Poached eggs a la Fran

It has come to attention recently that my blog might be giving you lovely readers the mistaken impression that I'm quite 'hot stuff' in the kitchen, a bit of a pro if you will. Some people have even gone as far to say that I am intimidating! I'm uncertain as to how and why this has happened. I can only assume that I have done a poor job of telling you about my many culinary mishaps and grossly exagerrated all the good bits. Believe me, I'm just like you - a person with a healthy appetite for all that is tasty and good in the world, daring and challenging myself to take my cooking to the next level and swallowing my pride (and, ignoring my taste buds) when it all goes wrong.

Tonight, I have the perfect example for you: I attempted to poach an egg for the first time in my life. The first time - surely, that is proof enough?! In fact, I only just ate a poached egg for the first time in my life a couple of weeks ago. Cooked for me by an experienced egg-poacher, it was perfection in the form of an egg, everything that I could want - healthy, mess-free (there being no shell to peel) and deliciously runny. I even liked the way that it wobbled in a suggestively breast-like manner...

Alas, my egg neither wobbled nor ran. The yoke was hard (clearly over-cooked) and the white bit looked like a bit of froth coughed up by sea. It was as if the yoke had decided to grow a frizzy afro - not a good look if you're a poached egg. Don't get me wrong, it was edible and tasted reasonably good. But, it was far from the perfect poached egg I had eaten just weeks before. I have no idea what I've done wrong since it is so simple to cook - you drop the egg into boiling water with a splash of vinegar and then simmer for about 5 minutes with a lid on. It's a no-brainer! But, I will definitely give it another try and I'm confident that I will master this. Any tips would be most welcome!

So, there you have it - poached eggs a la Fran! You can all rest well in the knowledge that you have nothing to fear from me. Well, unless I've served you poached eggs...

Red bean flavoured soy milk

Winter's coming and as much as I hate the cold and wet weather, there's a big part of me that is very excited because it's (drum roll, please)...hot chocolate season! A little drop of sunshine during an otherwise bleak season. I have recently started walking to and from work and my route conveniently takes me perilously (in the calorific sense) close to Amorino, which serves the best hot chocolate in London that I've come across. I can't wait to walk home with a steaming cup of that sticky, sweet nectar - it's pure pleasure. For now, I'm being a good girl and making myself wait until it's just that little bit colder (can it really get colder than this?!). Good things come to those who wait and I can't wait for the things that I'm waiting for!

In the meantime, Jessie and I have made a promising alternative - red bean flavoured soy milk. It looks like chocolate milk and kind of tastes like hot chocolate (the milky variety) but it's not as sweet (a good thing in my opinion, surprisingly!) and doesn't come with the requisite side dish of guilt. Note here that I have made an unfounded presumption that the red bean paste we mixed into the milk is healthy since it contains beans. At least, I think it contains beans...it's probably packed with sugar and goodness knows what other preservatives, which the Chinese seem to be particularly fond of using. I'm in denial.

Now, I am eagerly looking forward to the next bout of miserable, autumnal weather (most likely tomorrow) so that I can make myself a big, steaming mug of comforting red bean flavoured soy milk, snuggle up on my armchair wrapped in a cosy blanket and contentedly listen to the rain as it pounds the streets of London. I'm looking on the rainy side of life...and it's looking rather good!

A quick message

Thank you for checking up on me! You'll be (hopefully) glad to know that I'm still alive. I haven't given myself food poisoning quite yet...I promise I will be back with more - I have a post up my sleeve and lots of lovely pictures for you. So, don't give up!

By the way, I'm eating plain chocolate coated ginger (from Holland and Barrett) - utterly divine if you love ginger as much as I do. I like to pretend that it's healthy...but, it's not...

A Fran-tastic day

6 hours of cooking! 6 straight hours of cooking and I made my own vegetable stock - from scratch! Phew, I am ex-haus-ted. But, feeling pretty exultant and euphoric. This must be what it's like to go through 6 hours of labour and give birth to a baby. It was sweaty, I was breathless, there were painful moments, my back ached and I just wanted to throw in the tea towel at times. But, I persisted and was rewarded at the end of it all with a veritable feast that bordered on ludicrous given the sheer amount of food that I produced (for no particular reason other than I felt like spending the whole day cooking).

This baby was a big baby. Seriously, I feel like Jesus feeding the five thousand except that there's just me...possibly with the appetite of five thousand. And, exactly as I have been told, the moment the labour ended and this precious little being was placed in my arms (or, dished up on a plate in my case), I forgot everything...whatever happened, it was completely and utterly worth it.

Chargrilled asparagus, courgette and halloumi - you were worth it. Chickpea, tomato and bread soup - you were worth it. Herb couscous with pistachios and rocket - you were worth it. Grilled aubergine, pepper and tomato soup - you were worth it. Slow-roasted lemon chicken - you were worth it. French bean and mange tout with hazelnut and orange - you were worth it. Sweet potato gratin - you were worth it. Roasted plums, nectarines and blueberries with honey cream - you were worth it.

With food like this in the world, who needs alcohol? Drugs? Men? Ok, I might take back that last one. Still, I could wish for nothing more at this moment, blissfully contented as I am. Well, there is one thing - I wish I had more room in my stomach so that I could eat more food. I have quite literally reached full capacity. The spirit is wanting but the body is incapable of complying.

There is a sort of unfair balance to all of this - 6 hours of tiring cooking followed by 6 minutes of gratifying gorging. Not that I didn't enjoy the cooking part. I seem to slip into some kind of meditative trance when I cook. My mind completely focuses on the task at hand and I forget about every care and worry. Nothing exists in the world except me, the food and the kitchen. I love losing myself in that happy place.

It's over now. The sun is setting quite spectacularly in a myriad of pinks across the sky. No more cooking for the day. No more cooking for the week I have so much food. But, it's going to be a hell of a lot of fun eating it...

Late-night lustings...

They say it's the first sign of madness when you start talking to yourself. But, what does it mean when you start having full-blown conversations with your stomach? Call me crazy but I'm convinced that mine has a mind of it's own and we're currently not quite on speaking terms. Why? Well, I refuse to give in to it's greedy desire for a second dinner. I've just returned from a very satisfactory first dinner at Leong's Legends - the shredded chicken fried rice with toasted pine kernels had the wholesome simplicity of homecooked comfort food, the steamy soup-filled xiao long bau were the perfect remedy to this rainy day and the deep fried shredded turnip, wrapped in a nest of pastry layers, reached light and flavourful heights well-beyond one's expectations of the humble turnip. Naturally, I waddled home with a full belly following that meal. It never even crossed my mind that I might be in dangerous territory if I were to diligently prepare my lunch for the following day - egg stir fried rice with chillies, toasted cashew nuts and dessicated coconut, pak choi and green beans. But, as I stood there over the wok, inhaling the beautiful aromas and delighting in the vibrant colours, I felt lustiness in the pit of my stomach. It didn't help that I'd somehow managed to cook too much food for one lunch portion. Even now, I find myself dreamily gazing in the direction of the kitchen. 'Just one spoonful...' my stomach rumbles. I've brushed my teeth in self-defense!

Why don't you come on over, Patisserie Valerie

One has to wonder if there is something deeply soul-destroying about working at Patisserie Valerie. I have considered it myself - working at Patisserie Valerie that is, not destroying my soul - and have always imagined that it would be a rather delightful place to earn a little bit of extra cash. Just as some men (no names mentioned!) like to surround themselves with attractive women, I quite like the thought of spending a whole day surrounded by deliciously tantalising cakes and pastries. Some of them are so beautiful that they look like they belong on plinths in an art gallery. Mostly, they look like they belong on a plate, being devoured by a very happy and satisfied person (I love it when that person is me!).

Yet, the staff at every Patisserie Valerie that I have been to behave as if they are manning some sort of barge of the dead. Their eyes appear glazed over and their gait betrays an undeniable wish to be anywhere but where they are. It's as if the very life is being sucked out of them. I would know, I've been there before! I try to make eye contact and find myself avoided, ignored - it's as if they don't want to sell the cakes. Perhaps, they are allowed to take away any leftover cakes at the end of the day...yes, that would make sense. I can imagine myself being tempted to selfishly deter customers if that were the case, in desperate need of my next sugar-fix.

Nonetheless, this sort of service really takes the fun out of treating oneself to a naughty slice of cake and cup of tea in the mid-afternoon - such 'sinful' acts should be nothing but pleasurable. Alas, the whole experience becomes so drawn out that my conscience is left with far too much time to make me feel quite guilty and I can no longer enjoy my raspberry tart without contemplating every calorie that passes my lips. And so, I have decided to mutiny! Tonight, I made my own dessert (plum crumble with extra thick cream) and did an exemplary job of serving myself. I even gave myself a second helping, just because I deserve it.

The no-bread-diet

The time has come to say my farewells to bread...for now. We've had a jolly good time this past week - no holding back, abundant indulgence, slices and rolls with every meal and between them too! But, to continue in this vain would require a whole new wardrobe to accompany the inevitable weight gain that would ensue. And so, the no-bread-diet must commence upon my setting foot on the streets of London. This kind of bread gorging is reserved for France and France only. Now, I understand why the word for bread in French is 'pain' - I can't think of anything more fitting considering the pleasurable pain that it has induced multiple times this week.

So, goodbye brioche, farewell croissants, so long baguettes and au revoir pain au chocolat! I miss you already...

Feasting in the Pyrenees

It occurs to me that an addendum is required to my previous post. Indulgent breakfast? You're probably thinking - Fran, you're pathetically lightweight! And, I would be inclined to agree with you since I eat that kind of breakfast - fruit, cereal and bread - pretty much every single day. So, I feel I must explain myself before I completely lose my reputation as a woman with a reasonable appetite.

The reason why I called it an indulgent breakfast is that I had no right being hungry or in any state fit for food consumption since I dined on a rather large and sumptuous feast the previous evening at Ann's. By the way, Ann is an English lady who lives with her husband, Malcolm, up the road from where I'm staying, living the very good life here in the Pyrenees. I have no idea how the French do it but Ann and Malcolm sure know how to eat. It was an uncompromising assault on the stomach. My mind and body battled it out. 'I don't need any more food' moaned my stomach as I took yet another roll of French bread and greedily smothered it in homemade pork pate. 'I don't give a fig what you need, this I want!' my mind responded voraciously. My mind won, it always does.

And so, I ate my way through every course, only declining a second helping of dessert, which actually consisted of three desserts (roasted home grown plums, ice cream and homemade lemon cake), such that one might say I effectively declined a fourth, fifth and sixth helping of dessert! I guess my body does have some control...I mean, it was lemon cake for the love of all that is delicious - one of my greatest weaknesses!

Ann and Malcolm have a flourishing vegetable and herb garden that induced pangs of desire in me, akin to how broody women must feel when they see a pregnant woman. The simple salad of tomatoes, rocket leaves, peppers and celery was alive with flavour in the way that only fresh vegetables can be. I consumed copious amounts of bread and homemade pork pate, made all the more precious knowing that it was the last jar of the year. Oh, how it broke my heart to learn that I couldn't buy ten jars of the stuff from a local shop. The slithers of roasted lamb, which had been procured from a neighbour in the village, were tender and juicy. I delighted in knowing that it had had a happy, albeit short, life here gambolling on the verdant hills. This was accompanied by a rustic casserole of carrots and lentil beans and followed by a course of cheese! Only in France.

The wine flowed, the bread basket seemed to replenish itself and I was rendered comatised. I didn't think that I would be able to eat this morning but as you know, I did! Now, I am in a state of excitement and anticipation. Something very good is going to happen - Ann has been busy preparing a feast of what sounded like an eternity of courses for the jazz musicians who will be performing in tonight's show. I can't even hum a tune in key but I've got a place at the table and I sure know how to eat with pleasure. I'm not even hungry yet but I know that my stomach has already lost the battle...

A blissfully indulgent breakfast

I am in recovery from a blissfully indulgent breakfast. It's holding me prisoner in a dream-like happy limbo. I don't want to move on from this moment. It's sort of like when you wake up from a really great sleep but you refuse to open your eyes because you're not quite ready to get up and face the world. So, I sit in this beautiful spot that I've claimed as my own - perched on a hillside, over-looking a luscious valley of trees and tumbling hills, with the morning sunshine caressing my face and a symphony of birdsong filling me with joyful energy...recovering. It feels like time is holding its breath and I have been rendered helpless in its palm. My breakfast is simple yet captivating - the way some women look when they just wake up, I imagine. Plums, melon, banana and grapes, refreshingly juicy and sweet. Warm crusty French bread with butter and honey oozing through the cracks. I like eating messy food - it makes me feel like a child as I happily lick my fingers. And, muesli with hot, frothy milk, spreading warmth to the very tips of me. I can't think of a better way to start the day. I want to wrap this moment up in a handkerchief and carry it around with me for emergency moments, such as rush hour on the Victoria Line. But, I think all I need do is re-create my simple breakfast, close my eyes and eat, allowing my mind to take me where I want to be...

Roasted courgette and apricot salad

I'm going to share something with you that might seem a bit lame but I'm quite proud and pleased with myself so laugh away if you will because I won't mind one bit! I've been doing a little bit of experimenting with food, a pinch really. Current circumstances have cornered me and made it quite necessary that I improvise and use some initiative. I'm a staunch follower of recipes, rules in fact. I like having instructions, a formulation, knowing that something is going to turn out well (or, at the very least that it will turn out the way the recipe intended, for good or for bad!). So, it's quite liberating for me to take a chance and say 'hey, I could fail, this could turn out completely unpalatable and inedible, but so what?!' That's my new thing - looking Failure in the eye and not blinking or turning away. I can see him quaking in his boots slightly...

Ok, enough of the build-up. What exactly did I do? Well, I replaced roasted butternut squash with roasted courgettes in my couscous salad. I told you this might be lame. I'll give you a moment to laugh at me...OK, done? The thing is that this was originally an Ottolenghi recipe and anyone who knows me well will know that I positively and unquestionably revere Ottolenghi. So, to modify one of their recipes was quite courageous for me. Whats more, I actually preferred the salad with the courgettes - they were juicier, which added an uplifting moistness to the dish, and the slightly sour flavour better complemented the tart apricots. Who would have thought?! Every bite brought me delight and wonder. This is good. This is really good. I had an I-love-myself moment.

Naturally, this success has instilled me with an even greater desire to divert from the well-trodden path to good food and find my own way there. I anticipate many failures and disasters along the way but I'm ok with that. Rome wasn't built in a day, as they say. Now, what I really need are some brave and hungry guinea pigs to tag along for the ride. And, I promise this will get more exciting than a mere switching of one type of squash to another. So, any volunteers..?

Roasted Courgette and apricot couscous salad (modified from Ottolenghi)

Preheat oven to 230c. Roughly chop courgette into 2cm cubed pieces, place into a roasting dish and mix with 1-2 tbsp olive oil and a pinch of salt. Roast in oven for approximately 20 mins. Chop one medium onion and gently saute in 1-2 tbsp olive oil until soft and golden. Place to one side and allow to cool. Soak a handful of dried apricots in hot water for 5-10 mins. Then, finely dice in 5mm cubes (this can be done quite roughly). Rub 1 tbsp olive oil into 150g couscous (the finer the better) and pour 180ml chicken stock over. Cover and leave the couscous to soak for about 5-10 mins. Fluff up the cooked couscous with a fork and gently mix in the onions. Then, add the apricots, 1-2 tbsp chopped mint and the zest of one lemon. Finally, add the roasted courgettes and season the couscous with salt and pepper to taste.

Et voila! You're done. I've written this recipe in a pretty rough and fluid way so as to encourage you to change it as you wish. Have some fun - toasted hazlenuts, rocket leaves, cinnamon, the sky's the limit with what you can do! And, if you hit upon something good, I want to know!

Football 0 - Food 1

Clever me, I have somehow managed to do some pretty serious injury to my back. Don't worry! I'm not lying on the floor, unable to stand or walk. Things haven't got that bad...yet...It's just a very bad backache at the moment that has me wincing when I open doors. What can I say? I'm ahead of my time - I'm an old lady already!

Now, I'm beginning to wonder if my love of food is the source of my trouble; I have a Saturday morning ritual, which involves methodically flicking through my cookbooks whilst eating breakfast, searching for inspiring dishes that I would like to try throughout the coming week and drawing up a shopping list of everything that I will need. It all sounds wonderfully organised and thorough. The problem is that in my zealousness, I end up with a ridiculously long list. This rather obvious fact never fails to allude me until I am standing at the checkout and packing my shopping bags, wondering how on Earth am I going to carry all of this home?! It's a good 10-15 minute walk from my local supermarket...

Naturally, being the 'super-organised and prepared' girl that I am, I ensure that I'm well-equipped for my shopping trips and always bring a rucksack. I thought this was a good thing, the best way to carry heavy loads. Yet, my back just gets worse and worse each week! Am I food shopping my way to a hunchback and cane? Is it time to invest in one of those old-lady trolleys? Of course, there are many solutions to this problem, the simplest being STOP EATING SO MUCH, which is never going to happen. I was just surprised by this moment of clarity and felt the need to share it with you. Perhaps, you have this problem too?

On the hand, it may not be the food shopping that is the problem at all. Yesterday, I did something quite unusual and (for reasons I won't bore you with right now) brave - I played football! Well, I don't think that I can really call what I did 'playing football'. There was a ball and I kicked it...sometimes. There was also a lot of twisting and sudden movements, which come to think of it may have excacerbated my poor, weak back. Yes, I prefer to think that it was the football that has injured me and not my greedy desire to indulge in lots of good food. Football 0 - Food 1!

So, what does one do in this situation? Well, seeing as I've had an even-more-disappointing-than-usual day at work, I shall lick my wounds with my dear friend, Butter, and feast on a rich and sumptuous dinner of tagliatelle in a spiced butter sauce with toasted pine nuts,and herbs, courtesy of Ottolenghi's new cookbook, Plenty. What I really need is someone to rub it into my back and give me a jolly good massage! But, I'll settle for what I can get. Sigh...I feel better already...

Touring the culinary and bibulous delights of St. James's

Yesterday, I went on a rather unusual but highly informative and entertaining food and drink-themed walking tour in my very own backyard. I stumbled upon the advertisement at my local library the other day - £5 for a 2-hour tour around St. James's. I couldn't resist. There's nothing I love more than being a tourist, even in my own city. Well...there is nothing I love more than food. But, travelling and learning are a close second and third. So, a food tour is my very own holy trilogy (gosh, what a sinner I am to say such a thing!).

Perhaps you are wondering what made it so unusual? Well, I had sort of expected that we would actually get to consume some food and drink as part of this tour. Rookie mistake! My stomach was teased and taunted for 2 hours as we marched from one landmark to the next. You would never watch Chocolat without an abundance of treats on the ready, would you?! This was no different. But, it was completely worth it. My brain received a nourishing feast of knowledge and just like a Lost Boy, I derived ample satisfaction from the mere illusion of food.

I have to say that I feel like quite an ignoramus having taken this tour in the very area that I have lived in for the past 27 years. Beautiful buildings and streets with fascinating histories that I have never noticed were pointed out to me. We wandered down hidden alleyways that I never even knew existed. I found myself asking: where have I been and what have I been doing my whole life?! Walking around with my head in the clouds no doubt. It's amazing to think what great things are around us and what we might learn if we take the time to just look and find out. There's a small life lesson...and, it only cost me £5!

Anyway, that's enough self-deprecation and berating for now. I made lots of notes during the tour that sort of make sense to me as I look at them now, which I want to share with you. But, bear with me - this is going to be like holey like Swiss cheese...

'Shaken, not stirred' - these famous words by Ian Fleming were supposedly inspired by the martinis at Dukes Hotel bar, which he frequented as a local of the neighbourhood. It's very charming and quintessentially English. I'll probably never be able to afford to stay there. But, one could have Afternoon Tea for £22 or even better, take the martini masterclass for £85! That's one way to feel like a Bond girl...

Apparently, there is only one official 'American Bar' in London and it's at the back of the Stafford Hotel in what used to be the stables. There's nothing about this bar in particular that distinguishes it as American (whatever that might be). It was simply named the American Bar in order to attract Americans in the 1930s. In a land saturated with drinking establishments, I suppose it's wise to choose such an explicit name. Anyway, it's located in a very sweet courtyard in which the old stables have been converted into hotel suites that can be rented for an exorbitant amount. I also happened to see the biggest pigeon I have ever laid eyes on wandering around. I actually thought it was some sort of pheasant that had escaped a nearby kitchen (game being much-favoured by the fashionable gentleman that frequent this neighbourhood). Clearly, the pigeons eat well in this part of town.

We stopped by Boodles, one of the oldest Gentleman's Club in London. I'm not particularly interested in these clubs being excluded by virtue of my second X- rather than Y-chromosome. But, I am somewhat curious about a dessert that they are famous for called Orange Fool. Having looked up the recipe, it sounds tasty but uninspiring. A sponge soaked in citrus juices and cream. For some reason, I expected more...Nearby stands White's, the oldest Gentleman's Club in London. It started off as a coffee establishment supposedly serving bizarre blends to the fashionable men of that time, such as coffee mixed with mustard and coffee boiled with egg shells. What an experimental and eccentric lot! I wonder if that was part of some sort of juvenile initiation process. Finally, another old Gentleman's Club called Brooks's, which may have been the birthplace of the sandwich if you believe that John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, came up with the idea as a tasty snack to eat in the Brooks gaming room. Whoever wrote the piece about Montagu in Wikipedia clearly doesn't favour this story and claims 'seldom has any man held so many offices and accomplished so little'. Harsh!

Apparently, Fortnum & Masons, London's most famous grocery store, serves porridge with whiskey syrup. The very idea fills me with glee! I can't imagine a more formidable breakfast better-suited to protecting one from the bitter coldness of an English winter. I will definitely be going back there to try it out. Weetabix with whiskey syrup could become a staple breakfast in my household! They also have an ice cream parlour offering strawberry and balsamic vinegar flavour. I can't say that I'm in a rush to try it. And, I'm not sure that I fancy eating ice cream at a place that takes itself so seriously as to recommend customer's dress should 'leans towards elegance'.

Oh, another Gentleman's Club, the Reform Club, which is only of interest here because of it's sometime French chef, Alexis Soyer, who was the Jamie Oliver of his time (~1800s). He was quite the innovator, appealing for the installation of gas ovens, and a champion of the poor, inventing the soup kitchen and writing cookery books, such as A Shilling Cookery for People and Soyer's Charitable Cookery. Soyer is also known for his 'simple foundation sauces' (Soyer's sauce - soy sauce. Get it?!) and a dish called Lamb Cutlets Reform, which is still served at the Reform Club. Gosh, I could devote an entire post to this fascinating man. It's almost as if he stepped out of a Charles Dickens book.

Last but not least, we stopped by the 300-year old Berry Bros & Rudd wine store at which famous people, including Lord Byron, would weigh themselves on the large scales just for the fun of it. Wine causes people to do such silly things...so I've heard. They also have a wine cellar, which used to be the largest in London before parts of it were converted into dining areas, ironically located beneath Pickering Place, the smallest courtyard in London (as well as the last place in England a duel was fought). Wine tasting tours will set you back £46 - not bad at all if you're a wine connoisseur. Alternatively, you could enjoy a glass of their wine at the Red Lion Pub next door, which is where we ended our tour. It's a lovely old pub packed with character and history.

The tour included many more landmarks and information. I'm actually quite impressed by how much I remember. I guess that just goes to show how interesting and well-presented it was. The tours don't take place very often (maybe, once per month). But, if you have a large enough group you can hire Joanna, our guide, for a private tour. Otherwise, watch this space on her website for news of the next one.

As for myself, I am completely inspired to cook, eat, write and learn. I have been reminded of why I love living in London so much. The wealth of history and culture packed into this city is phenomenal. There is an infinite amount of exploring to be done and I want to peek into every nook and cranny. Who knows, maybe one day, I will be giving my very own food and drink-themed walking tours...

My favourite things

Xiao long bau dumplings, pregnant with soup

Anything resembling delicious warm goop
Californian sushi, such joy that it brings
These are a few of my favourite things!

Freshly picked berries unimaginably sweet
Buttery pie crust topping soft hunks of meat
Listening to my dad talk about food
These are the things that put me in a good mood!

Lemon-flavoured desserts are the way to my heart
Ottolenghi cuisine is truly an art
Warm summer evenings spent barbequeing
These are a few of my favourite things!

Warm apple crumble with custard or cream
Chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels are an absolute dream
Freshly baked bread and afternoon tea
These are the things that make me feel stress-free!

Filling my home with a mouth-watering aroma
My beloved Borough Market and Williams-Sonoma
Stacks of pancakes that have no ending
These are a few of my favourite things!

Italian cheese matured in red wine
French lemonade is simply devine
Anything filled with sweet red bean paste
These are thing things that I simply can't waste!

When the dog bites, when the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel...so bad!

The O-Factor

Learning of Ottolenghi has been a revelation to me - my personal equivalent to Man discovering the wheel. It has opened my mind to a whole new way of thinking. I have had a glimpse of what Einstein might have felt when he realised his quantum theory on light. The world cannot be the same again. Food cannot be the same again. The scientist in me is revelling in the wonderous experimentation that I have been inspired and moved to conduct in my kitchen.

Ok, for those of you who don't know what on Earth I am talking about, Ottolenghi is a 'food shop, patisserie, deli, restaurant, bakery' that serves some of the tastiest and most interesting food that I have ever eaten. Ottolenghi also happens to be the surname of one of the founding chefs, Yotam Ottolenghi, along with Sami Tamimi. Together, they have created a unique style of vibrant and exciting cooking, which you can sample at one of their branches in London. Even better, you can attempt to recreate them in your own home! That's right, they have revealed their secrets and knowledge for the world to enjoy. It's sort of like the internet - this is something that simply has to be shared.

I've just received my copy of their recently published second cookbook, Plenty, which is why I have gone off on this much-deserved glorification. Their first cookbook, Ottolenghi: The Cookbook, filled me with self-doubt and apprehension due to their use of rather unusual and exotic ingredients, such as salsify roots and labneh. Would I really be able to actually cook anything in there? Was it doomed to become a token cookbook on my kitchen windowsill?

Well, I rose to challenge and spent an entire day sourcing the ingredients and baking their delicious Jerusalem artichoke and Swiss chard tart. It's probably not as good as the one that they make but I was more than pleased with my one. The pastry crust was sublime - buttery and crumbly, it melts away in your mouth flake by flake. It takes an astonishing 5 hours to make it if you religiously follow their recipe but it's entirely worth the effort. Good food is always worth the effort.

Since then, I want to cook nothing but Ottolenghi food. Everything else seems two-dimensional in comparison. Now, I find myself trying to add that O-factor to every dish that I make (I refer you to my previous post in which I describe adding toasted almond flakes to my Spanish chicken). I want my food to have layers of complexity and depth. Roast chicken with saffron, hazelnuts and honey was beautifully sweet and smelt like a Persian Princess. French beans and mangetout with hazelnut and orange disappeared within minutes. It still boggles my mind to think of how they came up with such a creative dish. Couscous with dried apricots and butternut squash was deliciously moist and flavourful, sure to change the mind of any couscous cynic.

Their new cookbook is full of equally exciting recipes, although they all appear to be vegetarian. One flick through and I've seen countless dishes that I have to try - lemon and aubergine risotto, mango and coconut rice salad, lemon and goat's cheese ravioli, saffron tagliatelle with spiced butter...These guys are geniuses with serious talent.

Of course, this won't stop me from visiting one of their branches. Nothing is quite as good as the Real Thing. The other day, I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven when I tasted their Lemon and Pistachio Polenta Cake. I'm nuts for anything lemon-flavoured as it is but the combination with the pistachios rendered me helpless. It was truly memorable.

As they put it so perfectly:

"Our feast is, literally, a feast of bold colors and generous gestures. It is driven by an unapologetic desire to celebrate food and its virtues, to display abundance in the same way that a market stallholder does: show everything you've got and shout its praise whole heartedly."

Pollo a la Espanola - because I'm worth it!

I'm back! I have my metaphorical pen in one hand and an addictive snack (chocolate-covered edemame) in the other, ready to take on the culinary blogging world once again. Let me just flex my writing and cooking muscles, stiff and tight from dormant use...ooooo eeeee...

By the way, the picture on the right was my lunch yesterday - isn't it pretty? Unfortunately, it didn't look that way by the time I transported it to my work and ate it. Nevertheless, it cheered my simple-minded heart to gaze upon, so much so that I had to take this picture. It's called Pollo a la Espanola, which probably means Spanish chicken (how imaginative). The vibrant colours and rustic spirit of the dish are entirely charming - exactly what you need in the middle of the day when work has sucked the very life out of you (well, my work at least...).

The addition of the toasted almond flakes on top were a stroke of genius on my part. They give the dish an interesting edge - good interesting. I love biting through the different textures - succulent chunks of peppers and tomatoes give way to firm pieces of fried pancetta and tender chicken marinated in smokey paprika, delightfully rounded off by the crunchy toasted almond flakes. It gives the mouth a lot to play with.

What inspired this dish? La Chinata smoked paprika powder. I'm one step away from snorting the stuff. It smells unbelievably good - like the smoking embers of wood that have just been used to roast a pig. I bought a little tin of the stuff at Brindisa in Borough Market (of course) but it's available online at www.lachinata.com (which I just discovered gives accompanying recipes much to my excitement and delight!).

Packed lunches need not be boring sandwiches (sorry, sandwich-lovers) or plain old salad. They can be sexy and alluring - the highlight of your day. This is my Loreal lunch - because I'm worth it!

Recipe:

Rub paprika and salt in 4 chicken portions (thighs, drumsticks or both)*. Heat 2 tbsp olive oil in a large frying pan and gently fry the chicken, skin side down. Heat 1 tbsp of olive oil in a casserole or saucepan and add 150g pancetta cubes. When the pancetta starts to give off fat, add 1 large chopped onion and 2 finely chopped garlic cloves, frying very gently until soft. Remove and discard the stalks and seeds from 2 peppers and roughly chop. Add the peppers to the chicken and cook gently. When the onions are soft, stir in 450g chopped tomatoes (canned, fresh or both) and season. Arrange the chicken pieces in the sauce and stir in the cooked peppers. Cover the casserole or saucepan and simmer over a low heat for 15 mins. Check the seasoning and serve topped with fresh parsley and toasted almon flakes.

*It might be that I'm simply not using enough (although, I highly doubt that) but the smokey paprika flavour isn't particularly pungent within the dish. Oh, it's there to be sure, but requires a sharp tongue to expose it. Next time, I will marinate the chicken in the rub overnight, which you might like to try.

Kitchen newbies, do not despair

I've just realised something quite startling - I haven't cooked pasta in months. This rather humdrum fact may not seem particularly noteworthy but I'm tingling all over with pride and a sense of accomplishment. This is a momentous turning point in my adventure with food; it might just be safe to say that I have progressed from complete kitchen novice to something of an amateur cook.

This may not be true for everyone but pasta dishes are a pretty common starting place for the kitchen newbie. Quick, easy, cheap and versatile, pasta is the perfect staple with which to develop simple cooking skills without accidentally topping yourself off. Of course, there are many pasta-based dishes that are complex and technical. But, there is plenty of scope for those of us that find boiling a pot of salted water a challenge.

I began my cooking endeavours with pasta dishes and did not really divert from this path for quite a few years thanks to my mum who convinced me that I would cause great bodily harm to myself if I dared to attempt cooking meat or fish (all the while tempting me over to her home with succulent chicken drumsticks coated in a deliciously crispy coating).

However, I long harboured a deep desire to experiment with other cuisines. I desperately missed eating rice (the primary food staple of my childhood that took me an embarassingly long time to master how to cook) and had unintentionally become semi-vegetarian. In the end, I think that my stomach rebelled at the monotony of my diet and drove me to risk death by salmonella poisoning. I'm not sure how or when it happened but my diet completely changed. Now, it is unrecognisable; I eat everything but pasta. And, much to my mum's discomfort, I cook meat! More importantly, I survive.

The moral of my story is that if I can do it, anyone can. Kitchen newbies, do not despair - there is light at the end of the tunnel. Stick with the pasta and it will eventually take you to great culinary heights. I am actually looking forward to the day that I miss and crave pasta because that will mean I get to try a recipe from the newest member of my cookbook collection; The Silver Spoon, Italy's bestselling cookbook for over 50 years.

For now, here is a recipe for the ultimate pasta dish since a) it contains both meat and vegetables, b) it's fairly straightforward and easy to make and c) it doesn't take too long that it becomes a chore but is sufficiently long enough to make you feel like a 'real cook'.

Recipe:

Serves 4

Finely chop one small onion, one peeled carrot and one stick of celery (I use a mini food processor). Heat 2 tbsp butter and 2 tbsp olive oil in a large saucepan. When sizzling, add the vegetables and cook over a medium heat for 3-4 mins. Add 150g minced pork and cook gently for 2-3 mins, stirring with a wooden spoon to break up any lumps. Lower the heat and cook for a further 2-3 mins, stirring frequently. Add 4 tbsp dry white wine, 400g canned chopped plum tomatoes, a few fresh basil leaves, salt to taste and plenty of pepper. Bring to the boil and stir. Then, lower the heat, cover and simmer for 40 mins stirring from time to time.

In the meantime, cook penne pasta in boiling salted water (I use fresh penne pasta, which only takes 6 mins to cook). Prior to straining, add a ladleful of the cooking water to the sauce. Check the seasoning of sauce and adjust accordingly. Strain the pasta and add to the sauce, tossing well. Serve immediately with shaved parmesan cheese on top.

The vegan virgin

Butter fiend that I am, my general opinion of vegan baked goods has always been that they are rather like Schrödinger's cat i.e. best left in the box and out of sight. However, the powers that be would not have it so; the monthly cake club that I attend has unexpectedly evolved into a vegan cake club, effectively thrusting an opened box into my hands and forcing me to peek inside. What did I see? A world full of exotic-sounding ingredients, such as rice milk and xantham gum, in the place of my much-loved butter and eggs.

Undeterred, I decided to embrace the challenge of baking delicious vegan treats under the guidance of the Babycakes cookbook, which is based on recipes from the highly rated Babycakes vegan bakery in New York. The book is every bit as adorable as it's name and the pictures do a great job of convincing you that these vegan treats will be just as pleasing to your stomach as they are to your eyes.

True to myself, I took a bottom-up approach to the task at hand by choosing the simplest recipe in the book - raspberry scones. I happen to have a great fondness for scones, so much so that they are on my list of foods that I am not allowed to cook or buy as I have absolutely no self-control in their presence. So, I was quite excited by the prospect of learning how to make healthy scones that I can indulge myself in guilt-free. Unfortunately, this illusion was shattered the moment I set eyes upon one of the key ingredients; coconut oil.

Who would have thought that coconuts, typically synonymous with all that is natural and good for you, could be turned into what can only be described as the product of a liposuction procedure. Globular and dense, the oil had to be coerced out of the bottle with a knife, causing my arteries to shrivel up in panicked alarm.

More familiar and reassuring ingredients, such as agave nectar and raspberries, were thrown into the mix resulting in a batter that was not far off what the scones would look like were they to be eaten and regurgitated at a later time. Still, the kitchen was filled with a mouth-watering aroma as the offensive-looking blobs of batter baked in the oven, promising something spectacular and deliciously moorish.

Sadly, I was bitterly disappointed.

The tart flavour of the raspberries were inadequately complimented by the mild sweetness of the agave nectar causing me to scrunch up my face upon taking my first bite. Although, I have to admit that I may have added a tad too many raspberries in my zeal to counter the unpleasantness of the coconut oil. My tongue hopelessly searched around my mouth for additional flavours that did not exist in the cake part of the scone, which tasted like little more than plain bread and created a stodgy mass the more that I chewed it.

In defence of the scones, they tasted considerably better the next day. However, this might have something to do with the fact that I dolled them up by brushing them with agave nectar and sprinkling them with sugar. However, I won't be able to find out if they do indeed improve with age as my vegan cake club fellows devoured them all. I guess that one might consider the scones a success. Personally, I think that these scones would taste far better if the raspberries were done away with entirely and replaced with a couple of tablespoons of jam. But, I am not in the least bit inclined to experiment with this recipe. My first foray into this mysterious and creative world has left me wishing I'd remained a vegan virgin. Perhaps, a trip to New York's Babycakes bakery would change my mind...if that doesn't, nothing will!

Recipe:

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees and line a tray with baking paper. Whisk together 2 cups of spelt flour, 1 tbsp baking powder and 1/2 tsp salt. Add 1/3 cup of coconut oil, 1/3 cup of agave nectar and 1 tbsp of vanilla extract and stir together until a thick, slightly dry batter is formed. Pour 14 cup of hot water into the batter and mix. Using a rubber spatual, gently fold in 1 cup of fresh raspberries just until they are marbled throughout the batter. Scoop 1/3 cup of the batter per scone onto the tray, spacing them 1 inch apar. Lightly brush the tops with the coconut opl and bake for 14 mins, rotating 180 degrees halfway through. The finished scones will be golden and slightly firm. Remove from the oven and brush with the agave nectar. Let the scones stand on the sheet for 15 mins before transferring to a wire rack with a spatula and cooling completely. The scones can be kept for two days in an airtight containing.

My happy place

Dinner time is fast becoming my favourite part of the day. Dinner isn't my favourite meal, that would be breakfast. But, I love the feeling of coming home and losing every care and worry of the day in my kitchen.

I would be lost without food, literally. These past few months have been pretty tough for me and were it not for the joy of cooking, I think that I would have fallen to pieces by now. Not that I'm discounting the wonderful support and care that I have been lucky enough to receive. But, I'm talking about restoring my energy and replenishing my soul. When I feel battered and bruised by everything that has gone wrong in my day, frustrated by my shortcomings and overwhelmed by worries, stepping into my kitchen is the warm and loving hug that I desperately need. It doesn't even matter if I succeed in nothing more than creating a giant mess. I'm allowed to fail in my kitchen because that is where I feel most free. My utensils do not judge me and my cooker is incredibly forgiving. Plus, I keep a handy stock of delicious and immediate treats for such emergencies.

The build up of excitement begins on my journey home as I obsessively plan what I'm going to cook. I lose myself in the possibilities and get carried away with menus fit for a King. Before I know it, I'm chopping and seasoning and roasting and frying in a happy haze, bringing together a medley of flavours and textures in the hopes that I will create something unifyingly delightful.

Everyone needs a happy place and that's my happy place; in my tiny kitchen, chock-a-block with spices, olive oil and bags of flour, filling my home with the aroma of whatever my imagination happened to conjure up that day. Today, it was salmon fillet, coated in olive oil and lemon juice with pink Himalayan salt crystals and slithers of ginger rubbed in for good measure. Sometimes, the hardest days end with the tastiest food.

Recipe:

Preheat oven to 180 degrees. Wash two salmon fillets and pat dry with kitchen tissue. Place on a baking tray covered with foil. Pour enough lemon olive oil to coat (approximately 2 tbsp) and juice from 1 lemon. Sprinkle 1 tsp pink Himalayan salt crystals and grind everyday seasoning (mixed pepper) on top. Gently rub the oil, juice and seasoning on to the salmon fillets so that they are evenly coated. Peel a piece of ginger (approximately 2cm cubed) and thinly cut into slices. Place the slices on top of the salmon fillets. Cover the tray with foil and place in the oven for about 25-30 mins. When cooked, remove the slices of ginger and serve with some of the juice poured on top.

A lesson is learned

Darn that Mary Berry, she has lead me astray! I should have known better than to remove the baking beans halfway through baking my fourth (yes, fourth!) attempt at making a pastry shell. But, I foolishly followed her instructions and what looked to be a promising tart that ticks all the right boxes (i.e. a smooth and golden pastry that doesn't come away from the sides of the pan) is now as dimpled and flawed as a pubescent boy's face. I feel like the lumps and bumps are laughing at me.

Still, I remain unperturbed and determined - perfecting my pastry shell-making skills is the key to unlocking a plethora of tarts, pies and quiches that taunt me from the sideline. A recipe will be posted as soon as I get this right. In the meantime, onwards and upwards!

Let's get ready to grumble!

It has recently been brought to my attention that most of my posts are 'incredibly glowing and complimentary', which may have left you with the false impression that I lead the charmed and blessed life of a New York Times food critic who dines daily at Michelin Star restaurants (no such luck).

Having given this unconscious and peculiar behaviour some thought, I have come to the conclusion that writing about food that you don't like the taste of is rather difficult and problematic since you are required to eat the food that you don't like the taste of. Ergo, a conundrum is born.

Furthermore, I have a pinch too much of pride to indulge you in every single one of my cooking disasters and failures (yes, there have been more than just the Chelsea Buns), which would have served as the perfect bouillon for posts of a more critical nature. The next fiasco will have to be catastrophic and entirely not my fault in order to be turned into words for the world to enjoy.

Saying that, I have decided to revive an old challenge of mine that is sure to produce grumbles and scathing remarks by the bucketfull: several years ago, I took it upon myself to cure my tastebuds of their aversion to certain foods, including coffee, strawberries, oranges, kiwis (basically, any fruit that is remotely 'hairy'), lamb and Indian cuisine, by continually forcing myself to consume these foods. I won the battle (if one can win a battle against themselves?) and have enjoyed my war spoils ever since.

This approach is aptly described by Jeffrey Steingarten (food critic for Vogue) in The Man Who Ate Everything: 'scientists tell us that aversions fade away when we eat moderate doses of the hated foods at moderate intervals, especially if the food is complex and new to us.' Essentially, I trained my tastebuds to like the foods that I hated.

I can't say that my stomach is entirely enthused about this project. For once, we are not quite resonating at the same frequency with one another. But, I am determined that no food shall undermine me. If possible, I want to like absolutely everything so that I can enjoy absolutely everything. In that vein, I am going to tackle two particular food foes; papaya and chilli con carne (waves of resistance shudder down my spine at the very thought!).

It has been a while since I have eaten a papaya (an exotic fruit for those of you who don't know) so I can't remember the taste. No doubt, I was so traumatised by the experience that my brain has tucked that memory away into an unused sulcus. Chilli con carne (a spicy minced meat stew containing kidney beans), beloved post-drinking snack of America, has a pervasive smell that I find utterly repulsive (it is the Fran-repellent). If the nose says no, it's not coming near my mouth.

I'm not sure how papaya can be made more appetising aside from completely masking the taste with something else. So, I will just have to brute force my way through that challenge. But, you may have a chilli con carne recipe that you swear by, which I will gratefully try out (just post it in the Food Forum). It's possible, only just possible, that I have unfortunately come into contact with bad chilli con carne. That would be a pleasant surprise.

Let's get ready to grumble!

Have you had your Weetabix?

A life without Weetabix is a life not worth living. It is the reason why I forsake the cosy cocoon that is my bed and brave the cold and gloomy morning. Like rocket fuel, Weetabix propells me through the day. Each warm and velvety spoonful spreads ripples of contented well-being throughout my entire body leaving me rejuvenated and ready for anything. It is the breakfast of a true warrior.

Hot and frothy milk with a swirl of sweet honey transforms these innocuous nuggets of wholegrain wheat into a steaming bowl of thick and foamy goodness. I don't believe in chewing first thing in the morning. Weetabix fulfills this decadent desire. It oozes down my throat and sits in the pit of my stomach radiating a pleasant heat like logs of wood in a fireplace.

Texture is the Prima Ballerina whilst taste and smell are the supporting dancers. It has crudely been likened to the gruel in the tale of Oliver Twist. But, I believe that it's powers of comfort are immeasurable. Stomach aches, hangovers and the blues, Weetabix can cure anything. This is more than just a breakfast, it's medicine for the soul.

So, have you had your Weetabix?

An ode to Williams-Sonoma

Williams-Sonoma

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
Of a perfectly cooked soufflé.
For the sexy gadgets and gourmet food.
I love thee to the level of every cook's dreams
By sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as cook's strive for mouthwatering flavours.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise-filled diners.
I love thee with a food passion put to use
In my cooking failures, and with my childhood memories
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost idols, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Williams-Sonoma is the dreamiest cooking store known to yours truly. Much to my chagrin, there aren't any stores in the UK. But, the online store will leave you wondering where the day went as you browse through page after page after page of beautifully crafted bakeware, ingenious gadgets and irresistible foods. Currently, this is my favourite product on offer - is it not ravishing?! Happy shopping!

A disciple of the kitchen

I have a special talent for eating that has been lovingly nurtured and cultivated by my parents from the day that I was born. Unfortunately, cooking is a skill that I have had to painstakingly develop on my own. My parents are fiercely territorial; like large cats marking their domain with their scent, my childhood kitchen was off-limits. It was my job to consume, not to produce.

But, perserverance has paid off. My continual passion and devotion to food and cooking has recently elevated me to a level worthy of secret recipes, specialist advice and personal kitchen demonstrations. I feel like I have been admitted to the 'popular group' at school. Finally, I have become a disciple of the kitchen.

Currently, parental wisdom has taken the form of salad recipes, which is fortunate since the Sun is tantilisingly poking his nose out from behind the clouds, giving the (false) impression that Summer has arrived. The beauty of these recipes (which can be found in the Food Forum) is that they are very simple to make yet healthy, filling and flavourful.

Grapefruit salad with pan-fried fish created an excting medley of tangy, sweet and salty flavours in my mouth that were reminiscent of a tropical ocean. Each bite took me on a journey through juice-filled slices of grapefruit, crisp lamb's leaf lettuce, silky pieces of fish and capers bursting with flavours of the sea.

Grilled chicken with a pepper and cucumber salad dazzled me with a host of vibrant colours. Fresh, high-quality ingredients, such as super-sweet cherry tomatoes and homegrown herbs, maximised the flavours and created a Mediterrean garden on my plate.

Hopefully, the Sun will keep his hat on so that I can continue to play with my newly bestowed salad recipes. Otherwise, I have no doubt that wisdom will take on a new and equally delicious form for me to experiment with. If you have any wisdom of your own, please share it in the Food Forum.

The Delicious Miss Dahl - a kindred spirit

The Delicious Miss Dahl - a sweet new cooking programme that has completely captured my heart. I cannot fully describe what a wonderous thing it is to watch someone express the exact same feelings, thoughts and sentiments that I have. It's uncanny and magical all at the same time. I want to be Miss Dahl's best friend and spend sunny afternoons food shopping, cooking and eating together in her perfect, English-country-cottage-style kitchen.

This is more than just a cooking programme - The Delicious Miss Dahl is a life philosophy that encourages indulgence and romance. I feel like the follower of some obscure cooking cult. She makes me want to abandon all my responsibilities and while away my time blissfully re-creating the 'selfish day' that her first episode describes.

Casual cooking demonstrations are interwoven with anecdotes, history, poetry and shopping excursions to boutique antique stores. It feels like you are sitting in the kitchen with Miss Dahl, watching her cook and listening to her tell you stories about fishing with her grandmother and stealing liquor-filled chocolates from the Christmas tree.

A word of warning: this programme must be watched whilst eating something delicious. Otherwise, you will be tortured by images of her 'totally simple, straightforward yet honest food', such as buffalo mozzarella bruschetta with shaved fennel and courgette, roasted halibut with spinach and watercress sauce, sweet potato chips and rich chocolate pots with brandy-soaked cherries.

I probably should go to work but...the kitchen is calling me and I am completely inspired. Fluffly pancakes topped with sliced bananas and golden syrup await me!

To watch The Delicious Miss Dahl click here. For effortlessly easy and pleasurable food, her recipes are listed here.

Chelsea Buns - le flop de jour!

Call me paranoid but I think that my cookbooks are conspiring to thwart my bread-baking plans. I have upgraded my cooking scales and spared no expense on higher quality ingredients. Yet, no matter how religiously I follow the recipes, it has been one cooking disaster after another and I have spent the entire week assuaging my guilt and disappointment by eating my failures. I feel like an ancient Greek alchemist attempting to turn lead into gold. Who would have thought that baking bread is so difficult? Is this some secret dark art that I am endeavouring to learn?

Le flop de jour? Chelsea buns - spiral-shaped current buns glazed in icing sugar. I created a dough that can only be described as some sort of biohazard. It had an unnatural elasticity and alarmingly clung to everything that it touched, which made kneading near impossible. Sadly, a lot of good flour was lost along the way.

The finished product looks and tastes more like a bun from the dodgy end of Chelsea. Clearly, there is something very wrong with this recipe. But, I am quite ecstatic that I managed to produce something edible.

In other news, I am inching closer to perfecting my banana bread recipe. This time, I opted for muscavado sugar, my favourite type, which gave the bread that lovely sweet flavour I was aiming for. Next time, I think that the walnuts will have to go as they have an overpowering taste. Banana bread is my refuge as a failed baker. My place of anchor whilst I figure out how on Earth to make dough that does not resemble plaster. It's no wonder since, let's face it, this is a cake masquerading as bread! Of course, that doesn't stop me from eating slices of it thickly smothered in butter...

Traditional English Bacon Pudding

I am often asked the question - what is traditional English food? The obvious answer includes dishes such as fish and chips, steak and kidney pie, apple crumble and a traditional Sunday roast.

However, I like to throw in the more exotic-sounding dishes of my childhood. Namely, bubble and squeak, toad in the hole, jam roly poly and bacon pudding. Simply naming them brings back pleasant memories of endlessly sunny days spent riding my bike and eating delicious wholesome food.

Unfortunately, these English classics are not easily found in restaurants and they seem to be a dying breed in the modern English household. So, I have decided to revive them and keep the tradition alive, starting with bacon pudding - one of my favourites.

In my opinion, bacon pudding perfectly epitomises traditional English food - it's quite heavy, slightly bland and contains very few ingredients. I won't try to sell it to you. It's quite possible that the only reason why I like eating it is that I grew up on it (and, I just so happen to have a penchant for stodgy food). But, if you have a fearless stomach and adventurous taste-buds, read on...

Firstly, please allow me to introduce you to The Original Atora Shredded Suet. It's difficult to say exactly what suet is since the ingredients listed on the box are simply beef suet and wheat flour. Surprisingly, it has a macaroni-like shape and texture. Yet, when kneaded with flour and water it forms a dough that can be used to make dumplings, pastries and pies. What's even more amazing about suet-based food is that it can be steamed.

You can find the recipe for bacon pudding in the Food Forum, which was kindly posted by my dad. However, having cooked this dish disastrously as well as successfully several times, I have additional advice:

1) Use a quarter of the ingredients quoted for one person. This will make a pastry-like roll that is about 20 x 10 x 0.5 cm. Bear in mind that you need to fit the pudding into your steamer (or, makeshift steamer).

2) Allow the cooked onion and bacon mixture to cool down and dry before spreading it on the pastry. Otherwise, the moisture and heat from the mixture may cause the pastry to break when you roll it.

3) If you don't have a steamer, you can use a rice cooker by filling it with water and suspending the pudding above using something that won't melt or block the steam. Boil the water by switching cook and then turn it onto warm. You may need to repeat this a few times whilst cooking the pudding.

Serve with the usual mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables and gravy that accompany most English dishes. A simple dish that is simple to make...once you know how.