Cheeses born at Christmas

It's December and time to see how many of our Christmas decorations have survived being shoved at the bottom of the hall cupboard for a year.How many bulbs have broken, where the reindeer's antlers have gone, have you seen the other half of the It's a Wonderful Life DVD and why is The Night Before Christmas missing its cover? are games we love to play every December. Often there is a sock I've been missing for 12 months wrapped around something and the door wreath always needs parts re-glueing.It will be a monumental task this year getting the place ready. The decorator is still there like a paint splattered Yuletide elf, the kitchen is scattered through various rooms and I'm still using the dishwasher as storage against the dust,Being able to open a cupboard and make a snack, or put the kettle on is something we take for granted. Even going for a pee is a treacherous obstacle course in the middle of the night, made only slightly easier now as for some reason the bathroom light is permanently on as half the wires and fittings dangle like a broken and fizzing dystopian New York Jazz bar sign.Until it is finished, simple snacks like this Parmesan crisp bring a smile to our faces on the bleakest of evenings as we perch on our bed with no home to go to even though we're in it.Seven minutes in a dust-covered oven is all this takes, although it may be quicker without the debris. You can add all kinds of seasonings if you're able to find any of your spices under the broken jars and cracked picture frames. Fennel seeds, cumin, rosemary and so on would all be a good addition. And if you can find a box to store them in, they will keep for two or three days.You can also do what I did with them the other night. Boil some spaghetti in heavily salted water until al dente, drain it, keeping a little of the starchy cooking water and crush in a couple of anchovies* -- perhaps it was four -- a good tablespoon of butter and a heavy hand with some chilli olive oil. An extra sprinkle of grated Parmesan and a little salt and pepper made an excellent meal that took no longer to cook than the time it takes to order a new, working set of Christmas lights on the internet.*salty black olives would work if you can't bear anchovies.IngredientsHalf a standard supermarket block of Parmesan or Grana PadanoA small handful of chopped, fresh parsley2tbsp of finely chopped peanuts (pulse in the processor if you like)1tbsp dried garlic flakes (or 1tsp chopped fresh garlic)1tbsp desiccated coconutSalt and black pepper to seasonMethodWipe off the dust from everything.Heat the oven to 180c and line a baking tray with parchment.Grate the cheese in an even layer all over the parchment and sprinkle the remaining ingredients over.Bake in the oven for 6-8 minutes, making sure the cheese is golden yellow and not burnt. Keep an eye on it, the edges brown quicker than the centre. Turn the tray around halfway through if you feel you need to.Leave to cool and harden before breaking up, which isn't hard to do, and serve as an apéro or store in an airtight box for up to two days.

Cold confit charm

I was in a hotel in Paris for some of last week, eating unusually. The family had gathered in the 15ème from around Europe and America for Aunty Suzy's funeral, she was 100. An achievement, especially as she smoked comme une cheminée until she was at least 80.She was buried among illustrious company in the Montparnasse cemetery. Grumpy, ugly singers, Irish playwrights probably still waiting, existentialist philosophers, artists and grands fromages from history share the cold ground. I may not be able to see her anymore, but there is a place I can go to visit. Her apartment block will always be there, but new people will occupy it, more lives being lived. I'll not see those rooms again. God knows they're in for a surprise when they see the decoration that hasn't changed since she moved in.The local boulangerie furnished me with two ficelles a day, the tiny Carrefour express two minutes away kept me in supplied with ham, paté and cheese and I went to the Monoprix around the corner just to look at the food on display like a drooling window shopper. Being at the mercy of restaurants for each meal is not for me, merci. So a bag on the hotel balcony in the chilly November air served as an impromptu fridge to store my supplies.This kept me from being grumpy, like a local, and when you're dealing with 20 family members and trying to organise group meals, you need to fortify yourself. It's like herding cats, so pre-emptive snacks are a must.We went out for cous cous, it's a family tradition. Merguez and I have a long and happy history, but don't get to be together much anymore. It's a long-distance relationship, but we're always pleased to see each other. Much of my family grew up in Tripoli where the Ghirlando Brothers shipping company was based so this food is a reminder of their childhood and all of them together is like the good old days.I raided the patisserie on the Rue de Lourmel – canelé and pear tarts every day. The occasional palmier, petite beurre and chocolate barquette may have fallen into my bag. And creme brulée and tart tatin were shoveled down my trou gateau at the nearest opportunity. I clearly can't be trusted in Paris where even the smell of the Metro is like a meal to me. I also had steak tartare with salad and proper french frites. It's what she would have wanted.This clearly and sadly can't go on. But that doesn't mean I have to return to a life of pottage. How gruel that would be. So with the simplest of ingredients I made a feast to liven up a cold London lunchtime. Cherry tomatoes, slowly cooked in garlic, herbs and oil until bursting have at least doubled in flavour. And the aubergine, first charred and burnt on the gas flame was roasted until soft then blitzed with garlic, onion and thyme compote that I'd slowly and softly melted down under a paper cartouche, the flame beneath barely stronger than a match.I made some pitta breads, soft and a little blackened in parts from the griddle, to mop up all the juices and we sat, contently and quietly eating. To cut through the richness there was a salad of thinly sliced red onion, sliced baby cucumber, crumbled feta cheese from the new Turkish shop round the corner and a sprinkle of dried Sicilian oregano. It was finished off with a simple dressing of olive oil, cider vinegar (I had no red wine vinegar) and some black pepper.All of this can be made in advance, perhaps the night before while making supper. The tomatoes can stay out on the kitchen worktop, but take the aubergine purée out of the fridge an hour before eating. If it's too cold its flavour will be as non-existent as Jean-Paul Sartre's afterlife.IngredientsHere is the pitta bread recipeFor the confit tomatoA punnet of cherry tomatoesGood olive oil to cover1tbsp fennel seeds1tbsp coriander seeds1tsp peppercorns4-6 cloves of garlicA pinch of saltFor the aubergine dip1 very large aubergine2 cloves of garlicSome olive oilSalt and pepper to seasonFor the onion compote1 large white onion1 sprig of thyme1 clove of garlic, slicedSalt and pepperFor the salad1/2 Feta cheese, crumbled1 small red onion, thinly sliced2 baby cucumbers, thinly sliced1tbsp dried oreganoOlive oilCider vinegarSalt and pepper to seasonMethodBurn the aubergine all over on a gas flame or with a blowtorch. You can also do this under a grill if you have access to neither. Roast in a hot oven until soft then leave to cool a little.Blend the aubergine with its skin in a food processor, adding the garlic and enough olive oil to form a fairly loose purée. Add a few tablespoons of the onion compote if you are making that and blend well. Season to taste.Add all the confit tomato ingredients to a heavy-based saucepan, making sure the olive oil covers the tomatoes and bring to a gentle heat. Cook low and slowly until the tomatoes are soft but still hold their shape. Leave to cool in the oil. You can even put these in a sterilised jar to store for up to three days in the fridge if you like.The onion compote takes the longest so if you haven't made this yet, I'd start an hour ago.Finely slice the onion and add to a heavy sauté pan. Add a good glug of olive oil, a few thyme sprigs, the garlic and salt and pepper. Bring to a medium heat, stirring occasionally. Turn the heat down as low as you can and cover the onions with a circle of parchment paper. Put a lid on the top too if you have one. Cook slowly for about an hour until the onions are meltingly soft. Stir occasionally during cooking and don't let them brown.Toss the salad ingredients together about 20 minutes before you want to eat it to allow the flavours to mellow. All these dishes taste best if you leave them a little while to mature.Serve everything with fresh, warm pitta bread.This weekRead: Can you believe it? I finished Middlemarch. I'd like to thank Bee for the recommendation and can now put that book firmly back on the shelf. It feels like a blessed relief to be reading 'Quand sort la recluse' a 'Policier' by Fred Vargas. Trashy, murdery fun.Watched: Very little. Blue planet and Howard's End. And a little bit of a French shopping channel on Saturday Morning.Listened: I went deep into the Les Misérables soundtrack on youtube the other day. And The Stamboul Train by Graham Greene on the BBC iPlayerEat: Before I went away I cooked some red split lentils until very soft with turmeric and cumin. On top of that there were some quickly sautéed courgette cubes with garlic and seared lamb neck fillets, pink in the middle, a little dense and chewy for some, but I enjoyed them.

Chocolate brioche au levain

There are weeks, like the one just gone where I can barely remember the slightest thing of interest happening in day to day life.Most noteworthy was hurriedly inflating an air bed on the pavement outside my in-laws' house fifteen minutes after the children were due to be asleep on it in our bedroom as there were guests needing theirs. I had to do it outside, in case you were wondering, because the air pump  attaches to the car's cigarette lighter. It wasn't because I love the great outdoors.I immediately punctured it on the thorns leading up the path to the house. This is what comes of doing things last minute. We've had this mattress ten years without incident, using it perhaps three times over the decade. The one time we really need it a prick burst it.I've barely cooked this week at home –by home I mean the in-laws house as we continue our stay away from the dust sheets and collapsed lost tomb of the Incas our place resembles– which has made a welcome change. It is nice to have an occasional break from the kitchen, if a little odd. As much as I love feeding people, I like the control I have over something and the feeling I get when making other people happy. Filming every day this week I haven't been around much for my family; I've felt my absence keenly.Still, the food cooked for me by mother-in-law Sue has been delicious. Highlights were the mushroom risotto and an incredibly irresistible pineapple pudding from a Jane Grigson recipe that over the course of three helpings with ice cream overcame my avoidance of sugar during the week. I have a feeling that in a fortnight we will have extended waists as well as a redecorated home.But I have cooked a couple of things. A simple ten second pasta sauce for the children on Saturday (blitz together one tin of tomatoes, 1 clove of garlic, olive oil, a pinch of oregano, a dash of tomato purée and a pinch of salt then cook quickly) which everyone tucked into except me. I had bratwurst onto which I spooned the remains of the salsa verde from the other night. Its zing and freshness had faded like a green velvet curtain left in the sun, it's lost grandeur just a reminder of better times. And because everyone else seems to hate bratwurst in my family I got all the sausages.On Saturday night, as we all sat down to watch 'Strictly', the children's eyes kept open with matchsticks, zombified with tiredness yet unwilling to admit defeat to the enemy of sleep, we ate bowls of haricot beans slowly stewed with chorizo, sofrito, a dash of stock and chicken thighs first browned in the paprika infused oil then left to slowly simmer in the mix until tender. Comforting and very tasty.Here's a recipe the children helped me to make the weekend before we shipped out. The sourdough starter and longer ferment gives the brioche stronger structure and deeper flavour than the standard brioche so it stands up a little more to serious abuse from pouring over a load of hot chocolate sauce, if that's your kind of thing. It is mine. At least when I'm not avoiding sugar...Ingredients2tbsp starter200ml lukewarm water plus 50ml350g flour plus extra for kneading15g fresh yeast (or 7g dried)1 egg, beaten60ml milk, lukewarm80g butter80g golden caster sugarAnother 150g flourA generous pinch of saltChocolate buttons, I used a mix of dark, milk and whiteMethodAdd the water to the starter and stir well until dispersed. Stir in the 350g flour and mix well. Leave to rest for about half an hour.Add the salt and the 50ml water and knead together until mixed. The dough should be quite wet and sticky.Add a little more flour and start to knead on the bench, folding and pushing it until it starts to become smooth and elastic. Add flour a little at a time until it becomes tacky rather than sticky and you can shape it into a nice firm but soft ball of dough.Leave in the bowl, covered with a cloth for four hours.Add the yeast to the milk and stir to dissolve. Pour onto the rested dough and add the butter, sugar and egg to this. Mix into the dough. It will be quite sloppy. Add the 150g flour and knead well for another five minutes, adding a little more flour if the dough gets too sticky. Don't make it too dry and firm though, it needs to be on the wet side of tacky.While kneading, add a little more flour if you need, just so it doesn't stick to the bench too much. It will become sticky but silky enough to handle and shape into a ball.Leave to rise for a further two hours then knock back and shape into eight balls.Put the balls in two lines in two brioche or loaf tins. Brush the top with beaten egg mixed with a splash of milk. Dust the top with sugar crystals and a sprinkle of grated chocolate.  Leave to prove for another half an hour and bake at gas 7 (190c) for 25 mins until golden and cooked through. Don't have the heat on too high and blacken them as I did. Leave to cool until just warm before serving.

Take your pickle

There is a shelf in our fridge that David Attenborough should investigate. Here, behind the inconspicuous looking cheese, the vivid bright colours of the chilli sauce bottle and the jar of ancient miso lie unexplained phenomena. Jars of things, experiments and whims.While we are currently living out of suitcases at the in-laws, I admit there is a possibility I don't need as much stuff as I have. It has been refreshing to live with a minimum of things, and while it will inevitably not last after the decorating has been finished at home, I see that life could do with streamlining. And that should extend to the kitchen. I have boxes full of things I use maybe once a year, and perhaps while we are trying to sell our place, I could do without festering packets of dried animal parts and the like that I insist impart a certain je ne sais quoi to dishes.It can't go on. And while I experiment with flavours, make pickles and chutneys or try and use up gluts of vegetables our fridge becomes fuller and smellier. So I will now stick to the fresh and keep a minimum of jars. Within reason.These shall be:Dijon mustard -- a must, without which vinaigrette is nothing to meMiso -- just for that little savouriness and occasional warming hot drinkChilli sauce -- well that goes without saying. A house without chilli sauce is not a home.Pickled jalapenos -- what are tacos and chilli without those? And let's not forget how brilliant the little pickled chillies are with spaghetti Bolognese, so those can stay tooGarlic and ginger purée -- well, it's just so useful isn't it?Cornichons -- what kind of a household doesn't have those in the fridge? Savages.The jar of dill pickled cucumbers -- great on rye with some of the jarred and pickled herrings. They must stay too.And kimchi -- homemade of course. That's a legal requirement. We should get a new fridge which has a kimchi dispenser in the door as well as one for water. It's the perfect snack, I love an occasional bratwurst in a microwave Chinese steamed bun with a good dollop of the stuff, so space must be kept for this. So that only leaves the half used jar of wholegrain to get rid of. Not much, but it's a start.The kimchi recipe is below. It's a very easy thing to do, perhaps five minutes work. Time does the rest.As for the week ahead, I fancy making Canadian butter tarts for a weekend snack. What's not to like about butter? Perhaps a haricot and chorizo stew to warm us up on a cold midweek night, although this time I'll try to not burn the beans in the pressure cooker like I did last time.A prawn, tomato and fenugreek curry to go with the dhal I have stored in the freezer will make a quick Thursday supper sprinkled with some ground peanut, garlic and coconut chutney and maybe some spicy harrisa coated lamb chops with a spiky green salad to get our fingers dirty with on Friday. And there's always the kimchi, which I've brought with us from home. I have freed up some space in our fridge after all...Ingredients1 Chinese cabbage, cored and sliced lengthwise6 radishes, finely sliced4 spring onions, sliced1 thumb of ginger, grated4 cloves of garlic, grated1tbsp gochujang1tbsp seaweed flakes1tbsp chilli flakesPepper100g salt1tbsp sugarWater, to cover the cabbage in a large bowlMethodAdd the salt to the sliced cabbage in a large bowl and massage into the leaves. Cover with the water, put a plate on top with a heavy weight on and leave for at least three hours. Overnight if possible.Drain and rinse the cabbage thoroughly.Mix together the sugar seaweed flakes, chilli flakes, gochujang and pepper in a small bowl. Add a tablespoon of water and a pinch of salt and mix well.Add the  remaining ingredients to the cabbage and mix in the paste.Pack into a sterilised kilner jar, adding a splash more of water to loosen the mix a little if needed.Leave for 24 hours and open the jar to release any build up of gas. Keep in the fridge and use as needed for three weeks or so.This weekRead: Nearly finished Middlemarch. I will need to read a cereal packet for a few days after. As always, The New Yorker fills the gaps; an excellent piece on culinary revolution from Jane Kramer.Watched: Some good costume dramatics in Howards End. I am quite the fan of E.M, having loved Passage to India for A' Level English.Listened: Laura Cantrell, 'Not the tremblin' kind.' An old favourite, gently countryish.Eat: Braai wings at Meat Liquor that blew my head off. They were hotter than a white Escort XR3i. Delicious and for once something that lived up to its spicy billing. I'm still impressed. And I made mashed potato stuffed tortellini with the children. Served with sage butter it was a comforting, carby, delicious supper. 'Though I'm going to have to crack down on the kids in the kitchen, they really didn't crank the pasta machine quickly enough for my liking.

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'.

Hidden gems

The half term holidays are over and Noah and Maya have been pressed, polished and painted and sent back to school looking less like stig-of-the-dump and more like human children. Quite an achievement, I think.We spent the week in less of a rush than usual, a nice change to the routine and lovely to have the little blighters around more. Tuesday found us bowling. I'm sure it wasn't as obscenely expensive when I was a teenager, trying to look cool in my huge '80s clothes. Maybe it's me, or maybe every activity these days is genuinely out to fleece you for as much as possible. A child in the queue ahead of us had just vomited on the floor by the ticket desk. Whether or not that was excitement, overindulgence, or shock at the cost I'm not sure. The noise, wild-eyed children and flashing lights made me feel like doing the same.And then, 'Kidzania' at Westfield. A theme park where the children can pretend to do adult stuff and come to terms with the pointlessness of life. I think they enjoyed being window cleaners, surgeons, pilots, chocolatiers and chamber maids (Note to self: the last two sounds like a Mills and Boon novel. Possible book pitch?) They are now well prepared for working hard for almost no reward and then being ripped-off in the shops afterwards.The nicest things we did were the most wholesome (and free...). Pumpkin carving in a garden in Dalston, pumpkin carving at home, staying up late to watch Strictly with a big pile of homemade tacos to assemble yourself (spicy chicken, 'rockamoley' as Maya calls it, cajun spiced yoghurt, tomatoes, coriander and grated cheese) and eat on a rug on the floor.We've eaten quite a lot this week, having them around every day. The children helped me make a kind of brioche, poking chocolate buttons into the middle of each dough ball before dusting the top with Danish sugar crystals and chocolate flakes. We made chocolate brownies together too, sticky, gooey, dark and rich – they disappeared in a flash.One evening for supper I unleashed the Monte cristo sandwich on them. Fresh, homemade sourdough slathered in  butter and filled with cheese and ham and then fried on the griddle pan. They went in a flash too, I served them with a pile of tarragon and garlic green beans on the side trying to be a little healthy. I had to bribe the children to eat those.Noah's little eyes lit up when I asked him if he'd like a roast chicken on Sunday. I covered it with Parma ham, stuffed it with lemon, garlic and rosemary and served it with red peppers and turmeric roasted potatoes that came out a deep gold, crisp all over, fluffy and light in the middle. We followed this with a rhubarb and apple crumble – the children even helped peel the apples, Bramleys bigger than their little hands could hold. I had to finish the job for them the slackers – it was a perfect Sunday lunch.Midweek, Bee and I ate more chicken, this time with asparagus grilled in Parma ham (I see a theme here) and cooked with mirepoix, haricots, pearl barley, thyme, stock and lemon zest and juice. It was hearty and slightly celebratory feeling for a Wednesday. And on Saturday lunch we had today's recipe: sausages, firm gem squash like hand grenades, cooked to melting softness, chorizo cubes and more haricots. A one pot meal perfect to help you against the cold crisp days now the clocks have gone back and it's dark just after breakfast. All Autumnal and very, very cosy.Ingredients6 nice sausages, a little herby perhaps, but not too muchA tin of haricot beans, drained and rinsedAbout 15cm chorizo, cubedA sprig of rosemary4 banana shallots, peeled and finely sliced4 garlic cloves2 gem squash, quartered300ml water or chicken stockA scattering of pumpkin seedsSalt and pepper to seasonOlive oilMethodHeat the oven to gas 8 or about 190c. Nice and hot, anyway.Brown the sausages in a frying pan with a little oil then add the shallots, garlic and rosemary.Transfer this to a roasting dish and add the remaining ingredients. Mix about a bit and drizzle with some olive oil then season well.Cook in the oven for about 45 minutes, until the squash is soft.Serve with the juices poured over.This week:Read: Still bloody reading Middlemarch. Looks like it will be the middle of March before I finish it.Ate: Fruit kebabs made by the children and each one had a marshmallow in the middle. Delicious. They hate marshmallows it turns out, so I got the lot.Watched: Crawling our way through Fargo series three and the recent Cold Feet. Both are a bit of a struggle to maintain enthusiasm with. Bee's given up on Fargo. It's been early night's and book reading a lot recently, that's how we roll these days.Listened: 'Here's the thing'. Alec Baldwin interviewing Michael Pollan for his podcast.

Figment of the imagination

The sky was yellow, a Saharan dust covering London. A strange light and a weak red sun poking through. Perhaps this was a new and rather full-on marketing push for the new Bladerunner film, or maybe we are hurtling toward apocalypse now. I met a friend for supper that evening and the gloom meant we all scuttled indoors a little quicker than usual. We eat steak tartare, prepared tableside by a crisp black and white linen-ed and desiccated waiter then hurried back to our homes.Summer is now well on it's way to the other side of the world and autumn has properly pulled the duvet over us. Soon, the woolly hats and gloves will be on and we can be justified in not leaving the house until March.It's a strange feeling, the desire to go to bed at six in the evening and the sure mistake of the alarm going off at what seems like the middle of the night. The clocks will soon change, giving us a little more light in the early morning for about a week before we sink ankle deep into winter. I hope the farmers are grateful as we all finish our afternoons with night vision goggles on, stepping over the bodies of run-over school children.There are still some green leaves clinging desperately onto the branches of the tree today as I look outside the sitting room window. Most of the other branches around are bare and I swear I just saw a pigeon with a scarf on. But as civilisation comes to an end around us and turnips are the only thing that will still grow, I still insist on serving a green salad at almost every meal. The children have a bowl of it tossed with mustardy vinaigrette to eat before I give them their supper. We don't live in an American restaurant, it just keeps them quiet for a bit and they wolf it down. I should stop wearing a frilly apron and serving them bottomless mugs of coffee though.This week saw me grate half a clove of garlic into my usual dressing. This is what is passing for excitement in our house at the moment. We are all pretty tired now, and half term hasn't come soon enough. The children need a rest and we are grateful for the change of pace it brings. Although we now find ourselves, with unbelievable inconvenience, having to feed them three meals a day plus occasional snacks and seek out entertainment.This Sunday morning though, the children let us sleep until quarter to nine before waking us up to complain of hunger. They then retired to their room to tidy their drawers for two hours, as if possessed by Mary Poppins. Ours was not to reason why, so I read the paper alone in peace while Bee read her book in bed drinking tea. Unsettling.But by the time evenings come around and the children are in bed, supper sometimes seems a huge effort. It's more often than not something I can throw into one pan and leave to do it's thing, such as the hearty haricot and chorizo stew we had early in the week. or a tray of chipped sweet potato, sprinkled liberally with garam masala and chilli flakes, roasted in the oven with a couple of bream, olive oil, fat garlic cloves and cherry tomatoes that had started to explode in the heat.One night, I found a bag of figs, now perfectly ripe (one overly so and destined for the bin), some very ripe Rocamadour goat's cheese that you could smell from France and some slices of a sourdough loaf. A little honey, olive oil, salt and pepper and a pinch of fresh parsley was enough to satisfy the evening hunger. Simple, good ingredients made something far more than the some of their parts and figs, well they are practically the flavour of Christmas aren't they?This week:Watched: Finally getting around to Fargo season three. Perfectly wintery, and the Minnesota accent is so great.Read: Still reading Middlemarch. And I fear I shall be for some time yet. Lincoln in the Bardo sits on my bedside table and the pile of books I want to read is growing longer than there are years left to read them.Listened to: The Omen on Radio 4 iPlayer. A perfect example of an epic child's tantrum.Eat: Steak Tartare in 1980s Toremolinos, or rather La Barca, Lower Marsh. Methi chicken at Lahore Karahi in Tooting. Pakistani canteen food better than most, quick, friendly and a great place to top up the spice levels. They promise a "genuine spicy taste", so you'd hope they deliver. And they do.

The Jam

There are some days when I am rather overambitious in bringing home more food than I really know what to do with. I've got better over the years, and now, if I am spending a day working on aubergine recipes, for example, I no longer end up with a grocer's shops-worth of them. I give them to my neighbours instead.And this was the case yesterday, as I returned from a shoot with rather more soft fruits than a person could need, even a person with a Maya in their family who probably would raze a raspberry field to the ground like a plague of sweet toothed locusts.Today, as the boxes of raspberries sat gently pooling into juice on the kitchen bench I decided to do as any 1950's housewife would and make jam. That way, I could keep the abundance of fruit in jars taking up exactly the same amount of space, but not rotting and then being thrown away. We really do need a bigger kitchen. Or a food storeroom.This is quick and easy - it took about ten minutes to make, then a good few hours cooling and setting - a great success for jam novices. Sterilise two jam jars just beforehand. It's best to put the hot jam into hot jars. That way you won't be smashing glass with thermal shock and putting the whole lot in the bin.Ingredients300g raspberries50g blueberries100g jam sugarMethodPut the fruit in a heavy-based pan with the sugar on top. Boil the fruit until soft then mash up a little, stirring in the sugar which will have warmed up quite a lot on top of the fruit.Bring back to the boil and using a pastry brush dipped in hot water brush around the inside of the pan where the sugar is sticking. This will stop the jam crystallising and being grainy.Boil gently for about ten minutes and try to resist stirring too much.If you have a sugar thermometer, it should reach about 104c. That's when it's ready. If not, put a plate in the fridge and after ten minutes, put a blob of jam on the plate and see if it sets. If it does, it's ready. If it doesn't, it's not.Pour into the jam jars and put the lids on. Leave to cool. They should keep for about a month.

Wings of desire

 "What's this terrible music you've got on?" asks Bee as she comes in the door."A seminal '90s album" I tell her, one eyebrow arched."Turn it off."It's about four in the afternoon, and I have returned from collecting the children from school. Noah has asked to put 'Ten' by Pearl Jam on the record player. I am more than happy to oblige, trying to ignore the probable reality that it is only because the vinyl is blue rather than my seven year old son has a keen love for one of Seattle's finest. You take what you can get with the children, I've discovered.We switch to The Beatles at a rather more sedate volume and concentrate ourselves on the task of making buttercream for an afternoon cake. My quest for the children's musical education continues a few days later as I have them folding the laundry while listening to Hendrix. Baby steps, and with hope, a little encouragement to subversiveness in life. As long as they've helped around the house a little...A few days later, on the way to school, I try to instill a little deviation from the routine by walking past the enormous slide in the park. With a little glint in my eye I ask if they want to have a quick go, running the ever so slight risk we may not arrive exactly on the dot of the bell ringing. Maya runs off like a hare out of the trap while Noah's eyes widen in fear. He stands rooted like one of the trees with it's reddening autumn leaves. A rabbit caught in the headlights.I drop them at their classrooms on time and return home with an enormous sense of wellbeing. And then I'm happy for the rest of the day.The chicken wings in this recipe are not the type that the parks and streets of London are paved with, but more of a spicy and exciting snack that sits well with family tacos or as an illicit supper when you're cooking for yourself and fancy some food that is, according to Bee "most definitely not a date night meal." They go really well in the evening with Pearl Jam. Quiet enough to not wake the children obviously. How very rock n' roll.Ingredients8 free-range chicken wingsFor the chicken marinade:A glug of sesame oil2 garlic cloves, grated2cm ginger, gratedA splash of rice vinegarA splash of fish sauce2tsp ground turmericA large pinch of Japanese pepper (or black pepper if you prefer)A splash of soy sauce1tbsp black and white sesame seedsFor the quick kimchi pickle:1 mini cucumberA few radishesA spring onion1 or 2 green chilliesA good splash of rice vinegar1tbsp Gochujang2tsp coconut sugar (or other sugar. It's all the same. I just had some to use up)A pinch of saltMethodMarinate the wings for up to 24 hours (or at least four hours)Grill until cooked through and starting to char, turning occasionally and spooning over the marinade every so often.Thinly slice the pickle vegetables and whisk together the vinegar, gochujang, sugar and salt. Mix the vegetables into this and leave to rest while the chicken cooks.Serve the wings with a sprinkle of sesame seeds, the kimchi pickle and a lot of napkins. This is a terrifically messy and delicious dish.This week:Watched: The final episode of Doctor Foster. Preposterous nonsense. I can't work out if I loved it or hated it. I'm leaning toward the latter. Started Fargo, series threeRead: Finished Christ stopped at Eboli by Carlo Levi; The New Yorker; A feature about Hassidic Jews moving to Canvey Island in the Observer; Started Middlemarch by George Eliot. We shall see how that goes...Listened to: Fleet Foxes latest album. Nice to have on in the background while writing, although I'm sure they would take offence to that... Neil Young, 'Hitchhiker', Soundtrack to '8 1/2'Eat: Pop Brixton, nice tacos, unfriendly bao. Devastated that Kricket has closed there. Lahore Karahi, Tooting. Excellent chicken methi, deep and flavourful dahl, tasty lamb chops and seekh kebabs. And only £25 for two...

Cod willing

Clearly there is absolutely no need to salt and preserve fish here in South East London in 2017. There is also no need in many of the Mediterranean restaurants you may find yourself in as none of us travel in galleons for months on end with only a goat and a cabin boy for company any more.However, it persists, as do many dishes that were born from necessity. Preserving and fermenting is and has been a way of life for thousands of years, so I'm not going to knock it. A life without pickled cucumbers would be a sad thing to live.I always salt salmon, cod and haddock fillets for at least 15 minutes before cooking to firm the flesh and draw out the proteins that coagulate when the fish is heated. But here, I salted the cod with herb salt and left it for an hour and a half to become as taut and firm as a mountain goat's buttock. It needed a good rinse before cooking, there is a fine balance between salty and inedible.Of course, you could just use fresh cod (or another firm and flaky white fish), but I think the texture contrast against the onion and potato is worth that little extra step. Capers would also make a sharp entrance to the dish if you prefer them to gherkins. Entirely up to you. Whatever you decide, this dish – once the fish is ready to cook – takes less than ten minutes to prepare. Perfect for a lunch on the stormy seas.Ingredients for two2 cod loin fillets, about 150g eachRather a lot of fine salt to cover the fish (you can use table salt or fine sea salt if you must, but the herb salt does add flavour)2 Anya potatoes, thinly sliced - about the thickness of a thick coin1/2 a red onion, peeled and sliced super thin2tsp yuzu juice (or lemon juice)2-3 tablespoons – I assume, having just poured some in – of tarragon vinegar4 or so tablespoons of olive oil (see above)A small handful of chopped parsley. I prefer curly for the textureA tablespoon of chopped chivesA little Maldon saltA good twist or two of pepper (I often use Japanese pepper with fish for its citrus flavour)A couple of sliced large gherkinsA pinch of ground turmeric and chilli powder to finishMethodSalt the fish all over in a wide bowl and cover with clingfilm. Leave for at least an hour, two if you want, but you really must rinse it well after. You could put it under gently running water for about ten minutes if you want to be sure.Pat dry and set aside.If you are organised, you will have done the next bit while the fish was soaking. If not, you can do it now.Cook the sliced potatoes, just covered, in salted, boiling water until soft but still with a little bite. Drain and set aside to cool and dry a little.Mix the onion, parsley, chives, vinegar, oil and yuzu and leave to gently rest a little so the onions become softer and loose a little of their rawness. Season carefully with a pinch of salt and the pepper.Heat the oven to high, I have a gas oven so most of the time I just turn it up to full and pay attention to the food. However, 8 minutes at 180c is about right. You can test the 'doneness' of fish by inserting a metal skewer into the middle then putting it against your wrist. Cold is under cooked, warm is cooked and hot is overcooked, by which point it's too late.Put each fillet on a plate and press it down to separate it into flakes. Mix the potatoes with the vinaigrette and pour over the fish. Top with a sliced gherkin and a sprinkle of the turmeric and chilli powder to serve.

The wiener takes it all

It's that time of year when the low-sun sky dazzles my eyes at every street corner and I have to walk with an arm half-raised in defence. Sadly the raised arm technique has not stopped the attack of the seasonal cold that this house is full of.It's at times like this that we need an old Italian nonna come round daily and look after us, feed us and let us revert to child-like states while she takes care of everything. Sadly, this is not going to happen. At least the children, thank God, are not too ill to go to school. Yet.Last week I eat more food cooked by others that by me. Not through choice, but through circumstance. Sautéed mushrooms tossed with Parmesan and served on a crisp disc of polenta; layers of aubergine with pecorino, honey and pinenuts; octopus with green lentils and romesco sauce; asparagus with crisp-coated egg and wild garlic (seasonal right?!) and a delicious Sunday lunch sat outside in the warmth of a sunny September afternoon with family and friends over (escaping?) from The U.S of A.Sue cooked us all tender and pink beef fillet, a Persian salad studded with pomegranate seeds, the dressing creamy and richly coating the cucumber. A huge bowl of kasha meant I could happily fill up, denying myself nothing as my September free of bread, rice, pasta and potatoes and sugar nears its climax. I averted my eyes as the ice cream, damson fool and homemade almond biscuits were passed around. I could eat ice cream until the cows came home and started churning their own milk, but for now, drastic measures are in place as I slowly come to the realisation that my metabolism is not that of an 18 year old. And as much as I admire Pavarotti, it's for his voice, not his girth.What I did cook was a simple tomato and egg curry, using the tomato 'sugo' leftover from the children's pasta a previous night, as a base. A pile of chickpea flatbreads mopped up the sauce and baby courgettes quickly sautéed in garlic gave some crunch.Another night saw me top some southern fried chicken fillets with a fried egg, some chopped cornichons and crisp chorizo cubes in a strangely tasty emergency supper. If you squint, you could pretend it was a schnitzel a la Holstein... It's been one of those weeks.So in tribute to the American visitors (some tribute, eh?), the fact I have a massive bag of cornmeal to get through and not much more reason than that I had a bag of hot dogs in the fridge which I thought the children may enjoy, here is a trashy-in-the-extreme recipe for corn dogs. I love them — mainly for the fact they make me feel I'm walking the streets of New York city or sitting in a car park at the ball game — but the children peeled the batter away and just eat the sausages. They may have thought I was turning into a the 'dangerous cook' that Bruce from America said of his mother. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of battered saveloys from the chippy.Ingredients8 hot dogs200 fine cornmeal150ml milk50ml buttermilk1 egg, beatenSalt and pepper, a large pinch and a twist1tsp ground turmeric gives it a healthy colour1/2tsp bicarbonate of sodaRapeseed or groundnut oil for fryingFor the chutney12 cherry tomatoes, halved and quartered randomly2tbsp chopped coriander1 clove of garlic1tbsp tarragon vinegar (or cider vinegar)2tbsp olive oilFor the avocado1 avocado, crushed with a fork to which added the juice and zest of half a lime and one chopped cherry tomato. Season well with salt and pepperMethodMix together the batter ingredients and leave to rest for about ten minutes.Lay the hotdogs on kitchen paper to dry well so the batter doesn't slide off.Make the chutney by cooking the ingredients in a small saucepan on quite a high heat until the tomatoes start to soften and collapse. Turn off the heat and leave to cool a little.Pour the batter into a tall glass, like a highball and cut the hot dogs in half.Stick each one on a skewer that is not too long to fit in a large sauté pan.Heat about two centimetres of oil in a large sauté pan to about 180c.Dip a hot dog in the batter, turning and twisting it until well covered. Let the drips fall off then gently lay it in the hot oil.Turn it over after about five seconds and cook on all sides for about five minutes. You should be able to do two or three in the pan at the same time. Be careful to cook them evenly on all sides so the batter is golden and crisp. Be gentle with them too, you don't want to knock the batter off.Drain on kitchen paper and serve with the chutney and avocado and a sprinkle of coriander.I would also highly recommend American mustard with these (Frank's is my favourite), and when I say highly recommend, I mean do it.Read: Christ Stopped at Eboli by Carlo Levi, the account of his banishment to a Southern Italian village by the fascists. Brilliantly and gently written, a portrait of poverty full of warmth.Saw: Mummies at the British Museum. Overwhelming place, mainly fascinating and occasionally a load of old jugs. Seen one dirty pot you've seen them all...Lawrence of Arabia at the British Film Institute. Brand new print of this enormously long film. So long there was an interval and as magnificent as it was, I think a part of me is still attached to the seat.Eat: Chinese hot pot skewers from Chinatown. I had beef tripe, fish cartwheel (?!), pig intestine (quite a little funky if I'm honest), fried beancurd and cuttlefish. A little broth and coriander coated them and the heat from the chilli was spot on, enough to be a little painful but not too much to overpower.Listened: Accidentally to Camille while trying to put The Archers on; Jorja Smith on Jules 'Boogie-woogie' Holland's programme. Mesemerising. Mac Demarco a Canadian chap. Rather good.

Corn and bread

30 days hath September, and each is a waste of time. What is its point? Nothing more than a doorway to pass from summer to autumn. It is a nothing month, back to school, no holidays, no season. A pause before Hallowe'en and bonfire night.September is not quite autumn, the dregs of summer. Not yet the crisp blue skies and golden-orange leaves. There is the promise of conkers to come, but mainly the ground is a sludgy brown.So really, the only thing for it is to hole up at home, light some candles and the fire and wait under the duvet until October. That's how it is in London anyway. I'm sure it's beautiful in Vermont.And with that to consider, here is some comforting cornbread to sustain you through the bleakness. I've added cherry tomatoes, olives and oregano to this one to give a little hint of Italy. The bread is quite dense and chewy, so is best served with something creamy or saucy. It would be an absolutely perfect match with meatballs in tomato sauce. I had it with slices of ham, soft cheese and some more roasted tomatoes. For the children, I trashily fried slices in butter until the edges were crisp and poured over baked beans and melting cheese. That was a win.Ingredients350g fine cornmeal4g Maldon salt315ml milk2 eggs70g cherry tomatoes, halved1tsp ground turmeric1tbsp dried oreganoA pinch of chilli flakes5 black kalamata olives, torn (you could easily double this if you like)30ml olive oil100ml buttermilk (or natural yoghurt)1tsp baking powderMethodHeat the oven to 180c.Whisk all the ingredients together in a large bowl until you have a smooth batter.Leave to rest for about five minutes then pour into a cast iron skillet or pan and bake in the oven for 45 minutes, or until set fairly firm.Leave to cool for a few minutes and serve.

Sea bass, celeriac rémoulade

Two weeks into September and I think we are just about surfacing from the shock of returning to real life after a leisurely August with the children attached to our legs 24 hours a day.While it's great they are back at school with their pals, the Stockholm syndrome we've developed for our captors has left the days quieter and although we are back full steam with work, I miss having them around all the time.Still, it will be half term before we know it, then Christmas, then the summer holidays again, then all of a sudden they will have graduated from University. (Assuming of course we somehow manage to find a million dollars in a jacket pocket to pay for it).But the end of summer brings my favourite season, and while I look happily toward autumn, it has this year somehow managed to bring a fruit fly colony into the house. I suppose this is what happens if you go away having forgot to empty the bin before going away for the week, but honestly, it's ridiculous. It may be necessary to knock the whole place down and rebuild. I honestly don't know where they keep on coming from. Roll on the cold, with hope that'll do for them.I'm also now two weeks into a no carb and no sugar month. And while dutifully making the family a weekly sourdough and other loaves, filling the Saturdays with the smell of freshly baking bread, I'm coping well. The sugar part seems remarkably easy for some reason, but I do really miss the bread. And I'm not counting the bowl of pasta I had at the River Cafe. I mean, you can't go there and not have a pasta dish, but it has to be worth it as an exception, and that was most definitely worth it.So by the end of September, hopefully feeling a little lighter around the middle I will be looking forward to tucking in to a fresh crusty loaf straight from the oven. In the meantime, pearl barley and chickpeas are filling in place of rice and pasta (gram flour flatbreads are excellent with dhal).Last night's supper was this incredibly quick and simple fish with celeriac rémoulade. A fresh and flavoursome dish that just feels summery enough to complement the fading evening light but with the earthy celeriac nodding a quick acknowledgement at the gold autumn knock tapping at the window. And the fish only takes four minutes to cook, which I'm pretty sure makes this even less work than a quick bowl of pasta on a frazzled Wednesday evening.Ingredients for two2 seabass fillets, scored lightly on the skin1tsp turmeric powder1tsp seaweed flakes (such as these)A pinch of herb salt (or Maldon salt if you haven't any)1/2 small celeriac, peeled and cut into matchsticks, preferably on a mandoline, but you could grate them or spend half an hour finely slicing it if you are a masochist.3tbsp mayonnaise, homemade the usual way preferable, but if not Delouis is a good one2tbsp Dijon mustard1 red chilli, slicedJapanese pepper to season (I like this for its slightly lemony flavour. You can buy it online here)Maldon salt (or similar) to seasonJuice of half a lemon1tbsp yuzu juice (optional)1tsp tarragon vinegar (Make your own by sticking sprigs in a bottle of cider vinegar)1tbsp chopped fresh tarragon1tbsp chopped young thyme leavesA handful of pancetta, cooked in a frying pan until crisp, keep the rendered fat in the pan for cooking the fishA little fresh parsley to finishMethodMix together the rémoulade ingredients and leave to sit for half an hour. Don't make it too far ahead or it will be soggy and claggy like a mouthful of wet paper.Heat the pan you cooked the bacon in until nice and hot but not smoking. Season the fish all over with the turmeric, seaweed and salt then gently lay them into the pan skin-side down so they crackle and spit. Leave for a couple of minutes until the skin is golden and crisp then gently flip them over and turn the heat off.Leave to cook in the pan for another minute or two while you put the remoulade onto plates.Top with the fish and serve straight away with a sprinkle of parsley and a sharply dressed butterhead salad.This week:Watched: Arena - 'Death on the Staircase' on BBC iPlayer. Amazing documentary about a man on trial for the murder of his wife. Gripping. Also started series two of 'Top of the Lake' which you have to say in an Irish accent.Saw: Giacometti at Tate Modern. Or "those thin spindly people?" as Bee asked. Great to see so much of it all in the same rooms. Even if they all do look the same and his paintings all look like he's in charge of passport photography. Also, the Rothko room. I remember, back in the mists of time when I was an Art student being able to sit in that room, then at the original Tate gallery, alone and in silence. This time it was packed; a disappointment. I think they are best seen on your own.Read: Finished 'Tale of Two cities. God that was boring. Started 'Death in the Olive Grove' an Italian crime novel set in the '60s, excellent, well written with full characters and a welcome relief from the sludge that was Dickens.Ate: River Café. Faultless, if eye-wateringly expensive. Chit Chaat Chai, fun and bustling Indian street food in a restaurant.  ('Railway' curry, pani puri, okra fries, daal, chilli wings)Drank: White Darjeeling snowbud from Vahdam company. Delicate and rather calming.Listened: The Allman Brothers, 'In Memory of Elizabeth Reed'. The War on Drugs 'Lost in the Dream', The Doors 'The Crystal Ship'.

Not the outdoor type

What if something's on t.v. and its never shown again?*

So that's it. Summer's almost gone. Any warm weather from now on is a bonus, not an Indian summer. As far as I'm concerned, it's autumn and time to light even more candles and draw the blinds and curtains shut, delighting at the dying of the light.We have just ended the summer holidays with a week in a field. And although we had a spacious yurt to stay in, it was still in a field. This meant a four hour walk with a wheelbarrow to do some bad washing up and a full blown existential crisis while even contemplating washing of bodies.Not keen on walking to the loo in the middle of the night, which to be honest was little more than a sawdust-filled hole surrounded by a fence, I may or may not have gone really back to nature. And it was a lovely way to check on the stars, which were out of this world, even if half naked and glasses-less may have made me rush my normally contemplative astronomical gazing.But there really is something wonderful about sausage, egg and bacon eaten with your bare feet in the mid-morning dew. The warmth of the gas barbecue ring for the kettle defrosting all of us like mammoths found beneath the ice. I honestly can't remember ever having been so cold, and I've been to Newcastle.A fire each night kept us warm for a while, we toasted marshmallows. No-one but me liked them, which I don't understand. They are like really trashy creme brulées on a stick. Sort of. And obviously the heat is enough to remove fingerprints. Still, you need your kicks when sleeping in a field.When the rest of the family left me to go inside, complaining, I stared at the sky for some time, thinking big thoughts, watching the moon slowly move through the night and the three constellations I can recognise slowly appear. Then, when I could no longer feel my limbs and face, I went inside and we listened to the episodes of The Archers we managed to download in the nearby town.Food had to be simple. One night we had steaks, cooked directly on the flames (which, in a huge chest beating moment of manliness I had managed to get going by using dried corn husks as kindling thanks very much). An onion tossed fully skinned into the embers came out soft, sweet and smoky and the mushrooms, cooked quickly with sage went down very well with Noah. Maya had chopped them all for us, but refused to eat them.We stewed some rhubarb too, for pudding. Noah chopped it and loaded it into one of the big cast-iron pans. How I love them. (The pans. Quite fond of the children too I suppose). Apart from the stringy fibres, which I forgot to remove, it was delicious. I used an indecent amount of sugar, but you have to really.We made mint and sage tea while the children learned to build shelters and light fires. Noah didn't think much of it, but at least he tried it. Maya looked at me from under suspicious eyebrows and backed silently away. And I kept thinking "these are the good old days."But, there is a certain relief of a whole night spent in your own bed, once back home. Even if there are no hooting owls. And to be honest, I can do without the moos in the middle of the night too. Perhaps it was the cows getting their own backs for the steaks we had eaten.*Evan DandoThis week:Watched: Despicable Me 3. I liked it. It was ok. I didn't like it. The children did though, and to be honest, a rainy day in Norfolk needs some diversions.Read: Halfway through A Tale of Two Cities. Each page is an exercise in perseverance, but on I go...Eaten: Steaks on a fire, marshmallows, lots of crisps and shortbread, a screaming drive down to our favourite Indian restaurant the moment we arrived home...Listened to: The Beatles 1967-70 that Noah found in a record shop and Miles Davis while I drank coffee and read the New Yorker on our sofa marvelling at electricity and having a sink inside.

Spinach and ricotta ravioli

Please send food. Dear God, get me away from this buffet.As the Jadrilinija ferry passes by us from the small port on the mainland to the island of Korcula yet again, it relentlessly marks the passing of another hour and washes us with an existential crisis in its wake. We grimly load up our plates from the groundhog day buffet, repeating an endless doom laden meal as if condemned to eat fatty garlic sausage and rubbery scrambled eggs for breakfast every day for eternity.Still, the children liked it. But what do they know? They eat frozen pizza with relish, or perhaps that should be gusto. And I don't wish to sound spoilt, a two week holiday in the sun, the chance to read a lot of books and occasionally dip into the water was welcome, but food plays such an important part of a holiday. When there is nothing much else to do, meals become almost as exciting to look forward to as Christmas. And then when you get another woolen jumper from your gran that she knitted herself while drunk and asleep, the disappointment is crushing.Yet there were a couple of high points food-wise. Some of the fish was excellent. Smoky, thick amberjack steaks cooked on the fire and a slow cooked lamb and veal stew. There was also a pretty good octopus salad and the bag of pretzels from the shop was tasty. These meals were courtesy of the restaurants up the road, and although few and far between, they at least meant I wouldn't forever condemn Croatian cooking as nothing but spinach and potatoes mixed together and served with a bit of dry meat or pallid fish.The real winner was a dish I will remember for a long time. Up in the hills, looking over the channel, I had a huge plate of devil fish carpaccio, served with lemon oil and a fine dusting of grated black truffle. The setting and the flavours were perfect.Now we are back, I am so grateful to be back in my kitchen again. Good food isn't difficult to make so I'm always amazed when so little care and attention goes into food you get served by so-called chefs.This recipe is one of my favourites and goes a little way toward reminding me what good simple food can be. Don't be scared of making your own pasta, it's really easy. Just make sure you let it rest after making it to let it become silky and elastic and that you roll it thinly enough so it isn't like chewing through a tennis ball. A pasta roller is, therefore, a good investment. If you don't have one, a rolling pin and good arm muscles is all you need. Just think of all those nonnas in Italy. World champion arm wrestlers, they are... And perhaps next year, that's where we'll go.Ingredients1 small tub of ricotta2 small bags baby spinachZest of a lemonA handful of cashews, choppedSaltFor the pasta:500g strong flour4 eggs2 egg yolksSaltServe with excellent olive oil, basil leaves and lots of grated Parmesan.MethodMake the pasta by blitzing the eggs, yolks, flour and salt together into a sandy breadcrumb texture in a food processor then knead gently into a dough. Or, if you prefer, make a flour volcano, crack the eggs and yolks into the middle with the salt and bring it together very quickly into a dough. Wrap in clingfilm then chill in the fridge for at least half an hour.Make the filling by quickly cooking the spinach and squeezing out as much water as you can.Chop the spinach and mix well with the lemon zest, nuts and ricotta then season well. Add a little squeeze of lemon juice if you like.Roll the pasta out as thinly as possible and use a pastry cutting circle to cut into raviolo. Cover them with a damp cloth to stop them drying out.Put a tablespoon full on half the circles leaving a gap around the edge.Brush around with some beaten egg or milk and top with the remaining discs.Squeeze together the edges and try to not trap any air inside the parcels.Bring a large pan of heavily salted water to the boil and cook the pasta for three or four minutes until done.Drain and serve immediately.

Scallop risotto with seaweed stock and pickled fennel

It's hard to go wrong with food if you add an indecent amount of cheese and butter to it. Even cheese and butter are improved by the addition of cheese and butter. Notable exceptions to this theory may be ice cream, breakfast cereal, avocados and possibly bananas.And I don't care if people say cheese and seafood are not acceptable plate-fellows. I can name fish pie, lobster thermidor, butter and cheese on bread with a whole crab stuck on top as a few examples. The last one may be made up.This risotto is for summer, when the pangs for comfort food overpower the desire for light meals in the languorous warm evenings. Usually, rich and creamy dishes are reserved for the darkness of winter when all you want is to hole up with a book and candlelight. This version though, with it's sharp fennel, refreshing cucumber and peppery pinches of radish is surprisingly light.The seaweed in the stock and the scallops, caramelised and firm are more like a hot crab-shack summer lunch than a meal eaten wearing bearskins trousers and stoking the wood on the fire. The pickling isn't really pickling as such, more a quick souse in vinegar and a dash of honey and herbs, but it gives this dish the sharpness and crunch it needs against the comforting softness of the rice.I used vialone nano rice here, I prefer its bite, but feel free to use whatever risotto you have on hand. And if you don't like scallops, well, you could use prawns too. Seaweed is easy to get hold of online and in health food shops these days and is well worth keeping in stock. I often use it when cooking fish to give sauces or poaching liquid a little more of the hint of the ocean. It may seem like there are a few bonkers ingredients here, and quite a lot of other ones, but if you get it all prepped, it's a really easy dish that is pretty impressive and tastes delicious.Ingredients200g risotto rice such as vialone nano or carnaroli1 onion, finely sliced1 large clove of garlic, finely chopped850ml water, brought to the boil1tbsp dried seaweed flakes (optional)1 piece dried kombu2tbsp dried wakameA good dash of olive oil1tbsp yuzu dressing (or lemon juice)5-6 scallops per person and butter to cook them inA large pinch of Japanese pepperSalt to seasonA handful of chopped parsleyA bit more butter than you think is necessaryA handful of grated ParmesanFor the fennel salad topping1 bulb of fennel, thinly sliced (keep the fronds for garnish)A few radishes, finely slicedA couple of baby cucumbers, thinly sliced1/2 grapefruit, flesh only, cubedSome more yuzuA few sprigs of dill4tbsp tarragon infused cider vinegar (you really should have some of this in your cupboard. It's the only vinegar to use for vinaigrette)A dash of olive oil1tbsp honeySalt and more Japanese pepperMethodMake the fennel salad first by combining the fennel, radish, cucumber and grapefruit in a large bowl and pour over the vinegar, honey, oil, yuzu, salt and pepper and mix well. Set aside.Put the seaweed in a large jug and fill with the 800ml of boiling water. Leave to steep for ten minutes.Season and sauté the onions in olive oil until translucent then add the garlic and cook for another minute. Add the rice and stir well until coated with oil and starting to ever so slightly toast.Add a ladleful of your hot, homemade sea water and stir until absorbed. Keep doing this until all the stock has been absorbed and the rice is tender and creamy. Taste and season. Add the butter and cheese and stir in while vigorously shaking the pan. Throw in the parsley, pepper and yuzu, stir, add a little more stock to loosen if necessary (it should be fluid, not stiff and claggy). Put a lid on and set aside while you cook the scallops.Heat some butter (yes, more) in a sauté pan and cook the scallops, seasoned with salt and pepper, on high heat on each side for about a minute.Divide the risotto between four bowls, top with the scallops and some of the fennel salad and fronds, pour over some of the pickling dressing and serve immediately with the remaining salad on the side. 

Strawberry, white chocolate and basil summer sponge

With only a minute to spare, we burst through the doors of the seventeenth century formal rooms into the wedding of an old friend. Maya, freshly pressed in her brand new dress still smelled faintly of sick. She had parted company with her breakfast just as we entered Richmond park (its roads lined with wooden spikes –possibly for the heads of drivers who tried to stop ANYWHERE– and no laybys) in a queue of cars and what appeared to be a lost peloton from the Tour de France. Finding a children's clothes shop with ten minutes to go before the ceremony was like Challenge Anneka. (An eighties tv show, for those of you who didn't have my childhood).I was returning to an almost normal heart rate. The petrol situation in the car would have to be dealt with later. The light had come on just as we left the house. Every mile to the venue was like driving with the sword of Damocles swinging above us; but we were there at least.The last wedding we went to, two or three years ago involved me screeching up to the steps of Brighton town hall kicking Bee and Maya out of the car, wheel-spinning off to find somewhere to park with Noah having a meltdown in the back because he didn't get to go with mummy and was stuck with purple-faced daddy. I hope no-one else I know gets married again. It's too stressful.And this leads me to another marriage which is far easier to prepare, less stressful to get to and, with hope, doesn't involve being sick. Strawberries, white chocolate and basil go so well together, and this flan is so simple to make. It looks far more impressive than the amount of work it takes to make so is perfect for a summer weekend tea-time treat and the children loved it.Ingredients2 eggs55g golden caster sugar55g strong flourSeeds from a vanilla podStrawberries, as many as fit on the base, about a punnet's worth, depending on their sizeA fig or two, quartered1 plum, quarteredWhite chocolate shavings2tbsp pistachios, choppedSome basil leaves to finish1tbsp atomised strawberries (freeze-dried and optional)For the glaze2tbsp raspberry jam1tbsp honey2tsp waterMethodHeat the oven to 190c and butter a 18cm flan tinWhisk the eggs, vanilla and sugar in a bowl over a pan of simmering water until light and airy then remove from the heat and gently fold in the flour.Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes, until golden and springy.Leave to cool on a wire rack.Top with the fruit and nuts, cover with the glaze then add the basil, dried strawberries and chocolate leaves and serve.

Chilli and lime corn on the cob

I've been working much more than usual this week which has turned the children into faint outlines in my memory for whom I have to make packed lunches for early in the morning and clean out the ravaged lunchboxes in the evening when they get back from summer club.

Bee is taking over the lunch duties this week as she has now given up on work for August and I'm thrilled. As if getting up in the morning isn't traumatic enough, trying to cram some limp ham into a few slices of bread to an orchestra of dissatisfaction at the lack of lunch imagination is not my idea of a gentle start to the day. I'm always dissapointed my morning doesn't begin to the gentle wafting of a string quartet's notes to rouse me, followed by coffee, perhaps a rose-scented madeleine or two and a freshly ironed newspaper. Every bedtime I'm full of childish and futile hope that the morning will one day surprise me. Perhaps when we go on holiday.

Saturday saw me though, in the spirit of being pampered, undergoing a little shiatsu to unlock the 'qi' that I thought had been thrown away a long time ago, or at least lost somewhere behind the sofa. Her verdict was my hands were very tense. Although mostly I was tense at how close she was to the fruit and veg department, and how she seemed to enjoy kneading my bottom rather enthusiastically, leading to worries of the wind section stating to play at any time without warning. But, eventually I relaxed. And after a long, lazy afternoon like that, you don't want to sully yourself with long and complicated meals. Sometimes, a quick ham and egg on toast makes a great supper, sometimes a quick bowl of pasta with butter and cheese.

This recipe fits those moments perfectly if you're not after a huge feast but fancy something interesting. It also makes a perfect side dish for a barbecue too, so suit yourself. Bee introduced this to me a few years ago and it's as delicious and trashy as ever. No-one really needs mayonnaise and cheese together on a corn on the cob, but once you've tried it, it's hard to go back. And if you've recently had to be peeled off the ceiling after a small Polish woman has prodded you in spots that felt like she was using an electric cow poker you may need a little treat like this.

Ingredients
1 corn on the cob per person
A good handful of grated cheddar, or Mexican cheese I suppose would be quite apt Zest and juice of half a lime per person
About half a teaspoon of chilli powder per person plus chilli flakes to serve
Enough mayonnaise to spread over each cob
Black pepper to season
A little coriander leaf to finish

Method
Boil the corn in salted water until cooked then drain.
Try and find the corn forks, find one complete and one broken then give up.
Spread each cob with mayonnaise, roll in the grated cheddar, season with pepper and squeeze over the lime juice.
Add the chilli powder and flakes if you like it hotter and serve immediately with coriander. It really couldn't be much simpler.

On the isle of Capri

Ahh, the isle of Capri. It's rugged landscape, the Blue Grotto, the dramatic cove-studded coastline, it's handmade leather sandals...That's what captivates everyone I imagine, the sandals. I've never been, of course. I've always thought of it as a car until I heard Sinatra singing about it. But what I do know it has given the world is its salad. And while it's another version of tomatoes and cheese, which seems to often be a favourite combination in salads that are named after their provenance, the basil and creamy mozzarella make this one really shine.The only thing to mention with this is that there is absolutely no point in making this unless you use really good tomatoes, really good, creamy mozzarella and excellent olive oil. And don't serve cold.MethodAbout ten to fifteen minutes before serving, season the sliced tomatoes with salt and olive oil. They will release some of their flavourful juices  making a tastier dish. I like to use a mix of beef tomatoes and cherry ones for a little sweet sharpness against the cheese.Rip the mozzarella, one small ball per person, scatter over with fresh, torn basil leaves and give a good twist of pepper and perhaps a dash of good balsamic if you like. Serve straight away with crusty bread. 

Fritter the days away

Now I'm an adult (at least physically and legally) I can choose to eat cold, soggy cheeseburgers and limp fries for breakfast in a bowling alley on a Saturday morning if I like. I didn't really like, but seeing as the 12 children we were taking out for Noah and Maya's birthday party were demolishing an early lunch, I thought it only polite to go down with the ship and tuck in myself.And the other night, exhausted from a full day of more birthday activities and lunch with grandparents, as the mature grown-ups we are, we decided to eat crisps for supper. I'm still thirsty now. Although in my defence, I did make houmous and gucamole from scratch to dip them into (ooh, get me). So the level of gastronomy around these parts hasn't been outstanding recently.I made a frankly quite strange Thai green curry the other night; I put too many bananas in the banana bread I made, turning it into hot banana purée cake which was a mistake I won't be repeating, even though it repeated on us for a while; the chicken, mushroom and natural yoghurt rice dish I made on Saturday was as if a 1980s robot was in charge of the cooking. Everything has been done in a hurry or in desperation. Apart from the kebabs we had, but then it isn't that tricky to cover cubes of chicken in spices and oil, stick them on a skewer with red onion and courgette cubes and char them on the grill, even if you can barely see straight.The stand out dish for me this week was these hot and quick sweetcorn fritters. I used some of the green curry paste I had left over in the mix and we dipped them in Sriracha rather than the more traditional sweet chilli sauce, which I would have preferred. But having run out of it a while ago, and developing a hate-up against it, haven't replaced. It has been over-used. Rather like tinned sweetcorn, which to me is over-used if you open it.The two  legitimate uses I can think of for it are as a pencil pot and for making these fritters. I really am struggling to think of another that isn't disgusting. I suppose sweetcorn relish is fairly acceptable in a burger occasionally if you have a gun pointed at your head and have no choice. Even then I'd possibly rather watch mixed doubles tennis, that's how much I dislike it.We keep a couple of tins in the cupboard for emergency use with the children (to throw at them when they won't get into bed). But even they find it a little sweet and sickly. Not even the addition of butter, which normally makes everything better, really improves it. So that leaves the big guns: deep-frying. The answer to all our problems.This makes a good plateful, and as PT Barnum once said (or perhaps it was Walt Disney) "Wenn's am schönsten ist, soll man gehen."Ingredients1 tin of sweetcorn1 egg2tbsp plain flour1tbsp cornflour1/2tsp baking powder1 spring onion1tbsp Thai green curry paste (if you have any)1 chopped red birdseye chilliA splash of water to make a thick batterA handful of fresh curly parsley leaves, shreddedRapeseed oil or groundnut oil to deep frySalt, limes, red onion, cucumber, parsley or coriander and Sriracha or sweet chilli sauce to serveMethodBlitz together all the ingredients (apart from the oil and the serving extras) until you have a fairly thick and creamy batter. Try not to blitz the corn too much, half puréed and half whole is ideal.Heat the oil in a deep-fat fryer or heavy saucepan (about half way up if you're doing it in a pan) to 180c and drop a tablespoon full of the batter at a time into the hot oil. Cook in batches, don't overcrowd the pan. It won't be pleasant, more like a sloppy mess.Cook until golden, flipping in the oil once.Drain on kitchen paper and continue until you've used all the mixture.Serve sprinkled with the extras, a good squeeze of lime juice is essential. I like mine with a lot of chilli heat too, but that's up to you of course.