I have literally dozens of cookbooks, and their usual fate is to sit forlornly on the shelf only to be taken down and flicked through once or twice a year when I’m really stuck for an idea (though this should not be revealed to my husband who already suspects this to be the case and is beginning to forbid me to buy any more – horror). There are however a few exceptions; books that are dog-eared and food splattered from constant and varied use. These books are as indispensable to me as my Le Creuset casserole or my favourite knife. And I have a sneaking suspicion that British Seasonal Food by Mark Hix is going to become one of these oft-opened books, always at hand to provide me with some interesting and more importantly seasonal inspiration. In the mere weeks it has been on my shelf it has already been taken down, and even cooked out of, way over its allotted number of times.
Category Archives: Recipes
If I was an organised type of a person I might have posted this recipe prior to last Tuesday so you could actually enjoy it on that long-looked-for annual event, Pancake Tuesday. Well, if I was an organised type of a person I might have even made this on Pancake day itself. But if you haven’t realised by now, I am definitely not an organised type of a person even at the best of times. It turns out that at 8 and 1/2 months pregnant I am a dishevelled and discombobulated mess. As such I didn’t get myself together to make these beauties on Tuesday last (I think I was probably napping at the time), so we ended up having a Pancake Wednesday instead. But, you know what? Pancakes are damn good on any day, so I give you leave to make these on any which day you like. The ricotta along with a hint of lemon zest adds a delicious twist to the American style batter, whilst the smatter of raspberries and very British lemon curd make for the perfect combination.
It’s winter, I’m feeling poor, so to my mind it’s bangers and mash season. There aren’t many things more British than the humble sossidge served beside a heaping pile of creamy buttery mash. Throw in some onion gravy and you have yourself the plate of kings. In Brighton there’s a great pub that just serves bangers and mash and (as testament to our Great British dedication to this noble dish) a roaring trade it does too. Now, you don’t need to do too much to sausage and mash before you’re in danger of fancifying something that ought to be left well alone. However, I hope my ultimate bangers and mash stays the right side of ruined – it certainly always goes down well in my household. How do you do yours?
Everybody knows that January is a miserably broke affair. A month spent scraping the very dregs of your bank account, pushing the limits of your credit and courting the ever diminishing good grace of your bank manager. However, what is often much forgotten (or much belied), is the similarly barren nature of February. Checking out my bank account this morning I can already see that frugality is going to be the name of the game this month. So, with that in mind, here is my favourite modestly-priced meal for when I want to have a frugal feast (or two) without sacrificing on taste.
I’ve never made marmalade before and so didn’t have a tried and tested recipe to pass on (benevolently, but almost begrudgingly as they so often seem to be). Instead I scoured the internet, bringing together the different (and often contrasting) ideas from a whole host of recipes to suit what seemed to me the ideal. You see, I want my marmalade to be deep flavoured and darkly coloured, and yet aesthetically I want it to be clear as crystal with generous slithers of thick-cut skin (but not too thick). Taste-wise I don’t want it to be too sweet as I tend towards the tart (oh err) and I wanted to have a little hint of something else in there too: something hidden and subtle, but different to the other jars that you can pick up at your local supermarket. So I stole a little bit from here, a little from there, the general method from Delia, and some tips from twitter (in particular @terreaterre). The result is a confuddled recipe that I can call my own and benevolently (though somewhat begrudgingly) bestow upon you all. I do hope you enjoy it and feel free to tweak away to match your own tastes and aesthetics.
I’ll hold my hands up right from the start, this doesn’t look like an authentic “rendang”. Firstly, it’s pretty darn wet and doesn’t a bit resemble the other rendangs I’ve seen out there (all of which look marv). And secondly, I fiddled with the recipe a bit. However, I’m going to dub this a “wet rendang” (which is a real thing, I swears it), and press on confidently.
Everyone loves breakfast in bed; unfortunately I don’t think my husband loves me enough to make one for me. As I recall, I have given him the gift of bed crumbs on numerous occasions, but to my knowledge (though this will doubtlessly be followed by hurt contradictions) Sven has never indulged me with such a luxury. In fact, I’m not sure Sven has even got up before me on a weekend more than say 5 times in 7 years, and thinking about it he certainly has never made me breakfast (leave alone plated it and served it on a tray). I should temper this accusation with the admission that my husband does do all the cleaning, washing up, laundry, hoovering, etc, so I ain’t mad at him, but dammit… I want breakfast in bed just like everyone else.