Food Bloggers Unplugged: Nutmegs, seven


I was recently tagged by thelittleloaf (whose chocolate and chestnut cake I am currently ogling and planning to replicate) in a post for Food Bloggers Unplugged - designed to help you find out more about the people behind those culinary endeavours you peruse every day.

In the spirit of Christmas and a spot of harmless self-indulgence, here I have bared my soul to reveal all my deepest, darkest kitchen secrets (or something).

What, or who inspired you to start a blog?

I think various friends had been suggesting it to me, after I continually assaulted their Facebook feeds with photos of my gastronomic adventures. I can't remember what finally made me decide to take the plunge, though I think it had a lot to do with some pigeon. I had been on a wander to town one day, and spied some gorgeous wood pigeon on offer at the butcher. I bought six, with no idea why, invited friends round and then decided what on earth I was going to do with them. That feeling of being totally inspired by food, of being really excited about the kitchen adventures you're going to embark on that evening, was something I kept experiencing and finally decided I should document.

Who is your foodie inspiration?

I love Yotam Ottolenghi's food. I love his use of weird and wonderful ingredients and exciting flavour combinations that work against all the odds. I always get excited when his recipes come out in the Guardian on a Saturday.

Your greasiest, batter–splattered food/drink book is?

Hmm. I don't use recipe books that much - I tend to ogle them briefly, then consign their contents to my mental 'recipe index' for inspiration at a later date. However, I went through a phase of cooking a lot from Claudia Roden's Arabesque, and I frequently turn to the books of Nigel Slater, Yotam Ottolenghi and Diana Henry for inspiration.

Tell us all about the best thing you have ever eaten in another country, where was it, what was it?

Several things vie for this prestigious accolade, many of them consumed in Italy. The sausagemeat ravioli with sage butter sauce at a trattoria in Bergamo is definitely a highlight - so much so that I returned, three years later, to eat it again. There was also a beautiful tarte tatin, the best I've ever had, at a restaurant in Nice. Plus trdlo, an amazing Czech sweet dough concoction that I raved about here. I found Syrian kibbeh - lemon-shaped patties of bulgur wheat wrapped around lamb mince with pine nuts and then deep fried - incredibly addictive, and wish they were easier to find here. But to be honest, I have so many amazing food memories from my various travels that I couldn't list them all.

Another food blogger’s table you’d like to eat at is?

Sonia from The Healthy Foodie - her blog pretty much encapsulates my ideas about food. The recipes all look wonderful, and I really want to try her healthy dessert recipes and see if they really do have that "I can't believe this is healthy!" factor.

On the opposite end of the scale, thelittleloaf - because, honestly, what is better than homemade bread?

What is the one kitchen gadget you would ask Santa for this year (money no object of course)?

A KitchenAid waffle maker. I'm asking Santa for a waffle maker anyway (imagine the potential! Pancakes but with little squares to hold all the sauce!), but in an ideal world I'd have a beautiful red KitchenAid one - I'm a bit obsessed with KitchenAid; it seems to be a trait most food bloggers exhibit.

Who taught you how to cook?

Cookbooks and Masterchef. My Mum taught me some baking skills, but as I refused to eat most things as a child there wasn't much opportunity for her to teach me anything else.

I’m coming to you for dinner, what’s your signature dish?

Probably a tagine. Anything that marries meat or fish with fruit; it seems to be a hallmark of my cooking. I also make a great cheesecake.

What is your guilty food pleasure?

That depends what you mean by guilty. If it's guilty because it's ludicrously simple, perhaps a bit weird and something you wouldn't expect from a self-confessed food snob like myself, then it would have to be a cottage cheese sandwich. No one can understand, given my hatred of liquid dairy (cream, milk, yoghurt, etc.) why I love cottage cheese. I can't explain it either, but I especially like the pineapple variety.

If by guilty you mean 'intensely calorific and something you really shouldn't eat if you want your 2k morning swim to mean ANYTHING', then it would have to be either crumble or sticky toffee pudding. Or treacle tart. That is my magic triumvirate of desserts.

Reveal something about yourself that others would be surprised to learn?

Oh god. That's one of those "give an interesting fact about yourself" questions in disguise. Hmm...I have an orange belt in kickboxing, and I hate parsnips.

Finally…tag 5 other food bloggers with these questions…like a hot baked potato…pass it on!

Sonia from The Healthy Foodie
Nelly from Nelly's Cupcakes
Kelly from Inspired Edibles
Jackie from I am a feeder
Rosana from Hot & Chilli

Playing at Masterchef: the Mexican challenge with Discovery and Benito's Hat

(...or, "how I won this apple green beauty")


I know nothing about Mexican food. My experiences of said cuisine have been largely limited to homemade attempts at fajitas (read: cook chicken. Cook peppers. Roll in tortilla wrap. Add sour cream and salsa from a jar), and a trip to Wahaca in Covent Garden (delicious - must go again sometime). It is, perhaps, the cuisine I am least familiar with and cook least often. For no particular reason, I suppose - mainly lack of knowledge and experience. I used to enjoy burritos from The Mission in Oxford when I was there as a student...at least, I enjoyed the first few mouthfuls, after which I would start to feel mildly sick, but obliged to continue until the bitter end as said meaty wrap had cost me over a fiver.

So when I was invited to take 'the Mexican challenge', in association with Discovery (whose brand name is synonymous with make-your-own fajita kits) and Benito's Hat (Mexican restaurant with three branches in London), I was more than a little apprehensive. I had visions of said challenge perhaps involving an all-you-can-eat-tacos contest, a guacamole mud fight, or some kind of re-enactment of an Aztec sacrifice. Fortunately, it involved none of the above (although all of the above could certainly have happened on the actual night I'm sure, had enough margaritas been involved).



The Mexican challenge took place at Waitrose Cookery School in Finchley Road. I was completely charmed upon entering this place; it reminded me a little of Masterchef, with its individual fully-equipped cooking stations and its walls decorated with gorgeous kitchen ingredients and paraphernalia. I was even more charmed when I promptly received an enormous margarita to sip as I mingled with my fellow food bloggers. A complete cookery school situated directly above a huge Waitrose supermarket from which one could pillage ingredients - basically my idea of heaven. When we were given our own Waitrose aprons, I started to plot how best to smuggle mine out under my jumper (I never managed to achieve this - don't worry, Waitrose, your aprons are safe).

Before I start, I'd like to apologise for the quality of the photos on this post - I totally forgot to take my camera, and ended up having to use my iPhone. I emphatically wish I'd remembered, but oh well. Bear with me - you can still get the gist!

Felipe making prawn tacos
First, after a brief introduction from Ben (founder of Benito's Hat and maker of excellent margaritas), we watched Felipe, chef at Benito's Hat, prepare two Mexican-style dishes. The first I found really interesting - he sliced 'jicama', an ingredient I'd never heard of or seen before, into fat strips. This vegetable looks a bit like a turnip, but has the texture of a water chestnut and is usually eaten raw. He also sliced some cucumber, then tossed it all in a dressing made from lemon juice, lime juice, paprika, coriander, and parmesan cheese. A sprinkling of peanuts finished the dish. I have to admit, I was highly sceptical, with no idea how said mixture would taste - lemon, lime, and parmesan? Upon trying it, however, I was pleasantly surprised - the freshness of the citrus lent a lovely tang to the crunchy vegetables, with the parmesan and peanuts providing a deliciously moreish, savoury note.

Next, Felipe made shrimp tacos - buttery, garlicky fried prawns coupled with paprika and a garlic and chipotle mayonnaise, served in a tortilla with iceberg lettuce, lemon juice, and a salsa of tomatoes, onion, coriander and salt. These really were scrumptious - I love the soft, doughy bite of a tortilla wrap against the snap of a crunchy lettuce leaf, finally yielding to the juicy bite of a seared prawn. Even better when everything is flavoured with the gorgeous smokiness of chipotle chillies.



Speaking of chipotle chillies, I've discovered a few fabulous ingredient. I'd never tried them before, but one sniff of a jar of chipotle paste and I was blown away. They have an incredibly smoky, almost fruity flavour, quite unlike the abrasive heat of a regular supermarket chilli. I'm a complete sucker for anything smoked - smoked garlic, smoked fish, smoked meat...I once bought a jar of smoked roasted peppers from a stall at the Real Food Festival, which was incredible. I can't wait to get myself a jar of chipotle paste and use it in sauces and stews; its flavour is unlike anything I've tried before. I kept coming back for second helpings of Felipe's shrimp tacos, savouring the marriage of creamy mayonnaise and fiery, chipotle-enriched salsa.

And then it was our turn to cook.

Left: Waitrose Cookery School. Right: my workbench and choice of ingredients.
The idea was simple: we'd have a selection of ingredients to choose from, half an hour to prepare a dish, then the results would be judged by the Benito's Hat team. If it sounds a little like the famous Masterchef 'invention test', it was. Especially because the prize was, to me, almost as covetable as the Masterchef title: a KitchenAid blender. Who wouldn't want one of these gorgeous creations adorning their kitchen worktop? Who isn't a fan of the iconic KitchenAid design? It was certainly a prize worth cooking up a storm for.

I was like a child in a sweet shop after we were allowed to go and pick our ingredients. (There clearly weren't many health and safety guidelines for this evening - who thought it would be a good idea to let a load of margarita-influenced food bloggers loose on Waitrose's pristine knives, pots and pans?!) There were two huge worktops covered in all sorts of edible wonders; the first packed with Discovery products, the second with fresh vegetables and a fridge. There were courgettes, peppers, oranges, lemons, limes, herbs, spices...and a huge bowl of perfectly ripe avocadoes.

A perfectly ripe avocado is a very, very rare thing. They're pretty much impossible to locate in supermarkets, which charge extortionate prices for something mendaciously termed "perfectly ripe" that in fact has the same texture as a raw potato. I spent a few moments lovingly cradling one of these jade specimens in my palm, before hoarding three and moving to my cooking station, relishing their rampant ripeness. I also went a bit crazy for the huge platter of raw prawns and the perfectly filleted sea bass, ingredients I could never normally afford but were here for the taking. I may have selected a few extra prawns for 'testing'.




Our lovely larder
I could tell you that I had some great strategy, that I'd spend the week preparing Mexican dishes in anticipation, that I'd been honing my fajita-rolling skills days in advance, but that would be a lie. Quite literally, I saw the ingredients available, and a couple of ideas popped into my head. I'm genuinely a bit proud of this fact - one of the things I always tell people who say I should go on Masterchef (apart from "er, are you mad? I'm not a huge fan of televised ritual humiliation") is that I'd fail at the first hurdle - the invention test. I generally don't think of myself as very good at seeing a load of ingredients and coming up with a tasty idea, which is odd, considering that's usually how my lunch comes about (honestly, a grated carrot, orange, spinach and sardine salad is actually quite nice). So to come up with two fairly plausible recipes made me quite self-satisfied.

Unable to decide which would be more blender-worthy, I made them both. One was vaguely Mexican, the other not really Mexican at all, but a mish mash of some of my favourite things on a plate.



My first recipe was inspired by Felipe's prawn tacos. I made something vaguely approaching guacamole, spread it onto crunchy lettuce leaves, then topped it with garlicky buttered prawns. The idea was a prawn taco with none of the carbohydrate, something easily nibbled as a sort of canape, but packed with flavour. I also thought it would be easy to present in an attractive way, Masterchef-style. I have to say, this dish really was delicious. I mashed the avocadoes with lots of lime juice, chopped coriander, chopped tomato, and a little sour cream and chipotle paste to add a gorgeous smoky tang (I basically just went a bit wild with the Discovery ingredients, chucking them in with abandon and tasting occasionally to check I hadn't ruined everything with a smidge too much sour cream). The result went incredibly well with the rich, juicy prawns, the crunch of the lettuce leaf providing a delicious texture.

Although the food tasted good, the incident where I tried to open the foil lid of the sour cream sauce with my teeth and it splattered all over my face and apron was not particularly dignified. Thank the lord for those Waitrose aprons, or my nice new top might have been ruined forever.

My second recipe was pan-fried sea bass, with a crust of spices (cinnamon, cumin, paprika, salt and pepper), served on a salad of baby spinach, avocado, raisin, orange, pumpkin seed, coriander and lime juice. Perhaps it sounds a bit odd, but I think it worked - the meaty fish with its flavoursome crust stood up to the fresh, citrussy flavours of the salad, but there was a lovely crunch from the pumpkin seeds to contrast with it all.



I honestly found the experience quite stressful. My hands were actually shaking a little as I deposited my ingredients on my workbench and tried to think about where to start making my two dishes. I can only assume that such trembling was down to my extreme desire for the KitchenAid blender. If I was that nervous cooking for the Benito's Hat team to win a blender, I really can't imagine how the Masterchef contestants feel in front of Gregg and John (or Monica and Michel Roux, in the case of the Professionals series). I always ridiculed them a little for letting nerves get in the way of the prize, but now I completely empathise. No more will I chuckle as a chef accidentally slices off a finger under the searing gaze of Monica Galetti, or drops his dish on the floor under the stern eye of John Torode.

After a speedy thirty minutes of cooking time had passed, we waited as our dishes were tasted and judged. After each had been tasted, it was brought to us to try ourselves. I ate a lot of excellent food that night from my fellow bloggers; highlights included Mexican roasted sweetcorn from Jackie and a delicious green dip for tortilla chips from Colin, the ingredients of which I've shamefully forgotten. Katie, who was cooking on the bench opposite me and therefore bore witness to my mania and sour cream disaster, came up with what she termed a "student meal" but which was very tasty: quesadillas with melted cheese, salsa, and sour cream. We sat around and stuffed ourselves with various tortilla dishes, prawns, chicken, sour cream, guacamole, and other Mexican delights, until finally the judges announced the runner-up and winner. Colin was duly rewarded for his green salsa with a free meal at Benito's Hat, as was the lovely Rosana.



As you will know from the picture at the head of this post, I won the blender. I was absolutely thrilled, especially given the superb standard of the other dishes, many of which were - I'm sure - far more Mexican than my attempts. Although Ben, upon second glance, revealed that he hadn't noticed the orange segments in my sea bass salad. I hope he doesn't have a phobia of oranges and is, to this day, regretting handing me that cumbersome KitchenAid box.

Carrying said blender home on the tube and then train all the way to Cambridge was interesting, to say the least - particularly trying to negotiate the automatic ticket barriers when I had no hands spare to extract my ticket from my bag. However, the blender is now installed in my kitchen where it has provided me with glorious smoothies every morning.

I had a fantastic time at the Mexican Challenge. Not only did I get given a goodie bag packed with Discovery ingredients and a KitchenAid blender, but I also got a bit of insight into the cooking at Benito's Hat, where the emphasis is all about fresh, local ingredients and helping Mexican food shed its greasy, Tex-Mex image. I almost wish I'd won the runner-up prize so I could go and eat there, though I think I'll be paying a visit anyway sometime soon.

I'm also feeling rather inspired to broaden my Mexican cooking horizons - any suggestions as to what one can make with a KitchenAid blender and some Discovery salsa?!


Me with my two culinary creations. Check out the apron!
Thanks to Wild Card PR for inviting me to the event, and to Benito's Hat and Waitrose Cookery School. (And also, of course, to KitchenAid!)  Should you fancy trying Felipe's tempting recipes, here they are:


Benito's Hat Jicama Salad (serves 4):

1 whole peeled Jicama (350-400g)
1 whole peeled cucumber (250-300g)
1 whole lime (1/8 cup squeezed juice)
2 whole lemons (1/4 cup squeezed juice)
Dry roasted peanuts (50g)
Fresh chopped coriander (20g)
Parmesan cheese (30g)
Paprika one pinch
Discovery Salsa

In a big bowl place all the ingredients and mix very well. Serve in a small bowl - garnish with more parmesan cheese and coriander. For extra flavour, serve with Discovery Salsa – a perfect dip to accompany the salad.

Benito's Hat Prawn Tacos (serves 4):
20 prawns
50 grams of butter
2 cloves of chopped garlic
Pinch of paprika
100 grams of finely chopped iceberg lettuce
Pico de Gallo (recipe: 1 chopped fresh tomato, 20g onions, 20g chopped coriander and salt to taste)
Chipotle garlic mayonnaise dressing (see below)
1 lemon cut in wedges
Discovery Plain Flour Tortillas
For the dressing: in a blender jar put 1 tbsp of Discovery Chipotle paste, 1 garlic clove and 1 cup of mayonnaise. Blend it for about 2 minutes until it becomes creamy or runny.

Place a frying pan on a low heat. Add the butter, garlic, prawns and paprika and cook for 4 minutes stirring occasionally until the prawns are cooked thoroughly

Heat the Discovery Plain Flour Tortillas in another pan and then place on a serving dish. On each tortilla place the lettuce and add Pico de Gallo. Put the prawns on top and cover with the Discovery chipotle and garlic mayonnaise. Place a lemon segment on the side of each plate.

Nutmegs, seven on Facebook


For those of you who are never very good at following blogs and always forget to check back for posts (I know, because I'm one of them), you can now follow Nutmegs, seven on Facebook - it has its very own page, here. At the moment it's a bit lonely so come and have a look!

I've also started writing pieces for student cooking website Beyond Baked Beans, brainchild of the brilliant food and wine writer Fiona Beckett. I'm very proud to feature on their list of contributors - the website is an excellent resource for students wishing to defy the stereotypes about university cooking. You can read my first article, on how to sneak my favourite ingredient (fruit) into all your meals, here; my second, an ode to the humble bowl of porridge and how to dress it up, is here.

In a similar vein, I've also been published in online food magazine The Foodie Bugle this month. I'd suggest you all go and have a look at this wonderful site - the photography is beautiful and the articles really interesting.

Flash Cooking by Laura Santtini



Flash Cooking, the new cookbook by Laura Santtini (published by Quadrille) will rescue you from a recipe book rut, should you be stuck in one.

Its tagline, "Fit fast flavours for busy people" promises ingredients and recipes that are zesty, fresh, healthy, lively and quick, and its contents don't disappoint. Designed not so much as a recipe book but as a guide to a healthful way of life based around food, Flash Cooking shows you how to get the most out of basic ingredients and not-so-basic flavourings. Adopting a novel approach to cooking, using rubs, pastes and 'flavour bombs', Santtini offers "a passport to the flavours of all the continents, so you can confidently cross borders and create your own world of deliciousness". She is in a good position to help provide this passport: she won an award for her first recipe book (Easy Tasty Italian) in 2010, and has successfully marketed her intense flavour combinations as a range of food products ('Laura Santtini's Spellbinding Flavours').



The book begins with a guide to the 'Flash' way of life: using spices, herbs and other flavourings to transform healthy and basic ingredients into quick and easy meals that taste delicious: making the ordinary extraordinary in a flash. It's about crossing boundaries, "developing the confidence to add a splash of soy sauce to a Bolognese, or mango chutney and Worcestershire sauce to a traditional vinaigrette dressing". It's also about everything in moderation, cooking 'flash' for 80% of the time and enjoying whatever you like for the rest. 


Santtini's philosophy can be summed up in a quotation by Michael Pollan: "eat food, not too much, mostly plants". At the beginning of the book she provides a diagram of the 'flash plate': mostly plants (i.e. low-GI veg and plenty of broccoli - Santtini is oddly specific about this), with an iPhone-sized portion of protein. I quite like the use of 'iPhone sized' as a guide: most of us have absolutely no idea how much protein we should be eating, and Santtini suggests we actually consume far too much. Everyone knows what an iPhone looks like, ergo everyone should be able to measure out a healthy-sized protein intake. Already you get the impression that this book is about more than just food; it's about making lifestyle choices, many of them food-related, in order to sustain a healthy and balanced existence.

The book then moves onto the flash flavourings that are the backbone of Santtini's recipes: seasonings, glazes, rubinades (a cross between a rub and a marinade), pastes, finishing salts, finishing yoghurts, then finally 'props and dressings'. Each of these sections is divided into four groups, enabling one to 'eat the world': there are Western flavours, Middle Eastern, Indian, and Far Eastern. For example, the Western seasoning is herbes de provence; the Middle Eastern a baharat spice mix; Indian, the classic garam masala, and Far Eastern, five spice powder. Similarly, we have balsamic glaze for Western, pomegranate glaze for Middle Eastern, tamarind glaze for Indian, and soy glaze for Far Eastern. The same idea applies to the pastes, rubs, finishing salts, et cetera - mouthwatering suggestions include an artichoke and caper paste for Western dishes, a pink peppercorn and sumac salt for Middle Eastern, and a turmeric and chutney yoghurt to finish Indian dishes.



There's a helpful chart at the end summarising all the different versions of each; Santtini suggests playing "saucepan sudoku by mixing and matching flavours until you find your winning formulas". At the back of the book is a chart that takes some of Santtini's recipes and shows you how could tweak them to fit other cuisines: for example, the chicken pockets stuffed with ricotta and red pesto, a Western dish, can be made Indian by substituting the stuffing for tomato and tamarind paste and drizzling with a mango vinaigrette.

I really love this idea, I have to say. I'm fascinated by herbs, spices and exotic seasonings, and I think the idea of being able to take a basic piece of meat or fish and adorn it with a simple rub or paste to transform it into something exotic and delicious is brilliant and completely in keeping with the fast and healthy philosophy of the book. The notion of dividing the world's flavours into four may be a little limiting and controversial, but as a basic idea it's really interesting, and the wide array of pastes, rubs, salts, yoghurts and seasonings offered by Santtini should keep you more than satisfied in the kitchen for a long time. I'd never really thought about how every cuisine has its own version of the same adornments or accompaniments for food; it certainly opened my eyes and made me think about food and recipes in a whole new way.

The book then moves on to the recipes themselves (divided into Flash Fish, Flash Flesh, Flash Cheese, Eggs & Tofu, Flash Comfort, Flash Vegetables & Salads, Flash Soups, and Flash Starters & Desserts). Titles range from the mouthwatering to the amusing ('tortured sole'; 'the dog's bolognese'; 'all burger, no bum'; 'the thighs the limit with coriander and fennel seeds'). As you might expect from a book with this philosophy, every recipe title bursts with flavour: smoked paprika and orange tuna steaks; venison tagliata with juniper and rosemary; grilled paneer with chaat masala and pineapple; sweet miso aubergine. 

There are some fascinating and unusual flavour combinations, many of which I cannot wait to try and which also promise to be healthy - a winning formula. The photos are also excellent: very simply shot and styled, they highlight the simple, vibrant, healthy nature of the food and its ingredients. Most recipes have photos, too, which is always a plus for the less imaginative cook.

The recipes in each chapter progress from the basic to the more complex. For example, Flash Fish begins with a blueprint for a grilled fish recipe, suggesting you pick a flash seasoning, finishing salt, then a finishing yoghurt or dressing to adorn your fish. It then moves onto simple but tasty ideas such as maple-glazed salmon, before progressing to 'tea-steamed sea bass with vanilla star anise olive oil'. Flash Flesh, or the meat chapter, begins with a recipe for pork cutlets with sage and anchovy butter, and a simple tandoori-style chicken, but also features 'duck breasts with black magic elixir' - a mixture of balsamic vinegar, dark chocolate and olive oil. Each chapter begins with a word of advice from Santtini, for example, "in the Flash way, it is best to restrict the eating of red meat to 2-3 meals a week". I'm pleased to see she recommends game, for its healthy leanness.

The 'comfort' section of the book "deals mostly with carbohydrates and healthful ways to enjoy delicious wheat-free alternatives". Santtini suggests keeping portions of carbs to two iPhones-worth and serving with mostly plants. Recipes include quick butter bean stew with tomatoes and olives; hummus with crumbled feta and pomegranate; and baked seasoned sweet potatoes with matcha guacamole. Delicious, I'm sure, but I do have to say that none of these are what you'd expect from the phrase 'comfort eating'. I can't imagine that your average cook is going to seek out a bowl of brown rice, wheat-free spaghetti or a baked sweet potato when they're craving comfort food. It's a similar story for dessert: while grilled pineapple with vodka, pink peppercorns and chilli sounds divine, it is immediately apparent from reading the sparse dessert section of the book that this is, primarily, a healthy cookbook. Bakers will be disappointed - none of the recipes so much as mention flour.



There are some brilliant, inspired ideas in Santtini's book. The recipes, for the most part, are very simple and speedy, as promised, and there is no doubt they deliver on taste, flavour and healthfulness. Her idea for 'flavour bombs' - rubs, pastes, marinades and glazes - is refreshing and original, and consequently it's a must-have for anyone interested in herbs, spices and unusual flavourings, as well as cuisines from around the world. There's also a lovely index at the back of the book that gives the health benefits of some of Santtini's favourite ingredients: chilli, chocolate, red wine, turmeric, honey, ginger, and more, as well as a glossary to guide you through the more unusual foodstuffs.

However, there are a couple of aspects of the book I'm not so keen on.

Firstly, apart from the 'Flash Comfort' section, none of the meals include carbohydrates - which I suppose is to be expected, given the emphasis on healthy eating. They're largely a collection of ways to dress up your protein, be it fish, eggs, tofu or meat. Yes, there are some delicious salads and vegetable side dishes, but if you're looking for quick, filling, one-pot meals that include carbs, this isn't the book for you. Cooks with more time on their hands will enjoy matching the protein recipes with the tempting vegetable dishes, salads and starters, but that seems to undermine the 'flash' idea of the book. I can't really criticise the book for this, as it's just doing what it says on the tin - but beware if you like to throw a load of pasta, rice or beans in a pan along with your meat.

Secondly, I find the tone of some of the surrounding material a bit offputting. This isn't just a recipe book; it purports to be a guide as to how to live your life the 'flash' way. While I agree with a lot of Santtini's points about not eating too much red meat, avoiding refined carbohydrates and making 'treat' foods yourself when you do want them so that you enjoy them more - some of her suggestions border on the preachy and unrealistic. 

For example, the list of 'Flash Juices & Drinks', featuring a selection of 'Chakra Juices' and 'Sun and Moon Tea' to which you can add crystals "for extra magical powers". A nice idea, perhaps, but I think I could count on one hand the number of readers who will be sticking an extra rose quartz in their morning cuppa as a result of this book. Then there's the 'Flash You' chapter at the back of the book, "all about becoming leader of your universe". It doesn't advocate weight loss, but "setting realistic goals for yourself, and arriving healthfully at a place where you can shine with confidence, having cooked your way to your optimum weight, without compromising the flavour of your life". It's all a bit hippy and earth mother-y, even if it does have a solid and positive message. It's not to say the advice isn't sound, but I personally probably won't take diet advice from someone who puts rocks in their tea.


Another piece of advice is that "if you want to wake up with a flat tummy and go to bed feeling light and lean, say no to carbs after 4pm (although my cut off point is usually after lunch)". Santtini even suggests that this will "improve your libido in a FLASH!" Too much information. This is a cookbook, not Cosmopolitan magazine. Secondly, suggesting avoiding carbs after lunch is, in my opinion, completely unrealistic. 

Unless you have a will of steel and are really serious about losing a lot of weight, this advice is just not something most people will be able to follow. How often do people get home from work at 7pm, ravenous having eaten nothing since their supermarket sandwich at lunchtime and maybe a piece of fruit mid-afternoon? Is a lean chicken breast going to leave them sated and ready to tackle the evening's tasks? No matter how many finishing salts, yoghurts, rubs and pastes you apply to your lean protein, it's not going to fill the gap. I'm all for carbs in moderation, but I just think this advice is a tad absurd. No one wants to be starving half an hour after dinner; it will just lead to an unenjoyable evening and probably a lot of snacking, which totally defeats the object. If Santtini can be happy without carbs after lunchtime, then she's a lucky woman, but I don't think she can expect us all to join her. She suggests the Flash Comfort chapter, which contains the most virtuous forms of carbohydrate imaginable (brown rice, wheat-free pasta, pulses and quinoa) should only be cooked from on your days 'off' more healthy eating. If we're not allowed a butter bean stew in the evening, life is a sad prospect.


I also cannot stand the obsessive use of 'flash' as a prefix in the book. Everything is the 'flash' way; there are 'flash fats', 'flash weight loss', 'flash exercise', a 'flash future', 'flash shopping'. Every other sentence talks about flash this and flash that. While I understand that the creation of a brand and a concept is especially important these days in the world of recipe writing, when cookery books of varying quality proliferate wildly on our shelves, after reading Santtini's book I never want to hear the word 'flash' again. Ever.

Also, another interesting point that struck me - Santtini talks about her decision to exclude wheat and sugar from her diet 90% of the time, and how much better it is for you. Yet her recipe for 'maple glazed salmon' uses an inordinate amount of maple syrup, and I found it far, far too sweet for my liking. I consider myself someone with a bit of a sweet tooth (albeit I tend to get my sugar from fruit rather than cake), and even I would have liked less sweetness in the dish. An odd juxtaposition.



All this said, there is some good advice in there. I particularly like Santtini's reference to her favourite dessert: Other People's Pudding (OPP). Have a couple of spoonfuls of a shared dessert and you are done: "a fix without the fat". It does make sense - we rarely need dessert to fill us up; it's just that sugar hit we're after, which can be made surprisingly small and yet still satisfying. Similarly, some of her advice about how to integrate a flash diet into a normal lifestyle is helpful, especially as it reassures you there will be no "I'm sorry, I'm only eating cereal bars" moments. It's basically just good, healthy common sense, the kind we're used to hearing from food and wellbeing magazines, but with more of a focus on how to revolve this lifestyle around food.

Following the '80/20 rule' is an example of such sound advice. Santtini likens this to buying an expensive jacket on a Sunday: you're not going to go out and spend that kind of money again on the Monday, because you can't afford it. "It is exactly the same with food: enjoy the big spend because you are most definitely worth it, but do not career irresponsibly into debt". Eat 'flash' 80% of the time, and eat what you like for the remaining 20%.

Whether you're interested in weight loss or just a slightly more healthy diet, there's no doubt that following Santtini's advice will help you on your way - I just have a few quibbles about the tone of it. Santtini admits she is a "self-confessed control freak" who weighs herself regularly, and this is fairly evident from some of the advice (suggesting a snack of two medjool dates as the only thing one should consume between lunch and dinner is a tad unrealistic, especially as she then tells us that they "taste like sticky toffee". Good luck at sticking to just two!) 

However, I would suggest that it shouldn't put you off. You don't have to read all the stuff at the back of the book - just stick to the mouthwatering, tempting, inspired recipe suggestions. Enjoy eating the four corners of the world, mixing up your rubinades and spreading on your pastes, sprinkling with your finishing salts and dipping in your finishing yoghurts. It's rare to find something truly original in cookery writing, but I think this might be a good contender.


This is me, cooking one of Santtini's recipes. Could I legitimately caption this 'Flash Elly'?


The recipe for five-spice pork stir-fried with broccoli caught my eye as I flicked through the book for the first time - I'd never thought of using mince in a stir fry before. I had a go, and was rewarded with an incredibly fresh, zesty, flavoursome dinner. In the spirit of flash cooking, I only had a few noodles with it and tried to keep it fairly carb-free. To my surprise, I didn't really need anything to accompany my protein (then again, I had had a lot of pasta for lunch). Perhaps Santtini is right - when your cooking is this full of flavour and vibrance, you don't need to accompany it with much more (though I am still sceptical about the banning of carbs after 4pm).

I picked this dish to share with you because it seems to epitomise the philosophy of the book: it contains broccoli, doesn't really need carbohydrate, uses lean meat, and contains ingredients that pack a huge flavour punch. It also leaves you feeling healthy yet satisfied. Flash cooking at its best.

Five-spice minced pork and tenderstem broccoli (serves 2-3):

1 tbsp sesame oil
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced (I crushed mine)
1 tsp grated fresh ginger (I used about 1 tbsp, but I absolutely love fresh ginger)
1 tsp Chinese five-spice powder
500g pork mince 
250 tenderstem broccoli (I used one head of normal broccoli, cut into thin florets)
4 spring onions, chopped
1 red chilli, sliced and deseeded
2 tbsp nam pla fish sauce
1/2 tbsp runny honey
Juice of 1 lime

For the garnish:
Handful of chopped coriander leaves
2 tbsp roughly chopped natural roasted peanuts
2 lime wedges

Heat the sesame oil in a wok and add the garlic, ginger and five-spice powder. When sizzling, add the pork and stir-fry until it begins to brown. Add the broccoli and continue to stir-fry until that begins to become tender (I boiled mine first to avoid it remaining tough and added it towards the end). 

Add the spring onions, chilli, fish sauce, honey and lime juice, and stir-fry until bubbling and the pork is nicely browned. Reduce the heat and allow to simmer for a minute or so until the broccoli is just tender. 

Serve topped with fresh coriander, a sprinkling of peanuts and a wedge of lime on the side.


Homemade sloe gin

"All around it looked so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge" ~ Hans Christian Andersen

If this country were a kitchen, its larder would be Yorkshire

. I never fail to be amazed by all the wonderful produce around me whenever I go and stay in our house up north. There are the two excellent butchers three minutes away from our house, whose steak and ale pies, sausages and sirloin steaks are to die for, and whose meat all comes from farms barely a stone's throw away. There's another butcher a five minute drive from the house, where I picked up six partridge and a mallard for under £15 last week (more on the partridge at a later date...). There's the quaint little deli where I've found treasures like shocking pink Yorkshire rhubarb in late winter, or beautiful glossy damsons at the close of summer, and which can always be relied upon to sell oddities that you'd normally never find in a local country shop: tahini paste, quinoa, pomegranates, fresh fennel. However, it's not just the produce that I have to pay for that I love, but everything that's available for free, too. 

Take a short walk into the dales, and you'll be rewarded with even more edible goodness, without having to spend anything at all. Towards the end of summer, ripe blackberries hang heavily from their bushes, lining almost every stone wall in sight and glistening invitingly, begging you to snatch them up before they're gobbled by greedy birds. A couple of years ago I went on a walk, without realising that blackberry season had started. I passed so many beautiful berries on my stroll that I couldn't bear to leave them behind, but I hadn't brought any form of receptacle in which to carry them. 

However, dear readers, there is no end to my initiative and resourcefulness when food is at stake. I carried them home in the hood of my jumper.

It doesn't stop at blackberries, though I've collected enough in a single day in Yorkshire to freeze and last me nearly a whole year (delicious on porridge with chopped pear and honey, or in a crumble, or in a lovely apple and blackberry jam). There are also bilberries, a curious and rare wild version of the blueberry. They are notoriously hard to pick and only grow in certain places (usually rather high up, requiring much climbing, scrambling and huffing and puffing) on the dales, possessing a very short season towards the end of summer. I was mad enough to go foraging for them in August during a torrential downpour...but more on that in another post, when I finally get round to cooking my gains. They're currently sitting in the freezer, awaiting the invention of a recipe special enough to justify the intense discomfort involved in peeling off a pair of completely saturated skinny jeans and acquiring a hideous illness for the entire week afterwards, which I'm sure resulted from the combination of wind, rain, and three hours hunching over mud and occasional ubiquitous dog excrement in order to pick these damned berries. I christen said illness "Forager's Downfall". I'm sure I'm not the only one to have succumbed.

Our national larder didn't disappoint last week when I visited. During a little afternoon stroll I stumbled across a group of large bushes hanging heavily with little dark fruits, rather like overgrown blueberries but darker, and mottled in places. Having read a little bit about sloes and sloe gin in various food media lately, I had a strong inkling that these were, in fact, the elusive sloes. I'm still not actually sure they are true sloes - apparently sloes and bullaces, which are like small damsons, look very similar - but I'm hoping my resulting gin will taste delicious nevertheless. 

I've always liked the idea of making sloe gin, but having never seen sloes before (not much chance of them in central Cambridge, I don't think) it was one of those items on my long-term gastronomic to-do list (I have various lists, you see, all relating to food. It's very stressful trying to keep on top of them all, actually). I don't really drink much alcohol; I only like wine, preferably white, and gin, and even then in quantities so small it makes most of my friends laugh. I often recall the depressing incident whereby my boyfriend and I drank a whole bottle of wine between us one night over dinner. I was immensely impressed with my tolerance, seeing as usually I can only manage a small glass. Flushed with my success, I then inspected the bottle more closely, only to find that the wine contained 5.6% alcohol. Sad times.

However, I do like gin-based drinks, and sloe gin is particularly tasty due to its higher sugar content and fruity flavour; it has a taste reminiscent of summer berries, with a pleasant blackcurranty tang. You can buy it, of course, but when there's a huge bush sporting hundreds of sloes only minutes from where you're staying, it seems rude not to take advantage of nature's offerings.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a hood to put the sloes in. I had to go back for a bag.

A happy half hour of dodging prickles and getting some very quizzical looks from a field of sheep later, I had 1.6 kilos of sloes, enough to make at least two litres of sloe gin. 

Although I love the almost-instant gratification of most cooking - chop, stir, bake, eat - I also enjoy the occasional longer-term food project, mainly because it gives me an immense sense of self-satisfaction and makes me feel a little bit like a Victorian housewife or a home economist (not particularly glamorous role models, admittedly, but certainly useful ones). I enjoy making my own jam and chutney, and have made various forays into that arena over the years. 

There was the fig jam, hastily whipped up with a plate of semi-rotting figs that I couldn't bear to let go to waste; the rhubarb jam and chutney made with an immense glut of rhubarb given to my mum by a colleague; the apple jam and chutney made with the windfall apples from the tree overhanging our garden; the quince paste made in a moment (more like five hours) of madness that I heartily regretted when I got cramp trying to press insufficiently soft quinces through a sieve; the red chilli and tomato jam that nearly had me in A&E because I got such severe and agonising chilli burns on my left hand (still remains to this day the most painful experience of my life, but at least I didn't do what a chef I used to work for once did, and went to the toilet without washing his hands after chopping chillies...). 

I've also made my own preserved lemons (incredibly easy - stuff lemons with salt, pour over boiling water and leave to mature in a jar for a few months) to use in Moroccan cooking; my own bottled apricots for when these lovely fruits aren't in season; I dried my own apple rings one year, from the windfall apples in our garden; I made a jar of my own sun-dried tomatoes, by putting seasoned tomatoes in the oven on a very low heat for half a day. Projects like these are not only - eventually - tasty, but there's a certain satisfaction in opening a jar of preserved lemons that you've made yourself, or gorging yourself on sweet, soft apricots in syrup in the middle of February, or spooning homemade jam onto fresh toast. It always tastes better than shop-bought, even if that difference is entirely psychological. 

This is another such long-term project. The gin needs to be left to mature for a good couple of months before drinking, though I intend to leave mine for a bit longer. However, there's very little work involved, and once it's all mixed you can just leave it, shaking or stirring it occasionally. 

Basically, you mix your sloes with sugar and gin.

There you go, readers - Nutmegs, seven's shortest ever recipe. 

You need about 450g sloes for every 750ml gin, and about 225g of granulated or caster sugar for every 450g sloes, though you can add more if you have quite a sweet tooth. Then you just need to combine them in a jar or tub with a watertight lid, leaving a bit of space so you can either stir or shake the mixture.

You can either do this the painstaking way, and prick each sloe with a pin so that they release their juices into the gin, or you can do it the easy way, and freeze your sloes so the skins split, before defrosting and then squeezing them to mush in their bag (intensely enjoyable). Then you can add the sugar and the gin. Apparently it doesn't really matter what quality of gin you use - no point in splashing out on some Bombay, for instance - but I wouldn't suggest using Tesco Value gin. The next one up would be fine, though. I got mine from Asda - £20 for 1.5 litres, which isn't bad for two bottles of tasty sloe gin.

I made my gin in two large 3-litre Le Parfait jars - although they're not even half full, the space left gives you room to shake the contents vigorously to ensure they're well-mixed. Put the fruit in the jar, sprinkle over the sugar, pour over the gin, and clip on the lid. Then shake, shake, shake, and leave in a cool, dark place. Keep shaking it every day or so for a couple of weeks, then leave to mature for a couple of months at least. 

I'm not sure whether to take the sloes out and strain the mixture after a couple of months before leaving it to mature further, or just leave the sloes in right up until I want to drink it. Apparently it's possible to do both, though I think leaving the sloes in for longer might give a better flavour, so that's probably what I'll do. 

I'm also looking forward to using the gin-saturated leftover sloes for something delicious; I've read various people suggesting them as an accompaniment for game. What better partner for Yorkshire sloes than some nice Yorkshire venison, or pheasant? 

Incidentally, sloes are not good for eating raw. I tried one out of curiosity, but Hans Christian Andersen was right when he wrote that they "set one's teeth on edge". Your whole mouth puckers up from the astringency, rather like trying to eat a lemon or gooseberry. 

So that's a brief summary of my latest food project. If you know anyone who might have some sloes growing near them, ask nicely for a few and try it yourself. I'm going to decant the gin into lovely old-fashioned stoppered bottles when it's ready and make some nice hand-written labels for it, to please both my inner home economist and outer rampant aesthete. 

I can't wait for the first sip of this sweet, warming, fruity concoction.

Have you done any foraging this year, or dabbled in the joy of home preserving? Do you have a favourite recipe for an abundance of wild ingredients?

Five things I love this week #3

There's a definite autumnal feel to my 'five things' this week; that much is evident from the muted beige tones of these photos. After a wonderfully warm October, I think I'm finally ready to embrace the onset of autumn, and all the delicious produce it brings with it. 


1. Wild mushroom and truffle risotto. I've been craving risotto ever since I had a beautiful starter at the Yorke Arms last week: truffled partridge boudin with ceps and carnaroli rice. The rice was a gorgeous risotto-like concoction, heady with the musky fragrance of truffle, the rice still with a little bite to it, creamy and savoury and incredibly delicious. I couldn't ignore my truffle/risotto cravings any longer, and succumbed with this lovely recipe. 

It's a standard risotto to which I added chopped chestnut mushrooms when frying the onion and garlic; I also used soaked porcini mushrooms and added their soaking water to the chicken stock used to plump up the rice. The risotto is finished off with some pan-fried girolle and shiitake mushrooms (shockingly expensive, but a nice little luxury, and so much more interesting to eat and look at than standard mushrooms), a drizzle of truffle oil, lots of lemon thyme leaves and a hefty grating of parmesan. Savoury, umami-rich wonderfulness. 



2. Pumpkins and winter squash. It's easy to just pick up the knee-jerk butternut when planning winter squash recipes, but the other day I discovered these beauties at the farmers market. I think the pale blue one is a Crown Prince squash; the others I'm not too sure about. 


I cut them all into chunks (risking life and limb and a hernia in the process; who needs a gym when you can spend an evening hacking your way through an unyielding orb of orange?) and roasted them with olive oil, salt, pepper and lots of chopped fresh rosemary. They softened into intensely flavoursome, sweet, fudgy deliciousness. Their flesh was much more dense and full-flavoured than your standard butternut squash, while the skin went beautifully dark and caramelly. 

I served them alongside roast partridge (recipe to come) and also mixed them with some couscous, feta and cherry tomatoes for a salad. Winter squash are great with anything salty, like bacon, feta or goats cheese. The possibilities are pretty much endless. I'm definitely going to seek out different kinds of squash in future (and perhaps an axe to chop them with). 


3. Fig and orange cobbler. Figs and oranges are a surprisingly successful combination (my aim this autumn is to discover all possible partners for the wonderful fig - raspberries and oranges are two of my new finds). Mix sliced figs and segmented oranges (about eight figs and two oranges) with a little dark sugar and a splash of rum, orange juice or grand marnier in a pie dish. Dollop on this cobbler topping, then bake for half an hour or so until the fruit releases its beautiful garnet juices and the topping is crisp and crunchy. This also works wonderfully as a crumble, especially if you mix some oats and almonds or hazelnuts into the crumble mixture. The figs soften and the oranges become really sweet and flavoursome, and the combination together is juicy, fragrant and delicious. Add some good vanilla ice cream and devour: autumn in a bowl.


4. Porridge with apple and quince compote. A delicious, unusual and thoroughly seasonal way to start an autumn day. Simply simmer peeled, chopped quince in a little water and lemon juice until almost tender. Don't throw away the cores and peel - simmer those covered in water in a separate pan while you cook the quince. Add a few sliced cooking/Cox apples to the chopped quince (peel if you like - I only bother if they're quite big, otherwise it's too fiddly) and the water from the quince cores and peel, and cook until the apples start to disintegrate. You should have a lovely, pale gold bowl of fragrant goodness. You can add sugar, but I don't think it needs it - quince is sweet enough on its own. This is lovely on hot porridge scattered with a few blackberries.

5. The Great British Food Revival. A brilliant programme all about championing British produce that is in danger of being sidelined by foreign imports, putting us back in touch with our food heritage and urging us to save those traditional ingredients from extinction (think peas, pears, crab, pork, potatoes...). I loved the first series, and the second is just as good, judging from what I've seen so far: Gregg Wallace extolling the virtues of Yorkshire rhubarb, an ingredient very close to my heart and one that I hoard like a mad person during its short season. There's still some in my freezer. He comes up with some unusual and delicious recipes that I can't wait to try.

While on the subject, I love Gregg Wallace. I think he has an honest and immensely refreshing attitude to food. None of this poncing around with silly descriptions about umami, mouthfeel and acidity. He simply says "it's like a hug from the pudding angel". If that isn't a concise and accurate description of a dessert, I don't know what is. He is entirely unpretentious and seems like a genuinely nice, fun person. And I'm not just saying this because he likes rhubarb, though that does win anyone brownie points in my eyes.

I'm also looking forward to seeing Valentine Warner's contribution to the show, mainly because I had lunch with him a couple of months ago and am childish enough to get excited about having met people who appear on TV.

Jordans 10% challenge & Jimmy's Farm


Last week I visited Jimmy’s Farm in Suffolk for the launch of the ‘10% Challenge’, a new campaign by Jordans cereals to get more people encouraging wildlife in their gardens. We are constantly faced with stories about the sad state of British wildlife; bees in crisis, butterflies declining rapidly; birds under threat. Jordans believe part of the problem is that there are not enough havens for such wildlife in our increasingly urbanized landscape. Between now and this time next year, Jordans is aiming for 10,000 gardeners to join the challenge and make at least 10% of their garden space wildlife-friendly. They estimate that, in acres, this space is equivalent to eighteen football pitches. Apparently there are 100,000 acres of garden in the UK; in the long term, Jordans hope that 10% of this would become wildlife-friendly, which is the rather impressive equivalent of 63,291 football pitches. As someone with no grasp of gardening but an earnest sympathy with the plight of bees, I went along to see what the campaign is all about.

Helping to promote the 10% challenge is the lovely Jimmy Doherty, farmer and wildlife expert. Jimmy is an entomologist-turned-farmer who set up his farm in 2003 without any experience or knowledge of the subject (his journey was documented by the BBC 2 series ‘Jimmy’s Farm’), and is now a highly successful ‘celebrity farmer’, if such a term exists. As if to embody this persona, he was wearing jeans and a checked shirt. We were shown a promotion video for the 10% Challenge in which he was also wearing jeans and a checked shirt; he hastily informed us that he does, in fact, own other shirts.


Jordans are already a company concerned about wildlife conservation. Their ‘conservation grade’ farming system, created in 1985, ensures that the farmers growing cereal for the company are very aware of the needs of nature; they are committed to creating better homes for wildlife on the land that they farm. Jordans sources its cereals from 50 farms, extending over Suffolk, Hertfordshire and Hampshire, and they all operate to conservation grade standards; over the last decade Jordans has invested £2 million into preserving the British countryside through premiums paid to farmers.

Of these 50,000 acres of farmland, the 10% devoted to wildlife is a substantial space, and has already been successful in allowing wildlife to prosper: there has been a 41% increase in birds; eight times as many butterflies; thirteen times as many bees; and thirty times as many small mammals such as water voles.

Jimmy Doherty (centre, checked shirt) and Bill Jordan (on Jimmy's left). I'm the one in red - lucky me!
Bill Jordan, co-founder of Jordans Cereals and the Conservation Grade farming system, was present to launch the campaign. Over a breakfast of Jordans cereals (as an avid fan of their products, I was truly enchanted by the huge trestle table boasting – I think – the entire range of Jordans cereals, granola and muesli bars, ready for the tasting), he explained to us the thought process behind the campaign.

“Over the years what we've managed to do with our farmers, which we're quite proud of doing, really, is to get these chaps to take ten per cent of the productive land out of production and create habitats around the farm. One of the reasons why we're getting less wildlife on farms is that we're leaving wildlife less space, so the ten per cent thing is about that percentage that comes out of production to form habitats.”

He stressed the importance of plants such as clover, which attract bees: “We have problems with bees because they haven’t got homes to go to.” Pollen and nectar are also “terribly important – once you’ve got the pollen and the nectar you get the insects and the whole trophic pyramid leading up to the ‘celebrity’ wildlife at the top.” It is this notion – that by caring for the creatures at the base of the ecosystem, you’re also benefiting those further up – that is key to the 10% challenge.

Building habitats for birds is also important at this time of year. “In a few months’ time you’ll look around the countryside and there won’t be much for birds to live on, so our farmers plant millet, wheat, all these sorts of food for birds to keep them going during those important months, so that by the time you get to March and April they’ll be in good breeding nick and be looking healthy.”


“The 10% challenge is all about using that important figure to try and get other people to help out, to get more biodiversity in the countryside. Farmers can look after wildlife in the countryside, but if more people sign up for this challenge we can have more happening in the urban environment as well, which is terribly important to build our biodiversity up. We need it to buffer us from global warming and all those things.”

Bill then introduced Jimmy, an ideal frontman for the campaign. “Jimmy’s done a fantastic job over ten years telling people what food’s about.” Bill’s certainly right there. I remember watching ‘Jimmy’s Food Factory’ on iPlayer over breakfast at university, and then always wishing I hadn’t – by carrying out weird and wonderful experiments, and building a bizarre array of contraptions, he revealed all the disgusting stuff that goes into processed meat, bread and cereal products. It was enough to put you off sliced white for life.

“I visit different producers who all think Jimmy’s a kind of superstar – he tells the story well, he puts it clearly and sensibly. Farmers like him too because he puts their case well; they’re in a tough position and need to be represented well. How do we put the truth in front of the consumers so they can make sensible decisions about the food they buy?”


I finished the last of my bowl of apple and cinnamon granola (delicious), pondered going up for some more before realizing that I had already had one breakfast, and three might be pushing it a bit, and then it was time for Jimmy to talk a little about the 10% challenge.

“What Bill and Jordans have done is fantastic. For a private business to be pushing this forward is great, this is a great way of people doing their bit for conservation. It’s also the lazy gardener’s dream – you can put that ten per cent aside that you find really awkward in the garden, that bit where nothing will grow, and turn it into a positive.”

Jimmy highlighted the importance of conservation. It’s not just about preserving bees and butterflies “for us, because they look nice”, but because “they’re vital to us. We need them more than they need us. They keep the ecosystem going; the more diverse an ecosystem is, the more stable and productive it is, and the more food we can generate to feed our population. Protecting biodiversity is the most important issue facing mankind in the coming 50 years because it’s all about ecosystem functioning and preserving out food.”

“The thing about gardens is they’re untapped resources – in a small patch of vegetation you might have 150 species, a whole plethora of species, and they do so much for the environment. This is a really clever way of looking at our gardens, if you clump them all together, as one huge nature reserve.”



If anyone is in a position to advise on making a space wildlife-friendly, it’s Jimmy. He proceeded to show us round his farm, a beautiful expanse of fields and gardens with a wide array of animal and plant life. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a farm before, at least not since I was tiny and went to petting zoos and the like, so I was thrilled to see all the different areas. It helped that it was a truly beautiful morning, the farm bathed in glorious sunshine, as we walked around the gardens and animal enclosures.

Jimmy first showed us how to make a bee box, the lesser-known cousin of the ubiquitous bird box. I’d never have thought of creating a home for bees in the garden, but suddenly it seemed very silly that I hadn’t, especially as it’s so simple – you just bunch a lot of twigs, sticks and canes (bamboo are good, as they’re hollow in the middle) together with string, and tie the bundle to a tree, or put under a bush or hedge. Brilliant. We were also told how to make a hibernation area – stuff a flowerpot with straw and half-bury it in the garden so creatures can hibernate in it. I quite fancy a hibernation pot of my own for the coming winter.



Next, Jimmy showed us around the vegetable garden, which is used on a daily basis to supply the farm restaurant. There were all sorts of edible plants and herbs growing, but more important was the large, untended patch of vegetation alongside the neat rows of thyme and sage. This weedy patch, Jimmy explained, is a great habitat for wildlife. It was a difficult area of garden, tricky to move the mower around, so Jimmy turned it into a wildlife area. He showed us borage, good for wildlife but also useful for its pretty flowers (see above), which they put in ice cubes in the restaurant (also good for Pimms in the summer, due to its cucumber flavour). Jimmy stressed the importance of plant ‘architecture’ – different heights of plants that will attract different types of wildlife – and also plant diversity – different plants attract different pests (like aphids), and therefore different predators (like ladybirds): “you want various pests that don’t get into huge populations, so you get a great selection of predators.”

“My big passion is insects”, Jimmy informed us (he has a degree in Zoology and a doctorate in Entomology). “When we think of conservation we often think of the superstars – tigers, polar bears, pandas. They’re all great but they are hanging on the coat tails of stag beetles and worms, and so are we.”

“Insects are the engineers of the environment – butterflies feed birds, stag beetles break down wood and cycle the nutrients, flies get rid of carcasses. All these invertebrates are vitally important. Make habitats for them and everything else will follow on. Everything we plant here has a reason – it’s either there for the adults or the young.”


To demonstrate this, we visited ‘Darwin’s Garden’ (see above), home to all sorts of wildlife-enticing plants, as well as a small pond. Ponds, Jimmy explained, are brilliant habitats, even if you just have a barrel sunk in the ground. They attract frogs, toads, newts, as well as insects like pondskaters, and are drinking areas for birds. He also emphasised the importance of having a shallow area in the pond, for two reasons: firstly, in case something like a hedgehog falls in; secondly, the shallow areas heat up more quickly in the sun, so help fish and frogs to regulate their temperatures.

In the corner of Darwin’s garden is, well, a mess. A mess of nettles, various prolific weeds, and some logs. Don’t underestimate the importance of logs for wildlife: if you pile them up and soak them with water, it allows insects to get in and digest the cellulose in the fibres. Apparently that patch of nettles is a hot spot for stag beetles, as well as worms and larvae. “An entomologist’s paradise”, Jimmy remarked.


He drew our attention to some of the butterfly- and bee-friendly plants in Darwin’s garden, like verbena and buddleia. However, these are more for the adults to feed on. “You also need food plants for the larvae – the adults want to breed. For that to happen, with butterflies, it’s about the plants for them to lay their eggs on.” Nettles are a favourite plant for egg-laying butterflies. If you don’t want them running riot in your garden, Jimmy says, you can dig them up and put them all in one pot, so you’re helping the butterflies without risking nasty stings.

We then followed Jimmy through a pen of sheep, past a giant barn full of garrulous turkeys. Eight thousand of them, apparently, with ten acres to roam around in. They made quite an (auditory) impression, and had me thinking about my Christmas dinner. Is that wrong?


Next, a visit to the butterfly house, a tropical environment that is mainly heated by the sun, like a large conservatory. It was hot and humid inside, moisture dripping from the ceiling, robust vegetation everywhere, and the constant movement of fluttering butterflies. There’s a large pond, home to tropical fish like guppies and swordtails. Apparently it’s also home to a resident grass snake. 


Everywhere you looked there was the quivering motion of an airborne butterfly; at one point I glanced over my shoulder to find one sitting there quite happily, which came as a bit of a surprise. The sign on the exit reminded visitors to “check you have no butterflies in your hair or clothing before exiting”.



Jimmy breeds around fifteen different species of butterfly here, all tropical or semi-tropical species. We saw the feeding table: “it looks quite disgusting, but that’s what they want.” It did indeed, piled with rotting fruit oozing sugary syrup. “As the fruit rots all that sugar starts to ferment, and the butterflies suck it up through the proboscis.” Jimmy demonstrated an ingenious feeding device: a small pot taken from the kitchen (“we normally put butter in them”), into which he put a plastic pan scourer soaked in a sugar syrup that acts as a false nectar. You can create something like this in the garden for butterflies.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been inadvertently creating butterfly cafés for the last few years, because every time I find a piece of rotting fruit in the fruit bowl I just chuck it out of the back door. Now I can tell my mum it’s all in the name of conservation, when she moans about rotting fruit scattered over the lawn.


After Jimmy’s illuminating tour and talk, I had a little wander around the farm with my camera. I was instantly captivated by the piglets. There are Essex pigs, Saddlebacks, and Gloucester Old Spots on the farm. I saw the Saddlebacks, named for the distinctive white stripe across their middle. The young piglets were harassing their mother for milk, headbutting her belly and squealing madly, until she eventually gave in, retiring into her little hut and flopping down on the floor with a sigh to be descended upon by her ravenous offspring.


Later I returned to find three of the piglets snuggled up together having a nap. A fourth, clearly keen to be part of the huddle, decided the best way in was simply to jump on top of the other three and worm his way in. There was great porcine protest at his actions; the nap party was quickly dispelled, much – I imagine – to the chagrin of the happy sleepers.


I also saw the very handsome pygmy goats, the beautiful peacocks (which are free to strut around the farm as they please) and some rather mad chickens. I think I also spotted some alpaca on my way out, too. As a city dweller, I was completely charmed by all the animals and the verdant surroundings, and could happily have spent the day wandering around. I also ogled the ripe apples and pears dangling from the trees near the vegetable garden; perhaps they were waiting to be turned into some delicious dessert in the farm café.


This was a really interesting and enjoyable morning, and not only because of the copious quantities of Jordans cereals on offer. I was fascinated by all the statistics and facts about wildlife, and how easy it is to render a space more friendly to birds, bees and butterflies. I may have a go soon at creating my own bee box, though I think I’m already doing my bit for the butterflies by throwing out rotten apples. 


(Admittedly, having cats is not really conducive to butterfly harmony; mine tend to find catching them a highly entertaining game. I knew I shouldn’t have taught them to play catch with rolled up bits of paper.)

I really enjoyed meeting both Jimmy and Bill, too. Bill seemed like such a nice man that I didn’t dare tell him about the time a rogue piece of grit in a box of Jordans muesli broke a piece off my front tooth.

For more information on Jimmy’s Farm, click here. For more information on the Jordans 10% challenge (including their top ten tips for encouraging wildlife, and downloadable guides to everything from building a butterfly café to planting for bees), click here. Thanks to Wild Card for inviting me to this event.

Diwali supper club with Maunika Gowardhan and Tilda rice

Clockwise from top left: bainhan ka bharta on the left, haraa masala chicken in the centre; Maunika preparing the bengali bhapa doi; the bengali bhapa doi; candles to celebrate the Festival of Lights.
This week I was lucky enough to be invited by Tilda, purveyors of fine basmati rice, to a very special Diwali supper club. It was hosted by the lovely Luiz of blog The London Foodie, and featured an absolutely sumptuous menu devised by food writer and private chef Maunika Gowardhan, who also acts as Indian cuisine expert for the Tilda taste panel. Diwali, the Festival of Lights, falls on October 26 this year, and celebrates the Hindu new year. As with all good festivals, food is at the heart of Diwali celebrations, often involving elaborate feasts with plenty of sweet things, and incorporating lots of coconut, nutmeg, raisins, cardamom, nuts and sugar. As I'm sure you can imagine from that list, I was beside myself with excitement at the idea of eating home-cooked, proper Indian food featuring a few of those ingredients.

My experiences of Indian cuisine haven't been anything mind-blowing, nor anything remotely approaching authentic. While I do enjoy a nice Tandoori chicken in our local curry house in Yorkshire, and while I did have a great experience at Anokaa in Salisbury when I was there for a weekend (including a wonderful duck and apricot curry and a delicious scallop starter), I'm pretty sure I have never sampled anything that a real Indian would recognise.



Enter Maunika Gowardhan (of the well-known blog Cook in a Curry) and her delicious home cooking. She is influenced by recipes passed down through her family, and cooks dishes from all over India (a country whose diverse cuisines I'm sure it's almost sacrilegious to lump together under the label "Indian"), putting her own unique spin on such recipes. I was told she had been frenetically cooking all day in order to bring her menu to us, and this soon became clear when I saw said menu: nine separate dishes, not including the raita and chapatis, all totally different, all equally enticing. Tilda's rice was at the heart of two of the recipes, to demonstrate its versatility in different kinds of cooking.

Over dinner I was told about what makes Tilda so special: not only is it 100% basmati rice (other brands often label themselves basmati but actually contain a small percentage of other grains), it undergoes a stringent quality control process to ensure there are no broken grains. Broken grains apparently interfere with the cooking process, releasing undesirable starch and resulting in overly sticky and stodgy rice. They use a special machine to filter them out. Who'd have thought so much effort could go into something as simple as a pack of rice? I was also informed that Tilda produce 17 different flavours of their microwaveable rice sachets, including butternut squash; sweet chilli and lime; lemon; coconut, and lime and coriander. I had absolutely no idea and am now really keen to sample them all, particularly coconut. I tend to cook my rice from scratch, but sometimes I reckon it'd be nice to have a microwaveable pack to hand, especially in such enticing flavours.



Back to the menu. First (to accompany an intensely alcoholic orange and cardamom martini that I only permitted myself half of in order to avoid being too catatonic to eat), we had deep fried sundried tomato and mozzarella rice balls. These were like the fantastic Sicilian arancini that are just starting to become popular over here - cooked rice wrapped around a filling (usually meat or cheese) in little balls then coated with breadcrumbs and deep fried. Tilda's microwaveable sachets of basmati rice include a sundried tomato flavour, ideal for recipes with an Italian twist like this one. However, Maunika added her own Indian twist by serving them with a delicious fresh mint dipping sauce. The combination of crunchy breadcrumbs, soft rice and a gooey piece of mozzarella in the centre was utterly amazing. I could have happily eaten a plateful of those for dinner and nothing else.

Next we had paneer haraa tikka, squares of Indian cheese (rather like halloumi in texture, but less salty) marinated in green herbs, garlic and chillies then grilled. The real star of this dish, though, was a wonderful pineapple and black pepper chutney. It was bursting with zesty, pineapple flavour, but intesely sweet yet sharp at the same time. Maunika had apparently made it at home over a month ago. Again, I could have eaten just that, by the spoonful. It worked really well with the creamy cheese. This is now high on my 'to make' list. I rarely cook with pineapple but I keep meaning to experiment more; it has a wonderful caramelly depth of flavour when cooked.



Next we were invited to help ourselves to an absolute banquet of delights. First, haraa masala chicken, a green stew of chicken meat, caramelised onions, fresh mint and coriander. The chicken was really tender and flavoursome, with a lovely freshness from the sauce - quite unlike your usual flourescent yellow takeaway curries with their glutinous, oily sauces. There was also lamb yakhni pulao, a sort of pilaff of Tilda basmati rice, garlic and ground spices, cooked in lamb stock and butter and containing succulent chunks of lamb (Maunika had actually made the lamb stock herself from lamb bones earlier, which strikes me as incredible attention to detail, and may have been the reason the dish was so delicious). This was really lovely, with warm spicy notes and a real depth of flavour in the rice from the stock.



There was also a Keralan fish curry (see below), which I think was the favourite dish of the evening. Maunika pan-fried fillets of sea bass and served them in a pale yellow coconut curry flavoured with fresh curry leaves, ginger and lemon juice. The sauce was just incredible; it had a really pronounced coconutty flavour, with a slight sweetness that accompanied the delicate seabass really well, but with an underlying herbal note that prevented it being overwhelmingly sweet and creamy.



We also had bainhan ka bharta, a dish of charred aubergines cooked in spices and fresh ginger. This definitely had a kick to it, but you could still detect the unmistakeable deep flavour of roasted aubergine. It was wonderful accompanied with Maunika's roasted cumin and pomegranate raita, which took the edge off the spices a little.

After seconds of such wonderful fare, I was seriously doubting my capacity for dessert. However, I only got to sample one of the two desserts because I had to dash off to catch the last train home from London (damn you, First Capital Connect, for depriving me of sweet sustenance). I missed out on coconut, ginger and basmati rice pancakes; ginger rice pancakes fried in butter and topped with grilled pineapple and maple syrup. You only have to read that sentence to feel my pain at not being able to taste such an incredible-sounding combination of ingredients. Genuinely gutted.

However, I did at least get to sample bengali bhapa doi, which was a taste sensation and surprised me rather a lot. It's like a panna cotta, except made of chilled strained yoghurt that has thickened and gone rather crumbly, a bit like a baked ricotta cheesecake. This was flavoured with cardamom, and served with a truly wonderful mango coulis. Seeing as I hate yoghurt, I was amazed to find myself eating not only mine but one of the other guests' too (imagine how that sentence would read if I had forgotten the apostrophe). It didn't taste like yoghurt; it still had a pleasant tang, but it lacked the astringent sourness that I hate about yoghurt, as well as the creamy texture. This was more solid and crumbly, and it went really well with the vibrant, nectar-like coulis.



I was astounded by how completely different all of Maunika's dishes were to anything I've ever seen on a curry house menu. The evening fully confirmed my suspicions that there is more to Indian food than Tandoori chicken and naan bread. I was also impressed by how light the dishes were; I'd been expecting to waddle home nursing a small baby of coconut cream, dough and rice in my stomach. As it is, I did pretty much waddle home and I was very full, but not in an unpleasant way, and I had eaten rather a lot. Everything tasted fresh rather than overpowering; there were no greasy, cloying sauces or mounds of heavy rice; just bright, vibrant flavours.

I had a really lovely evening, and not just because of the food. It was so nice to meet lots of other food bloggers, many of whom were highly knowledgeable about Asian food and definitely taught me a few things over dinner. Many thanks to Tilda and Wild Card for inviting me, to Luiz for allowing everyone to invade his (beautiful, Aga-sporting and envy-inducing) kitchen, and to Maunika for some truly fabulous food.

If you'd like to try the delicious lamb yakhni pulao recipe, scroll down...




Yakhni Lamb Pulao:

For the stock and meat:
600g shoulder of lamb on the bone cut in medium sized pieces
1 medium onion, roughly chopped
2 bay leaves
5 green cardamom pods
1 cinnamon stick
4-5 cloves
Enough water to cover all the meat (about a litre)

For the pulao:
2 tbsp melted butter
1 tbsp vegetable oil
2 bay leaves
1 inch cinnamon stick broken in half
5 green cardamom pods
2 medium onions thinly sliced
1 heaped tbsp ginger paste
2 heaped tbsp garlic paste
1 tsp nutmeg powder
350g Tilda Pure Basmati Rice
600ml lamb stock
Salt to taste

Tie up the onion and all the whole spices in muslin securing with a string. Cook it with the meat and water in a stock pot over a hob: bring to the boil and simmer for an hour and 15 minutes. The stock, along with the meat and spices, can be left in the pot overnight which will enhance the flavours.

The following day discard the muslin with its contents, separate the meat from the stock and set aside.

Prepare the rice by soaking for at least 30 minutes and rinsing in a sieve until the water runs clear.

Heat the butter and oil in a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the bay leaves, cinnamon and cardamom pods. Fry them for a minute as they sizzle and release their flavours in the oil. Add the sliced onions. Fry the onions on a medium heat till they soften and are a light golden brown.

Add the ginger and garlic paste and cook through for a couple of minutes. Now add the nutmeg powder stirring well for a few seconds making sure the powder does not burn.

Mix in the cooked lamb and the rice. Season with salt and stir, add the stock and mix well. Cover and cook on a low heat for about 20 minutes or so, until the rice is completely cooked. Turn the heat off and garnish with fresh coriander. Serve warm with mint raita.

Five things I love this week #2



1. The new apple and elderberry jelly from Tracklements. This delightful and versatile condiment contains English apples and elderberries foraged from Wiltshire hedgerows. You see elderberries everywhere in our hedges, but there are few recipes around for them, which is a shame. I hope that this jelly will hopefully bring a very underrated wild fruit to the masses - perhaps they could be the next blackberry. I've been a keen and dedicated fan of Tracklements ever since I visited their factory in July, and really like this jelly. It's sweet enough to eat on its own spread onto some toast, but they recommend serving it with meat, particularly roast pork. I found another use for it, stirring it into the jus for a rather delicious pheasant dish I made a couple of weeks ago. It goes very well with game, its sweetness lifting the earthy flavour of wild meat.


 For two people: brown one pheasant all over in a little olive oil in a hot pan. Remove, turn the heat down, and sauté a chopped carrot, two chopped celery sticks, and a sliced onion until softening. Turn up the heat and pour in 500ml cider. Add a couple of bay leaves, a few sprigs of rosemary and/or thyme, a generous grinding of salt and pepper, then return the pheasant to the pan. Cover and simmer for about 45 minutes to an hour, until the bird is cooked through. Remove to a board and leave to rest for a few minutes before carving. Meanwhile, strain the cooking liquid and return it to the pan. Boil until slightly reduced; thicken with some arrowroot or cornflour. Add 1 tsp apple and elderberry jelly to the pan juices. Carve the pheasant and serve with the jus, on a mound of mashed potato or polenta, with some spring greens or curly kale alongside, and - of course - extra apple and elderberry jelly to accompany the meat.

2. Fresh figs, ricotta, parma ham and toasted sourdough bread. Yes, I know I blogged about this recently. However, I just cannot get over the sheer delight of a mouthful that combines slightly tangy, dense, crusty bread, still warm and fluffy in the middle, with a succulent juicy morsel of fig, the sweet milkiness of ricotta cheese, and the rough, salty notes of a wafer of prosciutto. Even better, I've discovered, if you mix some lemon thyme leaves (my favourite herb) into the ricotta before slathering it onto the crispy bread. I could happily eat this for lunch every day for the rest of my life.

3. Sugar and soy glazed salmon from Bill Granger's new Everyday Asian cookbook. For four people, marinate four salmon fillets in a mixture of 4 tbsp soy sauce, 4 tbsp mirin, 2 tbsp soft brown sugar and 1 tbsp lemon juice, for 10 minutes or so. Meanwhile, pre-heat the grill to 220C. Place the marinated salmon fillets on a piece of non-stick baking parchment on an oven tray. Pour the marinade into a small saucepan. Grill the salmon fillets for about 8 minutes until just cooked through and still slightly pink in the centre. Meanwhile, boil the marinade for a couple of minutes until reduced and syrupy. Pour over the cooked salmon. I like to serve this on a bed of rice, with a crunchy salad alongside: simply mix 1-2 tbsp rice wine vinegar with 1-2 tbsp mirin and 1 tsp sesame oil. Toast 4 tbsp sesame seeds until fragrant. To the dressing, add 3 grated carrots, half a cucumber (grated), and some finely shredded Chinese leaf or cabbage. Toss well, sprinkle with the sesame seeds, and serve alongside the salmon. The result is utterly addictive - there's something about the sweet, sticky glaze coupled with the moist, oily flesh of the fish that works so very well. Even better where the syrupy glaze has soaked into a mound of fluffy rice. A really fantastic meal, and also one that will make you feel incredibly healthy.

4. Duck eggs. For the best (most middle-class) scrambled eggs on toast ever. Two or three eggs each, in a pan with a little milk, seasoning, butter and chives. Serve on toasted sourdough with thick slices of smoked salmon, a squeeze of lemon, and lashings of black pepper. I love the way duck eggs solidify into huge clouds of creamy curds in the pan, rather than the sometimes runny, homogenous mixture you end up with if you stir normal hen eggs too much. A divine way to start the day.



5. Fig, goats' cheese and prosciutto pizza: adorn your homemade pizza base with a little tomato sauce, followed by torn chunks of mozzarella, followed by slices of prosciutto, crumbled goat's cheese, quartered fresh figs and a generous sprinkling of lemon thyme. Top with rocket when cooked. You may think fruit on a pizza sounds weird, especially with tomato, but it works. The sweetness and crunch of the figs cuts through the intense richness of the tomato, cheese and prosciutto, with a delightful lemony tang from the thyme that works so well against the lactic bite of a good goats' cheese.



Incidentally, also incredible as a pizza topping is the combination of thinly sliced steak, crumbled stilton, and caramelised red onion. This came about rather by accident: my boyfriend, having dinner with me on Saturday night, suddenly started feeling ill just as his beautiful rib-eye steak (complete with a slowly melting puck of truffle butter and a huge mound of chips) arrived. We had to go home (not before I'd finished my main course, mind), but I was adamant that he couldn't just leave the steak to be thrown away in the kitchen. I would not allow that cow to die in vain. Instead we took it home in foil and a Sainsbury's bag (a sad and ignominious end for such a noble beast), sliced it thinly the next day, and used it to top a pizza. Perhaps still an ignominious end for a cow, but better than the bin.

Five things I love this week


1. This beautiful teapot from ProCook. It's made of glass with a little stainless steel mesh basket inside for the tea, and a polished steel lid. The idea is that you can let your tea brew to your preferred strength just by looking at it - it's always hard to tell in a china teapot how strong it is. This little pot probably holds enough tea for two people. It's small but perfectly formed, a simple design but one that looks rather stylish on the table. You can buy it here for £12, or there's a brushed steel version if you're not sure about glass and tea. I personally don't go in for those fancy tea glasses you can buy. To me, tea should be taken in a cup or a mug. It's not juice. However, I'm perfectly willing to accept a glass teapot when it's as pretty as this one.



2. A wonderful barbecue chicken marinade adapted from delicious magazine. Take 8-10 free-range boneless skinless chicken thighs, and marinate for up to 12 hours in: 300ml yoghurt, 1 tsp ground cumin, 1 tsp ground coriander, 4 crushed garlic cloves, 5cm piece grated ginger, zest and juice of 1 lime, half a red chilli finely chopped, 2 tbsp ground almonds, and a finely chopped bunch of coriander. Barbecue or grill for around 40 minutes until cooked all the way through (I did mine for about 20 minutes on the barbecue and finished off in an oven at 180C for about 20 minutes).

Last night we had our first, and last, barbecue of the year in my house. My family don’t really do barbecues. Even in the days where we did, the process from start to finish, from taking the barbecue out of the shed to wiping the last smear of charcoal-encrusted sausage skin from our chins, would take approximately four hours, and only about five per cent of the cooking would actually take place on the barbecue, the rest relying on the trusty oven to banish all those nasty food poisoning bugs. However, given that we have been blessed with this much-lauded 'Indian summer', I figured it was time to seize the day and see off summer in style before the grey, drizzle and general feeling of dismay set in. I made the above marinade for the chicken, found some beefburgers in the freezer, and grilled some corn on the cob and aubergine slices which I drizzled with tahini yoghurt and scattered with pomegranate seeds. The highlight was the chicken, though.

I normally think marinades are a bit of a disappointing con, that they rarely add much flavour and just tend to evaporate away during cooking. You dutifully put your meat in its marinade early on in the morning, or late at night, and spend the next twelve or so hours anticipating the flavoursome delights of your marinaded meal, only to find that you needn't have bothered, really - there's perhaps a slight hint of garlic and lemon, but you'd have been better off adding the garlic and lemon to the cooked meat. Not so with this marinade - it was utterly divine. There was a lovely tang from the lime, a mellow creaminess from the yoghurt, and a delicious hint of the exotic from the cumin. It reminded me a bit of tandoori chicken, only all the better for having a delightful barbecued exterior.

Admittedly, it's a bit late to be telling you about this now as barbecue season is likely to be over, but save it for next summer. Or just brave the weather/use a grill.


3. Local apples. We've all been there, standing in the fruit aisle at the supermarket, surveying the vast choice of apples in front of us. Braeburn, cox, granny smith, royal gala, golden delicious, jazz. We briefly consider, in a fit of patriotism, the home-grown coxes. We toy with the idea of the British braeburns. And then what do we do? We reach for the expensive bag of foreign, imported Pink Lady apples, because we know they're always going to taste nice - there's no risk of getting a horrible floury texture as can be the case with our own country's offerings. I'm guilty of it too, at times - there's nothing worse than a mushy apple.

However, I've been inspired by all the different varieties appearing at the market stall as summer turns into autumn. First there were the crisp, pink-fleshed Discovery apples. Next the Coxes with their delightful citrus tang. Now there are the Russets, whose flavour is hard to describe - more mellow than some of the tarter varieties, with a lovely crisp texture and beautiful golden skin. Not only are they tasty, they're also incredibly cheap, and come in all shapes and sizes; a far cry from the polished, picture-perfect supermarket specimens. Goodness knows how many were thrown out as 'imperfect'. If you have access to some local apples, I'd suggest you try them - you might be pleasantly surprised. It doesn't hurt to break out of the Pink Lady rut every now and again (and it'll save you money).

4. Orzo pasta. One of those ingredients I've read about and been intrigued by, but have never been able to track down. Clearly I was just being blind, because I found it in Waitrose. It's rice-shaped pasta, ideal for a quicker version of risotto, or for salads. I first ate it in my favourite restaurant in Oxford - Moya - which serves Eastern European cuisine. They have a brilliant salad on the menu with prawns, orzo, and dried cherries. It sounds odd but it's really delicious, with a lovely vinaigrette dressing that holds the whole thing together. I've made a delicious salad with the orzo that I'll be sharing at a later date.

5. Bill Granger's Everyday Asian. I wasn't particularly interested in this cookbook when I first heard about it. Every time I try and cook Asian food (we're talking Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese here - I can manage Indian and Middle Eastern), it ends up disappointing. I can't quite put my finger on why, but it always ends up more bland than I expect, or the noodles stick together horribly, or the sauce isn't quite right. However, out of sheer lack of inspiration I turned to one of Bill's recipes that had been published in a magazine - for sweet chilli stir-fried pork. It was a great success. I tried another - soy and sugar glazed salmon with cucumber salad. Fantastic - like teriyaki but slightly sweeter, the tangy glaze a wonderful match for the moist, rich salmon.

Maybe this book does do exactly what it says on the tin, I thought - turns Asian food into something you can easily enjoy every day. No completely wacky and unsourcable ingredients, no strenuous preparation methods, just brilliant, bold, vibrant flavours. The book was a bargain on Amazon, so I couldn't resist. I'd urge you to buy it just for the absolutely stunning photography, though the recipes themselves are mouthwateringly delicious - I went through and stuck bits of paper in all the 'must-try' dishes, and ended up bookmarking nearly everything. I can't wait to try the rare beef noodle soup with star anise, or the stir-fried butternut squash, or the lemongrass chicken, to name but a few.