admin, Author at The Kitchen Therapist

Butternut Squash & Parmesan Scones

October 14, 2018

If you have a squash and you don’t know what to do with it, bake with it.

My children have been sceptical about vegetables in baking ever since my infamous Courgette Chocolate Cake.

“Is there anything weird in it?”

Missing my opportunity to come clean and give my cake a chance of success…

“No, no, nothing weird”

Moments later, when they had been put off by the strange taste, their disgust was hardened by an admission of my deceit.

“OK, it’s a Courgette Chocolate Cake”

More than a decade later I am not allowed to forget it.

So, when I produce some impressive but suspiciously orange looking scones from the oven they are hyper-vigilant. This time I tell the truth, and this time it works out fine.

I don’t know why the humble squash gets such an ambivalent greeting when it starts to appear, and I shudder to think of all the good pumpkin that gets thrown away in the name of Halloween carvings. But, in truth, a standard pumpkin is nothing against the pomp of the more interesting squashes.

Personally, I am happy to eat a squash roasted with a few cloves of garlic, a bit of chili and a dousing of olive oil, but if you have an audience which might prove tougher to convert, these Butternut Squash and Parmesan Scones are an absolute treat.

The recipe is adapted from one appearing on Art & The Kitchen, which is why it uses US cup measurements. If you don’t have a set of cup measures, get some. It’s a super easy way to bake.

Ingredients

2 3/4 cups of plain flour

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

1/4 tsp bicarbonate of soda

1/3 cup unsalted butter (cubed)

1/2 cup of grated parmesan (you can use more/less or a different hard cheese..it’s up to you!)

1 egg

3/4 cup cooked butternut squash (mashed)

2/3 cup buttermilk

Method

In a large bowl, combine the flour, salt, baking powder, and bicarb.

Rub the butter into the flour mixture until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs.

Add the grated cheese.

In another bowl combine the egg, buttermilk and mashed squash.

Mix the wet into the dry ingredients until you have a soft but workable dough.

Turn out onto a floured work surface and roll gently until the dough is an inch thick. THIS IS IMPORTANT. One of the reasons people get the idea they can’t make scones is because they roll the dough too thin and expect too much rise. They end up with biscuits.

Using a cutter approximately 3″ (although you could make slightly smaller or larger scones if you wish) cut out as many scones as you can.

Bake in an oven pre-heated to gas mark 7 (200 degrees) for 15 or 20 minutes.

Birthdays and an autumn chutney

September 5, 2017

Birthdays have a nasty habit of coming around quicker the older you get. However, the speed with which they arrive is offset by an increasing feeling of peace and contentment when I glance around at my life. It wasn’t always like this.

I often found it difficult to enjoy my birthday, not least because I would put so much damn pressure on myself to do so. The “special” days of the year can confound us by ramping up the level of expectation to such a degree that they cannot fail to be a disappointment.

In years gone by I have found myself literally clock watching to see how many of the precious minutes have passed, and done some sort of internal calculation as to how well I am doing in terms of enjoying my day.

We create disappointment from birthdays when we focus on what extra there is to enjoy rather than taking the opportunity to realise how much joy we already have.

To that end, in more recent times I have taken the opportunity on my birthday to consider all that I have in my life rather than allowing my focus to drift away to any perceived deficits. It works wonders. I no longer need to do anything special because, rather wonderfully, every day is enjoyable.

When it comes to finding gratitude for plentiful bounty there is no time in the year like later summer drifting away into autumn. There is a glut of most things be they marrows, cucumbers, tomatoes, plums or apples. Ahh, apples. Since we pricked the one tree bare early in August I have been thinking of ways to use up the apples. We’ve had crumbles, cakes and pies but I wanted something that would last. I was searching for a way to enjoy an echo of the summer in the darkest coldest days of autumn, and what better way to do that than with a chutney.

What follows is a recipe that can be adjusted according to whatever glut you happen to have. As long as the different proportions of fruit, vegetable, vinegar, sugar and spice are observed, you’ll emerge with something unique, wonderful and sufficient to put a bit of something special into any day.

I made this on my birthday, listening to the radio while the rain lashed down outside on a particularly unseasonable August day. Bliss.

Autumn Chutney

1kg Apples

500g Courgettes/marrows

1kg Tomatoes (if you have plenty of green ones due to the lacklustre summer, use those)

500g Red or white onions

250g Dried cranberries

500g Brown sugar

750ml Cider vinegar

200ml Water

4 teaspoons chilli flakes (use less if you don’t like it too spicy)

Spice bag – You can add any combination of spices you like. I used this selection
Half a teaspoon of cloves
Half a teaspoon of pink peppercorns
2 star anise
2 bay leaves

Put them into a square of muslin and tie the corners tightly into a little bag.

Peel and core the apples. Dice them up into 1cm pieces

Do the same with the courgettes/marrows but don’t bother peeling them.

Roughly chop the tomatoes. If they are red and large you should skin them by putting them into a bowl of boiling water having cut a cross into the bottom of them. After a minute or two the skins will slide off. If they are small tomatoes or green ones I wouldn’t bother..in fact I didn’t.

Chop up the onion into small pieces. You don’t want big bits of onion in your chutney.

Add all the ingredients into a large heavy bottomed pan (assuming you aren’t fortunate enough to have your mother’s old preserving pan).

Heat the mixture slowly stirring to dissolve the sugar.

When it comes to the boil simmer it for 2.5 to 3 hours stirring sometimes so that it doesn’t burn.

The chutney is ready when it has darkened and thickened. When you drag your wooden spoon through it there should be a discernible “parting” of the chutney so that you can see the bottom of the pan.

While the chutney is still warm put it into sterilised jam jars with lids.

Leave it for a few weeks to mature, and then enjoy the fruits of summer with a nice piece of cheese sitting around the fire when its cold and grey outside.

PS. That’s Bertie the Butternut Squash in the background of the picture..in case you were wondering.

Chewy Cranberry and Apricot Granola Bars

May 7, 2017

There’s so much misinformation about “healthy eating”. We seem to think about eating well as part of a binary choice where the only other alternative is eating badly, but there is more to it than that. In addition, some people seem to think that cutting down on sugar, avoiding gluten or processed foods means having to eat food which tastes worse. It’s all nonsense of course.

Sometimes our bodies react negatively to certain foods and reducing or removing them can have miraculous impact on our physical bodies and therefore our emotional wellbeing.

Taking care of our bodies through a little extra thought about what we eat doesn’t need to be a chore and it definitely doesn’t mean denying yourself.

At Christmas I was given a copy of Claire Ptak’s book “The Violet Bakery Cookbook”. It’s such a beautiful book, full of imaginative recipes which use less refined sugar and experiment with flours and ingredients you may not have considered using in your baking. These granola bars were inspired by the granola recipe in Claire’s book which, since Christmas, has been an ever present staple in my kitchen. Having messed around adding ginger and cranberries and once, having run out of buckwheat flakes, using quinoa flakes with great success I decide to make some granola bars for my daughter to take to school which would give her the slow release sugar boost she needs, without compromising on taste.

This was my first go at the recipe and, I’m really pleased with it. But, if you want to mess around with any of the ingredients, feel free. I’d love to know what you think and how you’ve adjusted the recipe.

With heartfelt thanks to Claire Ptak for the inspiration.

Don’t be put off by the extensive ingredients list. Putting it together takes hardly any time at all.

Ingredients

120g gluten free oats

250g buckwheat flakes

50g millet flakes

50g soft brown sugar

100g buckwheat flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

100g dried cranberries

50g dried apricots

75ml agave syrup

50ml coconut oil

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

80g natural peanut butter (crunchy or smooth, as you prefer)

120g mixed seeds (I used pumpkin seeds and sesame seeds in equal measure)

Method

Mix all the dried ingredients (except the sugar) together in a large bowl

Combine the brown sugar, agave syrup, coconut oil, peanut butter in a pan over a low heat until all melted and combined.

Remove from the heat and add the vanilla essence.

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix well with a wooden spoon.

Press the mixture into a baking tin or dish approximately 23cm square or similar. Make sure you lined the dish with baking paper otherwise you won’t be able to get the granola bars out when they’re cooked.

Bake in a preheated oven at Gas 4/180c for around 30 minutes until they have turned golden brown. Keep an eye on them and if they look as if they are browning too quickly cover them with some baking parchment. They are done when they are springy to the touch.

Leave them to cool completely before cutting them into bars with a sharp knife.

Do leave me a comment to let me know how you get on.

Cakes Based On Your Favourite Chocolate Bar – Turkish Delight

May 7, 2017

Some years ago, shortly before my daughters birthday, I asked her what kind of cake she wanted me to make for her. “I’d like one which looks like a banana, smells like strawberries, and tastes of chocolate” she replied, without missing a beat. Always up for a challenge I managed to pull it off. Ever since I have asked the question with trepidation, although these days she mostly tells me “I don’t mind as long as you don’t put courgette in it”.

Making a cake for someone is such a joy. The act of giving is one which makes us feel good anyway, and giving something we have made ourselves is hard to beat.

My mother always made me a cake for my birthday until the year that my sister decided she wanted to make me one. I must have been about 19. My sister brought her creation round on the morning of my birthday while I was still in bed (I was 19, so it was probably around 10am) and, while she had a coffee with my mother in the sitting room, the dogs climbed onto the kitchen table and ate the cake. I never saw it, not a crumb. She never made me another one.

My own children had a blessed childhood where cake was concerned because I always insisted on making them one, and, while she was alive, my mother did too. Two cakes on your birthday, one of which you could guarantee would feature my mothers signature rose flavoured icing.

My daughter was 16 this year so I tried to combine my own creation with a nod to my late mother, my daughter’s “nanna”. What emerged was this Turkish Delight Cake, so called because taking a mouthful with both forms of icing really feels like eating a bar of Fry’s Turkish Delight in cake form.

Next I’m going to recreate the Bounty Bar as a cake (the plain chocolate version obviously, I’m not an animal).

If you make it, do let me know how you get on, and which chocolate bar favourites you’d like to see recreated in cake.

Ingredients

For the cake. Enough for 2 x 23cm sandwich tins

390g plain flour

250g caster sugar

100g light muscovado sugar

60g cocoa powder

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

3 eggs

140ml sour cream

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

150g melted unsalted butter

150g corn oil

300ml cold water

For the Chocolate Fudge Icing

100g unsalted butter

100g sour cream

180g dark chocolate

250g icing sugar

1 tablespoon agave syrup (you can use golden syrup or honey if you wish)

For the Turkish Delight Icing

100g unsalted butter (softened)

100g icing sugar

2 teaspoons rose flavouring

red food colouring

Method

Mix together all the dry cake ingredients in one bowl

Mix together the eggs, sour cream and vanilla in another bowl

Whisk together the melted butter and corn oil in a third bowl, then beat in the cold water.

Add all the dry ingredients to the butter/corn oil/water mix

Then add the eggs and cream mixture and mix it well.

Pour the cake mix into the prepared (greased and lined) cake tins.

Bake in a preheated oven at Gas 4/180c for around 50 minutes or until a skewer comes out clean.

Turn onto a rack and cool completely before trying to get them out of the tin or they’ll break.

Chocolate Icing

Melt the chocolate and the butter together in a bowl (I do it over a pan of simmering water)

When its melted and cooled a little, mix in the vanilla and agave.

Sieve the icing sugar into a bowl.

Add the chocolate/butter mixture and combine until the icing is thick and smooth.

Rose Icing

Mix the softened butter with the sieved icing sugar in a bowl.

Add the rose flavouring (you can adjust according to taste)

Add a little red food colouring until you have a colour which resembles Turkish Delight. As you can see from the picture, I added too much.

Working Magic – Stale Sourdough & Cabbage

February 8, 2017

One of the consequences of making a lot of bread is that you tend to have a lot of bread. As wonderful as sourdough is it still, eventually, goes stale. When it does the challenge to find new ways of using it up is considerable.

There is a positive pressure brought to bear by the weekly vegetable box delivery. Roots and leaves I might not have readily chosen pose questions of me in thinking of recipes or ways to cook them, and I frequently find myself with a new cabbage before I have eaten the one from last week.

In the winter we are drawn towards comfort food and, with an evening client last night, I wanted something fast, delicious, comforting, and which would give me the chance to use up a whole cabbage and most of a rye sourdough loaf. Tough challenge? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Zuppa d’Aosta.

Soggy bread and cabbage might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea but, oh my, this is an absolute joy. Do not skimp on the bread, you must use great bread. The stock was also significantly improved by the addition on Sundays leftover gravy. On reflection you may want to add fewer anchovies but I love anchovies, so the need to drink a pint of water half an hour after finishing the soup was small price to pay.

The combined delight which comes from eating well, making your own food and using up things which might end up in the bin is a real emotional fillip. It took ten minutes to prepare and came with the knowledge that, aside from the decadent amount of cheese, I was taking care of myself in the most simple but effective of ways.

Zuppa d’Aosta

Aosta is a city in the Alpine region in the North of Italy. It can get pretty cold there in the winter with the daytime temperature failing to rise above zero. When it’s that cold you need hearty food and this soup is about as hearty as it gets.

I know that some people are appalled at the notion of putting bread into soup but it makes so much sense. You can bulk an otherwise thin broth into a hearty meal. You can thicken a soup with breadcrumbs stirred in or, as is the case here, you can lightly toast bread, rub it with garlic and layer it creating a wonderful rib sticking array of textures. Try and set your prejudices about “soggy bread” aside and you will open your mind to an absolute jewel of flavour. It makes me want to go skiing.

Do try and use sourdough. Wholemeal, white or rye are all magnificent, but a bit of drying bloomer from Tesco will simply not cut it.

Ingredients.

1 loaf good sourdough bread, slices cut on an angle to maximise surface area and lightly toasted.

1 savoy cabbage sliced thinly, hard core removed

1 tin of anchovies with their oil (reduce the anchovies but don’t be tempted to cut them out. They season rather than giving a fishy taste.

1.5 litres good stock (beef is best in my opinion, but you can use chicken or vegetable if you wish)

200g Gruyere or Fontina cheese. You’ll struggle to find the Fontina made in Aosta but the more common “Alpeggio” will do.

1 clove of garlic

Pre heat the oven to Gas 3/170c/325f

In a heavy bottomed casserole layer cabbage seasoned with pepper (no salt because the anchovies will more than handle that job), then toasted bread rubbed with the garlic clove and painted with the anchovy oil, then cheese and chopped anchovies alternately until all of the ingredients are used. I generally end up with two layers of each which works well. Make sure you finish with a layer of cheese on top.

Pour the hot stock over the ingredients until it is approaching the top of the pan but is below the top layer of cheese.

Put it into the oven without a lid for around 45 minutes.

Ladle into deep bowls, garnish with even more cheese, Parmesan is good here, and enjoy with a hefty glass of water.

Why Cake Is Good For You

January 30, 2017

I once put courgette in a chocolate cake, on purpose, but the mistakes didn’t stop there. Taking pieces on a plate to my (then much younger) children I presented my creation triumphantly. They said “Is there something weird in it?” “No” I replied, feeling justified by the ambiguity of their question. As they tasted it their faces betrayed enough for me to see that it wasn’t going to end well. Since that day they have never trusted my ability to make cake without cramming a vegetable or two into it.

It isn’t just cake with vegetables that gets a bad press. In these days of sugar avoidance and clean eating it can feel like a guiltier pleasure than ever, but that’s a shame because there is so much about making and eating a cake which is good for us.

Cake & Mindfulness

This afternoon it was raining and, having made a chicken soup for my poorly daughter, a further culinary hug was needed. For me, pottering about in the kitchen without having a defined timescale, without the radio or TV on, and without anyone else in the room is a time for glorious introspective reflection. Yes, of course I could think about the week past and the one to come. I could imagine the stories that people will tell me tomorrow and the day afterwards, but I can also allow myself to be in this moment, weighing this flour, smelling these spices and fruits, measuring the oil and sugar, and feeling the big wooden spoon in my hand turning everything over in the bowl. Oh, and grating this butternut squash.

It’s easiest to be mindful when doing something repetitive and simple. Something which engages the senses but doesn’t overwhelm them. The simple baking of a cake is good for the mind.

Cake As Connection

Most people I know like cake. We don’t want to eat the whole thing, or at least if we do, we have enough self control to resist doing so. When there is a new cake in the house there is a requirement for tea or coffee, and when there is tea of coffee there is a moment for sitting down and being together. Homemade cake does this best, because an almond fancy from Mr Kipling didn’t take anything out of you, and so there is no real emotional reward in sitting down with loved ones and replenishing what you’ve given. Cake is a connector because it invites us to stop for a moment and be with people. Used incorrectly, eaten secretly in the kitchen when everyone is out of the house, it has the opposite effect. It can create feelings of guilt and shame, because it’s meant to be shared as a part of a relationship, as a marker for togetherness, and not as the other half of a relationship itself.

Cake To Increase Self Worth

Never mind what it looks like, or even if it doesn’t taste amazing, the creation of something with our own hands is a mark of our ability and beautiful uniqueness. Nobody can make a cake like you do. You and I could follow the exact same recipe and there would be subtle difference between our bakes. This is what it means to be human, and to be human and alive has a value in and of itself. You can never be more or less, you just are. A cake you have made is never more or less, it just is, because you took the time and the trouble to make it.

I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that the particular cake that follows is good for you nutritionally, even though it has butternut squash in it. The point is that not everything which is good for you needs to be nutritionally beyond reproach. Life lived well is a life lived in balance, and I for one, want cake on at least one side of the scales.

Butternut Squash & Apricot Cake

You could use carrots instead of the squash, but you won’t be as hip and cool as me. In case you are wondering, my children love it.

225g grated butternut squash

50g grated apple

150g plain flour

50g wholemeal flour

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

250g light brown muscovado sugar

2 eggs

175ml rapeseed or vegetable oil

80g chopped dried apricots

20g dried cranberries

2 tsp mixed spice

pinch of salt

Peel and grate the butternut squash and the apple

In a bowl mix the flours with, spice, the dried fruit, the bicarb and the salt.

Add the peeled squash and apple to the dry ingredients and mix well.

In a separate bowl whisk the sugar and the oil (you might want to sieve the sugar first if it has lumps in it). Then add the eggs and whisk it all into a smooth emulsion.

Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and fold in together until everything is combined.

Grease and line with baking paper a 1kg loaf tin (use a round cake tin if you like, I’m not a pedant) and pour the mixture in.

Bake in a pre-heated oven to 180c (170c for a fan oven)/ 350f or Gas 4 for about 75 minutes. Be careful to make sure that the top doesn’t burn before the cake is cooked, and if it looks as if it will just put a bit of foil over the top of the cake. It is cooked when a skewer thrust into its midst comes out clean.

Leave to cool, then enjoy with friends, family and mugs of tea and coffee. Not to be scoffed from the tin late at night because that’s not good for you physically or mentally, and that’s not what we’re about is it?

The Most Expensive Chocolate Brownies

January 22, 2017

I’m aware of the perils of too much sugar. Although far from evangelical about it I do my best to limit the amount of sugar I eat and, on balance, I’m happy with my diet. It’s easy to forget that food is more than fuel, it is a fundamental source of joy in our lives, it is a connector and it isn’t always bad for it to be a reward or a comfort. There is a line between destructive eating and food which, in moderation, actually makes us feel better about ourselves. To that end, this weekend, I made the most expensive chocolate brownies I’ve ever made, because I’m worth it.

A good chocolate brownie takes some beating but bad one is disappointment on a grand scale so I knew that fiddling about with my tried and tested recipe was a risk. Adding pressure to an already delicate operation I experimented with two ingredients which pushed the cost per brownie up into high end bakery territory. Fortunately I emerged with a high end brownie.

At Christmas I bought a bad of chestnut flour and, if you’ve ever come across it, you will know that the price of it is enough to suggest that each chestnut is lovingly roasted on a tiny open fire and then ground by hand in a diamond encrusted pestle and mortar by leprechauns. Wanting to make the most of this beige powdery nectar I wondered if substituting the normal plain flour might give a welcome nutty depth. Then a couple of weeks ago searching for dried cherries to make some granola I found a pack in the health food shop. Foolishly I didn’t bother checking the price until I arrived home only to find that could have virtually bought my own cherry tree with the money I’d spend on the delicate deep red jewels. No matter, a sour cherry in a chocolate brownie sounds insanely good, and it is.

Here’s my recipe. If you don’t have chestnut flour sub for plain flour, and if you don’t have sour cherries just leave them out. It might be extravagant, and it’s true that they are full of sugar, but once in a while it’s OK. After all, we’re worth it aren’t we?

Expensive Chocolate Brownies

250g Dark Chocolate (70%ish cocoa)

250g Unsalted Butter

300g Caster Sugar

1/2 teaspoon Baking Powder

4 Large Eggs, beaten

60g Chestnut Flour

60g Cocoa Powder

Handful of sour cherries

Melt the chocolate in a bowl over a pan of simmering water

Beat the butter and sugar until it is pale and soft

Add the beaten egg little by little to the butter and sugar (don’t worry if it curdles) beating well between additions.

When the chocolate is melted remove from the heat and mix into the butter and egg mixture.

Sift in the flour, cocoa powder and baking powder. Fold with a metal spoon, and then fold in the cherries

When well combined put into a lined brownie tin or baking dish around 20cm square or similar.

Cook for 30 minutes and then test by poking a skewer into the middle of the brownies. If it comes out covered in liquid mixture give them another two or three minutes, but keep checking. When the skewer has some mixture on it but emerges relatively clean they’re done.

Leave to cool before you attempt to cut them.

Have one, or two, with a big mug of tea.

Slow Cooking. An Antidote To Anxiety

January 15, 2017

We had a smattering of snow this week. Nothing significant, aside from the first hour when it fell with quiet monotony, moving the streets from damp and dull to white and startling. Outside my daughter, determined to make the most of it and hoping for a fall so huge that school would be cancelled in the morning, made a small snowman and a snow face complete with hair fashioned from kindling, now too wet for the fire. Not a moment of the brief wintry interlude was wasted. In a darker sense anxiety can come from feeling that we must make use of every second and, ironically, it is that very demand which often scuppers our attempts to feel peaceful.

These distractions from the predictable and slow trudge of January are like diamonds found in the rough. They are reminders that even amongst the greyest existence there can be something completely contrasting. Even in the midst of constant sameness change is always possible.

Anxiety is fast paced and unrelenting. There is a busyness of thought that, far from providing a distraction, is a distraction from an existence which feels peaceful and balanced. Perhaps there is no obvious connection between pottering about in the kitchen and the calming of an anxious mind, but it exists.

Often, my work as a therapist brings people to me who cannot tolerate silence because of the way that it accentuates the noise in their head. It is as if some external cacophony is needed to ignore the one which rages inside.

In the most challenging periods of my own life I have sought refuge in my kitchen. Over the years it has not been in the eating of food that I have found most comfort (as it is destructively for so many.) but in its preparation. There is plenty of evidence to support the idea that working with our hands is an antidote to anxiety.

Making food is a spectrum of experience much wider than either simply creating fuel for our bodies as quickly as possible or having to spend hours in dedicated meditation over a mountain of regimented recipe books. There is so much which exists in between. It is possible to make beautiful food with little effort and make ourselves feel more relaxed at the same time. As an antidote to anxiety a little gentle peeling, chopping and mixing can be quite magical.

At this time of the year we are drawn to something warming and comforting. I remember the chicken casserole that my mother used to make which calmed the stress and strain of the world outside with its heady aroma long before it was anywhere near ready to taste. The preparation, gentle cooking and sharing of a meal has a remarkable impact on us and those that we love. What follows is very much in that vein.

As the umpteenth snowball clattered into the kitchen doors I had time to go outside and look at the beauty of the snugly blanketed garden and feel its crunch under my feet. When the cold became too much we flung the back door open and were hit by a flood of warmth and heavenly savoury scent from the ham, tomato, garlic, olive and bay. I lit a fire and we sat down together to eat, from deep bowls, with the crustiest bread.

Ham Casserole with Butternut Squash.

The beauty of this recipe is that there is little in the way of required measurements or ingredients. Pretty much all of it is interchangeable depending on what you have lurking in the kitchen.

Try making this with the radio and TV off, with no noise, accepting the chaos which might rage in your head, and quietly establishing that the most enduring essence of peace comes from inside and not out.

Not only is the preparation stress and anxiety free, but you might just find that you’ve soothed the noise in your mind. It’s amazing what we can do for ourselves when we remove the demands.

Bacon or Ham joint (mine was 1.5kg but variance either way is fine.)

2 Carrots – peeled and cut into chunks the size you like

2 Celery sticks – cut as you wish

1 small Butternut Squash – peeled, seeded and cut into chunks the size you like

2 Leeks – sliced and rinsed well (there’s nothing worse than grit in your dinner)

Green Lentils (a handful) – You can leave these out if you don’t have any (why don’t you have any?!)

Olives – I had a few leftover from supper on Thursday. Leave them out if you had something else for supper on Thursday

Capers – See “Olives”

1 tin Chopped Tomatoes

2 Bay leaves

A sprig of thyme

Put your bacon/ham into a pan with a lid, one big enough to get everything else in as well.

Add all the other ingredients and then top up with water until the meat and vegetables are almost covered.

Bring to the simmer on the hob.

Put into a pre heated oven at around 160 fan/180/Gas 4 and leave it while you get on with whatever you want to get on with. I left mine for a couple of hours and the meat was sumptuous and falling apart but yours will take less or more time depending on how big your piece of meat is. The point is this, it won’t spoil if you leave it a bit longer than is necessary, so there is no stress.

When the meat is done, take it out of the broth and remove the skin and fat, then cut the meat into big chunks and add it back into the casserole.

Serve with a few lightly steamed greens and some crusty bread, or rice, or whatever you fancy.

Best eaten by the fire when its dark, with people you love (this includes yourself) and the curtains closed.

Roast Swede Soup with a bit of Stilton

January 3, 2017

On New Year’s Day I roasted a beautiful rib of beef. Alongside I had cauliflower, cavolo nero from the garden (I’m still harvesting it since starting to do so in August), roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, and a tray of roast swede, carrot, garlic and onion mixed with lemon thyme, rosemary and sage. Everyone enjoyed the meal and, as I neared the end of the washing up, I opened the oven to find the tray of roasted vegetables sitting patiently. It’s a good idea to put food back in the oven to keep warm, but it’s useful to remember that you did so.

On Bank Holiday Monday I tipped the forlorn roast swede, carrots, garlic, onion and herbs into a heavy saucepan and added enough water to cover them twice. After a little seasoning and a gentle fifteen minute simmer I liquidised the whole lot and added a little more water to get a thick and silky consistency. With a swirl of cream and the last knockings of the Stilton I was glad of my mistake. I need to leave random things in the oven more often if this is how it’s going to turn out.

One of the most rewarding aspects of cooking for me is in the thinking of how to use food up, and the days and weeks following Christmas can be some of the most rewarding in presenting opportunities to do so. I think I learned to avoid waste from my mother, who took it to extremes. One Christmas she found an old Christmas cake from the previous year lurking in the cupboard under the stairs, and she crumbled it up, mixed it with a few bits and pieces and recommissioned it as a Christmas pudding. It was remarkably good.

The only disaster in the kitchen is the one in which the food is truly inedible. Everything else is simply an opportunity.

Gingerbread Pigs (other festive figures are available)

December 23, 2016

What is it with gingerbread? It never seems to taste of ginger. Whenever I read a recipe I scan down the ingredients and find “1 tsp ginger” and then have to re-read it several times quite certain its some sort of typo. Surely, at least a tablespoon is the minimum requirement.

Over the years, as I have experimented with a multitude of gingerbread recipes at Christmas, I have come to realise that what we call “gingerbread” is really just a spiced biscuit. Once accepted there are some truly wonderful flavours prioritised ahead of ginger. Cardamon for example is a genius addition to a festive biscuit. Orange zest, nutmeg, cinnamon (of course) are all welcome additions. So what I offer you here are two recipes. The first, courtesy of my friend Charlotte who, as a Dane, knows something about the importance of these little spiced biscuits at Christmas. The second is my “gingerfication” of her recipe which, on balance, has emerged with great success. It’s certainly very moist and crumbly, and I’ll tell you how I know.

Back in December 2014 my daughter and I made a batch of gingerbread men and one, for reasons neither of us can remember, remained uneaten. “Mr Ginger” as he has henceforth been known, has sat around in the kitchen, minus the odd limb, watching culinary proceedings throughout the year. Occasionally we make a friend for him, usually at Christmas. Last year “Mrs Ginger” lasted a few weeks before disappearing, probably mistakenly eaten by an unknowing guest. This year we made Mr Ginger another friend but, so moist and delicious is this particular recipe, that his head fell off.

So, there’s not long to go now but both of these recipes are super simple. One word of advice. If you want your gingerbread soft and chewy leave it a little thicker and bake for a couple of minutes less. If you like it crunchy go with thinner and a couple of minutes more, but don’t disappear off to do some wrapping because these little beauties are full of sugar and they will burn as soon as your back is turned.

If you cut out shapes and want to hang them on the tree make a hole in them with a straw while they are still hot from the oven. It’s really rather lovely inviting friends to help themselves to a biscuit from the tree when they pop in over the holidays.

If you’re in any doubt about which of these recipes to make I would go for both of them. Don’t worry about the biscuits getting eaten, they’ll disappear in no time.

Have a good Christmas and I’ll see you again in the New Year.

Charlotte’s Very Good Gingerbread Recipe

In a saucepan heat until melted together:

250g Butter

125g Golden Syrup

250g Dark Muscovado Sugar

When it has cooled add:

3 tsp Cinnamon

1 tsp Ginger

1 tsp Allspice

2 tsp Potash dissolved in cold water (if you can’t find potash use 1 tsp of Baking Powder)

150g Whole skinned almonds

25g Pistachios

Put 500g Plain Flour in a large bowl and pour over the buttery, sugary, spicy nut concoction. Mix well until everything is combined into a smooth and silky dough. Leave to cool for 24 hours (I’m impatient and I often don’t wait that long, but leave it to cool because otherwise the dough is impossible to work with).

Now you can divide it into blocks and simply thinly cut biscuits, or you can roll it out and make festive shapes. We enjoy the festive pig in my house.

Bake in a medium oven (Gas 5/375F/190C) for around 8 minutes. Keep an eye on them though because they’ll burn if you turn your back, and their cooking time will be influenced by how thinly you cut/roll them.

Graham’s Very Gingery Gingerbread Recipe

The process is identical to the one in Charlotte’s recipe but my ingredients are as follows.

250g Butter

75g Golden Syrup (Agave Syrup is great too)

50g Ginger syrup from a jar of ginger in syrup (if you don’t have one simply use 125g of Golden Syrup as per Charlotte’s recipe)

125g Dark Muscovado Sugar

125g Light Muscovado Sugar (using half lighter sugar gives a slightly less treacle taste which I prefer)

1 tsp Cinnamon

4 tsp Ginger

1 tsp Allspice

2 tsp Potash (dissolved in cold water)

500g Plain Flour

I don’t add any nuts because my children don’t like them. My way around this is to make gingerbread without the nuts and then eat a handful of nuts. I surprise myself sometimes.

Haddock & Chorizo Casserole

October 29, 2016

I don’t know how I gather the disparate items scattered around the inside of the fridge, but there are times when its a challenge to combine them into something enticing. Having mistakenly thawed some haddock thinking it was smoked haddock and with the thick end of a punchy chorizo lying patiently for inspiration the basis of a meal was happily evident.

I think chorizo works so well with plain fish because its salty richness combines beautifully with the austere purity of the fish. Add the sweetness of tomatoes and there is little chance of anything but a glorious success.

I chop an onion and a fat clove of garlic softening them gently in a glug of olive oil with thick coins of the chorizo. Once the paprika has oozed out into the pan and the chorizo is beginning to crisp in parts I add two tins of tomatoes, 250ml or vegetable stock and a handful of green lentils, as much to avoid the need for alternative carbohydrate as to bulk the casserole. Simplicity combined with taste is an unbeatable mix in the kitchen.

Having brought the pan back up to simmer I put the lid on and continue to cook for half an hour or until the lentils are tender. Finally, I push some greens down into the deep red liquor (I used cavolo nero but you could use kale or spinach) and lay the haddock on top and then push the fish into the depths with firm finger. The lid goes back on and no more than ten or fifteen minutes later its ready.

Served on its own or with a bit of good bread it really is a feast. The fact that it emerged from bits and pieces in the fridge and a few staples from the cupboard makes it, somehow, all the more delicious.

Ingredients

1 large onion

1 fat clove of garlic (use two if they are a bit weedy)

glug of olive oil

2 haddock fillets

half a chorizo (hot or sweet, either will be fine and you can add more or less as you wish)

2 tins of chopped tomatoes

250ml vegetable stock

handful of green lentils

two handfuls of green leaves (more if you prefer..its good for you!)

Pink Currant & Custard Tarts

July 19, 2016

Timing isn’t a strong point. I first made croissants on a bread making course some years ago on one of the only blisteringly hot days on record in the Scottish Borders, and now here I am trying to make fancy custard tarts when the thermometer is tipping 30. Working with butter and soaring temperatures do not go hand in hand, not to mention the slight inconvenience of having the oven on.

Nursing a sporting injury which is currently preventing me from doing all but the most rudimentary exercise it seemed like a good weekend to get some jobs done in the house. When I use the phrase “jobs done in the house” I generally mean “messing about in the kitchen”, and armed with enough jewel like fruit from my pink currant bush to enhance a fancy tart but little else I set to work.

Not every job in the kitchen must be completed in the minimum time. On occasion it’s alright to move at a leisurely pace and enjoy the process. There is a difference between functional cooking and recreational cooking and establishing which frame you are in is important. Something tasty emerges either way but the journey bringing you toward it is infinitely more comfortable.

Talking of comfortable, this morning it isn’t. Even with the bi-fold doors wide open the house is warm and airless. Perfect for making custard..hmm.

I am a big fan of custard but an even bigger fan of those wonderful little Portuguese tarts, Pastel De Nata. But I want shortcrust pastry instead of puff and I am adding a little compote made from the modest harvest of pink currants.

In a pan I put my fruits, there must be 200g or so. I add a little sugar, probably a dessert spoon and a splash of water. I then bring it to a gentle boil on the hob until the fruits break down and begins to reduce. There is a lot of natural pectin in pink currants so its easy to get the quick jam to set a little. When it will coat the back of a spoon I push the fruit through a fine sieve and leave the clear pink jam to cool.

For the custard I break three eggs and put the yolks in a bowl with 120g of caster sugar and beat them in the electric mixer. You can use a hand mixer or, if you are feeling mightily energetic, a whisk. Whichever you choose keep going until the sugar and egg mixture is pale yellow. Then mix in 2 tablespoons of cornflour until you have a thick paste.

In a saucepan heat a mixture of 300ml double cream and 150ml of milk into which you have added half a vanilla pod. When it is just approaching a boil take it off the heat. Add a splash of the hot milk/cream to the egg mixture and whisk like crazy to incorporate. Then add the rest of the milk/cream and whisk again. Put the mixture back in a pan and heat gently until the custard thickens. It will take ten to fifteen minutes depending on the pan. If you have a thermometer you are looking to heat the custard to somewhere around 85 celsius. Don’t overheat it and don’t stop stirring it otherwise you’ll have scrambled egg custard which is not what we want, no no no, not at all. When its thickened take it off the heat and put the pan in a bowl/sink of cold water to stop it heating. Keep stirring until the temperature stabilises. Then cover with cling film or baking paper making sure the covering touches the custard or you’ll have an unpleasant skin form on the top.

To make the pastry measure out 180g of plain flour and 25g of caster sugar into which you add 100g of cold butter cut into small pieces. Rub the butter into the flour with your fingertips until you have a mixture resembling breadcrumbs. You can do this in seconds in the food processor but a bit of gentle rubbing in flour and butter is hugely therapeutic. Put some nice music on, or treat yourself to some silence and just feel the textures on your hands. When its all rubbed in add a scant tablespoon of cold water and mix together with a knife, then push it into a clump with your hands. Clingfilm it and let it rest in the fridge for 30 minutes.

When you come to cut out your pastry make sure you liberally grease your tin or tins. I made six small tarts but you could just make one large one if the fancy takes you.

Line your tin(s) and blind bake for 10 minutes at 180 celsius (Gas Mark 4). If you don’t have any baking beans use dried beans. I use the chickpeas that I always forget to put onto soak when I want to make hummus, so at least they have served some sort of purpose.

Take your tarts out of the oven and first add a layer of the fruit jam (you could use any jam here, even some bought from a shop if you aren’t as obsessed as I am. You could also leave the jam out altogether but that’s no fun is it? You just made a custard tart, anyone can do that so, come on, live a little.) and then fill them with custard to just below the top. You might get a rise in the oven but it will flatten out again, so half filled tarts will result in, well, half filled tarts.

Bake in the oven at 180 celsius (Gas 4) for around thirty minutes, or until they look as if they are beginning to scorch a little on the top.

You’ll probably be alarmed at how quickly they disappear after all the time you spent making them. The good news is that you probably have enough custard left for a few more and, if you don’t let on, you can eat them all yourself, out in the garden, under the stars, especially if summer has popped into visit you like she did us.

Fruit Jam

200g Pink Currants (Blackcurrants, Redcurrants would work fine)

1 dessert spoon of sugar

Splash of water

Custard

300ml double cream

150ml milk

2 tablespoons cornflour

3 egg yolks

120g caster sugar

Pastry

180g plain flour

25g caster sugar

100g cold unsalted butter

1 tablespoon cold water (the less water you get away with the crumblier the pastry)

Spaghetti & Summer Vegetables

July 9, 2016

Thursday and I’m working late meaning that there isn’t much time to either think about dinner or make it. It’s in these situations that its easy to reach for the microwave or snack through the contents of the fridge while idly wondering what there is in the fridge to cook. Making great food which is both simple and quick is so much more possible than we think and this combination of spaghetti and summer vegetables is undoubtedly fast and delicious.

I’ll admit that I am helped by the variety of crops which are growing in the garden but you wont find it hard to source anything I’ve used in your local supermarket or farm shop, not to mention that you can substitute anything I’ve used for something which you have (within reason, don’t substitute peas for a grapefruit, it won’t work).

Aside from needing food which is nourishing, satisfying and tasty after coming home from a long day it is truly helpful if the process itself can bring a sense of calm and peace too. Wandering around the garden in the early evening sun picking the bits and pieces which look ready for the pot is much less a chore and more a simple joy. In my little bowl I select a few tiny green beans, a handful or two of peas bulging in their bright green pods, a dozen sorrel leaves, some broad beans and a sprig or two of oregano. I also picked a yellow beetroot, not because I had any intention of using in the recipe but just because I get a thrill from cutting into it and seeing the glowing yellow flesh happily grated into a salad tomorrow.

Back in the kitchen I melt a thick slice of butter in a shallow pan and add both a couple of crushed cloves of wet garlic (wet garlic is young and less pungent but if you don’t have it you can use one clove from a normal bulb) and the chopped leaves from the oregano. After thirty seconds or so I add the podded peas, the podded and peeled broad beans (leaving the skins on the individual beans is what gives the broad bean a bad name so take the trouble to peel them), the french beans cut into pieces and the sorrel leaves. I let them heat through gently in the butter and squeeze half a lemon over it all and add a generous sprinkle of salt.

When the pasta is cooked I add about half a ladle of the cooking liquid to the vegetables and then transfer the drained and hot pasta into the pan with the vegetables, and then serve with more than enough freshly grated parmesan.

While I’ve been lazily cooking my son has been watering the garden. There is something satisfyingly synergistic about me cooking with the fruits of the garden while he tends it to ripen its bountiful gifts. I have seconds, he has thirds and, as the sun sets, all is quite perfect.

350g Spaghetti (yes, we’re greedy)

Handful of podded peas

Handful of podded and peeled broad beans

A dozen green beans cut into pieces

Ten or so sorrel leaves

A crushed clove of garlic or two of wet garlic

A slice of butter weighing around 20g

Two sprigs of oregano leaves

Juice of half a lemon

More parmesan than is strictly necessary

Rhubarb & Mint Salad. Yes, That’s Right.

July 4, 2016

It’s true that growing things to eat in the garden has a definite therapeutic pay off. The psychological boost which comes from eating something you have grown yourself is really quite striking, quite apart from the turbo charged improvement in taste. That said, there are things which are tricky to grow (celery, pak choi, melons) and there are other plants which seem to be all too eager to please and spring up without so much as a hint of rebellion. Two such are rhubarb and mint.

You might not have considered putting them together and, even if you have, the notion of combining them in a salad is probably just step too far but, not so fast.

With a glut of rhubarb and mint I decided there had to be a way to encourage their co-existence in a way which would provide something nice to eat.

Slicing two stalks of the rhubarb as thinly as my fingers would allow I do the same with a small cucumber and combine them in a bowl. I finely chop some sprigs of mint until I have about a tablespoon full. Adding the mint to the rhubarb and cucumber I then mix two desert spoons of white wine vinegar with one of caster sugar and a teaspoon of salt and, once the sugar is dissolved from my gentle mixing, I pour it over the rhubarb, cucumber and mint and stir well. I squeeze half a lime over the top. Covered with cling film and left to macerate in the fridge for half an hour what emerges is as fragrant and fresh a salad as I can imagine. I ate mine on its own while sitting watching next doors cat try and catch little cornflower blue butterflies but you can eat it however you like.

Still left with half a dozen sticks of rhubarb I cut them into chunks and throw them into a pan with a splash of water, a couple of tablespoons of sugar, a thumb sized piece of ginger (sliced) and a handful of mint. Simmered gently for ten minutes the balance of the flavours is a revelation. The ginger gently sweetened but with a ferocious kick and the mint balancing the sweetness and bringing a mellow background to the rhubarb. Eaten with some natural yoghurt is the breakfast of kings or, poured across a small scoop of very good vanilla ice cream it really would challenge anyone’s aversion to this most giving of garden gifts.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon Roasted Vegetables

July 3, 2016

The ceremony and trepidation caused by the humble Sunday lunch makes me smile. It’s so unnecessary to be fearful of something so wonderful, so English and so delicious. What its ease relies upon is understanding which of two rewarding paths you want to walk. Is it the one which creates togetherness and connection through the food, or is the the one which releases you to do something else entirely without compromising the most celebratory and special meal of the week? Either way these roasted vegetables will be a welcome addition to any Sunday lunch.

The sun is shining after an interminable period of rain. Staring up into the bright blue sky yesterday I hung the washing out only to to be drenched half an hour later when I was frantically unpegging the sodden garments and seizing them from yet another violent summer shower. So today there are plants to pot on, washing to dry, papers to read. I don’t want to spend hours in the kitchen but I do want to experience the delightful waft of lunch cooking as I am elbow deep in potting compost just outside.

Roasting a joint of meat is a doddle. Slather it with some olive oil, a sprinkle of salt and some herbs and off it goes into the oven for the required duration. It’s the rest of the plate which seems to cause us so much angst.

From the fridge and the garden I assemble a collection of roots. Onions, carrots, dark red beetroots. I thickly cut a couple of courgettes for no reason other than they need using and I enjoy their unctuousness when giving long slow cooking. Thrown together in a shallow roasting tin and adorned with some glugs of olive oil, a shake or two of balsamic vinegar, a few bay leaves, some thyme, cloves of garlic still in their papery jackets and a good seasoning, there is nothing more to do. It took barely ten minutes to prepare and, given 45 minutes in the oven at a moderate heat, I will have a plethora of vegetables to eat with the roast without so much as breaking into a trot. (You could add potatoes if you wanted, but I’m simmering some Pinto beans in water with another bay leaf by way of a change)

I might steam a handful of black cabbage from the garden just for a bit of contrast but that’s it. A beautiful Sunday lunch which has all but cooked itself.

I’m off into the garden. All the rain has given me a slug problem which I have more than enough time to address.

Butternut Squash & Carrot Soup

June 5, 2016

There are some things which turn up in the weekly vegetable box which, inexplicably, I struggle to use up. It isn’t that I don’t like them, quite the reverse actually, but I seem to have something of a mental kitchen block with butternut squash and beetroot.

I once made a chocolate and beetroot cake but, still reeling from the horror of my chocolate courgette cake, the children flatly refused to try it and so I began to lose my enthusiasm for experimenting with vegetable based cakes.

This week the idiocy of it all reached unacceptable new heights. Rummaging through the long red peppers and a wonderful bulb of fennel, which will almost certainly find itself hanging around in a salad which features some orange, there was the familiar upturned mushroom cloud of another butternut squash. That’s four now sitting on the tray with the onions and garlic.

I can never understand why people want to buy soup. It never tastes better, it certainly isn’t nutritionally better and it is absurdly easy to make up and create flavour combinations that none of these commercial producers would ever think of. Today I’m conservative and marry two of the squashes with a couple of carrots, some cloves of garlic and a handful of oregano, sage and thyme from the garden. It is quite magnificent, a feast spoilt only by an obstinate bread tin which refused to release my loaf resulting in a bake which looks as if it has stepped on a landmine.

Later, with the fifty or so radishes I have harvested from the garden I’m going full on with a radish and mint soup combo, leaves and all. Try finding that in your local Waitrose.

Butternut Squash, Carrot & Herb Soup

2 butternut squashes
4 carrots
2 onions
4 or 5 cloves of garlic
A handful of herbs – I used Oregano, Thyme and Sage
Olive Oil
Vegetable stock powder

Preheat the oven to 200/Gas 6

Peel, seed and roughly chop the squash into hefty chunks

Peel and roughly chop the carrots and onions into similar size

Put the vegetables into a shallow baking tray

Bruise the cloves of garlic and tuck in amongst the vegetables

Pop the herbs in with the vegetables and garlic. Remove any woody stalks because you don’t want to be buggering about with them after this point

Dowse the vegetables with a few good slugs of olive oil

Roast in the over for around 25 minutes or until the vegetables are tender and taking on some colour.

Transfer to a big saucepan and add 1.5 to 2 litres of boiling water. (You can add a bit more if it’s too thick but you can’t take it out!)

Add a couple of teaspoons of good quality vegetable stock and a couple of bay leaves if you have them.

Simmer for twenty minutes.

Remove the bay leaves and liquidise/blend.

If the soup is thicker than you want it just add some water. If it’s too thin I can’t help you because you obviously didn’t read my advice a few lines above.

Season to taste and serve with perhaps a swirl of cream for uber decadence and a snip of chives for..umm..a chive type flavour.

Eat with crusty bread that hasn’t stepped on a landmine.