry or white wine (whatever you have to hand)
3tbsp sherry vinegar
2tbsp oil
1 onion, peeled and finely sliced
3tbsp plain flour (I make a cornflour paste, being unable to eat wheat)
300ml chicken stock or bouillon
Two or three preserved lemons
Flat leaf parsley

Put the first five ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. Add the chicken, orange juice and rind and stir to ensure that the chicken is well covered. Chill for at least four hours or overnight.
Put the apricots, saffron, sherry or wine and vinegar in a bowl. Cover and leave to marinate at room for temperature for the same length of time as the chicken.
Heat the oil in a large casserole. Transfer the chicken (reserve the marinade) and brown over a high heat then remove. Add the onion and cook until soft (around five mins).
Add the flour, stir well and cook for one minute (or make a cornflour paste and add). Add the marinade, stock, the apricots with their soaking liquid and the preserved lemons. Stir and bring to the boil. Return the chicken to the pan and simmer.
Cover and either cook on the hob for around 30 minutes or in the oven at 180C for around 40 minutes.
Serve with chopped flat-leaf parsley.

Chocolate Crusted Lemon and Cardamom Tart
(serves approximately eight)
Pastry
175g plain flour
25g cocoa powder
Pinch of salt
25g icing sugar
125g unsalted butter, chilled and cubed
1 large egg yolk
2tbsp cold water

Filling
75g dark chocolate (the higher cocoa content the better), grated
3 unwaxed lemons
150g caster sugar
4 large eggs
150ml double cream (or a 142ml pot - for some reason it is not possible to buy 150ml)
Six cardamom pods, crushed to release the black seeds. Throw away the pods.
Icing sugar to serve

To make the pastry put the first five ingredients into a food processor and pulse until the mix resembles fine breadcrumbs. Don't over process - this is very short pastry!
Mix the egg with the water and add to the mixture to make a soft dough. Gather the pastry into a ball, flatten into a disc and wrap in clingfilm. Chill in the fridge for at least an hour.
Roll out the pastry (between two sheets of greaseproof paper is best) and line a 23cm (9 inch) tart tine with a removable base. Prick the pastry with a fork in several places and chill for at least two hours.
Preheat the oven to 200C/gas 6.
Line the pastry case with foil and baking beans, put on a baking sheet and bake blind for 15 mins. Remove the foil and beans and return to the oven for five minutes. Remove from the oven and sprinkle the grated chocolate over the base. Leave to cool. Reduce the oven temperature to 170C/gas 3.

To make the filling, finely grate the zest of the lemons into a bowl. Squeeze the juice from the lemons and add to the bowl with the sugar. Whisk until the sugar has dissolved then whisk in the eggs, cream and the cardamom pods until the mixture is smooth.
Pour the mixture into the cooled pastry case and carefully return to the middle of the oven. Bake for 30-35mins until just set. Remove from the oven and leave to cool completely on a wire rack before removing from the tin.
Dust with icing sugar and serve with a few raspberries for a contrast of flavours and colours.

Ginger Nuggets

2006-09-24T17:16:00.001Z

My very good friend Goody recently let slip that she sometimes like to nibble ginger nuts whilst chilling out in front of the TV of an evening. A gorgeously domestic and indulgent picture but one with a few additives and other nasties. As a thank you for all her love and support, I resolved to knock her up a batch of my ginger nuggets and to christen my oven in the process.

This recipe is one that I’ve tweaked and reworked over the years until I think I’ve got these sparkly little gems just right. They are unbelievably easy to make and have been known to cure my eldest sister’s morning sickness.

Ginger Nuggets (makes approximately 16)
4oz plain flour
1 level tsp bicarbonate of soda
1- 2tsp ground ginger (according to personal taste)
2oz butter
2oz golden caster sugar
2oz golden syrup
1 knob of stem ginger in syrup, chopped finely
2-3 tbsp golden caster sugar - extra

Sift the flour, bicarb of soda and ginger into a mixing bowl.
Weigh the butter, sugar and syrup directly into a little saucepan – a good trick when measuring syrup is to run the spoon under a hot tap first and then the syrup glides off with ease.
Warm the saucepan over a gentle heat until the butter has melted and the mixture is runny without getting too hot. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry, add the chopped stem ginger and mix well to form a soft dough. Wrap in clingfilm in a long sausage shape and chill in the fridge for at least one hour.
Preheat the oven to 180C/gas 4. Unwrap the dough and slice into 16 pieces.
Put the extra sugar into a plastic food bag and toss each slice so that they are well coated in sugar. Arrange them on a baking sheet, leaving plenty of room for spreading. Flatten them a little with a palette knife.
Bake in the middle of your oven for 10 minutes, leave the biscuits on the tray for one minute and then transfer to a wire cooling rack.

Whilst they may not be the prettiest of biscuits, I'm assured that the taste more than compensates for their aesthetically challenging appearance!

Moroccan Mystique

2006-09-13T10:39:00.001Z

It has been an age since my last post. I've been adapting to my new single life, me new flat and I have to admit, I have yet to use my new oven. I'm still not particularly enamored by the thought of cooking anything exciting for one, and so I am satisfying my food porn needs by helping out at the cookery school.

Saturday evening found me at La Cucina Caldesi, helping out a Moroccan themed cookery course for the tamest hen party I have ever encountered, with possibly the largest appetites I have ever witnessed amongst a group of women. How very refreshing.

The chef for the evening hailed from Essaouria(where I had to admit I suffered the worst food poisoning of my life so far) and having been taught to cook by his mother, he holds the secrets of the honeyed flavours, rich spices and silky flavours that make Moroccan food so wonderfully appealing. One of the most memorable flavours I have ever encountered was a fresh date, warmed by the shimmery heat of the sun and picked fresh from a tree on the banks of an oasis in the Moroccan desert whilst stroking the rough hair of a donkey.

On Saturday I learnt a couple of very useful lessons. The first - how to make preserved lemons in a hurry. In theory these citrus ingredients should take a minimum of three weeks to develop their flavours, however if you have run out or cannot find them in a local shop, this is the fast-track recipe:

Preserved Lemons in a Dash
Two lemons
Salt
Water
Oil

Make four cuts into each lemon as if you were going to quarter them but without cutting right through the flesh so that the fruits remain intact.
Bring a pot of water to the boil and add a good handful of salt. Add the lemons and boil for approximately 30 minutes or until soft but not falling apart.
Remove from the heat, sprinkle with more salt and drizzle with a good glugging of olive oil. Leave to infuse for an hour.

The hen party sipped their champagne, rolled up their sleeves and started to dip their fingertips into the ingredients. Between them and with our direction they made the following sumptuous feast:

Baked aubergines with paprika and preserved lemon dressing
Kefta balls with a hot tomato sauce
Lamb tajine with prunes
Baklava

The long list of ingredients for the meat dishes belie how easy they are to prepare. Never have I smelt such a jumble of spices to tickle one's nose in one room, the air of which was heavy with the fragrant fug. Try these delicious nuggets and see if you agree.

Kefta Balls (serves 4) - Ghalid Assyb's recipes
500g minced beef
2 crushed garlic cloves
1 onion, grated
1 red chili, finelychoppedd
1 tbsp turmeric
2 tbsp sweet paprika
1 tbsp ground black pepper
1 tbsp ground coriander
1 tbsp ground cumin
1/2 bunch of flat-leafed parsley, finely chopped
juice of half a lemon

It couldn't be easier. Tip all the ingredients into a bowl and use your hands to mix everything together until well combined. Roll the meat into equal sized balls (roughly the size of a walnut). Fry in a pan for a matter of minutes, ensuring that they don't overcook.

Healthy, fast and delicious food which couldn't be simpler to make.

And the second lesson I learnt that night? I'm afraid that only readers of my other blog are privy to that little revelation............

A Fragrant Tangle

2006-08-21T20:06:00.001Z

Tangle - noun
1. a complicated or confused mass of hairs, lines, fibres etc knotted or coiled together
2. a complicated problem, condition or situation

It is interesting how the state of one's mind and emotions can transfer into one's cooking. Here I am, 31 years old, truly single for the first time in 10 years and not sure who CB on her own, without a man is but fast coming to some wonderful but scary conclusions. Still aching and hurting but trying to move on. Trying not to think of him but of building a new life whilst trying to mend a stupid, fragmented heart (don't worry - this is the last you will hear of my emotional outpourings - I have plans for those elsewhere. In a truly anonymous fashion). I am rather tangled, in every sense.

A supper with friends at the weekend, dazzling with zingy flavours and conversation, has rather tempted my tastebuds into life once again, as did a trip to the local farmers market the following morning. And so this evening, tired after a day at work (during which I felt the creativity bleeding out of me) I opened the fridge, mentally re-ordered its contents and created the following dish. Tangled in appearance, it rather matched my spirit.

A Fragrant Tangle of Leeks and Prawns (serves one - get used to it!)
1 clove garlic, finely sliced
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp coriander seeds
1 small red chili, seeds removed and thinly sliced (in an attempt to ward off a summer cold)
2 small leeks, cleaned and thinly sliced
glug of wine (I used red as it was open but white would also be lovely)
handful of spinach leaves
tsp of wholegrain mustard
150g or so of large, cooked prawns

Heat a glug of oil in a frying pan (one to which you own the matching lid), and when shimmering, add the garlic, cumin, coriander and chili. Fry until the aromas tickle your nostrils.
Add the leeks and heat gently to soften. Add a glug or two of wine and cover with the pan lid. Stir from time to time to stop them sticking and trickle in a teardrop or two of wine when necessary.
When the leeks have separated and start to resemble a knotted ponytail (around 10-15mins) add the spinach and the mustard, stir, check the moisture levels and cover once again.
Once the spinach has wilted, stir in the prawns, heat briefly and then tip into a bowl.

Eat, smile and be happy.

Tangled, yes, but in a beautiful, (lemon) soulful way.

(No pictures as my camera is with an Italian.......)

Dining Alone?

2006-08-12T18:20:00.001Z

My new single existence is one to which I am trying to become accustomed. I won't bore you with hateful and self-pitying mentions of the hurt, anger, loneliness and a myriad of other emotions which surge through my being. Or of the panic to find somewhere to live which is steadily setting in.

But being alone does tend to open one's eyes and mind. I refuse to withdraw into my own little world and to never venture out into the wide world, to spend every meal time at 'home' just because I may not have a 'date' for that particular lunch or dinner.

Dining alone is a rather strange experience and one which differs between the lunch and dinner sittings. At lunch, the solitary diner is easily explained and tolerated. But come the evening, and one is treated either with sympathy, suspicion or downright rudeness (I'm sorry that I'm not going to spend as much as a couple, but is my custom any less valued? Clearly). And so I have rather come to enjoy lunching on my own, and by refusing to bury my head in a book or magazine, behaviour often exhibited by other solitary diners, I choose to use it as an excellent opportunity for people watching.

There are the business lunches where an awkward hesitation hovers over the wine list. Will the client imbibe or not? One can audibly hear a breath of relief exhaled by the hosting agency as the phrase “I think a little glass of wine might be in order” is uttered. The couple of gentlemen of a certain age who guffaw with added gusto to avoid any confusion as to their sexuality. “Not that there’s anything wrong with queer chaps you understand. Heavens, Cynthia was married to one once.”

The ‘yummy mummies’ whose attention is diverted to their wailing offspring and who only manage to half consume their by-now cold lasagne (“I need the carbs sweetie. I’m breastfeeding.”). And of course, no musing on lunchers would be complete without mentioning those legendary ladies-who-lunch. The mineral water sipping, Silk Cut Slim puffing, Chanel encrusted brigade are not just an urban myth. Fearful of not fitting into next season’s Manolos if their weight creeps over seven stone, they appear to exist on greens and the occasional prawn. Oh, and a glass of champagne on a Friday.

The couple whom have been married forever, for whom food is solely fuel and whose only conversation is “I hope that’s not salt Geoffrey, you know what Dr Hughes said.” The young couple who are caught in the heady whirlwind of fresh love and whom devour more of each other than their shared fruit de mer (she daren’t tell him that there is a risk that shellfish might make her eyes swell to the size of gobstoppers).

Yes, lunchtime offers a fascinating insight into human behaviour and relationships. And that's the positive spin I shall try to continue to put on my new life.

But of course, all dinner dates are very welcome.

A Restoring Recipe

2006-08-07T12:42:00.001Z

Now that I am living alone and have a temporary 'home' (I have now lost all concept as to what that word actually means), I am trying to adapt to this strange new life. Gone are the lingering weekend mornings making bacon sandwiches for the man I love, conjuring up the occasional evening meal for us to share and being cocooned by familiar and loved surroundings. Instead I am renting someone's flat, using their crockery, putting my food in their fridge and eating my solitary salads in their garden. Cooking for one just does not have the same appeal at the moment.

In a period of change however, I have found one delightful and unexpected pleasure and a new outlet for my passion of cooking. La Cucina Caldesi cookery school.
I have assisted at two classes so far and love the sense of satisfaction that helping others to cook brings. Encouraging children who are timid about handling food to attack dough with gusto. Gently helping a grown man to delicately slice an onion. Explaining how to use a food processor and why one toasts spices and pine nuts to release their aroma and flavour. Preparing a tortellini filling of ricotta, sage and parmesan for the chef, collecting all the ingredients from the restaurant's kitchen and gently stroking the beguiling skin of a perfect aubergine in the process.

It is long hard work and I have never washed up so many pots, repeatedly, in my life and by the end of the day I am very tired. But in a glowing way, happy in the knowledge that I may have helped just one person to gain a little more confidence with food, have encouraged one person to try a new flavour and have met a variety of characters in the process. And I am learning a huge amount in the process and particularly about foods which I would not cook for myself (due to gluten and dairy being involved) such as pasta and bread.

Yesterday with the charming Ursula Ferrigno the class of eleven adults made pasta, bruschetta with caramelised red onion and young pecorino, baked stuffed courgettes, meatballs, goats cheese and grilled vegetable focaccine and a glorious hazelnut meringue gateau. Wonderful aromas, a mingling of like-minded strangers and a combination of beautiful Italian flavours. Now that's a recipe!

Oh and if your self-esteem has taken a bit of a knock, I heartily recommend running in and out of a kitchen full of young Italian chefs all day. Yes, yesterday was a good day!

(I forgot to ask Ursula or the school if I could post a recipe hence the absence of one. I shall remember however to do so this Friday at the childrens class).

Empty

2006-07-14T16:16:00.001Z

The cupboards, the fridge and me. All empty.

The link between emotion and appetite is of a curious nature. Whilst some cannot contemplate sustenance in times of turmoil or ecstasy, for others these extremes stimulate their tastebuds and they crave their individual version of comfort food.

In a current state of uncertainty, hurt and confusion I find that I have rather lost my interest in eating, surviving on a peculiar diet of cherries, olives, tomato juice, almonds, wine and cigarettes (with the occasional salad thrown in for pure survival). I feel empty, devoid of substance from head to heart.

I have become an observer, rather than a partaker, a true reveler in food porn. The odd spot of cooking for family and friends, digesting my fellow blogers words, drinking in their recipes and pictures and forging plans for the occasional piece of work. I have not lost my passion for food, just my relish for eating, for stimulating my tastebuds as my senses have become subsumed with painful issues.

I can only hope that these issues are soon resolved, albeit for better or worse, that some peace is found, and with it my appetite. That I will, once again, be joyfully full. From heart to stomach.

Picnic Envy

2006-07-07T13:49:00.001Z

Last Saturday I went to the annual Henley Food Bloggers Party and what a day it was. Perched on the banks of the Thames during the Henley Regatta in blistering sunshine, my fellow food bloggers and I witnessed something which I have seen a few times, but never to quite such a forceful degree - picnic envy.

From years of attending picnic concerts across London, I am accustomed to the sight of wonderful picnics, resplendent with starched linen, silver candlesticks, beautiful awnings and yet when one looks a little closer at these displays of luxury, the food is somewhat disappointing. How often these revellers resort to plates of smoked salmon, a bought quiche, acres of French bread and packs of kettle chips to dunk into their Waitrose dips.

No, true picnic envy is when the food, and not the pertaining paraphernalia is what arouses interest. We heard countless comments, my favourite being "wow, they've got real food" and were congratulated on our spread, much to my surprise. But our intention was not to elicit comment not to attract attention but to share our food with like-minded people who are passionate about good food. And blogging.

The delicious dishes included chicken with preserved lemons and coriander, a chickpea salad that glistened in the sunlight with its pomegranate dressing (these were by far and away my absolute favourites), picnic bread stuffed with goats cheese and peppers, homemade quiches, a plethora of salads, blueberry and almond cake (see previous blog for recipe) and the results of a Bakewell Bake-off between Xochitl and Andrew.

I made some new contacts that day, heard similar frustrations about wanting to 'get into' food and maybe friendships will be formed. And of course, tasted some fantastic food.

And I almost forgot. There was rowing. It was a Regatta after all.

Bish Bash Bosh Braai

2006-06-29T16:35:00.001Z

Our much loved friend from South Africa has been intermittently staying with us and so we thought "what better excuse to have a party?" The work on our garden, already delayed by a week or so, was due to be completed that day and so an al fresco evening appeared to be a super June idea. The gardeners' (Bish, Bash and Bosh) perceptions of deadlines were rather at odds with ours however and so they were power washing the patio and hastily packing up (only to return again - twice) as the first guests arrived. M was wiping down chairs, J was frantically lighting the braai whilst I was hoovering up detruis from dust sheets.

"Glass of wine anyone?" Hell yes.

The mozzarella and tomato canapes were out, the chicken had been marinating all day, J's lamb burgers were good to go and I had a made a petit pois and cheese quiche and a blueberry cake to boot (J's favourite fruit so I couldn't resist), so let the eating commence!

Tomato, Honey and Mustard Madness (a marinade for 1kg of chicken pieces)
8 (yes 8!) tbsp tomato ketchup (only Heinz will do)
4 tbsp clear honey
2 tbsp worcestershire sauce
2 tbsp wholegrain mustard

Mix everything together, season to taste and pour over the chicken pieces. Roll the chicken around with abandon and leave to marinade for as long as you dare.

(I have never heard so many "hmmmms" of pleasure elicited from a marinade. J's dictum that ketchup is the secret ingredient in the recipe of happiness is once more proven to be true).

Petit Pois and Crumbly Cheese Tart (requires a 23cm round, 4cm deep flan dish)
Easy pastry;
8oz plain flour, sifted
4oz chilled unsalted butter, diced
1/2 tsp salt
1 medium egg, beaten

Filling; (and yes, it is!)
3oz petit pois, either fresh or defrosted frozen peas
6oz crumbly cheese (e.g. Lancashire or Wendsleydale)
200ml tub creme fraiche
2 medium eggs
100ml milk
bunch of chives, chopped plus two whole chive leaves

For the pastry;
Preheat the oven to 200C/gas 6. Tip the flour, butter and salt into a food processor and whiz briefly. Add the egg and blitz until small clumps form. Remove, form into a ball and wrap in clingfilm. Chill in the fridge for at least 30mins.
Roll the pastry out on a floured surface to fit the flan dish. Prick the base and chill for another 30mins.
Bake the pastry case blind for 15mins (i.e. pop some foil and baking beans/rice into the dish). Remove the foil and beans and bake for a further 5mins. Cool slightly and reduce the oven to 190C/gas 5.

Filling;
Scatter the peas over the pastry case and crumble the cheese on top. Whisk together the eggs, creme fraiche, milk, chopped chives and season. Pour over the peas and cheese and top with the remainding two chives (or more if you're feeling artistic). Bake for 30-35mins until the filling has puffed up and has a golden brown colour.

Blueberry and Almond Cake
(requires an 18-20cm round, loose-bottomed cake tin, greased and lined for ease of removal)
150g blueberries
125g self-raising flour
200g unsalted butter, softened
200g golden caster sugar
4 medium eggs, separated
1tsp almond extract
125g ground almonds
golf-sized ball of marzipan

Preheat oven to 180C.gas 4. Rinse the blueberries, pat dry and dredge in 1tsp of the flour.
Cream the butter and 175g of the sugar until pale and fluffy. Beat in the egg yolks (as ever, alternating with a spoon of flour to avoid curdling) and the almond extract. Gently stir in the flour.
Whisk the egg whites until soft peaks form and then gradually whisk in the remainding 25g sugar. Stir in the ground almonds.
Use a metal spoon to fold in a quarter of the whisked mixture into the creamed mixture then fold in the rest. Break the marzipan up and roll into little balls. Drop into the cake mixture and gently fold in. Spoon into the cake tin and level the surface.
Scatter the floured blueberries over the top and bake in the oven for approx 1 hour or until a skewer inserted into the centre, emerges clean.
Leave to cool in the tin for 10 mins and then turn out.

Serve with cream and a smile.

Portobella Prawn Sandwich

2006-06-25T07:45:00.001Z

It was hot, I had been walking all afternoon and I craved something meaty that I could eat with my hands and really get my teeth into. If I could eat bread and red meat, a toothsome burger in a pillowy white bap would push the button, however one quick trip to the shops later and I decided on this digestible alternative.

Portobella Prawn Sandwich
(serves one hungry lady)

zest and juice of 1/2 lemon
1dsp runny honey (I used lavender honey)
soy sauce (or tamari for avoiders of wheat)
3tbsp wholegrain mustard
2 large Portobella (field) mushrooms
200g tiger prawns (pre-cooked for extra speed)
1/2 hass avocado, sliced
salad leaves

Mix the lemon zest and juice with the honey, a generous shaking of soy sauce and the mustard. Season with black pepper to your liking and pour over the prawns and leave to marinate.
Meanwhile, get a griddle or grill very hot. Remove the stem from the mushrooms and brush both sides of the caps with a little sesame oil. Grill each side until cooked.
Remove the mushrooms and if using a griddle pan, briefly toss in the prawns to heat them through (or flash fry in a non-stick frying pan).
Put one mushroom on a plate, cap side down and fill with as many prawns as you can. Top with a couple of slices of avocado and some leaves. Top with the other mushroom and drizzle with any remainder dressing.

Accompany with any prawns that oozed out of the mushroom sandwich and some extra salad leaves to mop up the juices.

N.B. I had a few spears of asparagus that needed eating and so had griddled them along with the mushrooms and prawns. The dressing suprisingly really added to the char-grilled asparagus and I'll definitely dress it that way again. I do love it when one happens upon flavour combinations by accident.

Vegetable Indulgence

2006-06-24T09:39:00.001Z

The past few weeks have been somewhat of a whirlwind - sister's wedding (thank goodness the cake J and I made was a moist success), followed by a quick jaunt over to Paris and then to the Charantes (bonjour maman et papa) and then back to London and a day at the gee-gees (or Royal Ascot to give it it's right and proper title). All of which is a protracted explanation for the recent dearth of blogging. And cooking.

The summer is J's busiest period with work and so I often have days and nights on my own whilst he is running shows, doing deals, glad-handing celebs etc. Although I adore cooking for others, for some reason I never seem to create anything exciting for just me. A couple of weeks away from my pans, pots and spatulas however have left me itching to don my apron, wield a knife and to get cracking. And the dishes of choice? J being out is the perfect excuse to resort to my natural veggie inclinations and to revel in the sumptuous sensations of aubergines, the zingy flavours of lemons and the climactic crunch of carrots (note to self - must get out more).

For me aubergines will forever conjure up images of exotic lands, air heavy with the smell of spices and the sun pricking at one's skin. Difficult to imagine when one is in the local greengrocer I grant you, but there is something of an indulgence about this fantastic vegetable. When roasted, its smoky character and silky texture make the aubergine an earthy pleasure.

So my Friday night of vegetable pleasure consisted of my version of moutabal (aubergine dip from the Lebanon) and a zingy carrot and courgette salad. Eaten with nothing other than chicory leaves, a glass of crisp white Burgundy and accompanied by the soothing tones of Jack Johnson.

CB's Moutabal
pinch of saffron stems
1 aubergine
1 clove of garlic in its skin
1 dsp light tahini
1 lemon
glug of olive oil

Infuse the saffron in a little hot water and leave whilst you prepare the aubergine.
Prick the skin of the aubergine to avoid any explosions and hold over a gas flame with tongs or put under a very hot grill, turning often until the skin is charred and the vegetable feels soft to the touch (about 25-30 minutes). This gives a wonderful, smoky flavour so don't be afraid to let it really char.
If using the grill, pop the clove of garlic under the grill at the same time and allow to soften.
Leave the aubergine to cool then strip the skin away and place the soft flesh into a blender. Squeeze the garlic from its skin into the blender and add the tahini, zest of the whole lemon and the juice of half of it along with a drizzle of oil. Add the saffron with its water, season and blitz until a smooth paste is formed. In the absence of a blender, mash everything with a fork.

The addition of saffron is not authentic by any means but I find it adds to the earthy character of the dish and also adds a certain jolly colour.

Carrot and Courgette Salad
1 courgette, grated
2 large carrots, peeled and grated
approx 50g pack of fresh peas
pine nuts (approx 2tbsp depending on how much you like them)
2 tsp cumin seeds
dressing:
1 red chili, deseeded and finely chopped
2 tbsp sherry vinegar
1/2 - 1tsp orange blossom water
juice 1/2 lemon
bunch of mint leaves, chopped

Mix the courgette and carrots in a bowl. Briefly cook the peas in simmering water until just tender but retain a bite (approx 3-4 minutes). Drain, cool and add to the vegetables.
Toast the pine nuts and cumin seeds in a non-stick pan, taking care that they don't burn. Sprinkle over the carrot mixture.
Whisk the dressing ingredients together, season to taste and then pour over the salad.

Both recipes make enough for a starter or side dish for two to three people.

A simple, healthy and flavoursome meal perfect for a summer evening of self-indulgence. Talking of which, these are the cute green shoes that sang to me today so I just had to give them a new home. I like my shoes like I like my meals - green.

1st June 2005 - a right royal affair

2006-06-05T09:55:00.001Z

I am fortunate enough to have experienced some incredibly memorable meals in my life. The night at Nobu when my virgin tastebuds exploded with their first tasting of blackened cod, where the wine chosen by my host just happened to be from the exact small parcel of Sancerre which I had helped to make the year before in the Loire.

My first oysters, perched up amongst the painted stars that twinkle over the seafood bar of Grand Central Station in New York. My first (and last) steamed snail in a tiny but exquisite Japanese restaurant in Paris. The spankingly fresh and perfectly cooked seafood in The Cod Father in Camps Bay (South Africa). The juiciest crayfish on a braai in Hermanus, cooked by J on our first lengthy holiday together.

However, somewhat bizarrely, one of the most memorable meals that I've ever been involved with is one which I did not eat. The one which precipitated a wee meltdown a year ago and prompted my decision to make a career, indeed life change.

As you can imagine, this was no ordinary evening. It had been in the offing for at least three years. A private, royal fundraising event and boy, were the stakes high and expectations were even higher. And the one individual who was ultimately responsible, who coaxed and cajoled trustees, elicited donations, was aiming for a further £1million and had to swallow the foul-mouthed screams of a royal aid...... was, of course, me.

1st June 2005 was one of the most peculiar nights of my life, and if you were to tempt me with a few glasses of something expensive and fizzy, a few details may escape, such as the septuagenariann millionaire who offered me job of a somewhat dubious and personal nature. Other elements however are far too sensitive to be blogged and I'm afraid that I'm not prepared to discover the fate of those who contravene the official secrets act, even for you, my dearest reader. However details I can divulge are....

The venue: Clarence House
The hosts: HRH The Prince of Wales and the future Duchess of Cornwall (Camilla to you and I)
The guests: donors who had given up to £1million and those with the ability to give in excess of £100,000
The aim: to raise another £1million to re-open a royal palace

For three years I had worked on guest lists, cultivated people to the point of eliciting donations, persuading Lords to access their contact networks and yet, unlike any other dinner party I have ever thrown, the food was the very last thing on my mind.

So what did the guests eventually eat? Unusually there were no canapes which which to soak up the flowing champagne. And trust me, a late royal party tends to heighten tensions and encourage the bubbles to flow. But the menu read as follows:

Steamed Norfolk asparagus in puff pastry with a poached egg and white truffle butter

Highgrove Home Farm Aberdeen angus beef rib with red wine jus, potato and leek gratin

Highgrove red fruit sorbet with blackcurrant bavarois and sablee biscuits

Sadly I cannot report how perfectly the asparagus was executed, how succulent the beef and how delicately the dessert was performed, as despite protestations from guests on the night, we, 'the hired help' were not encouraged to sit for dinner.

Ultimately the evening was a success. It raised a decent sum of money directly, indirectly a fairly substantial amount can be attributed to that night and because the Prince of Wales had gained confidence in the charity, the venue of his mother's 80th birthday party was decided that evening.

But perhaps more poignantly for me, I have realised that this was an evening which was to decide my future. I don't want to plan dinner parties where the food is an afterthought. I want to plan my evenings, indeed my life, around food, around times and occasions with friends which embrace partnerships, both gastronomic and personal. I want to be creative, to have the freedom to think, to be listened to, not to be shouted at. Oh, and to make the occasional fairy cake.

Maybe this fundraising lark was not for me. Life was, and still is, ready for a change.

Hooray, Hooray the 1st of May

2006-05-31T20:03:00.001Z

J has a variety of friends from all walks of life - from his school days thirty odd years ago through to those that he has acquired more recently. And of course there is one friendship that is nearly two years old and which has blossomed into something else, but that's the subject of an entirely different and personal blog.

As with any group of people whom have known each other for years, J's friends have a number of rituals that mark the passing of each year. Lives change, partners come and go, children swell the numbers and yet the essential rites of passage remain the same. One such event is the annual Pimms Party which signifies the official start of Summer. Hence, whatever the date of said party, 'Hooray Hooray the 1st of May, outdoor sex beings today' is the huzzah of choice. (No, I don't really understand the whole thing either).

D and P were the generous hosts of this year's party and it was an opportunity to christen their new garden. Or it would have been had the heavens not decided to pour forth their scorn with a soaking of drizzle accompanied by a chilly wind. Not exactly garden party conditions. However, in true British spirit, that which singles us out as the only nation curious (and some would say mad) enough to picnic outdoors, come hell or high water, the party continued. In the kitchen. Where all parties end up gravitating regardless of where they commence. (Does this happen the world over or is that also a British trait?)

For me each season has a distinct taste and texture. Winter is the time for long, slow cooking that allows flavours to marry and to develop into rich and soothing casseroles with their soothing smoothness. The season for the deep, red fruit flavours of old vine Grenache and Syrah.

Spring is synonymous with the new season of fresh greens; asparagus, spring cabbage, onions, purple flowered broccoli and the welcome tart relief of forced rhubarb. And of course, Summer with its berries, bursting with colour that bleeds onto one's fingers and stains one's lips with their unctuous juices. With fresh crisp salads, silky goats cheese and the chilled grassy flavours of French Sauvignon Blanc.

But there is one combination of flavours, other than the obvious strawberries and cream, that typifies an English summer for me; that of gooseberries and elderflower. I only have to hear the very words and images of cricket whites and village greens fill my mind.

So the obvious contribution to the ultimate Pimms party had to be an elderflower and gooseberry sponge cake. I cannot recall from whence this recipe came as I found it amongst my treasure trove of 'must make' clippings, amassed over the past few years. However from the smeared plates and happy grins, I surmised that it hit the summery nail on the head.

Gooseberry and Elderflower Cake
225g unsalted butter, softened
200g golden caster sugar
4 medium eggs, beaten mixed with
4 tbsp elderflower cordial
225g self-raising flour

Filling
142ml pot double cream
2tbsp elderflower cordial
5tbsp gooseberry conserve
icing sugar

Preheat the oven to 180C/gas 4. Grease 2 x 20cm sandwich tins and line the bottoms with baking parchment.
Cream the butter and sugar. Add the egg and cordial mixture a little at a time with a spoonful or so of the flour (this prevents dreaded curdling). Stir in the rest of the flour and gently combine. The mixture should easily plop off the spoon when tapped - if necessary add a touch more cordial to soften.
Spoon equal amounts of the mixture into the cake tins and level. Put on the middle shelf of the oven and bake for 20-25 mins until the cakes are springy to the touch and have a beautiful golden hue. Allow the cakes to rest in the tins for five mins and then turn out onto wire racks. Peel of the baking paper when cool.

For the filling;
When ready to serve, whip the cream until it forms soft peaks (boyfriends come in very handy at this stage) and stir in the cordial. Spread the top of one cake with the gooseberry jam and then top with the cream. Sandwich the cakes together and then dust with icing sugar.

Note: if traveling with the cake, assemble it upon arrival - we learnt the hard way and oh my, is gooseberry jam slippery!

Oh and the outdoor sex? Not in 10 degrees centigrade with a howling gale. Nature's answer to birth control.

A Whiff of the Future

2006-05-26T07:42:00.001Z

Whilst sitting at a desk in the offices of my client, pensively staring at the beautiful green domed roof of Smithfields market, fingers pressed together in a prayer position against my mouth, wondering how best to deal with an increasingly awkward situation, I breathed in deeply, hoping for calm. What I was to receive was the most delicate hint of garlic from my fingertips.

A smile played on my lips as the smell evoked a feeling of comfort, the pleasure of creating a dish the previous evening, of conjuring up a recipe, of cooking for the man I love after he'd battled through a weary and frustrating day. Of the important things in my life. My breathing slowed, my shoulders eased as the tension ebbed out of me and I remembered why I am working as a consultant - to give me time to work out if I can find a way into the world of food. Officially.

I sat up straight, thrust my glasses along the bridge of nose and resolved to redouble my efforts; not only with the task in hand that day, but also with my search for a new career.

If persevere, my food future will happen. I have to believe that.

Hake Days and Holidays

2006-05-21T06:39:00.001Z

My return to the land of 'serious work' has, by choice, been on a part-time basis on the grounds that I could devote time and energy to working out how, indeed if, I can turn my passion for food and writing into something that could financially fill more of my life. Also it's a time to try different things out - an eight week stint in a chocolate shop was fun but I soon realised that life behind a counter is not for me. An evening food journalism course was exciting and has left me hungry for more. And yet I am still struggling to find my way.

Plus, of course, it is amazing how quickly those 'spare' two days are filled with house hunting, running errands and recently, traveling. So last Friday I was determined to do something food-related so headed to Borough Market for inspiration.

The market on Saturdays is now almost impossible to navigate unless visited at the crack of dawn due to the coach loads of gastro tourists, however Fridays are slightly less bustling with a strange but happy mixture of suits buying their lunch, serious shoppers seeking ingredients for the weekend and, of course, the ubiquitous film crews.

Mindful that we were having friends over for dinner on Saturday night to celebrate their engagement (yippee), I headed for the Morcombe Bay fish stall. I explained to the lovely fishmonger what I wanted to cook and he recommended Scottish hake, promptly disappeared into his walk-in fridge and emerged with a huge, glistening fish. A few deftly applied blows of a cleaver ensued and I was presented with two beautiful fillets with a silvery, pinkish skin that shimmered in the light. I was also offered the head which I declined to which it was plonked onto a waiting spike to either ward off or to entice my fellow shoppers. I couldn't quite decide which.

Last weekend in Vienna I ate a delicious salad of green and white asparagus with strawberries and a balsamic dressing, in which, unfortunately the ingredients swam. Seeing both kinds of the veg nestled side by side on a stall, I whisked them up and decided to replicate the dish as a starter at home. The greengrocer insisted that the Dutch white asparagus was not grown in banks and that is was 'just white' naturally - hmmm. My research begs to differ but who am I to argue with a chap in the know?

One jar of wonderful gooseberry and elderflower jam for an afternoon cake and a bunch of end of season of rhubarb and I was good to go. The makings of a three course meal were in my bags - let the cooking commence.

Roast Hake with Salsa Verde (serves 4)
leaves from a handful of flat-leaf parsley
leaves of a spring of mint
2 tbsp capers
3 anchovy fillets in olive oil, drained
2 cloves of garlic
2 large vine-ripened tomatoes, cut into eight slices
bunch thyme (the lemon variety is great if you can get it)
olive oil
white wine
2 fillets hake approx 500-600g each (salmon works equally well as does cod)

Heat oven to 220C/gas 7. To make the salsa verde roughly chop the first four ingredients with one of the garlic cloves and then give them a good pounding in a pestle and mortar with a good grinding of black pepper.
Line the base of a roasting tin with baking parchment and lay the tomato slices in four lines across the base of the tine. Slice the remaining garlic clove and scatter over the tomato along with most of the thyme sprigs (save one). Sprinkle over approx 1tbsp oil and a glug of wine - this prevents the fish from sticking and produces a wonderfully fragrant sauce.
Brush the skin-side of one hake fillet with oil and place, skin-down, on the tomatoes. Cover with the salsa then top with the other hake fillet, flesh side down. Rub a little oil into the skin, season and sprinkle with the leaves from the remaining thyme sprig.
Roast for 20-25 mins until cooked through. Cut the fish into slices and serve with the tomatoes and spoonfuls of the sauce.

J turned the asparagus into a delicious (and in my opinion far superior) version of that which we ate in Austria - simple, elegant and seasonal with a delicate dressing of balsamic and oil which complemented the sweetness of the strawberries whilst not overpowering the asparagus.

And the rhubarb?

Rhubarb and Orange Cake (from a Waitrose recipe card)
400g rhubarb, washed and cut into 2cm pieces
200g golden caster sugar
150g butter, softened
2 eggs, lightly beaten
75g self-raising flour, sifted
1/2tsp baking powder
100g ground almonds
grated zest of one orange plus 2tbsp juice
30g flaked almonds

Preheat oven to 190C/gas 5. Grease an eight inch springform round cake tin and line.
Place the rhubarb in a bowl and cover with 50g of the sugar and leave for a minimum of 30mins.
Cream the remaining sugar with the butter and incorporate the eggs and flour, a little of each at a time to avoid curdling. Fold in the ground almonds and baking powder and then stir in the orange zest and juice.
Add the rhubarb and its sugary juice to the cake mix and pour into the waiting cake tin. Sprinkle over the flaked almonds, put the tin on a baking tray and bake in the middle of the oven for 25mins.
Reduce the temperature to 180C/gas 4 and cook for another 20-25 minutes or until firm. Allow to cool in the tine for 10 mins.

We served with double cream which J so cruelly, but expertly, whipped.

Gosset non-vintage champagne and Porcupine Ridge sauvingon blanc tickled our palates and helped us to celebrate both a new engagement and a new friendship.

Lemon Fairies to the Rescue

2006-05-08T14:15:00.001Z

The past few weeks have been something of a whirlwind in some ways, but also the creation of a mountain out of a molehill, the combined result of which has been a dirth of blogging. A weekend at home however has enabled me to breathe, relax and to create.

So far the spring has not only awoken nature but seems to have breathed life into my social life, which although is incredibly fun and interesting, is also at times exhausting. I have caught up on and cemented friendships, watched new ones develop and blossom and have spent time with family, both mine and J's. In the past month alone we have stayed in the Home Counties, Hamburg and France and ever occasion, every meeting of friends has conjured up a plethora of emotions.

I have let myself become crowded by what needn't be, but what has at times become, the 'serious' side of life; my consultancy business, the search for a house, the start of a new French class, tax returns (actually I think that anyone would find that one troubling at the best of times), the hunt for a specific outfit (how on earth can the thought of new shoes become stressful?!) and a recurrent bout of stomach problems. It sounds silly but I have not had the headspace (such a loathsome phrase and yet so accurate) to write, to relax, to cook.

Yet I am fortunate enough to have been reminded that life is too short to worry constantly and that a crowded mind can not be a creative one. And so this weekend I took a deep breath, had some fun and let the baking tins edge their way out of the cupboard.........

When asked which fancies he would like to munch on this week, J replied "fairy cakes" and so I was more than happy to oblige. Upon reflection I think that he would rather have demolished a chocolate cake or a sticky cherry confection, however J sensed that I would have more fun decorating and icing the little fairy sweeties. What a wonderful man he is. As my spirits felt lifted I decided to lighten the air with the aroma of lemons and so made these

Lemon Cupcakes (makes 12)
125 soft unsalted butter
125 caster sugar
125 self-raising sugar
2 eggs
1/2 tsp lemon extract (or limoncello - I'm determined to use it up!)
zest of one unwaxed lemon
1 - 1/2 tbsp milk

Preheat the oven to 200C and line a 12-bun tin with paper cases.
Cream the butter with the sugar and then add by stages, a spoon of sieved flour, a spoon of egg, flour, egg etc until the ingredients have combined (doing this gradually ensures against the dreaded curdling).
Add the lemon extract and the zest. Add a little milk as necessary for a flowing texture - so that it drops easily from the mixing spoon when tapped.
Spoon evenly into the paper cases.
Bake in the middle of the oven for up to 20 minutes or golden brown in colour and springy to the touch. Remove from the oven and transfer onto a wire rack as soon as they have cooled sufficiently to the touch.

Easy! Then have enormous fun decorating them with whatever silly fripperies you have to hand. I can never resist the urge to make baby pink, soft blue and white icing and to use a mixture of hundreds and thousands (J's favourite), crystallised violet sprinkles and sugar flowers.

Three Little Words

2006-05-08T13:35:00.001Z

Words are possibly the most powerful of all ammunition in the human nelson. They have the power to raise spirits, to elevate expectations, to inspire love, to create a whirlwind of desire and yet conversely they also have the ability to prick one's bubbling joy, to wound, to harm and to instill deep sadness.

Extraordinarily the same words in the English language can create entirely different emotions when used in differing contexts. Within the space of two days, the words "I miss you" were uttered to me. The first was a sign of warmth, of a burgeoning friendship borne from a love, shared interest in and passion for food. I felt honoured and full of joy to be lucky enough to have been missed.

The second however made me feel wretched, deeply saddened, momentarily angry and ashamed. Ashamed that this wonderful person's deep love for me had caused them pain; that I had neglected them in what can I can only think is a strange bid for independence. And yet ultimately I feel incredibly fortunate to be so cherished.

And yet how interesting that three little words created such a maelstrom of emotions. I am left wondering if this is why I sometimes choose to express love and affection through cooking. Why I would rather bake a cake or cook a meal than risk my words being heard with a different meaning than which they were offered. Surely it is difficult to misinterpret the whipping up of a meringue; hard to be upset by the smell of a casserole as it develops in the oven; difficult to be angered by biting into one's favourite lemon cake?

The language of food. A dictionary with a limited subtext and one of which I am increasingly fond.

Cupboard Love

2006-04-24T20:42:00.001Z

House hunting (an exercise which J and I are currently practicing daily) has proved to fuel an obsession of mine - other people's kitchens.

As a potential buyer one can only wistfully view cupboards from the outside and occasionally (oh heavenly joy) be permitted a snatched glimpse into the secret world of what lies within. I hold my breath as the fridge door clicks, the light leaps into action and one has to blink quickly to take in the sight of a half-empty bottle of Chablis, a pat of butter and if they are people worth purchasing from, a quality jar of marmalade (doubtless J might disagree on this point).

However my real fascination comes into play when we are fortunate enough to stay with friends and family. No matter how hard I try I simply cannot withhold the urge, indeed the compulsion, to poke into pantries, leaf through larders and to foray into fridges. Due to the fact that I naturally wake up earlier than most sensible adults, these gastronomic expeditions are habitually performed in the early hours as the sun is yawning and stretching its rays, and in silence, not wishing to disturb the slumber of my hosts.

And what fuels this weird obsession? I can only attribute it to a curiosity to unearth an insight into the characters whom are our friends and family. What hidden passions are concealed at the back of a shelf, behind the inevitable collection of tins, packets and jars of sauces? To what extent does the opinion of what substantiates a 'staple' vary from one household to another?

There was a time when I could lay a bet that the sole contents of my eldest sister and brother-in-law's fridge would be champagne, Miller lager, orange juice and margarine. One child later and number two well on the way, it is like opening the fridge door to another world - organic milk, organic veggies, freshly cooked meals for my nephew, salads - a transformation, not only of consumables but also of lifestyle.

And what are the staples of our little household? We are rarely without lemons, apples, goats milk, dark chocolate, apple and ginger tea, salad leaves, walnuts, parma ham, yogurts, ketchup, fresh pasta, brandy and wine. I will leave you to draw your own conclusions as to which of us eats which foodstuff and what (if anything) that reveals about our life.

Oh and one last thing. Please don't take offence at the thought of me having nosed in your cupboards. It may sound peculiar, but if I wasn't interested in you and didn't care about you then then your larder would remain untouched. Consider it a rather strange sign of affection, albeit a secret one.

Encourage - to inspire someone with the courage or confidence to do something

2006-04-23T16:03:00.001Z

It must be a rare occasion when one can recognise a life-enhancing moment as it happens, and yet that is what I was fortunate enough to have experienced last week. A mind-broadening, horizon-widening conversation that I now must have the the courage to truly recognise as the inspirational occurrence that it was and to take action.

One evening last week, I spent a treasured hour and a half of my boyfriend's father's precious time. J (my boyfriend) is an intensely private person and so I have refrained from dipping my toe into his very deep waters, but I am moved to plunge into the depths that are the Hope family. Christopher Hope is a writer of such enormous talent that I feel honoured to have discussed writing with him and certainly that occasionally reads this nonsense blog.
Christopher (henceforth referred to as 'CH' to save my fingertips) lives near Carcassone but was in London briefly to meet his agent and publisher in the run up to the publication of his new novel, 'My Mother's Lovers'. He had a little time to spare and so we met up for what was an extraordinary evening, for me at least.
CH suffered my questions about how he writes a novel, from the discipline of physically writing to the frustrations and complete obsession with one's emerging piece. It is as if the characters in his novels are shifting sands that develop and move in relation to one another which CH relates to a game of chess. CH spends periods of time in his native South Africa in isolation, devoted to pouring out his emerging story from dusk 'til dark, to the extent that on his last trip, a relative expressed concerns that Christopher was having an affair. And in many ways he was. In essence he was in love, absorbed by the characters and the lives that he had created.
The latest book was three and a half years in the making and he has devoted the magnitude of that amount of head-space in two little words that barely fill a hundredth of the title page - "to Jasper". To his son.
And why was this conversation so powerful, so able to make me nervous and excited at the same time? Because it is the first time that such a talented writer has shared thoughts about their art and, more significantly, has given me encouragement. "Have courage" were CH's enduring words. Yes I am a hopeless novice but be brave. Broaden out. Read beyond your current parameters. Expand your mind. Take encouragement from every quarter and have the courage to allow your mind to create. And the last step - to allow your fingertips to pour the creation out onto the page.
I was, indeed am, excited but also incredibly nervous. Only I can make the effort to learn, to change, to improve. Will I have the courage to bare my soul in the way that writers like CH do, to open myself up to the opinions and criticism of others? Will I ever be able to find any talent and then a vehicle to use it? Only time will tell. Just don't expect too much now that I have shared my fears with you.

Bun Fight en France – les gateaux de fées

2006-04-17T17:25:00.001Z

My parents moved to Angouleme in France a few weeks ago, having retired and sold up in the UK and built a house from scratch not far from Limoges. At first I did wonder if they were in danger of losing their marbles, but then I soon realised that to follow one's dreams, to make a new start later in one's life and in a new country, takes enormous courage. I am full of admiration for them. Plus I can't wait to stay with them and to faire les achats in the local market. My fingers are itching at the thought of fondling juicy red tomatoes, plucking out plump ripe plums and stroking fronds of lettuce leaves.

Any initial concerns I had about my parents being embraced by the local community were swept aside very soon after their arrival. A Sunday evening telephone conversation revealed that they had (hic) just returned from a five hour lunch (hic), hosted by the Mayor of Lessac for all people of retirement age in the area, whether they be French or English (and no, not a timeshare or retirement sales guerrilla was in sight). A terrific number of dishes had been consumed, bottles upon bottles of wine and the local marc had been appreciated and then my father had driven (slowly) home. Only in France. Oh yes, they are well on their way to becoming locals.

Although Angouleme is far from being an English enclave, there must be a fair smattering of 'les rostbifs' as the convivial Mayor has invited the ladies to whip up a collection of traditional British cakes for his mid-May fete. Upon hearing this my mind was filled with visions of an Anglo-Franco bake-off. A war of the whisks. A veritable competition of confectionery where bread and butter pudding is to be challenged by clafoutis des cerises. Where Dorset apple cake will be pitched against tarte aux pommes. Lemon drizzle cake versus madelaines. Treacle tart against financier aux raisins. Victoria sponge versus far aux pruneaux.

Having convinced her fellow bakers that her scones have a striking resemblance to rock cakes, the good old fashioned fairy cake is to be my mother's weapon of choice. Deceptively innocent in appearance, these little beauties are bound to charm the French judges into submission. Especially when they are nestled in pretty paper cases and are decorated with the sweetest of sugary flowers - just a few of the essentials that I have been asked to deliver on my forthcoming trick (apparently these little items are very hard to come by in the local shops whilst they are in abundance in London cookery shops. The upper hand will be gained on aesthetics alone I feel).

So, although my mother has her own tried and tested recipe for 'les gateaux de fees', I thought that I would post mine here. The use of almonds gives these little morsels a lovely dampness without robbing them off airiness, as befits a cake of fairy qualities. Even the hardest of hearts tend to melt a little when faced with these little puffs of pixie dust.

Almond Fairy Cakes makes 12
100g unsalted butter, softened
100g caster sugar
pinch of salt
1tsp almond essence
2 medium size eggs, lightly beaten
25g plain flour
100g ground almonds
2tbsp milk

Preheat the oven to 180 C/gas 4 and arrange 12 pretty paper cake cases in a bun tray.
Beat the butter, sugar and salt together until light and fluffy.
Add the eggs, flour, almonds, almond essence and milk and mix well. The cake batter should be of a consistency that drops easily from the spoon. Add a tiny bit more milk if necessary but go steady.
Divide the mixture between the 12 cases and flatten the tops with a spoon.
Bake for 20 minutes or until the cakes have risen and are of a golden colour. They should bounce back when lightly pressed.
Transfer to a wire rack and leave until cold.
Decorate with icing of your choice (I like to use fondant icing for these flavoured with lemon juice) and with sugary flowers or other such fripperies.

Bonne chance Maman.

Easter Fare

2006-04-15T16:52:00.001Z

Easter, like Christmas, is a time of year that has certain culinary connotations. Hot cross buns, simnel cakes, spring lamb and of course, chocolate eggs all spring to mind. However are we really aware of why these particular goodies are eaten? In a recent poll, 43% of British people had no idea what Easter commemorates and yet a staggering 75% of us happily buy Easter eggs. So why exactly do we choose certain foods?

The ancient Greeks and Chinese gave eggs as a symbol of springtime hope and the early Christians granted them with a religious connotation, choosing eggs to represent the tomb from which Jesus emerged. The tradition of Easter eggs was henceforth born and today a cracking 80 million chocolate ones are sold in the UK alone every year and the British Retail Consortium estimate that we Brits will spend no less than £520 million just on choccie eggs in 2006.

Decorating eggs started with simple vegetable dyes and red was often used to symbolise the blood of Christ. In Germany and Austria they are coloured green for Maundy Thursday and in the Ukraine, eggs are exquisitely decorated with intricate patterns. These 'pysanki' are blessed by priests and then given as gifts on Easter Sunday. It was the Russian Tsars however who introduced an element of bling to Easter. From the 1880s until the revolution in 1917 they commissionedjewelerler, Faberge, to bedeck eggs with diamonds and gold in order to make the ultimate Easter pressie.

Eggs, along with butter are just some of the goodies that Lentern fasters are supposed to give up and so Easter time has long been a baking celebration across Europe. Spiced breads, cakes and biscuits abound to herald the rebirth of Christ and take on all manner of shapes from crosses, fish and even lambs. Hot cross buns were traditionally baked on Good Friday in England and in the 17th century were first cut with their distinctive cross to let the devil fly out. Happily it also let the butter ooze in.

Just as the devil had a part to play with buns, he was instrumental in the choice of lamb at Easter time. Superstition has it that one is lucky to cross the path of a lamb at Easter time (and this doesn't mean in the supermarket meat aisle) as it is the one animal that the devil can never take the form of because Christ is the lamb of God. New season lamb also happens to be deliciously tender and juicy in the spring and so often forms the main course of Easter meals across Europe.

And what of the Easter Bunny? Amazingly this is not a myth dreamt up by the Hersheys and Cadburys of this world. Hares and rabbits have been viewed as the most fertile of animals since Pagan times and have long been held as a sign of an abundance of new life. The roots of the 'Easter Hare' and his philanthropic habits can be traced back to the 16th century although today one wonders if it is a tradition that dentists the world over would like us to maintain.

So as you tuck into your Easter eggs, cakes and roast lamb be confident in the knowledge that you are helping to perpetuate traditions that are hundreds of years old.
Happy Easter.

Chocolate Compulsion Cake

2006-04-09T21:02:00.001Z

Ralph, my brother-in-law to be (note to self - must bake wedding cakes next weekend) has a very serious chocolate habit.

I agree with Chloe Doutre-Roussel of Fortnum & Mason fame that quality chocolate is best tasted first thing in the morning whilst one's tastebuds are at their freshest and frequently have a square or two of something devilishly dark before elevenses. I somehow suspect however that this is not the motivation for Ralph's early morning chocolate consumption.

Ralph adores an instant 'hit' and if chocolate is in the house, what better time is there to partake than when he wakes up? That way his addiction for the day is satisfied. He has yet to stay with J and myself and I am not sure that he would be able to cope with my cache of dark, sensuous bars that pour out of various chocolate cupboards or the store of chocolate that J keeps in one of the vegetable drawers in the fridge (and yes I know that this is by no means an ideal way to keep chocolate and yet J is resolute that he prefers his chunks cold. He also likes to delude himself that as cacao beans grow on trees and he keeps his goodies in a vegetable compartment, that every bite counts towards his five fruit and veg count a day. Hmmmmm.).

Anyway, back to Ralph. Knowing that he adores all things chocolatey and homemade and yet also knowing that I am feeding his habit, I cannot help myself from making a chocolate fridge cake whenever I go and stay with Ralph and my sister (and the new addition to the family, my little nephew Otto). And sure enough, the sticky confectionery mysteriously decreases in size with every morning that passes......

And so I make no apologies for producing yet another version of the timeless classic that is chocolate fridge cake. After all, if the proof of the pudding is in the eating, then I need look no further than my future brother-in-law for an endorsement of this particular version.

Chocolate Compulsion Cake
125g unsalted butter
75g golden syrup
200g dark chocolate, broken into pieces
1 egg
1 large cookie, broken into chunks (I used one of those doughy, shop bought ones that resemble a cow pat - oddly they fit the bill perfectly! It weighed around 75g)
50g pecans, roughly broken
50g dried fruit (I used chopped dried prunes which added a lovely chewy depth)
50g glace cherries, plus four for topping

Line a 20cm x 8cm loaf tin with cling film.
Gently melt the butter and syrup in a small pan and bring it to a gentle boil. (A tip to measuring golden syrup is to use a metal spoon that you have just run under the hot tap - the syrup glides off the spoon with ease. Also pop your pan on the scales and measure the syrup straight into it - saves on the washing up).
Melt the chocolate in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water. When liquid, remove from the heat (taking care not to scald yourself in the process), add the butter and syrup mixture and stir well to incorporate.
Beat the egg slowly and continuously into the hot chocolate mixture.
Add the broken cookie, the nuts, fruit and 50g of the glace cherries.
Mix well and then pour into the prepared tin, smoothing the top as you go. Dot the remainder cherries evenly along the length of the tin and leave to set in the fridge for at least four hours.
When you want to serve the cake, it should come out of the tin as easily as a ten pound note from a wallet. Slice or cut into chunks.

Super served with coffee after dinner. Or if you cannot wait that long, with a smoothie for breakfast. Why prolong the anticipation when it could be satisfied immediately? Enjoy.

Apple Pleasure

2006-04-09T07:05:00.001Z

I had never fully understood why Eve succumbed to temptation when that slippery serpent presented her with a glistening, shiny apple. Why Snow White threw caution to the wind when faced with a glossy, red apple by her wicked stepmother. But that was until the first morning that I was given permission to break from the anti-candida regime.

How I had underestimated just how much I had missed that delicious 'kerunch' as one's teeth penetrate through the fruit's skin to its sparkling flesh beneath. Whether it be the nutty, slightly fluffy joys of an Egremont Russett or the more tart and solid delights of a Cox, that first bite, that first trickle of juice that rolls down one's throat is an utter joy. Made all the sweeter after three weeks of fruit abstinence, save for the occasional pulpy experience of apple puree.

Virtually reeling in the enjoyment of an apple, my senses went into overload with anticipation at the prospect of sinking my teeth into a plum, releasing that distinctive honeyed perfume and allowing the juice to drip down my chin, licking it off in sheer sensual delight.

It is all to easy to become blinded to the simple pleasures and moments of joy that are to be had in everyday life, beset as we are by deadlines, emails and mobile phones that demand instant attention, by our busy modern lifestyles. Just occasionally it is such a treat to take a few moments to smell the flowers, to bite into an apple, to close one's eyes with pleasure and contentment and to just be.

A Fragrant Dish

2006-04-06T13:52:00.001Z

Even though spring is definitely in the air and the daffodils are in full bloom in the parks, the evenings still retain a chilly nip that makes one yearn for warming food. Something to chase away the gusts of wind that take one's breath away with their severity, and to ward off the colds and flu bugs that seem to be hovering across London.

Ginger, hot chilies, oodles of garlic and limes are usually my preventative medicine of choice, however whilst on the anti-candida diet I have to go for slightly milder options and so I conjured up a chicken curry that was fragrant as opposed to tongue-stingingly hot.

Fragrant Chicken Curry serves 2
1 onion, peeled and quartered
2 garlic cloves
1 nub of fresh root garlic, peeled
1 green chili, halved and deseeded
2 tsp curry powder
1 dsp ground coriander
2 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp mustard seeds
2 handfuls of fresh coriander
2 skinless organic chicken breasts, cubed

Tip the onions, garlic, ginger, chili, ground spices, mustard seeds and half of the coriander into a food processor. Add a little salt and whizz to make a gorgeous green paste. Scrape every last particle into a saucepan and cook over a low heat for approx 10 minutes, stirring often so it doesn't catch. Inhale the super aromas as the spices release their magic.

Add approx 200ml boiling water to the paste and return to the boil. Add the chicken, lower the heat and simmer for 20 minutes or until tender.

Chop the remainder coriander and stir into the chicken (I have also added tinned chickpeas at this stage but J seems to think that they are the nuts of the devil so I avoid using them when I'm cooking for both of us).

Serve with rice (I love adding a stick of cinnamon and a few cardamom pods to rice when it is cooking to add a little more flavour. Just remember to remove them before you serve) and a little sprinkling of extra coriander for colour.

A very easy, fast and healthy curry which certainly brought a little exotic spice into SW5 on a cold and rather dreary evening. I just hope the flat doesn't smell quite so exotic for days to come.

Salad Days Are Here Again

2006-04-03T13:16:00.001Z

Whenever the sky contains a modicum of sunshine and there is a hint of warmth in the air, I find my attentions turning away from cooked the cooked greens which sustain me through the winter months, to the light and delicate leaves of salads.

There is something rather sad and unappetising about munching one's way through a chemical- laden pillow of leaves from a supermarket, and so last weekend, with its promise of burgeoning spring, I walked up to the Marylebone farmers market to see what leafy goodies were on offer.

It seems that everyone in London, including tourists, are aware of Borough Market which does means that actually trying to purchase anything has become an exercise in bustling, which rather robs robs one of any pleasure to be had in selecting delectable morsels and reminds one of rubbing up against fellow underground commuters in rush hour. Luckily the Sunday morning Marylebone market is a much more relaxed affair albeit a tiny fraction of the size.

So, determined to try something new I headed for the Wild Country Organics stall, tempted by their crates brimming over with a huge variety of weird and wonderful leaves in addition to the more usual suspects. After a consultation with the lovely stall holder I filled bags with ryokusai, greenin snow and claytonia, none of which I have ever encountered before, let alone nibbled.

How glad I am that I have. Ryokusai is a form of Chinese cabbage, its glossy dark green leaves resembling those of chard or savoy cabbage. It is also called Chinese mustard although I found that it had more of a peppery character. Unlike the spiky leaved greenin snow. A vivid shade of emerald, this distinctive leaf has a fierce mustard flavour which was superb when stir fried with garlic, spring onions and red chili. And then there was the delicate, feminine claytonia. These little leaves have a soft, almost dewy texture and have a slightly lemony taste. Perfect when combined with ribbons of cucumber and sugarsnap peas to accompany grilled fish.

Having had an introduction into the exciting world of leaves and so early in the season, I am looking forward to a long spring and summer of glorious salads. If only the weather would be as similarly enthusiastic.

Chocolate Characters Cont - the Truffler

2006-03-28T21:04:00.001Z

Champagne Truffle in Milk Chocolate

There is a saying that a soft centre masks a hard heart and this particular truffle certainly proves the rule.

The lovers of champagne chocs verge on the self-indulgent side and exhibit ruthless behaviour – nothing will get in the way of them achieving their goals and pleasures in life.

Although appearing to be connoisseurs, in reality their tastes are fairly pedestrian. The champagne truffler is swayed by brands and labels which they will delight in displaying visibly. These are not people of a complex palate and their slightly selfish streak will lead them to buy a box of their favourite centres for others, even if they know that the recipient prefers brazil nuts, safe in the knowledge that they will be able to polish off the contents themselves.

Beware the milk champagne truffler - these are not people to trifle with.

At Last - Spring

2006-03-25T07:45:00.001Z

Spring in this grey town is finally bursting through the curtain of winter and there is an excited anticipation in the newly warm air. People have cast aside their swaddling layers and are smiling at each other in the streets, bathed in the fresh, bright light. Chests are lifted and heads held high as Londoners emerge from their long winter hibernation and eyes are cast skywards like flowers unfurling and nodding towards the sun.

For months I have been waiting for this day, for this moment when the season of new life, new hope rushes into our lives. It may be raining but nothing today can dampen my spring spirits.

I breathe. I smile. I live.

The Candida Challenge - Dining Out

2006-03-22T18:17:00.001Z

Luckily London is awash with quality restaurants (along with those at the opposite end of the spectrum) that serve cuisine from around the globe. We are spoilt for choice - whether one yearns for substantial latkes, elegant dim sum, fragile sashimi, a fragrant biryani or a good old fashioned roast with all the trimmings, this is the place to be. Without having to resort to 'health food' establishments, it is incredibly easy to eat out whilst having to omit a plethora of goodies from one's diet.

So, dinner out with my great friend, A - a confirmed vegetarian, saw us heading for one of the Maroush restaurants.

Lebanese cuisine is one of my favourites. I love their use of lemons, oil, chickpeas, flavourings such as sumac, chili and mint and that there is usually something to suit even the pickiest of palates. J and I often go for a speedy weekend lunch when he can divulge in his lamb shwarma habit (pieces of rather fatty but unctuous meat lovingly enveloped in a soft flour wrap) whilst I breeze my way through a spicy salad.

And happily dinner whilst on the dreaded anti-candida plan proved to be a cinch at Maroush. The rather diffident staff brought us neon-coloured carrot juices, nutty tasting hummus, silky moutabal with it's smoky aubergine flavours, salty halloumi, vibrant salads and stuffed vine leaves with flat bread for A. Flavours to transport one to distant and sultry lands. Food to jolt the tastebuds awake whilst being healthy and, on this occasion, vegetarian and suitable for weird diets.

We left feeling replete, virtuous and with our wallets still mostly in one piece. I think killing the candida isn't going to be quite so hard after all.

Maroush V, 4 Vere Street, London W1G 0DF (off Oxford Street)

The Candida Challenge - Sipping

2006-03-22T18:01:00.001Z

I've been on the tricksy anti-candida diet for over a week now and I haven't yet perished due to sheer boredom (or hunger). It's amazing how inventive and resourceful one can be when armed with a fruitbowl of lemons, a fridge full of vegetables, an ocean of fish and a cupboard of herbs, spices and pulses.

Forfeiting a relaxing glass or two of wine of an evening is proving to be rather challenging, especially as I decided that if I was going to detox properly then I may as well hurl myself into it with all the energy I can muster and give up smoking. Today I am 10 days nicotine free and wish I could report that I am already feeling the benefit - sadly my chewed fingers tell a rather different tale.

However I have devised a delicious drink to sip (on the nights when I don't allow myself a cheeky vodka). Bursting with lemon zest, ginger and mint, it really does cheer one up and gives a much needed jolt to my tiring tastebuds. Not quite a glass of wine but, by jove, it will do for the remaining fasting fortnight. And it will be delicious on a summer's evening out in the garden. Where oh where is the sun?

CB's Lemon Zing
2 unwaxed lemons
large nugget of ginger, peeled
large handful of mint
ice cubes
1 bottle of sparkling mineral water (I've fallen in love with Pellegrino)

Zest your lemon and put it in a jug along with the juice of both fruits. Juice the ginger by grating it on the tiniest holes of a grater and add this to the lemon juice. Roughly tear the mint and add to the jug along with a good handful of ice cubes. Pour in the bottle of water and muddle it all up with a spoon. Delicious.

I have also added slices of peeled cucumber on occasions which adds a subtle freshness to this super drink.

Lemon Saviour

2006-03-17T11:47:00.001Z

After several months of feeling increasingly ill I finally got round to seeing my wonderful, Austrian homeopathist. Weird and wonderful tests revealed that I've got an overgrowth of candida in my stomach - again.

Candida is a minute microflora - a yeast that lives in everyone's tum. Unfortunately it can get out of control due to all kinds of triggers: stress, antibiotics, too much sugar etc. At best it can cause a whole raft of nasty symptoms and at worse can cause a debilitating illness akin to M.E. Luckily for me it just causes horrid tummy problems, ezcema and feeling so tired it's as if I'm carting a ton of bricks around, rather than my arms and legs.

How does one get rid of this evil demon? By starving the little critters (and the patient) with a strict, controlled diet and flushing those little devils clean away, helped by so many supplements that I swear I rattle as I walk. Basically one has to avoid all sugars, yeasts, cow's dairy, smoked or cured foods and refined grains, none of which really affect me, however the things that I will have to live without are hot spices, fermented things (no balsamic vinegar, no ketchup, pickles or alcohol), nuts (unless they're freshly cracked out of the shell), no chocolate and no fruit. The latter two are killing me although, thank heaven for small mercies, for a bizarre reason I am allowed lemons. Something to do with them actually being an alkaline food rather than acidic. I don't really care why, all I know that my fruit bowl is brimming over with these yellow jewels, waiting to yield their sparkling sunshine to brighten up my barren three week food gloom.

Lemons may prove to be the one thing which preserves my sanity for the next few weeks and will stop my tastebuds from losing the will to live. Oh, and my homeopathist did say that I was allowed the occasional vodka and spoon of apple puree if I really was going slightly round the twist. Vodka with a twist? Now we're talking. I think this is going to be bearable after all......

The Farm, Fulham

2006-03-06T14:34:00.001Z

I first visited The Farm, a gastropub in South West London, shortly after it opened to much acclaim in 2004, and so was keen to see if standards had been maintained when presented with the opportunity to make a return trip.

We fought our way through the noisy revellers in the bar to get to the restaurant, and to my astonishment, had to find somewhere to hang our coats up ourselves due to a reception which matched the chilly February evening. Sadly, this rather set the tone for the whole experience.

We were proffered the wine list which is divided in a somewhat confusing manner. ‘Spicy fruit’ and ‘Bordeaux’ were the two categories of red wine and yet the latter included wines from Australia and Chile. We opted for a 2000 Chateau la Fleur Carrere from St Emilion having received no help from the indifferent sommelier.

Since my last visit to The Farm, the menu has been changed to ‘French classic favourites’, a theme which is reflected in the starters (although I didn’t spy anyone eating the calves brains in butter), but which fizzles out by the main courses. I chose an artichoke and truffle salad with toasted pinenuts to start and my fellow diner opted for the saffron risottowith rocket and parmesan. These two starters did not sit well together on the table; my salad was tiny - wafer-thin slivers of artichoke sprinkled on a sparse bed of rocket and topped with little rounds of black truffle. Luckily the truffle had a good earthy taste but there was just too little of the artichoke for it to make an impact on one’s palate. Conversely, my partner’s risotto was a huge mound of rice, the saffron flavour of which was killed by a liberal overdose of cheese and an unimaginative presentation. Bland is the word.

18 months ago the menu displayed a touch of flair and imagination, however, unless roast duck, grilled steak, roast lamb and grilled fish are your thing, then you may be hard pushed to find something to your liking. Luckily this is exactly the food my partner loves and he chose the roast rump of lamb with cherry tomatoes with a confit of shallots in a lamb jus with a side order of chips. I plumped for a second starter, peppered tuna with green beans, soft egg and olive sauce with a green salad on the side. No choice was offered as to how the lamb was cooked but happily it was still pink in the middle and very tender. The confit of shallots however was overly sweet as if sugar had been added rather than caramelising the onions. Indeed, the texture of the shallots rather added to this suspicion. The chips were simply awful. Greasy and like something one would expect from a local chippy, not from a gastropub.

My tuna was delicious, two slices of lightly-seared fish with a pepper crust which was complemented beautifully by the salty tapenade. The soft egg was actually hard and only half appeared on my plate, but by then we were no longer surprised, more resigned.

With coffee and water, the bill came to a little over £75. Not the cheapest gastropub I’ve dined in but almost certainly one of the most disappointing. More of a barnyard than a Farm.

The Farm, 18 Farm Lane, London SW6
www.thefarmfulham.co.uk

Fish for Friends

2006-03-05T18:54:00.001Z

My great friend Peter was over all to briefly from France (see Le Log Lillois) and so we invited him over for supper. Peter is a pescatarian (or 'pesky vegetarian' as I have heard them referred to) and so obviously this determined dinnertime fare.

One trip to the fishmonger later and I was prepared to make my version of a tomato and fish stew, perfect for a bitterly cold February night. This is also a great dish to make if you not sure what time everyone is expected to arrive as the sauce can be made in advance and then the final stages will only take around 10 mins to perform.

Tomato Fishy Stew (serves 3 hungry people or 4 who are less ravenous)
1 onion, finely sliced
3 celery stalks, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1tsp ground cumin
3tsp ground coriander
1/2tsp ground ginger
few branches of thyme
400g tin cherry tomatoes in juice (plus 200g tin chopped toms in juice)
tomato ketchup
red wine (a soft pinot noir is ideal)
large pinch of saffron threads
1 tuna steak
1 salmon fillet
1 cod fillet
150g large cooked tiger prawns
flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Soften the onion and celery in olive oil for around 10 minutes and then add the garlic. Tip in the tomatoes with their juices, the herbs and spices, a good splurge of ketchup and bubble away on a medium to high heat for around 10 minutes. Season with a good grinding of pepper.

When the tomatoes have reduced to a pulp, pour in a glass of red wine and bubble again for around another 10 minutes. Taste and season to your liking. Turn off the heat if your guests have not yet arrived and avoid the temptation to keep on tasting (or maybe that's just me!).

Meanwhile, cut the fish fillets into large bite-size chunks and season with ground pepper. Mix in the prawns and put to one side.

Pour a little boiling water over the saffron threads in a saucer and leave to infuse.

When your supper companions are comfortably settled on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand, re-heat the tomato sauce, add the saffron/water mixture and chuck in the fish. Stir, leave over a low to medium heat for approximately 5-10 minutes (depends on how 'done' you like your fish) and then serve, sprinkled with a good pinch or two of the parsley with a bowl of new potatoes and one of greens.

I apologise to friends who recognise this dish - it's become one of those recipes that I can turn out automatically without having to concentrate terribly hard. Still, we all need them and gathering from the clean plates, no-one was disappointed.

Lunchtime Antics

2006-03-03T16:09:00.001Z

Lunching alone is a practice which I often enjoy. Refusing to bury my head in a book or magazine, behaviour often exhibited by other solitary diners, I choose to use it as an excellent opportunity for people watching.

There are the business lunches where an awkward hesitation hovers over the wine list. Will the client imbibe or not? One can audibly hear a breathe of relief exhaled by the hosting agency as the phrase “I think a little glass of wine might be in order” is uttered.

The couple of gentlemen of a certain age who guffaw with added gusto to avoid any confusion as to their sexuality. “Not that there’s anything wrong with queer chaps you understand. Heavens, Cynthia was married to one once.”

The ‘yummy mummies’ whose attention is diverted to their wailing offspring and who only manage to half consume their by-now cold lasagne (“I need the carbs sweetie. I’m breastfeeding.”).

And of course, no musing on lunchers would be complete without mentioning those legendary ladies-who-lunch. The mineral water sipping, Silk Cut Slim puffing, Chanel encrusted brigade are not just an urban myth. Fearful of not fitting into next season’s Manolos if their weight creeps over seven stone, they appear to exist on greens and the occasional prawn. Oh, and a glass of champagne on a Friday.

The couple whom have been married forever, for whom food is solely fuel and whose only conversation is “I hope that’s not salt Geoffrey, you know what Dr Hughes said.” The young lovers who are caught in the heady whirlwind of fresh passion and whom devour more of each other than their shared fruit de mer (she daren’t tell him that shellfish might just make her eyes swell to the size of gobstoppers).

Yes, lunchtime offers a fascinating insight into human behaviour and relationships. Don’t even get me started on dinnertime!

Baking Therapy

2006-03-03T14:29:00.001Z

I have long found great comfort in baking; from the collating of ingredients, the creaming of butter and sugar to anticipating the satisfaction gained from turning out a light and fluffy cake. It is a kind of everyday alchemy that cannot be beaten for its soothing qualities. And yet I never realised that it could also teach one a salutary lesson about confidence and not taking oneself quite so seriously.

I had oodles of chocolate and so a choccie cake of some description seemed the obvious solution to the question of what to take to friends (as well as wine, clearly). I chanced across Nigella Lawson's recipe for a chocolate orange cake but I have to admit what really sold me was that it involved marmalade. Probably not the content of many people's guilty secrets but here goes....... I have a deep-seated passion for this orangey, orgasmic sweetness, the gooier the better with so much peel that there's barely any room in-between for the amber nectar. I could blame my mother - she craved marmalade sandwiches (aka Paddington Bear) when pregnant and I'm convinced that the sticky, sweet stuff is in my blood.

I don't often buy marmalade as, once opened, a jar mysteriously evaporates within days, however when I saw that Nigella's recipe would use 3/4 a jar, my tastebuds prickled with anticipation. So, with apologies to the mighty Nigella, here is the recipe, tweaked slightly.

Chocolate Orange Cake

125g unsalted butter

100g dark chocolate, broken up (I used Barry Callebaut couverture pellets)

300g medium-cut marmalade (make it a good one!)

150g unrefined caster sugar

pinch of salt

2 eggs, beaten

150g self raising flour

slug of Grand Marnier

Preheat the oven to 180C/gas 4. Butter and flour an 8inch round cake tin.

Melt the butter in a pan over a low heat. When it's liquid, stir in the chocolate and when softened, take the pan off the heat and stir until the butter and choc make a smooth, melted mixture. Add the marmalade, sugar, salt, eggs and a generous slug of Grand Marnier. Stir until well mixed and then beat in the flour, bit by bit. Pour into the cake tin and pop in the oven for approximately one hour or until a skewer comes out clean when poked into the cake. Cool in the pan for 15mins and then turn out.

Now comes the lesson. The cake was baked and it slid out of the tin with ease however when I tried to prise away the base, disaster fell and the cake split down the middle - a yawning chocolate chasm which sent me into despair. I was a complete failure. Call it tiredness (call it stupid if you will) but my fragile culinary confidence was shattered.

Desperate to avoid the evidence of my failings I escaped the flat and walked.......and walked. As ever, my clearest thinking is always done in the fresh air and I finally realised what a Charlie I was being. The day before I'd attended a civil ceremony where over 100 guests had tucked into a three-tiered, brandy-laced cake made by my own fair hand. Not exactly the work of a complete cooking chump. Good grief. I'm sure even Saint Delia has been exasperated by the odd sunken souffle or the occasional curdled mayonnaise.

Heartened by such thoughts I skipped to the grocery shop to buy some plump oranges and creme fraiche and lo, a new dessert was born - choc orange surprise.

So that is the rather long-winded explanation of how baking taught me to have a little faith in my own abilities, that the glass (indeed the marmalade pot) is not half empty and that with a bit of creativity, a collapsed cake can be spirited into a chorus of 'mmmmm' from friends.

Chocolate Characters Continued....The Hot One

2006-02-26T17:46:00.001Z

At first glance, combining chili with chocolate may appear to be a rather modern phenomena. However a more authentic combo would be hard to find. The ancient Mayans (A.D. 250 to 900) and possibly the Olmecs before them, flavoured their highly valued chocolate drink with a number of delicacies including honey, vanilla and also chili. It was only when the Spanish conquistadors introduced cocoa to Europe that sugar was added and chocolate was not eaten in anything resembling the bar format that we know today until the 19th century.

OK, history lesson over. Let's get to the nub of the matter. What does a predilection for the piquancy and kick that chili adds to chocolate, reveal about one's character?

Chili in Dark Chocolate
The consumer of this particular combination is one of the pleasure seekers of the chocolate world. Verging on being a worrier, they are searching for something in life, even if they are not quite sure what that elusive 'thing' is.

Usually high achievers, they tend to display a cautious adventurousness which can appear to others as a sense of bravado and gung-ho, however this really belies a certain hesitancy.

These creatures with their love of strong flavours, possess a warm personality who will give deeply to those they love but can adversely be politely cool with those that they don't take to. These are all or nothing animals.

Chili chocolate lovers seek stimulation, both of their tastebuds and their intellect. They abhor being bored and in extreme cases can become quite destructive unless their attention is diverted and engaged elsewhere. They find it hard to relax and will push themselves until forced to stop, either by others or by sheer exhaustion.

They are passionate about the issues and people they care about. On the occasions when they allow themselves to cut loose and to let their wild emotions and desires come to the fore, they can be quite a force to be reckoned with.

Just as chilies add a kick and vibrancy to a dish, so can the chili chocolate eater enrich one's life. However, a word of caution. Handle with care.

Sushi Heaven

2006-02-12T16:20:00.001Z

Japanese food is my absolute favourite. Clean and clearly defined flavours, delicate portions, spankingly fresh fare and an absolute joy for those of us who are dairy and gluten free (just go easy on the soy sauce). Sushi and all things fishy seem to have gained a lot of press attention in recent weeks as hot on the tails of the successful 'French Women Don't Get Fat' comes a Japanese version which also claims to delay the signs of ageing. Hmmm.

So, when my very slim and amazingly youthful-looking friend, C, emailed to suggest a catch-up, sushi seemed to be the obvious choice. I had previously initiated C into food of the Land of the Rising Sun at a kaiten-zushi (conveyor-belt) joint to ease her and her nerves in gently. Having not only survived but thorougly enjoyed that experience, C was now ready for the next stage. A full on Japanese restaurant. And so we skipped to Kisso in South Kensington, my favourite.

As ever at this wonderful little local, the service was erratic at best, tediously slow at worse however the waiting staff are so delightfully sweet and the food is beyond comparison at its reasonable price that one can't help but be happy to bide one's time.

We shared a bowl of steamed edamame beans sprinkled with sea salt, the beans feeling like pearls in comparison to their hairy pods when prised apart with one's teeth. The puckering of one's lips should be an indication that enough salt has been consumed, however I can never heed such warnings as I just cannot get enough of these little jewels. I fail to understand why some lesser-quality restaurants insist on serving edamame cold as the heat is needed to transform these soy beans from hard pellets to silky buttons.

I chose scallop sashimi - the sweetest, most tender savoury food that I have ever experienced. And such freshness. I could happily eat this everyday for the rest of my life although I didn't dare ask if the scallops had been diver caught in case my conscience didn't like the reply.

I followed the sashimi with unagi (grilled eel) and cucumber rolls, the coolness of the cucumber proving to be the perfect foil to the oily eel fresh and all wrapped in perfectly vinegared sushi rice which was so freshly prepared that it was still slightly warm. Combined with a sinus-clearing dab of wasabi these rolls were a big hit.

C's cod on a bed of ginger and mushroom rice was wonderfully perfumed, the ginger adding to rather than masking the delicate flavour of the fish.

Two glasses of wine and a small bottle of water later, the whole thing came to under £40. And we felt safe in the knowledge that our waistlines and wrinkles were safe.

Chocolate Characters

2006-02-09T12:09:00.001Z

Chocolate holds a singular position in life. A power it has yielded for thousands of years and shows no signs of relinquishing. Few legally obtained substances arouse a similar level of passion and one is hard-pressed to find an individual who is indifferent to the stuff - most have a favourite centre, brand or even bean whilst others claim that they cannot stand it.

Whether an advocate of a mass produced, sugar laden 'fix' or a connoisseur of the single plantation, single bean slab, we rely on cocoa to give us a small measure of unbridled pleasure. Sadly for some this is tinged with guilt ("I really shouldn't....") whilst others relish the unfurling of desire as little piece of dark heaven melts on their tounge and the ensuing flavours envelop them.

Whilst working in the chocolate shop I often wondered if each individual's reaction to chocolate is different, does their choice of flavours reveal anything about them? For example, are there characteristics which are common to those who love a milk hard caramel and do they differ from those who prefer a cherry wrapped in dark chocolate?

Having observed customers and conducting a survey amongst my friends I have come to some silly conclusions, the first of which follows:

Violet cream enrobed in dark chocolate
Those that delight in this floral delicacy is of a complex character. Often overlooked as the granny's choice, these little fondants belie a sophistication and subtle air of the eater in question. Often those that choose flowery creams have a certain sense of tradition, a classic style being sure about what suits them and what they like. They will have a strength of character and a quiet confidence of their convictions. They appreciate the finer things in life and often have exquisite taste. These are not guzzlers, instead choosing to savour experiences in life and beneath that romantic exterior, there is a passionate soul waiting to be discovered.

Next time you see someone select a violet or rose cream from a mixed selection, bear in mind that this quiet, seemingly unassuming person is truly a tiger!

Lemon Chill

2006-02-09T11:40:00.001Z

Today is a perfect winter's day in London. The sky is a vivid shade of blue with not even the threat of a rain cloud and the biting wind manages to find a way through one's layers of clothing to poke its cruel, cloud fingers into one's flesh. Just the conditions to make one yearn for soul food - food that will make one feel cossetted and thankful to escape the wicked wind outside. To me this doesn't mean a creamy risotto, a roasted joint or a school dinner type pud (as it does to some of my friends), but rather simple vegetables, laced with zingy flavours redolent of summer months to awaken my dullened tastebuds.

Having been rather buffeted by the weather I raided the fridge to emerge with a bunch of purple sprouting broccoli and a red chilli. First I prepared the dressing. I fried a clove of garlic and the chopped chilli in a glug of olive oil and then added the juice of half a lemon, its zest and also some curls of the peel and let it bubble away to create a warm dressing. Meanwhile I shaved the thick stems of the broccoli and steamed it over a pan of water to which I'd added some fennel seeds, for about five minutes. I then threw the broccoli into the pan with the dressing and tossed it to ensure it was thoroughly coated.

Devoured with a simple salad this was exactly the medicine I needed to counter my February blues.

Chocolate Tasters......or Scoffers

2006-02-06T13:56:00.001Z

At the end of last year I finished my 'serious job' to try my hand at entering the world of food. As I have a sort of chocolate qualification (and more relevantly, a passion for the stuff) I grabbed the opportunity to work at what is possibly one of London's quirkiest chocolate shops. Although I'd hoped for a marketing or pr job, thus using my prior experience and skills, I decided to plummet into the deep end, to go back to basics and to be a 'shopgirl' in the mad pre-Christmas rush. An eye-opener indeed! Christmas is the chocolate world's second busiest time of the year (Easter is the bonkers time, what else do people exchange other than chocolate eggs?) and so a baptism of fire was undertaken, but my goodness, apart from anything else, what an insight into people, both their characters and habits. Take for example, attitudes to free samples. I soon realised that when faced with a tantalizing tray of cocoa titbits, people tend to fall into one of three camps.

The first, the 'sidler', edges rather nervously up to the counter and rather furtively, their hand will slide its way up to the proffered plate. A morsel will be snatched, popped into the receiving mouth and hurriedly chewed, without stopping to consider what they are hastily munching. And this entire procedure (lasting approximately 30 seconds) is performed without making eye contact with the chocolate vendor. I wonder that the sidler derives any pleasure from this exercise as one needs to savour chocolate, to let it melt in one's mouth as it yields its subtle aromas and flavours in waves that caress one's tastebuds before culminating in a crescendo of 'wow'.

Then there are the 'scoffers'. These creatures blatantly grab large fistfuls and stuff them unceremoniously into their (I'm sad to say) equally large mouths. These people, often having consumed their afternoon tea at the shop's pleasure, rarely continue to actually make a purchase. Indeed their is something of a sense of proud about them as they swagger out of the door. Interestingly the scoffers often hunt in packs and although I hate to point the finger, no matter how chocolatey, they are usually upper-middle class, loudly spoken and rather brusque. Money and privilege does not necessarily imbue one with charming manners or taste. The scoffers share a lack of interest in what they are tasting with the sidlers.

The third type are every chocolate-seller's favourite. The 'tasters'. These pleasant individuals are actually interested in what they are putting into their mouths and one imagines that they rarely let inferior goods make their way past their lips. They take pleasure in letting the cocoa butter melt and in letting the flavours unfurl in their mouths and in gauging the intensity which each sample contains. These sweet people allow one to talk about the sample, in return for which, we hopefully have helped the customer to have discovered a new delight or to widen their taste memory-bank a little.

As my time at the chocolate shop comes to an end (the need to make money is calling me back temporarily to grown-up work) I realise that I have learnt an awful lot about people. Their choice of chocolates is even more of an character insight.........................

Lemon Soul

2006-02-04T17:49:00.001Z

Welcome to my little world of culinary experiences. This blog is purely an outlet for my passion for food and for my new-found joy of writing. Also it’s a simple means of keeping in touch with my friends and family abroad – if I can’t cook for them at least I can show them what I’ve been up to.

My approach to food has changed quite significantly in the last few years. I used to be afraid of it and of experimenting with ingredients, however years of avidly reading every published article about food, collecting recipes and of living with a terribly accomplished and instinctive cook (my boyfriend, J) has given me a confidence that is still growing. A stint in the wine trade and an in-depth course about chocolate (another passion of mine) introduced me to the heady world of flavours and their nuances and now I find that playing with combinations is such fun, even if they don’t always work.

Lemons are my favourite fruit as they have the power to release their wonderful juice and by doing so, bring a little taste of sunshine to gloomy London. I start each day with the juice of half a lemon and it never fails to lift my spirits. I try to eat very healthily, mainly as I am dairy and gluten intolerant. Instead of letting this be a burden I view it as a daily opportunity to cook a meal from fresh ingredients without ever being able to fall back on nasty processed foods. I adore baking and yet don’t have a sweet tooth (apart from chocolate but that’s another story) however fortunately my boyfriend and friends do and so my tinkerings with flour, eggs and sugar usually find a welcome home. However I am no domestic goddess.

Basically I am fascinated by food and everything appertaining to it be it restaurants, ingredients and their provenance, people’s eating habits etc: the list is endless and rather than boring you with my rantings, I hope that you find this blog of mild interest and if nothing else, that it may inspire you to get out your saucepans and to prove that you are a better cook than me. Trust me, it’s really not that much of a challenge!