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Anatolian pasta

This recipe uses a lot of ingredients that I hold dear: pasta, yogurt, chillies and garlic. The pasta itself is Greek and is like tubular spaghetti. The yogurty chilli sauce is indebted to the craze for Turkish stuffed manti and also the Nigella figure-headed turkish eggs phenomenon. Perhaps the magic comes from the chilli flakes which are Syrian and called Pul biber? Anyway, it’s basically loads of great things. 

It feels both summery and a bit exotic. It’s an easy and hugely gratifying weekday lunch. This is enough for just me. So it serves a greedy 1.

1 aubergine, diced

2 tomatoes, cored and chopped

3 cloves of garlic, peeled

1 tsp dried oregano

1 tsp sea salt

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

a handful of parsley

90g greek macaroni, failing that, spaghetti or macaroni

2 tbsp strained greek yogurt

1 heaped tsp pul biber chilli flakes

Preheat the oven to 180c. In a roasting tray combine the aubergine, tomatoes, garlic, oregano, salt and olive oil. Place in the oven for 20-30 minutes. Everything should be soft, a little caramelised and and well cooked through. There’s no mileage in undercooked aubergines. Remove from the oven. If you can see the garlic cloves, mash them up so that the flavour permeates the whole dish. 

Meanwhile, chop a good handful of parsley. Heat a medium pan filled with salted water until it reaches a rumbling boil. Now cook the pasta until done (a bit more than al dente in this case). Strain the pasta, throw in the roasted garlicky veg and add the chopped parsley. Serve with yogurt on the top and a generous spoon of the lemony chilli flakes. You can add more olive oil and salt if you want. 

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Curried Black eyed beans and Chard + bad nostalgia

A lot of food writing starts with lofty lengthy anecdotes about balmy salad days, happy families, warm familial cooking, and the wonders of handing down stories, foods and feelings. It’s lovely. I do it a lot. 

But not all foods have good memories. As emotive as delicious home-cooked meals can be (for me, it’s things like the smell of butter melting on oven-hot pop-overs, my dad’s left-over fried rice, and my mother’s endless interest in new flavours and foods). Some foods bring back bad memories. There are also the endless stories about chopped liver and school food which I get from my husband. 

When I was little my mother (often on a shoe-string) would make a dish of black eyed beans with homegrown spinach. My brother Olly and I, hated it. It seemed so gruelly. Sloppy beans, slimy greens with woody stalks. All our friends were getting beans on toast and fatty bangers, creamy white bechamel sauces and architypal nursery food. We by contrast were having our palettes honed with mysterious Madhur Jaffery biryanis which took days to make and fresh pasta inspired by Elizabeth David. All salads were dressed in a classic french vinaigrette and we were not always at all grateful.

But now that I’m a grown-up (I think this is surely a sign that I am), I have been hankering for this very combination. The foods that once seemed so dreadful and methodist now feel like luxury and are surprisingly on-trend. My parents were right after-all. 

I’ve made these a bit curried as we recently had a delicious dal in South India that utilised these two core ingredients of black eyed beans and chard. Make sure you wilt the heavier stalks first and add the softer leaves at the end. Using a pressure cooker to process the beans is the easiest way, but you can do it over time on the stove top if you don’t have one. 

1 cup black eyed beans

3 cups water

1/2 tsp salt

2 tbsp vegetable oil

2 tsp mustard seeds

2 tsp whole cumin seeds

a bit of cinnamon or cassia

3 large garlic cloves, sliced

1 onion, sliced

1 kashmiri chilli, roughly torn

2 tbsps tomato puree

2 cups water

1/2 tsp asafoetida

1 dsp fenugreek leaves

200g chard, divided into stalks and leaves, both sliced

more salt to taste

a handful of chopped coriander

Place the beans, water and salt in the pressure cooker. Bring it up to pressure over a high flame. Give it 12 minutes at pressure and then do the slow release method. Decant the beans and their juices to a bowl and continue to use the large pressure cooker to prepare the dish. 

Heat some oil over a moderate flame. When quivering, throw in mustard and cumin seeds and cinnamon. Once they are popping add the garlic and onion and kashmiri chilli. Give this a few minutes to coat in oil and sauté. The onion should be softening. Now add tomato puree, water, asafoetida and fenugreek leaves. Simmer this for 5-10 minutes before adding the chard stalks. These should cook for 5 minutes. Now return the beans to the pan and give it all a good mix around. You may want to add a bit more water at this stage. Lastly fold in the chard leaves and place a lid on the pan for a few more minutes until the leaves are wilted and everything is well combined. Taste to make sure there is enough salt (beans can leach out flavour so don’t be shy). 

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Bengali cheesecake

This recipe originally hails from Mallika Basu, a dynamite Indian cook and old friend of mine. She shared this recipe years ago and I was so taken with it at the time that it was included in my first book, Spooning with Rosie. 

Last week I put up a photo of that very book on my instagram and received so many comments I had to check my pulse. I really didn’t think anyone would remember it. The most touching part of this - blatant humble-brag -  is the recipes which really struck a chord with the readers. You never know which are going to be the really well loved ones. 

And so I’ve decided to revisit some of these old dishes and stories and celebrate the book which I’m most proud of. It’s ten years old this year so the timing is just right. If a first child teaches you how to parent, then this first book (read as ‘my editor Louise Haines’) taught me how to write recipes and create a story. I loved looking over this book again, seeing the hard work which went into making it. Ed Grace’s artwork was particularly spot on then and still now.

This recipe is absolutely brilliant. Mallika does hers with cardamom and saffron which I’m assuming is traditional. I have adapted it a couple of times over the years but this year I’m keeping the cardamom and adding quince jelly to the top, a crowning perfumed blush. But really the best thing about this recipe is how ridiculously easy it is. Fundamentally it’s yogurt and condensed milk, lightly set in the oven. The texture is crumbly and a little grainy, just like it’s American sibling but the yogurt tang really comes through and slices through the sweet condensed milk. 

4 green cardamoms

500g plain yogurt

1 x 397g tin of condensed milk

3 tbsp quince jelly

Place the oven at 190c. Lay the cardamom on a roasting tray and once your oven has reached temperature place them in the oven. Roast for about 5 minutes to draw out the flavour. Remove the dark seeds from the cardamom pods and crush in a pestle and mortar. Reduce the oven temperature to 180c.

Combine the yogurt and condensed milk in a large bowl, whisking so that it forms a silken mix. Add the crushed cardamom. Pour the mixture into some ramekins. Place these on a baking tray and fill the tray up with water so that it comes two thirds of the way up the ramekins, making a bain marie. Place the cheesecakes in the oven for 20-25 minutes. They should still wobble and will gradually set to completion as they cool. 

Meanwhile, place the quince jelly in a small pan over a low heat. When this has melted, pour over the cheesecakes and let it sit and set. 

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Mapo Tofu

Szechuan (so on point) and really very easy, Mapo tofu is a Chinese classic. Tofu may at first seem bland but actually it is delicate like porcelain and lends well to these punchy (chillies) and very umami flavours (salted black beans). You can knock this up in about 10 minutes. Serve with sticky rice and pickled or fresh cucumbers and extra chilli oil for those who are properly serious about spicy food.

500g firm white tofu 1 tbsp veg oil 2 tbsp soya bean paste 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped 2” ginger, finely chopped 1 tbsp sriracha sauce 1 tsp chilli oil 2 tbsp salted black beans 1.5 cups vegetable stock (or meat if you aren’t veg) ½ tsp sugar ½ tsp ground Szechuan peppercorns 1 leek, finely sliced 5 spring onions, sliced into inch lengths 1 tsp toasted sesame oil Coriander to serve

Remove the tofu from it’s packaging and place between kitchen roll, top and bottom, and rest a plate top and bottom, to draw out some moisture. Leave this for an hour or so. Heat the oil in a wok on a moderate heat. Add the soya bean paste, squishing it with a spatula, for a few minutes. Add the garlic and ginger and fry for a few minutes, keeping a watchful eye. Now mix in sriracha sauce, chilli oil and black beans. Pour over the stock, sugar and peppercorns and bring to the boil, making sure all the pastes and sauces are dissolved and distributed. Chop your tofu into inch cubes and gently nestle amongst your sauce. Add the leeks and spring onions and simmer for 4-5 minutes. Flavour with sesame oil and serve with coriander.

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Pumpkin and Five Spice Muffins

How many offending bags of slightly random spice do you have, bought for one particular recipe, clogging up the draws, spilling off the shelves, going stale or just really irritating the heck out of you? Chinese five spice is definitely one of those offending aromatics! We always have a leaking packet somewhere. So here’s a recipe finally, to use up those dregs from that BBQ pork or crispy duck recipe that you make only once a year.

Muffins are the sort of baked good that is easy to prepare the night before (for maximum smug parenting points, see my recent youtube video): Simply assemble all the dry goods together and all the wet. Leave these overnight. Bring the ingredients together first thing in the morning, to send your darlings to school with hot-cake-in-the-hand.

Makes 9 deep muffins

2 medium free-range eggs 80ml whole milk 120ml rapeseed or vegetable oil ½ tsp vanilla extract 200g grated squash 200g soft brown sugar 200g plain flour 1 tsp baking powder 1 tsp five spice a pinch of sea salt

Preheat the oven to 190c. Line a muffin tray with paper cases. In a measuring jug, combine the eggs, milk, oil and vanilla. Beat until it is thick and emulsified. Pile the grated pumpkin into this, mix and leave to stand. In a large bowl, combine the sugar, flour, baking powder, five spice and salt. Using a whisk or fork, work this until there are no lumps and you have a fine mix that is entirely uniform. You can’t mix this too much.

To finish, pour the wet goods into the dry goods. Using a large spoon or spatula, very quickly bring the ingredients together, mixing as little as possible. You can even still have some lumps or pockets of different consistency, as all this will even out in the oven. Using a tablespoon, fill the paper cases until nearly at the top. Place in the oven for 12-15 minutes. You can either eat this fresh out of the oven or serve with a dollop of cream cheese icing when they are cool.

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Sexy rice

This is a totally idiotic name for the most delicious way to ‘pimp’ your rice. I’ve recently been to Goa and did a fab cooking course (a holiday which I can’t stop banging on about on social media). The most striking of all the dishes we cooked was the rice. It is not complicated but it turns plain delicate basmati into a bejewelled fragrant delight, a game-changer. 

Sexy rice is also a great way of using up leftover rice. I often misjudge how much to cook and end up with half a pan remaining, burning a whole in my waste-not conscience. More often than not, it ends up sitting at the back of the hob or shoved in an unopened Tupperware until I admit defeat and chuck it. So this recipe should provide you with an economic solution. I would happily eat ‘sexy rice’ with just some natural yogurt and shop bought pickles on the side. 

The additions are not set in stone. However, the one integral component (IMO) are the fresh curry leaves. Never scrimp on these, or even remotely consider supermarket dried ones in a box. They simply will not do, have no flavour, and will add nothing. Oh and a side-note on finding curry leaves when in India: It was almost as difficult in Goa as it is in Britain wierdly... until I quizzed the ladies from the neighbouring cottages. They laughed their heads off at me and walked me down to the bottom of the garden. There stood a delicate spindly little tree, perfectly feathered with curry leaves. It seems that you don’t buy curry leaves so much as grow them. 

Here’s a video of how to cook it, with some extra bits of India thrown in. 

3 tbsp vegetable or coconut oil

1 tsp mustard seeds

a generous handful of fresh green curry leaves

1/3 cup mung dal

5 cloves of garlic, peeled and sliced

1/3 cup chopped cashews

1 kashmiri chilli, ripped up

1/2 tsp asafoetida

2 cups of cooked basmati rice

1-2 limes, juiced

a handful of roughly chopped coriander

Heat the oil in a large pan or wok. Place this on a high heat to start with. When the oil is quivering, add the mustard seeds followed in quick secession by the curry leaves. When the mustard seeds are popping and the curry leaves curling, add the little mung dal lentils. Now may be a good time to turn the flame to a more moderate setting. Coat these well in oil using a spatula and then add the cashews. Toss these until they become golden which will take a few minutes. Don’t however leave the pan as they will easily burn. Rip in your big dried Kashmiri chilli and the asafoetida. The latter will fizz up a little. Now quickly crumble in the rice, working all the ingredients together well with your spatula. There should be no lumps. Take the pan off the heat and squeeze in the lime juice and add the coriander. 

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Tips for a Christmas holiday in Goa

As I washed the dark terracotta dirt from my feet in our cold London flat, hours after we all returned from our Christmas in Goa, I felt I wanted to keep the holiday alive and remember all the things that we learned whilst away. Travelling with children (ours are 2 and 6) is never easy. Lets face it, it’s mostly about you. They would be just as happy glued to Wild Krats for the whole of the school holidays, clamped to a large sofa in pyjamas being drip-fed Cadbury’s. So if you want your kids to come along for the ride, you’ve got to make it easy on them. Well, not so much easy as give them options so that they don’t consistently go mental and show you up in every longed for curry destination!

1. The first thing to get out of the way is that our children knew that this was a screen-free trip, a holiday about being together, getting bored, fighting, running around naked, watching birds and eating great food. We didn’t take ipads or computers. We did take our phones but they weren’t much use as we don’t have apps for the children on them and internet access was spluttery and often absent. Having removed this option all together there was no need to constantly negotiate with how much or how frequently they would be watching their drivel. Instead we went armed with paper, pens, dot-to-dot books, plane activities, a travel version of Guess Who, and a small trail of poundshop trinkets to keep their attention up. We definitely didn’t make it easy on ourselves but once we had put the initial work in (and put phones away ourselves) the delights of sand castles and crabs became more appealing than anything else. Soon our son had forgotten all about the TV. It sounds smug. But it did work. I took activities where ever we went and set them up at tables. It helped get through the pressure of eating in restaurants but without resorting to the obvious. Since we’ve been back he’s watched hundreds of hours of his favourite Netflix shows and is happily reunited. It is what it is.  

2. We found that food comes pretty slowing in Goan restaurants. As our children become inconsolable when hungry, Billy blotchy with tears and Penny dragon-like with rage, it became important to think ahead and order pre-supper pakoras on the daily. Combined with your first Long Island Ice Tea, it worked for everyone. I too get pretty ratty when hungry. My amuse-bouche-of-choice-with-sundowner was a daily plate of Gobi Manchurian. I would marry this plate of food if I could: sticky, deep fried, dunked in sauce, with a tender cauliflower centre, this is the best thing since KFC and accounts for my increased dress size. Then one more swim before supper on the beach. The cheque also took forever so make sure you order it with your pudding or last dishes. As the sun goes down and the mosquitos come out, sometimes you need to make a quick get-away. 

3. Both our children got savaged by mosquitos. It’s worst between 5 and 7pm so make sure you burn coils from 3pm (they cost pennies). If they get assaulted by these high-pitched bastards, use aloe vera and turmeric cream which you can get from the local doctors. Also another one called Kailas Jeevan worked well. 

4. I have a real problem: I find a place I want to go, often for breakfast, and fantasise about it’s perfection. I drag the whole family to the much elevated German Bakery or best-ever-chai-shop, like we are on a sacred pilgrimage. No time for showers, I’m hungry. Both children have a melt down en route and by the time we get there (it’s actually a 20 minute march, not a 7 minute amble) everyone wants to go home. So here it is: your children don’t care where they eat breakfast, lunch or dinner. It’s your interest. They just want food when they are hungry and only you want to Instagram the food anyway (Click on the link to see all of mine). The trick to making it work is to give them a quick breakfast before you leave. A couple of bananas. Or listen out for the 9am man on a bike, honking his horn. Chances are he has THE BEST banana buns you will ever taste. If the children their first breakfast early, they might manage the journey. You can eat your much imagined sacred brunch, they can eat or not eat depending and everyone will leave having got just about enough from the experience. No child ever thanked their parents for that great brunch experience. They just don’t care. 

5. Two out of three of our lodgings in South India were Airbnb houses.  For me, as a cook, and for a family of four, this worked fantastically. Whilst I don’t want to cook (and wash up) three meals a day, sometimes it’s about what is going to work, being a bit pragmatic, everyone getting a bit of what they fancy. Sitting in a restaurant for 3 meals a day can be very challenging for everyone. You end up policing your children’s manners endlessly (well, I do) and it can get to a point where no one actually wants to eat, they’ve got ants in their pants or are chasing manky cats around the joint. There is a sort of fatigue around the experience, the huge choice. So. I opted (in the absence of a child-free holiday) to cook 1 or 2 meals a day. At the beginning of the day we planned which meals these were and planned around them all the fun things we would do. Again, kids don’t really care if they are eating at the hipster spot on the beach or having red pasta in the kitchen. And the bonus to having a kitchen is that we could then put them to bed after they had eaten and have a rare moment alone, drink beer, chat, read, listen to music, cook and actually relax. If it means a bit of washing up, I’ll take that. 

6. Simple kid’s suppers which were easy to rustle up at home were: Heinz beans with paratha; instant noodles with green beans and cucumber on the side; red pasta; garlic calamari. Now back to the Heinz thing. There is no shame in a few comforts. Our kids were pretty good at trying new foods but almost everything really is spicy. Giving them something familiar every now and again was reassuring. And doesn’t everyone love beans?

When eating out, Dosa plain was popular and again the garlic and lemon seafoods like prawns and calamari. Spaghetti Vongole is also on a few menus and was delicious. Perhaps surprising but given Goa was a Portuguese colony it does make sense. 

7. Again, because of the Airbnb, I went to the local market. This was partly an excuse as it’s just about my favourite thing to do. To watch how people buy food, how they make exchanges, how they laugh, what they wear, what’s on offer (mountains of unrecognisable herbs), how they get it home. It’s also a brilliant way of making sure you are eating the right things. Chaudi market was pumping, bold and colourful, smelly, confused and inspiring. The ‘take-home’ here was that there was very little meat for sale. It was almost all clams and calamari and small tunas. The few meat stalls looked pretty rank and unpopular. This informed me that ordering meat from the restaurants was probably not worth it. And because the fish and fresh vegetables were so abundant that’s clearly the best stuff to buy and order. 

I would recommend Goa to any family. It’s not challenging. No one got sick. We just ate delicious food, went to chai shops and bought afternoon samosas. We took hair-raising rickshaw rides and dodged cows where ever we went. Do it. You wont regret it. Even the dogs are friendly.

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Slow braised aubergines with green olives + The Towpath Cafe

Braising really is wonderful for the end results and brilliant as a method because you do all the cooking and then bung it in the oven and forget about it. The process of lightly frying and then cooking slowly with a lid on (in the oven in this case) does something to the components: it sort of glues everything in place and allows each ingredient to settle into a fitting nook; a kind of polishing of spices here. It becomes hard to pin-point the cumin or coriander seeds separately. Instead they become fused and assimilated with the aubergines in a slow and low meal, a unified whole. It’s a braise that works as a supper in its own right but would be delicious with a lamb chop too. I am happy to have just a bowl of this on a wet Wednesday in November. 

I had something a bit like this a few weeks ago, on one of the last warmish days at The Towpath Cafe. It was a gorgeous afternoon. Ducks whizzed passed, beating against the water and cyclist tottered along the narrow path between water and buildings. Bobby Gillespie even turned up at one point, sporting a hench blue Staffy and a very short coffee.  

The food was absolutely impeccable. The blackboard menu sounded fine, possibly not even that special. But the delivery of each plate brought perfect seasoning and a balance of textures as even and certain as a cool cyclist riding with no hands. Chicken with couscous sounded a bit naughties (tbh) but what arrived was quarter of a bird, decked with pomegranate seeds and sitting on stock-drenched wet grains. Faultless. The lentils with beetroots were al dente bursts, not floury at all, sealed in a light vinaigrette. My absolute favourite dish was something which they called an aubergine stew with green olives. Perhaps the underselling added to the surprise of a cumin and coriander laced braise of soft fleshy aubergines, sharpened with fat green olives. 

I’ve done my best to recreate the dish here. I served it with pasta for my kids this evening and ate it myself with buttery sourdough. It’s up to you. 

Serves 3 as a main and 4 as a side

3 aubergines or 800g about, trimmed and roughly diced

1 cup vegetable or pomace oil

2 onions or 200g, peeled and sliced

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp paprika

1 pint vegetable stock

1 tbsp tomato puree

1 tsp sea salt

1 tsp golden caster sugar

170g pitted green olives, I used Halkidiki

Natural yogurt and parsley or coriander to serve. 

Preheat the oven to 160c. Prepare the aubergines and heat half of the vegetable oil in a medium saucepan. When the oil is quivering, add the diced aubergine in batches. Remove once the pieces are a bit burned and sautéed all over. Drain on some kitchen roll. Add more oil where necessary. In the same pan, add the remaining oil and fry the onions. You may want to reduce the heat. After 5 minutes add the garlic and then the cumin, coriander and paprika. Mix and coat it all well. Now return the aubergines to the pan. Cover with vegetable stock and add the tomato puree and salt and sugar. Bring the pan to a gentle boil and simmer for half an hour. Now fit the saucepan lid and place in the oven for 1 hour. Fold in the olives before serving with yogurt and herbs. 

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Sweet manoushe

What do you do when you wake up on a Sunday morning, ravenous, with not a crust or a crumb of glorious fancy bread in the house? Because I’m loathed to solve this first-world  problem with a Hovis loaf from the minute-mart, these lebanese flabreads also known as za’atar manoushe, were my solution. They are as easy as they are hugely gratifying. 

It is clear that I am quite a bread fanatic, so as one sourdough was proving, I was whipping up these oil laced crispy breads with both za’atar (a spicy herbed mix which is the work of moments) and the sweet ‘pudding’ version for my kids for a weekend lunch. Can a woman eat too much bread? For me, No. I celebrate my lack of gluten intolerance daily. 

Don’t, however, think we are living the dream: we were all pretty pissed-off yesterday and our daughter refused all of these offerings, sauntering off instead to watch ‘her special show’ (a horrendous Netflix techno girl fest). The dreamy walk in the woods had sent everyone over the edge. Things are not always as they seem...

But truly, the thing about these breads being easy is entirely genuine. I bunged the dough together before breakfast, set the stand mixer to knead while we all got dressed and then put it in the fridge. Returning from our - taxing - country romp, these were quickly rolled and baked and ready for the next tantrum. 

makes about 6 breads

250ml tepid water

7g fast action yeast

1 tsp runny honey

1 tbsp olive oil

350g plain flour

1/2 tsp sea salt

1 tbsp nigella seeds

vegetable oil for rolling

extra virgin olive oil

white sesame seeds

Cream cheese

runny honey

ground cinnamon

Place all of the dough ingredients into a stand mixer and knead for 5 minutes. Cover the dough with clingfilm and put in the fridge until it has doubled in size or a few hours (the length of a weekend walk).

Get the oven hot, like 220-260c, depending on how high yours will go. Oil a worktop and your rolling pin. Grease a couple of baking trays with oil too. Divide the dough into 6 or so balls. Roll each out to be about 6″ x 8″. Place on the greased trays, brush the tops with good extra virgin olive oil and scatter with sesame seeds. Place in the oven for 6-8 minutes or until blistering at the edges and a little golden. Remove to a chopping board and spread over cream cheese, honey and a pinch of cinnamon. 

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Veg curry + food for the sick

My father is in hospital. He has been there for weeks and has finally been  relocated to a rehabilitation clinic where they are knocking the old fool into shape. They bring him breakfast and two hot meals a day. Even though he was brought up on institutional food and loves a good glassy gravy and a bowl deep with custard and pie, even he is finding it difficult to stomach the hospital food. I realise this is not a new conversation but it is certainly always a relevant one. It’s white carbs like pasta and smash and overcooked meats or portions of process cheese and crackers. Enough to block up even the most spritely of patients. 

I have spent a lot of time in hospital too. One brain haemorrhage and two caesarians and most recently a triple hernia have meant that I have always taken full advantage of the NHS and love it dearly. After this most recent operation I was given a bowl glueing cheese sandwich made with white bread. 

My oldest friend is also a doctor, so I hear the back-end of the trials of hospital life: the abuse the staff suffer, the hours they work (horrific and growing) and the lack of pay rises in the face of our austere economy. Basically it’s rotten so we should all be very grateful. 

However, along with a lot of other people I can not help but gripe about hospital food. I know they have a strict budget and need to keep all the old geezers fed and watered on a shoe string and I know the money is fast running out, but I can’t help thinking it would be so much better if they adopted an India diet. So many patients are sat or lay in bed, immobile and often ‘bunged-up’. Bowls of hearty chickpeas, or simple vegetable curries would be so much better for the nutrition, digestion and bowels of all these people who have no option but to be there until they are better. It would also cost pennies. 

So I have been thinking a lot about wholesome Indian foods, so easy to knock up, with just a few herbs and spices. I am particularly enamoured by Diana Henry’s Kayi Curry, which is a firm favourite at my in-laws house. It is so simple, a coconut drenched selection of root vegetables and bright green beans and peas. We eat it on worthy nights in, with brown rice and shop-bought vinegar heavy chutneys. You really can’t go wrong. 

Here’s my version. It really does bring a little sunshine onto your lap and into your tummy and I always feel a bit better after a dose of it. The vegetable components are easily swapped around. I made it recently with a firm Delica pumpkin which was delicious, as is sweet potato. Just use what you’ve got really. Incidentally, this supper is vegan. 

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 1/2 tbsp mustard seeds

1 large onion, finely chopped

4 cloves of garlic, grated

4cm ginger, peeled and grated

2 green chillies, pierced

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp turmeric

4 plum tomatoes, quartered

250g carrots, peeled and sliced into chunks

350g potatoes, peeled and sliced into chunks

250ml coconut milk

100ml vegetable stock

100g frozen peas

125g green beans

chopped coriander and lime juice to serve

Heat the oil on a medium heat until it is quivering. Add the mustard seeds and fry for a few minutes or until they pop. Now add the onion, garlic and ginger and gently sauté until the onion is transparent. It’s worth paying attention here and doing a good job. When everything is soft and fragrant (not browned), add the chillies, coriander and turmeric. Fry briefly before adding the tomatoes. Give this another few minutes so that the tomato pieces are breaking up a bit. Now add the carrots, potatoes and coconut milk and stock. It should just cover the veg. Simmer until the potatoes are tender and then quickly add peas and beans. These will need a few minutes to cook. Serve with brown rice and coriander and lime. 

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Half-term biscuits

It’s half term. Yesterday I made biscuits with my kids. It was pretty stressful. Cooking with children is not something I do often, or take lightly. It requires military planning. Basically you need to get everything so flipping ready, measured and bowled-up, that their version of cooking is nothing more than scattering a techno sprinkle, or in my daughter’s case, peeling a garlic clove, for which she is obsessed. You need everything laid out so that you don’t ever have to turn your back. Because as soon as you do, all hell will break loose, knives will be grabbed and flour will become a whirlwind around your kitchen. Be warned. As you may be able to glean, I don’t like cooking with my children. I usually have a pretty clear idea of what I want to cook and I don’t want impatient grubby fingers ruining my fun. It’s a pretty selfish narrative. 

However, after this little biscuit foray, I realised that the great thing about engaging children in the kitchen (if you have pretty much cooked the whole thing for them already) is that they are employed in an activity (this is possibly twelve minutes or entertainment for them) and you also gain a snack for a woodland walk or park excursion: You’ve killed two birds with one stone. How has it taken me six years to realise this?!

The ordinary pursuit of cooking with kids, rather like the bland and comforting biscuits themselves, is a well trodden path. Half term, basic, quite mundane, requires basic activities, small moments to break the time up and prevent the loop of Peppa pig and Dino Dana. The odd fleck of joy and sugar, a laugh here or there, between the ballistic shrieks. It’s lovely really. This is where mundane really comes into its own. A reliable biscuit, a reliable task. It’s not going to change the world and it’s been done before (probably by you, years ago with your parents) but it really has a value. They were genuinely into it.

The magic of these universal pastries is that they do not swell, which makes them absolutely ideal for cutter-life, and if you have children, you live in cutter-life. There is nothing more underwhelming than a biscuit which rises or puffs, thus loosing the sharp edged stars and hedge hogs. You need these snacks to keep their clean lines. I’ve used a heartwarmingly twee stamp on mine from Tiger which I adore. My children were more partial to snails and the like. So the ones you can see photographed are mine. Their’s were rubbish so I haven’t photographed them. Hence my problems with mixed aged cooking. That said we very much enjoyed eating them in the park today. It’s all good and I’ll definitely do it again. And if I can then you can too. 

125g unsalted butter

1/2 cup soft brown sugar

1 large free-range egg

2 cups plain flour

1/4 cup cornflour

a pinch of sea salt

some vanilla essence

Measure out the butter and sugar. Place these on a medium speed in a stand mixer or use an hand held electric whisk. Beat until these are pale and then add the egg, continuing to beat until combined for a few minutes. You may need to stop and scrape the edges with a spatula. Add the flour and cornflour, salt and vanilla. Work until it is almost all combined. This may take a while to get from a bread crumb texture to a ball which you can draw together. Use your hands to finally draw the biscuit dough up and make into a big round disk, the size of a main course plate. Wrap with clingfilm and place in the fridge for an hour or so to firm and set. 

Meanwhile, place the oven on 200 and line 2 or 3 sheets with greaseproof paper. Slice off two more greaseproof sheets. Bring out the dough and place it between the two sheets of paper. Roll until it’s 1/4 inch thick and then cut out. Keep bringing back any leftovers, rolling and using until there is nothing left. Bake in the oven for 8-12 minutes. Remove to a cooling rack. These could also be decorated with icing and sprinkles if you are trying to win mum-of-the-year.

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Sausage, polenta and cabbage

This really was so simple and brilliant for a high-tea with kids. So simple in fact that I forgot to write much of it down. So, in the spirit of Elizabeth David (and who wouldn’t want to conjure her regal culinary spirit?!) I’ll give this recipe to you as prose. 

Polenta is a bit of an enigma to me, and it always seems to come out slightly different. Often it is too wet or not fully cooked. There’s quick cook, cornmeal (the Caribbean cousin which I think is actually exactly the same as the Italian offering), slow cook, course ground, fine and so on. I usually opt for a medium rather than a fine so that there is some texture to this sloppy porridgy business. As a very plain ingredient, polenta makes an easy bed-fellow with strong acidic flavours like parmesan, truffle, or pepper and it much improved by a generous and oily knob of butter. 

This is ultimate autumn cooking and the work of ten or fifteen minutes making it my new go-to supper after the school run. I have also done it with some good mushrooms and wilted spinach for a vegetarian deviation. Both were pretty popular with my docile son. My rather less docile and more feisty daughter inevitably ate the sausage and not much else, but there you go. All things will pass. 

Serves 3

You will need: 

olive oil

butter

polenta

stock

sausages

garlic

savoy cabbage

marsala wine

parmesan

sea salt and black pepper

Make the polenta following the packet instructions. You are aiming for a silky rich base here, erring on the runny side of things. Add extra stock if necessary. 

Meanwhile, in a large cast iron pan, add some olive oil. Brown the sausages all over on a medium heat for 8-10 minutes. Now add 3 peeled and smashed cloves of garlic, followed in quick succession by finely shredded cabbage (I used savoy here but equally hispi or plain round would be fine too). Keep moving everthing around the pan, allowing the cabbage to brown but not burn. When you are satisfied that everything is well cooked, throw in some marsala wine or sherry and bubble this off for a few minutes. Serve with polenta on the bottom, and layer with sausages, cabbage and parmesan on the top. 

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Fennel thins + dinner parties are the new going-out

These thins are really very simple and a dam-site cheaper than any fancy seed-laced biscuit you will pay for in a deli. Crunchy and indeed thin, they make the perfect vehicle for a scoop of something rich. Perhaps 5 mins preparation and then 5 minutes in the oven! Easy and quick? Both appealing concepts, especially when it comes to entertaining. And this is indeed the essence when it comes to throwing open your doors. Planning ahead is key. Things like pate and salad make the most brilliant and simple starters, toss in a few pickles or chutney... followed by some sort of casserole of fish stew for the main bit which doesn’t need anything doing to it in the moment. Pudding? For me this is often some cheese and fruit (oh, so another cry for more delicious fennel thins) or as was the case last week, my highly skilled pal brought a pear frangipane tart with an obscenely buttery base. Suddenly the overwhelming and complicated notion of entertaining seems really rather a doddle.

I spent a huge amount of energy having friends round for dinner in my twenties. The flat where I lived was always awash with friends, bobbing through my seas, both novel and exciting and old timers from school and university. My lodgings were small, quite damp in winter and the kitchen was nothing more than a galley. But there was always a dinner plan or a pre-club-meet being plotted. I loved it and always lived in little town centres like Brixton where everyone could easily congregate and worship at the steps of chat, booze, food and fags. Doesn’t it sound wonderful?

Then of course I had a baby. We moved a bit further afield to a flat in a big block in a kind of transport black hole (is it Peckham? Is it Dulwich? Is it Forest Hill? I still don’t know). We continue to live here and I love our high-rise castle in the sky, modern and cold. We have made a happy home. But we have done very little entertaining, well certainly compared with how I used to churn out the good-times. I realised, in closing my cafe at the beginning of the summer (phew), that I have totally neglected this part of my personality. The reality of children and tiredness and a husband who often works away, is that something had to give and in order to conserve my sanity (often waining in a rather dull, undramatic and long way), I had almost completely stopped doing the thing that I love dearly, entertaining. It makes me feel good and it makes me feel like me. I like laying the table, choosing the glasses, umming over which charity shop plates to display, planning the food all week, plodding away at each element so that it really is wonderful, a top notch feed. And as going-out and royally-tearing-it-up is pretty infrequent, having friends over really is the new going out.

Where previously I could throw a meal together with abandon and then dance out of the door to the club, like all parents I now I have to get through fish fingers and bath-time and a whole load of life-min and washing-up. As a result of this, there are a few things that I think make for an easy evening of entertaining. I implore you to follow these simple guidelines and have a dinner party. It doesn’t matter how small your kitchen table is or if the chairs don’t match. Just throw open those doors and pop some Aldi cava. The goodtimes will flow. 

What ever you choose to cook, don’t cook all three courses. Two is fine. Buy the other. 

Take note from the French: Starters can be a simple dish of roast peppers and good bread. The main course then just needs to be a casserole. Simple is the key.

Make sure the majority of the elements can be made in advance so you aren’t stuck in the kitchen all night with sprigs of parsley.

Lay the table in the morning.

Don’t forget water on the table.

Let everyone help themselves to whatever they want, whenever they want it. Unless of course you have a butler. 

1 1/2 cups plain flour + extra for rolling

1 tsp finely chopped fennel fronds (optional)

1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

1 tsp ground fennel seeds

1 tsp sea salt

1 tsp golden caster sugar

2 tbsp pumpkin oil or olive oil

1/2 cup cold water + 1/4 cup cold water

Place all these ingredients into a stand mixer or magimix, holding aside the last 1/4 cup of water. Set onto the low mix or pulse until everything has come together into a ball. If it doesn’t quite come together add the rest of the water. Wrap in clingfilm and place in the fridge for an hour or so (enough time to do the school run?). 

Place your oven on 230c or as hot as you can manage really. Line 4 large baking trays with greased paper. Dust a worktop with flour and roll out the dough really very thin, like 1 or 2 mm. Place the thins on the lined baking sheets and bake for 5 minutes. Now turn the oven off and leave to cool for 2 hours, leaving the thins in there. (Enough time to go shopping?) When you return, remove the thins from the oven, roughly break and store in a tin until you want to eat. These can be made a few days in advance of your soiree and are good with cheese or pate.

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Gravy noodles for everyone

Rare are the meals that we all enjoy together. Well, 3 out of 4 isn’t bad, because our daughter refuses almost everything except bananas and pasta and I’m not eating that en famille! So when I say everyone, really I mean she has eaten a smidge, and our son has been bribed to finish his plate and we have gleefully enjoyed the rest. The main thing is that I haven’t cooked 6 different meals today. Penny is not going hungry and I’m sure she’ll jump on board our greed train when she is ready/famished. 

These noodles came out of the joy of a veg box. We got our first Riverford Veg box this week. It struck me that these pick-and-mix boxes, like a lucky dip, are perfect for more confident cooks. It’s like Ready Steady Cook all over (and it’s not the first time I have mentioned this gem of a cookery show) because you need to be able to open the fridge, scan your ingredients, and work out a course of action. Mine was a sort of noodle with greens and pork. Penny loved shelling the broad beans (even if she did abjectly refuse to eat them). The noodles were coated in a kind of comforting gravy, but an asian one with fresh tamarind, as if a pad thai. I mean, who doesn’t love gravy?

2 tbsp light soy sauce

1 tbsp tomato puree

1 tbsp runny honey

3 tbsp tamarind

1 garlic clove, crushed

220g pork mince

150g shelled broad beans, coats removed

180g medium egg noodles

50g peas

Combine the soy, tomato puree and honey together. Mix in the garlic and add tamarind to taste (these sauces vary in strength. Home made is much lighter than the pre-processed stuff). It should be tart and fresh. Set aside the gravy for later. 

Get out a wok and put it on a high heat with no oil. Throw in the pork mince and press thoroughly to break it up into tiny pieces as it cooks. You want to get the meat really crisp and in tiny pieces if possible. Remove from the heat. 

Meanwhile bring a large pan of water to the boil and then simmer the noodles according to packet instructions. Add the broad beans 3 minutes before the noodles need draining, and the peas 1 minute before the noodles drain. Drain the noodles, beans and peas, keeping a little of the water. to loosen the whole situation. Chuck all of this in the pan with the pork and pour over the gravy. Coat and simmer for a few minutes, distributing the goodies which intertwine the noodles. Serve and negotiate pudding accordingly. 

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Caramel miso ice cream

So this is ridiculously easy. And ideal right now, as we are all desperate for ice cream in these unusually crisp British climbs. London is beginning to feel like a cowboy’s dust bowl.

You can quite literally whip this up in the evening and eat the next day once firm. There’s no need for an ice cream maker or arduous punctuating trips to the freezer. Just leave to freeze overnight and eat the next day. It’s delicious just as it is but would lend well to some stewed plums.

300g double cream

397g tinned caramel

12g white miso paste

Serves 4-6

Combine the double cream, caramel and miso paste. Whip until if holds it’s  shape. Don’t over-beat as it can split a little. Scoop out into a tupperware and freeze overnight.

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Biscotti with brown sugar and nutmeg + the exchange of ideas

My mum has been waxing lyrical about biscotti for a few weeks now: the ultimate baked good to snaffle with a morning coffee, according to Joanna. Not too much, not too little, the perfect soupson or pick-me-up to get you through to lunch. They are often for sale in generic Italian chain cafes, individually wrapped and tough enough to break a weak tooth. Dusty, dry and less than ideal. 

But the homemade sort, so easy to knock up, are semi-soft and yielding with satisfying firm edges. Can I stress again how easy they are? Both batches I have made were done in perhaps 10 minutes preparation and not much more baking. It turns out they are a great school gates offering too, for the same reason as above, being not so much to put your kids off their supper like a slab of carrot cake but enough to spur them on, for the walk home, in our case up a very steep hill. Thanks Mum for the suggestion. 

I have been cheered lately at the food ideas that are shared around among my friends and family. I recently chivvied off some starter dough for my mate Romily and she has galloped on to make insanely perfect sourdough loaves, full of air and dense with chewy flavour having never previously made bread at all.  And she in turn has given me new tips for my loaves with new kneading techniques. We are constantly honing our culinary knowledge, reading recipes and exchanging tips.  I’m sure these food batons have been making the world go round for years, this sort of clucking and cooking. 

So these biscotti are for ideas shared, friendships generous and kitchen tables heavy with ideas. I’ve made them with soft brown sugar which naturally lends a hint of caramel and perfectly matches the nutmeg spicing, being a short leap to a custard memory. Made with no fat, the biscotti calls for few ingredients, making them an easy late night emergency bake for the school run or a last minute gift. And the possibilities here are endless: eat with coffee, tea or white wine after supper. So with pretty much anything. 

100g almonds, skin on

2 medium free range eggs

180g soft brown caster sugar

zest of about 1/4 lemon

300g plain flour

1 tsp baking powder

1/3 a nut of nutmeg

a pinch of sea salt

Preheat the oven to 180c. Pour out the almonds and bake for 10 minutes or so until they are roasted and golden. Leave to cool. Meanwhile, line two small baking sheets with baking parchment and reduce the oven temperature to 150c.

Place the eggs and sugar in a stand mixer or large bowl. Beat for a good five minutes until it has doubled in volume. Now quite simply mix into this the lemon zest, flour, baking powder, nutmeg and sea salt. Roughly chop the almonds and add these. Lightly flour your work top and divide the mixture into 2 equal amounts. Roll each into a small log, about 2″ high. Lay the logs on the lined baking trays and place these in the oven for 18-20 minutes or until dried out to touch but still with a bit of a spring when pressed. Remove the logs and slice off into cm pieces. Return these discs to the baking dish to dry out by returning to the oven for a further 5 or so minutes. Remove to a cooling rack or eat immediately depending on you are in a hurry.

[rosielovell-blog]

Courgette, pea and feta salad + meditation

Things which take a long time can be really great, quite meditative in fact, if you are feeling-time rich of course. Often recipes boast quickness: five minutes for a supper, dinner in ten, quick lunches. But actually this isn’t necessarily a selling point for me as process is a major part of my enjoyment of cooking. So sometimes you find a recipe that takes time, and effort and patience and it is just what you need. Indeed, pouring over the internet I found loads of articles about cooking as therapy. Tessa Finney on Munchies suggests that cooking therapy is as relavant as the accepted music and art therapies. “Less talk and more doing” was something which popped up in the article. I love this idea. It’s like shelling broad beans or any repetitive task which focuses the mind. Enjoying the preparation of food and giving over to the monotony of the task can be wonderful. Often it’s when I do my best thinking and make genuine break-throughs.

This recipe is fantastic. I can’t really take the credit as it is actually one from my husband’s repertoire (you know how you each execute different meals, dishes which sit in your corner of the kitchen, rarely replicated by the other person?) But recently I’ve started making this salad and only in so doing did I realise how laborious it is! I have frequently requested it without knowing how much effort is involved. But then I came through the woods and realised that the effort is wonderful and the results entirely worth it. And in having patience to not leave the hob and plod away with the grilling of these fine sheets of courgette, you make a truly delicious salad, one which is greater than the sum of it’s parts. The salty feta, soft almost gooey courgette, crunchy nuts, handfuls of pungent herbs, and barely cooked sweet peas are a triumph of opposites. However, leave the hob at your peril because it is easy to burn both the courgettes and the pine nuts. 

Evidently, this is a perfect summer salad. We quite often eat just this for supper, in mountains. With a lush white wine you will need nothing more than a bar of chocolate to finish.

3 large courgettes, tops and tails removed

2 tbsp rapeseed oil

100g garden peas

50g pine nuts

200g feta

1 bunch of parsley

1 bunch of mint, leaves removed from the stalk

1 fat red chilli

1 lemon, juiced

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Using a mandolin slicer, slice the courgettes into lengths. Place these in a bowl and toss in rapeseed oil so that they are well coated. This is best done with your hands. Heat a dry grill pan on a high heat and then grill these in batches. They will become tinged and striped and soft. Remove to a salad bowl. Meanwhile, pour boiling water over your peas and leave them to sit until they are defrosted but essentially fresh. Drain after about twenty minutes. Scatter these in layers over the courgettes. When you have finished grilling the courgettes, use the same pan to toast your pine nuts. Do not take your eyes from the hob because they will undoubtedly burn! Finely chop the parsely, the mint and the big red chilli. Toss these into the salad, crumbling the feta next and then squeeze over lemon juice and olive oil.