Bun Fight en France – les gateaux de fées

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.........................