Look at my mussels

It changes your attitude, somewhat, to the fish you're eating when you know the name of the fisherman who caught it. Joe caught my bass, out on the stormy seas while I was pottering around my warm kitchen with a cup of tea that didn't throw itself across the room every ten seconds as the house hit a wave That adds a whole new level of respect as I place the fish in the hot pan.

The crew of the day boat 'Le Belhara', owned by Chris Veasey, fish out of Eastbourne, and the catch makes its way to Veasey and Sons Fishmonger, in Forest Row, East Sussex, about 30 miles from the coast. Chris opened the shop, housed in a former butcher's, with son-in-law Dan Howes eight years ago after success at the East Grinstead Farmers' Market.

While the day boat sails from Eastbourne, Dan and his colleagues staff the bright, yet cosy feeling shop on the narrow road that leads out of the village to Hartfield. An elderly man and lady whom I assume to be his wife by the way they argue, looks at me standing over the mussels and says "We're very fortunate to have this fishmongers in the village." I nod back and mumble something about my good luck that they are at the market every Saturday where I live.

I first discovered them when they started their crushed ice-laden fish stall at the Crystal Palace food market four years ago and finally got round to visiting them last week. They now have ten market stalls every week as well as the shop and are spreading their passion for quality fish wherever they go.

It's a privilege to be able to buy such good fresh fish minutes from my house in London on a Saturday morning. One of my great disappointments in life is how much of our amazing seafood gets exported. But that's because The Europeans seem to respect fish more, it's more part of their daily diet than here, where we stretch mainly to cod and chips on a Friday or fish fingers for the children. Fish and chips is all very well, but the chips must be hot, salty and spiky with vinegar, the sea should be no more than 15 metres away while you eat them and the weather should be blustery.

But it's more a state of mind than a meal. In reality that state of mind often becomes a state of disappointment, apart from the very occasional highlight at places such as Lewis' fish shop in very fishy town of Newlyn where it was so good we went a few times on our summer holidays last year.

Sadly, the price of fish is often serious injury or lives lost at sea, Dan explains as he shows me an x-ray from one of the fishermen's hands after an accident with a winch. Bones crushed and crunched out of shape, finger joints at right-angles, like a particularly gruesome skeleton pianist from a travelling horror show.

The cod is particularly good at the moment, Dan tells me as I eye what to buy. Bass, sitting firm on it's bed of sparkling ice crystals as if in a giant jewellery box has to come home with me, it looks too good to resist. I also take a meaty cod loin which a day later is shared with the family in a fish molee, rich with coconut sauce, onion and the hint of cinnamon, cardamon and clove. I'm generous like that. Home made fish cakes also fall into my bag, a quick supper for when we've been out all day.

And last, I also ask for a bag of mussels, which, coincidentally, was the nickname I always wanted. A few large handfuls go in, they clack and knock together as they slip into the bag, looking like shiny black pebbles on the beach as the waves ebb away.

The bass will be dusted in flour and cooked in darkening butter. A squeeze of lemon may be enough, but I'm always a fan of salsa verde or a herb-laced olive oil. One of the best things about fish is that you can have supper on the table in about ten minutes if you get yourself together. The molee I made was ready in the time it took for the rice to cook, and the mussels, which I had for lunch today were ready in less than five. You can't even get fast food that fast. Just remember where it came from as you enjoy it.

Mussels with miso and n'duja broth
Ingredients for two people
A bag of spanking fresh mussels (these keep in the fridge for up to a week if looked after)
2tbsp white miso paste
2tbsp n'duja
500ml hot water
1 shallot or small onion, very finely diced
1 clove of garlic, grated or crushed
A large splash of verjus to steam the mussels (white wine or water as an alternative; I prefer verjus which keeps better and is more interesting than the leftovers of some bad supermarket wine)
Olive oil
Salt to season

Method
Heat a heavy, lidded saucepan and add the verjus followed by the mussels. Put the lid on and steam until they have opened, this should only take a couple of minutes. Remove from the heat.
Meanwhile, sauté the shallots and garlic in a little olive oil until soft, season well. Add the miso and n'duja and a splash of hot water and mix well to a creamy paste. Add the rest of the water, mix well and bring to just below the boil. Remove from the heat and pour into the mussel pan. Stir gently and serve straight away. Possibly with some crusty baguette if you fancy.

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Let baigans be baigans

The more I cook, perhaps the older I get (or is it tireder), the fewer ingredients I want to use in a dish. And the simpler the food I'm making, the more delicious it seems to be.This week it's been a case of taking a vegetable and using that as the starting point for a meal. A little more thinking has had to be applied rather than thoughtlessly going with the usual starchy suspects you reach for on a rapidly darkening Tuesday evening.As if dealing with the sad acceptance that we don't live in an endless Swallows and Amazons summer wasn't enough, now we have to start eating properly again. No more cream teas and cake for the evening meal. Out has gone the pasta, rice and potatoes that form so many daily meals, and in, the sad acceptance that we are no longer inhabiting our 20 year old bodies.But it need not be dull as we slip headlong into turnip season. We are still heavy with aubergines, broccoli, cauliflower, courgettes and sweetcorn among other things. The salads are fading, but my appetite is growing. And as we lose nearly two hours of daylight over September's delicate and gentle colour change, we can start to get bolder and deeper with flavours.This recipe is based on the gloriously named Pushpesh Pant's 'curried aubergine in coconut sauce', which he says is from India's 'coastal region'. So just a small area then. I've added saffron, almond flakes, green chillies and coriander to mine to pep things up a little.Rich and exciting, it's texture is indecently silky, as if Liberty's had opened a dodgy Soho alleyway silk scarf shop. We had it twice this week, the juices mopped up with spiced chickpea flatbreads. I've still got one more aubergine in the fridge from the veg box, so we haven't seen the last of this in our house.Ingredients1 medium-sized aubergine1tsp asafoetida1tsp chilli powder1/2tsp turmeric powder200-240ml coconut milkA sprinkle of flaked almondsA pinch of saffronA small green chilli, sliced thinlyCoriander leaves to garnishSalt and pepper to seasonGroundnut, rapeseed or vegetable oil to fry. And plenty of itMethodMix the spices together in a little dish or ramekin with enough water to make a fairly thick paste.Trim and slice the aubergine into discs roughly 1/2cm thickHeat the oil in a large sauté pan and fry the aubergine in a couple of batches until golden on each side, having seasoned with a generous hand. Set each batch aside on a plate until you have finished.Add the spice paste to the pan and fry for a second or two, stirring well so it breaks up a little. Add the coconut milk and mix well until the spices dissolve into it, giving it a golden amber colour and releasing its aromas.Gently add the aubergines back to the pan and simmer for a few minutes until heated through. Don't cook them for too long or they will collapse.Sprinkle with the green chilli, nuts, saffron and coriander, give a good twist of pepper and serve hot.

Apple filo tart

My first mumbled thought on waking this morning was that it is now acceptable to have a mince pie. Bonfire night has passed and November is wrapping its chilly fingers around mine reminding me I need some new gloves. Here at the kitchen table I'm doing a passable impression of a snowman.We have moved out of ours temporarily so the decorators can paint over years of underinvestment and its accumulated grime, which includes the children's use of walls as Basquiat did. Bee's parents are kindly letting us stay with them, and unused as we are to big, old houses, (insert joke here about the owners being creaky and and falling apart? Pretty sure mother-in-law doesn't read this? Check first) I'm considering turning their thermostat right up and convincing them it must be their advanced years that is giving them hot flushes.The beginning of the week, although disorganised and busy packing boxes, didn't prevent us eating homemade food. We had the leftovers from the Sunday roast as an evening meal of chicken noodle soup. That also left, in turn, chicken noodle soup leftovers for Monday's supper, pepped up with a little ginger, garlic and chilli. For us, Monday's meal is usually light and often no more than scrambled eggs on toast. Albeit scrambled eggs cooked with fresh curry leaves, garlic, ginger, green chilli, onions, garam masala and coriander.We saved the eggs for Tuesday, where I cooked down some tinned tomatoes with garlic, onion, some sautéed chorizo and a dash of nutmeg and chilli flakes. The eggs went into this sauce and baked in the oven for ten minutes before we eat it spooned onto lightly toasted sourdough, plates balanced on our knees watching the penultimate episode of W1A.Our first meal in our temporary home was Sue's 'Greek chicken', a delicious rich tomato and cinnamon stew. The following evening I cooked us all beef stroganoff at Bee's request, using a recipe from 'The Cookery Year'. To some, it may be comfort food, and I suppose if you've eaten nothing but turnips in the Russian winter it probably is, but it left me, like a Moscow November, rather cold.The week ended with me returning from a day at work to a cosy kitchen and a Bolognese. Its aromas of soft and sweet garlic and sautéed onion is one of the most welcoming things there is. This was most appreciated after a long day. Being cooked for and looked after is something we all need from time to time.Sunday brought roast pork with its glorious crackling, the fat having been rubbed with salt and left uncovered in the fridge overnight to dry. I contributed a deep and slightly piggy apple gravy from the roasting juices. After, there was an apple crumble which is fast becoming a legal seasonal requirement. Thank God we'd been for a walk in the park before lunch. But it was the ribs, tender and falling off the bone after two hours cooking beneath the pork joint that were the best part. The juices and flavour from the apples, onions, rosemary and garlic had soaked and poached them in a robust liquor that was as if the whole meal had been distilled into a single, melting bite.I made a dhal for the evening meal. Simple but full of caramelised onion flavour and spiced with warming turmeric, cumin, mace, mustard seeds and coriander. There were homemade flabreads, the dough filled out with a little natural yoghurt and a handful of seeds thrown in for good measure as well as a side dish of flash-fried garlicky courgette cubes. This just filled the little gap that always seems to appear late in the day even after such a handsome and substantial lunch.For the week ahead I plan, having liberated the barbecue smoker from ours, to slowly cook the 1.5 kilo chuck joint I have. Six hours should do it, perhaps a little longer, rubbed with spices and smoked with hickory wood. These cold, crisp days seem made for cooking on a fire outside where I can sit warmed by the heat and breathe the fresh, clean air mingling with the smell of flaming meat and smoky wood. Perhaps I need to grow a beard and get a padded check shirt for this.Another night I may suggest a chickpea tagine with lamb chops and prunes. And to use the big bag of homemade chicken stock I found in our freezer perhaps I'll cook us a simple risotto bianco, or a wild mushroom and white truffle oil one loaded with butter and Parmesan.But for now, here is my recipe for a quick apple tart. I've used Granny Smiths, they are slightly sharp and keep their shape well when cooked, which is ideal here. Bee doesn't seem to share the enthusiasm my son and I do for cooked apples, but I made this the other day and there were almost tears, certainly a wobbly bottom lip, when I told Noah there was none left. There was almost the same from me when I realised it too. Maya seemed less bothered, she had solemnly and silently cleared her plate and then disappeared to run around somewhere with a cardboard box on her head or something. But it's so simple to make, and the children loved helping, I'm pretty sure it will be appearing on the table again soon.Ingredients6 granny smith apples, peeled (keep the peel), cored then cut into segments and thinly slicedJuice and zest of half a lemonA fair old scoop of butter, melted. Probably four or five tablespoons, perhaps a little more. I can't be sure exactly. These things are more often than not a matter of judgement2tbsp soft brown sugar1tbsp ground cinnamon3-4 sheets filo pastryAn equal amount of water and brown sugar for the syrup glaze. Just enough to cover the apple peelingsMethodToss the apples through the lemon juice and zest and heat the oven to 180c.Bring the apple peel, water and sugar to the boil and simmer for five minutes. Leave to infuse while you prepare the tart.Butter the inside of a small to medium oven dish and lay a sheet of the filo down. Brush this with more butter, a sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar and lay a load of the apples down in neat rows.Sprinkle over some more sugar and cinnamon and a healthy drizzle of butter then lay down another sheet of filo.Repeat until you have finished with a final layer of apples and another sprinkle of sugar and cinnamon.Drizzle over the syrup and bake in the oven until golden brown, about 30 minutes. Leave to cool a little before serving with vanilla ice cream and the crushing disappointment that one slice just isn't enough.This weekWatched: Blue Planet 2. Mind-boggling stuff. The BBC justifying its licence fee on this alone. Incredible stuff. Maya asked me if Attenborough was a real man and still alive. Long may he be.Read: Obviously, still Middlemarch. I'd say you can take that as read, but I'm still only halfway through. I'm beginning to have mutinous thoughts. But there was also the brilliant Bill Buford writing in the New Yorker from 2002 about his time spent with Mario Batalli in his New York restaurant Babbo.Listened: Dirty John, a podcast about an online relationship with a nutter.Eat: Bad chicken and pappy chips that was anything but 'cheeky' before a perfect fireworks display in Beckenham for the children. Quieter and friendlier, the kids went free and the £5 per adult went toward the scouts. Refreshing to see a community event not being run for profiteering. We bought lemon ice creams from the van and came back to snack on Bombay mix and peanuts while watching 'Strictly'.

Dangerous liaison

I did hot yoga this week. The only space remaining in the room was right under one of the heaters. After losing two stone in one hour and having to rearrange my body parts back to normal, I was starving.If I could summon the strength, I knew at home I had frozen puff pastry and a bowl full of beautiful, ripe tomatoes that were thinking about going on the turn if I left them lingering on the windowsill any longer.Like the banana bread I made for the children during the week, sometimes things that are just past their best are perfect to use in another way. And these tomatoes are a perfect example. They were lovely to start with, but slightly overripe, they were even lovelier, bursting and juicy, a deep, rich red inside.As always, if you have great ingredients, you have great food with hardly any effort.This works equally well with thyme, but I think tarragon is a much underused herb and in my opinion turns this dish from delicious to outstanding. Even if Bee didn't quite think it was as amazing as I did.Ingredients1 sheet of ready-rolled puff pastryLoads of ripe tomatoes such as cuore di bue, oxheart, beef, a few cherry, and so onFor the glaze and liaison:3 eggs, beaten1tbsp thick double cream300ml milk (or a mix of milk and cream)1tbsp chopped fresh tarragon, although dried works well tooA pinch of herb salt to season (or Maldon)Black pepperMethodGrease a 19cm tart tin and line it with the pastry.Line and fill the case with baking beans or rice and bake blind at 200c for 15 minutes.Remove the beans and lining and prick the pastry all over with a fork.Brush the pastry with some of the egg all over the inside to seal it and and reduce the heat to 180c.Bake for another 10 minutes or so until golden.Slice the tomatoes and fill the case with them.Mix the eggs, cream and milk together until you have a thin batter, stir in the tarragon and season well.Pour into the tart case, give another twist of pepper and bake for about 40 minutes until set, but with a little wobble. You may need to turn the tart halfway through to bake the pastry evenly if you have a gas oven like I do. In any case, keep an eye on it.And make sure it's level, otherwise it'll set lopsidedly.Remove from the oven when cooked and leave to cool a little. It's far superior when served warm, so is best made just before lunch.