We sat down to supper, the children just having gone to bed. They were supposed to be asleep, yet by the volume of giggling wafting downstairs were still wide awake. Perhaps we could finish our meal in peace before resorting to investigation followed by threats.
I'd spent about half an hour in the afternoon making wild garlic butter from scratch. About 600ml of double cream into the churning jar was enough for a large pat and the buttermilk left over will go very well in some scones or to marinate some chicken.
A few handfuls of the garlic leaves and flowers, dug from the garden and cleaned of soil were wilted in a pan and squeezed dry. Salt and a pinch of turmeric went in to the blender with the butter until it became a vivid green, then I poured it, still fairly liquid, into a dish in the fridge to firm.
Making your own butter means you can choose cream that you know comes from well looked after cows. Grass-fed and allowed to live as they should: on pasture and well treated, contributing to and being part of the wider healthy biosphere. There is also a freshness to homemade, as well as a the excitement of seeing the simple magic of separating whey from fat. And once you've rinsed and squeezed it through muslin you can flavour it as you like.
When the children help, we wrap and label theirs with their names so they have personalised butter pats. They usually stick to plain butter, but you could spice it with garam masala or a tablespoon of harissa, rosemary or tarragon. You could even go sweet with ground cinnamon and sugar.
When you make a batch, roll each into a cylinder and wrap well in paper. You can freeze for later use or keep in the fridge for about a week if salted.
I used the wild garlic butter last night with chorizo scrambled eggs. The spices from the meat mingling with the deep green butter as the cubes sizzled and crisped. On the side were garlic-laden sautéed courgettes and a green salad lightly dressed with a punchy mustard vinaigrette. As if it wasn't rich enough, I had some very creamy goats cheese on my eggs. Maybe I'm calcium deficient at the moment and my body is trying to tell me something. If that meal was the result of subliminal dairy messaging, then I'm all ears.
The warm smell of cooking as you get in from school is like a blanket covering you on the sofa in winter or a hot chocolate by the fire. My favourite, the one that always said something good was on the way, was -- and still is -- garlic and onions softly sautéeing in olive oil. That, for me, was when I knew there is some proper food coming, something prepared and cooked with care and attention, something that says "you are being nurtured". You can't smell a salad, can you?I do quite often cook the children fish fingers and peas for supper; sometimes we're all on the edge of sanity and even slicing an onion may just break me. And sometimes, I'll work over a hot stove for hours, wiping my brow with the towel of martyrdom just for the children to decide on a whim they don't like something they've wolfed down countless times before. They'll never turn down a roast on Sunday though. Sometimes you can never win, and sometimes, they'll surprise you by loving sparrow soufflé with chillies. But knowing there's always a hot meal on its way, and the kitchen is a place of happiness is something we all need.This recipe is perfect to fill the house with the kinds of smells to make you feel happy. The aromatic vegetables softening, the slight spice from the garam masala, the fresh bay leaves. And the simmering broth. It's also quick, if you take into account that you can cheat by using tinned cooked green lentils. But even if you cook them from scratch, it still doesn't take forever. I've made a courgette purée to go with it -- lentils are quite filling -- but if you feel like mashed potato instead, go for it.Ingredients200g cooked ham chunks. I had some in the freezer left over from Christmas250g cooked green lentils1 carrot1 stick of celery, plus leaves1 small onionThe white of a leek you've had hanging around for a few days2 fresh bay leavesChicken stock to cover1tbsp garam masalaSalt and white pepper to seasonFor the courgette:1 largeish courgette2 shallots1 fat clove of garlicOlive oilA tablespoon or two of butterSalt to seasonMethodSlice the carrots, celery, onion and leek into dice as small as you can manage.Heat a saucepan with some olive oil and throw them in. Add the bay leaves, season and stir.Cook gently for ten minutes until softened then add the ham, lentils, garam masala, seasoning and stock.Bring to the boil for a few minutes then simmer for a further ten with a lid on.Make the courgettes by heating a sauté pan with some olive oil then adding the garlic and shallot. Season well and cook for a few minutes, until starting to colour.Turn the heat up and add the courgettes, toss around and cook until turning golden here and there.Transfer to a blender or food processor, add the butter and blend to a purée. Taste and adjust the seasoning. It probably needs more salt. And butter.Serve with the lentils and ham.
It's normally always there, lingering in the back of the cupboard, the lid slightly encrusted with a beige residue and the oil separated from the paste, sitting on top in a questionable pool. Then there is a fight to get the near solidified clay out of the bottom and not bend the spoon. And that's all before you discover you haven't got a tin of chickpeas anyway so have to go to the shop. Again.But fear not! This homemade tahini will save the day. And if there's ever a houmous crisis in the shops again, you can whip up your own in a jiffy. And then you can put it in a jar in the fridge and the whole family dip a carrot stick in it for lunch on Saturday then forget about it until you throw it away a week later as you wonder why you bother.Of course, this all depends on you having a bag of sesame seeds in the cupboard. I'd suggest that it is a staple worth having, and really, it's nicer making your own tahini anyway. It just (as with most things that are freshly made) tastes so much better. And you know it only has what you put in it in it.MethodTo make a jam jar sized amount of fresh tahini, sprinkle sesame seeds all over an oven tray, you can be very generous. Heat the oven to 180c and roast the seeds until they start to colour a little and toast. Stir them round occasionally so they don't burn.Leave to cool a little then put in the food processor and blitz until you have a crumbly mix. Slowly add in some neutral oil, such as groundnut or rapeseed and keep blending until you have a creamy paste. Transfer to a jar and keep in the fridge.Apart from houmous -- which I would recommend making using dried chickpeas for a better finished dish, but, if you only have tinned I'm not going to judge you -- tahini can be used in dressings, sauces with some yoghurt, drizzled over roast carrots or even put into ice cream. And what's more, there's a little more cupboard space and the satisfaction of the homemade.
Now the Christmas tree has been cut up and put in the bin by the dead of night and the year gently settles into itself, I find myself staring out timidly from the duvet, slightly scared of the outside world.The fondue set has also been put back into storage; it is a dish we only get round to on new year's eve. This time we had thin cubes of beef fillet tail and dipped them in hot melted butter, loaded with grated garlic or a punchy, herb-laced olive oil. A game of Jenga later and we were all tucked up in bed well before Big Ben bonged.It's now back to more normal meals, things we can leave to bubble in a pan for an hour or two, or cook gently in the oven on the weekends behind the scenes for use midweek while trying to find socks for school tomorrow.In that vein then, here is a comforting bean dish that is rich, easy and nourishing. There is no need to soak the beans overnight, cook them from dried for an hour and a half, they are more flavoursome and equally as tender. You could, if you prefer, use tinned, cooked haricots, making this even quicker and easier to bring together and perhaps something you would make on a cold January Wednesday.For this recipe, I used the stock I'd made from the chicken left over from Saturday's lunch of pot roast chicken which I'd cooked on leeks, garlic, lemon and onions. A good few handfuls of cubed leftover ham went in and then to serve it, I made a roux, loosened it with the juices from the chicken and blended in a little double cream. It was rather like a chicken, leek and ham pie without the pastry, and none the worse for that. In the past, with equal success, I've used on of those little gel stock pots. Whatever you've got.You can have this with a quickly seared and caramelised pork chop, on it's own pretending you're a cowboy, or like we did this week with some shredded savoy cabbage, buttery and sloshed with lemon juice and pepper. There was a howling wind that night, and this is real food for those dark winter evenings of which we still have quite a few ahead.Ingredients100g haricot beans500-600ml boiling water1 celery stick1 medium carrot1 small onion100g chorizo180ml chicken stock2 fresh bay leavesParsley to serveSalt and pepper to seasonMethodPut the beans straight into the saucepan of boiling water with a little salt and simmer gently for an hour and a half. Keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't boil dry. Most of the liquid will be absorbed by the end. You can leave them to cool and use later, or keep refrigerated for the next day.Cube the chorizo, quite small, and fry in a sauté pan on a fairly gentle heat until the rust orange oil comes out. Add the bay leaves.Finely dice the celery, carrot and onion and add to the pan. You could blitz them in the food processor if you prefer, but I like to chop by hand, to be a little more connected to the food. There are enough machines in our lives, if you've got time to go on Facebook, you've got time to chop an onion. And to be honest, I'll let the machines do the rubbish bits like washing up.Stir well and cook gently until softened. Season a little and cook gently for about ten minutes.Add the beans and stock, bring to the boil and then simmer for about five minutes before serving with a good amount of black pepper and chopped parsley.If there is any left, you could serve it for lunch the next day with a crisp fried egg, the yolk mixing in to be scooped up with a good slice of toasted and buttered bread.This weekWatched: '
Clearly there is absolutely no need to salt and preserve fish here in South East London in 2017. There is also no need in many of the Mediterranean restaurants you may find yourself in as none of us travel in galleons for months on end with only a goat and a cabin boy for company any more.However, it persists, as do many dishes that were born from necessity. Preserving and fermenting is and has been a way of life for thousands of years, so I'm not going to knock it. A life without 
Two weeks into September and I think we are just about surfacing from the shock of returning to real life after a leisurely August with the children attached to our legs 24 hours a day.While it's great they are back at school with their pals, the Stockholm syndrome we've developed for our captors has left the days quieter and although we are back full steam with work, I miss having them around all the time.Still, it will be half term before we know it, then Christmas, then the summer holidays again, then all of a sudden they will have graduated from University. (Assuming of course we somehow manage to find a million dollars in a jacket pocket to pay for it).But the end of summer brings my favourite season, and while I look happily toward autumn, it has this year somehow managed to bring a fruit fly colony into the house. I suppose this is what happens if you go away having forgot to empty the bin before going away for the week, but honestly, it's ridiculous. It may be necessary to knock the whole place down and rebuild. I honestly don't know where they keep on coming from. Roll on the cold, with hope that'll do for them.I'm also now two weeks into a no carb and no sugar month. And while dutifully making the family a weekly sourdough and other loaves, filling the Saturdays with the smell of freshly baking bread, I'm coping well. The sugar part seems remarkably easy for some reason, but I do really miss the bread. And I'm not counting the bowl of pasta I had at the River Cafe. I mean, you can't go there and not have a pasta dish, but it has to be worth it as an exception, and that was most definitely worth it.So by the end of September, hopefully feeling a little lighter around the middle I will be looking forward to tucking in to a fresh crusty loaf straight from the oven. In the meantime, pearl barley and chickpeas are filling in place of rice and pasta (gram flour flatbreads are excellent with dhal).Last night's supper was this incredibly quick and simple fish with celeriac rémoulade. A fresh and flavoursome dish that just feels summery enough to complement the fading evening light but with the earthy celeriac nodding a quick acknowledgement at the gold autumn knock tapping at the window. And the fish only takes four minutes to cook, which I'm pretty sure makes this even less work than a quick bowl of pasta on a frazzled Wednesday evening.Ingredients for two2 seabass fillets, scored lightly on the skin1tsp turmeric powder1tsp seaweed flakes (such as 
The drive south took four hours. We didn't say a word during the journey. Mile after mile of flat, treeless landscape passed by the windows of the van as the cold evening light turned to black.Bridgette and I practically grew up together, which is why, all those years later, it made it hard to have to kill her.I've finally finished reading two very long books (I highly recommend A Little Life if you fancy 800 pages of amazingly written bleak misery) so have returned to the world of trashy thrillers for a while to have a breather. It's a rather like the home kitchen, sometimes I can be found cooking long and involved dished that take time and concentration, and sometimes a dish as simple as this does for a quick meal. They are just as satisfying in different ways and now the weather, warming and sunnier, makes a light meal seem less of a diet and more a choice.That's not to say something rich and deep is banished until autumn, last night we eat a hearty venison carbonade, cooked long and slow and full of flavour. But soon, these will be put aside until the days shorten again.This isn't even really a recipe, more a combination of things. I've used gorgonzola as I find Roquefort, even though a favourite of mine, to be a little, well, slimy, for this. There's no reason you couldn't use a blue stilton or similar, but it should be a little more on the crumbly side than the wet.Tossed through with some ripe pears, peppery roquette, some crumbled walnuts and dressed with a little excellent olive oil, thick balsamic and a pinch of salt and pepper, this really is five minutes work between you and deliciousness. Thrilling.IngredientsOne pear per person, ripe but not falling apart cored and cut into chunksGorgonzola, a few lumps here and there, crumbled and tossed throughA handful of walnuts, lightly choppedA handful of roquette eachGood olive oil and balsamicSalt and pepper to seasonMix it all together and serve. It's nice with some crusty, toasted sourdough too.
There is a strange kind of calm in the house. Just the gentle hum of the washing machine in the background. I hear a car pass by and the clock ticking on the wall. It's a special kind of silence now the children are back in school. I've even turned off the radio that I normally keep on for a kind of company so I can hear the quiet clearly.The early morning sun on the walk to school this morning shone on one half of the road. Maya asked to not walk in the shade so she could feel it on her face. Our hands were a little chilly, the day still warming up. It is after all, only April.All the trees round here are now full of leaves. Most of the blossom has fallen and some still carpets the pavements like the confetti in the aftermath of a wedding, fluttering around every so often in the light wind.Last night we sat down as a family and ate a cottage pie with garlic green beans. A hearty meal eaten in the early evening still-light as the days lengthen toward summer. We can move on from these winter dishes now, so yesterday was a kind of farewell.And as the wild garlic appears everywhere, like a surreptitious Frenchman in the hedges, other greens and shoots and tender vegetables fill the stalls at the market, colours taking over from the drab dullness that paint companies may call 'dried turnip'. I bought a large bag of sorrel there this weekend. Usually I raid my mother-in-law's plentiful supply from her garden, along with the garlic leaves and flowers, but as I was there, I though a few pounds for a plentiful bag was worth it.This recipe comes, originally from my mother-in-law Sue. She is to take all credit for it and it is so delicious, zest, clean and fresh tasting that I'm sharing it here. It's almost effortless to make and is everything good cooking should be. Simple, good ingredients, full of flavour all coming together to give you something more than the sum of its parts. No doubt, you could try it too with a bit of wild garlic added, or if you're unable to get sorrel, spinach, a splash of lemon and some nutmeg would be equally tasty, but I urge you to try as hard as you can to find this lemony, fresh leaf.Ingredients for twoA handful or two of sorrel leaves, any tough stems removed250ml double cream2 eggs. Duck eggs would be great as wellSalt and pepper to seasonThat really is all you need.MethodI have a steamer pan which is perfect for this, mine fits two steel ramekins on the steamer basket, but a tray on the hob filled with water and the eggs in ramekins on a trivet bain marie style works well too over a gentle heat. You could even poach them and transfer them to a ramekin if you fancy.However you choose to cook the eggs, they should be just past the point of runny-yolked, and not quite at the set point, so keep an eye on them.While they are gently cooking, Heat the cream to just below boiling in a saucepan and season it well. Put the sorrel in a blender and pour in the hot cream before blitzing to a vivid green sauce. Doing it this way keeps the colour bright. Taste and adjust the seasoning then pour over the eggs and just cook for a minute further to take away the rawness of the sorrel.Serve immediately with some sourdough toast and salad. I drizzled a little green chilli sauce on mine with a dash of rapeseed oil. Not enough to change the flavour, but just enough to tickle the tongue.
Kevin, our plumber, has buggered off to France on the proceeds of our unfinished boiler. This has, however, led to the discovery of an unopened tin of ghee beneath the fuse box in the cupboard. It may not be quite the same as finding a Rembrant in the attic but still, it's a nice surprise.For many years I've been bored senseless by potted shrimp. And recently in Devon I swore that if I were to ever have another crab sandwich it would be under circumstances of extreme duress. And as for fish and chips, there is only one acceptable situation to eat them, and that is in winter on a cold and blowy beach. There, and only there, can you eat hot, salty, vinegar laced chips and pearly, soft white flaking fish. Even then it's still rubbish.However, I believe most things can be improved by the judicious application of spice. I'd add spices to anything, possibly even my toothpaste to pep it up and excite me. Wars and empires have been fought and forged over them, so the least I feel I can do is use them. And this recipe is proof why. I've swapped prawns for crayfish, clarified butter for curry leaf infused ghee and replaced nutmeg, Cayenne pepper and mace with garam masala. (The nutmeg, Cayenne and mace have, in a nod to the original, gone into the bread).It's a pretty quick dish and a real flavour hit. Serve with the butter still slightly soft but deep yellow and translucent.Ingredients160g crayfish tailsA small handful of curry leaves, ideally fresh, the dried ones are a load of rubbish1tbsp garam masalaA pinch of salt and pepper2 spring onions2 green finger chillies, slicedA load of ghee (about 250g)2tbsp coconut oilA few coriander leavesFor the bread2tbsp chickpea (gram) flour2tbsp wholemeal flour150ml waterA good grating of nutmeg1tsp Cayenne pepper1tsp powdered maceA pinch of saltA few twists of pepperMethodMelt the ghee and coconut oil and add the curry leaves, garam masala and season well with salt and pepper. Leave to cool a little and skim the surface of any impurities.Divide the crayfish between two pots and add the spring onions and chilli.Pour the butter over the crayfish and leave to chill in the fridge until fairly set, but still spoonable, a bit like a melting mango sorbet. If serving later, you'll need to remove them about half an hour in advance to soften unless you want to practice your spoon bending.Make the bread (although it's more like a sort of pancake-type affair) by mixing the ingredients together to form a fairly thick, spreadable batter.Heat a cast iron pan until very hot then spoon on half the mixture and start to spread it around the pan, almost as if you were painting it on. As it cooks, this will become easier and you should be able to form a circle, but don't worry, make it whatever shape you like, as long as it is an even thickness.Leave it to cook until golden on one side, then flip over and finish it off. Repeat with the remaining mix.Serve the bread with the pots of crayfish, a sprinkle of coriander leaves and some Bombay mix, which I suggest you buy. If you think I'm making my own, you can think again.
I've been a little less than enthusiastic about cooking the past week. It happens every now and then. Coming up every day with something exciting to eat for supper can be a train that runs out of steam occasionally. Getting back late from shoots and peering into an uninspiring fridge means we've also eaten out and had takeaway more than usual recently.Mostly, I'm up to the challenge and will happily cook a quick prawn curry, a risotto or simple pasta with salad. Last week even that was beyond me. It happens. Perhaps it's the laziness of summer, the thought of holidays and eating lunches by the water's edge, white linen tablecloths and the clinking of ice in glasses. But last night, I roused myself from my torpor and cooked a simple steak with asparagus and baby potatoes with chive butter. There was a delicious tomato salad with balsamic on the side and a bowl of green leaves, lightly dressed with vinaigrette to cut through. It was lovely.But the most delicious part of it was the final potato, crushed into the buttery juices of the steak, mopping up the mustard and melting into my mouth. That alone would have made a great dish.Today, with a little more time I'm making a carrot salad for lunch. I've jazzed it up with some fun ingredients. It's worth every now and then going out of your way to buy strange things such as cucamelons or shiso leaves, it adds a little wow factor. Just buy or grow what you can and have fun, remembering to use good things simply. They often speak for themselves.This salads simplicity, colourfulness and delicacy is just as exciting to look at as it is fresh, delicious and healthy to eat. If you don't like anchovy, leave them out of the mayonnaise, but they are a taste worth acquiring.IngredientsFor the cumin oil:100ml olive oil2tbsp cumin seedsFor the aioli:1 egg1 anchovy, chopped1 small clove of garlic, crushed1tsp Dijon mustardOlive oilFor the salad:A bunch of baby carrots, a mix of purple, yellow and orangeA handful of pea shootsA handful of fresh peasA punnet of cucamelons, halved, if you can get them (I use 
My freezer is sometimes an Aladdin's cave, sometimes a forgotten morgue. I've found pigs trotters, prawn and lobster shells, strange soups and chicken bones bagged and labeled under Thai broths, strange soup experiments and well intentioned litre upon litre of stock.
