Domesticali

A List of Pleasing Things

• The glorious day today, which absolutely confirmed that winter is behind us now. Hooray.
• A lovely reminder in the post from Rebecca to make the most of life (and a nudge to give free motion embroidery another go).

• Lunch this week with Monica and Kristina - it was just a sandwich, but sharing it with friends made it special.
• And subliminally, that lunch lead to the urge to make flatbreads for dinner tonight - very good they were, too. Thank you Jamie Oliver.

 

 

• Photographs from the dress rehearsal of the school production of Great Expectations (Mark is Wemmick). The children look incredibly unlike themselves and totally in character - looking forward to seeing it on Friday night.
• Reading Nancy's post and recognising the perfect vehicle for the miscellany inhabiting my brain this evening - a list of pleasing things indeed.

Back to earth

You may already have heard about Saturday on the blogging grapevine  - Tracy, Val, Monica, Julie, Nancy, Alice, Emma and I got together. The excuse was a crafty day, but it was really one huge munch-and-natter-fest, with the odd bit of yarn being wafted about. Tracy was kind enough to host us in her lovely home, but quite frankly, I would happily stand in a muddy field if I got to do it with those guys.

I was thinking about them yesterday, when I ended up grabbing a bite of lunch alone in Nettlebed at Field to Fork. As a total aside, it's a great place  - if you are ever in the vicinity, stop off there. Better still, email me and I'll meet you for lunch - that's how much I liked it.

But back to the point. I was sitting next to a group of four women. They were around my age and were having one of those yummy mummy chatty lunches, on which I eavesdropped shamelessly.

Do you do that when you are dining alone? Is it dreadful of me? Well, confessing must absolve me of a certain amount of guilt. Anyway, I was listening to the usual school gate type mix of bragging and gossip (they even touched on knitting at one point) and all I could think about was how very very fortunate I am to have the group of real on-line friends that I do.

They might not have been physically present yesterday, to come and have lunch. Some I may never even meet in real life. But every time we connect, in real life or on-line, they turn up with their very best selves. To chat, to share knowledge, to cheer one another's successes, support precious plans and dreams and to proffer a virtual hug when things are rough.

Hooray for finding a tribe. I am so grateful.

 

 

The 641 series

Do you ever hear about those people for whom receiving something of a household persuasion under the Christmas Tree would be grounds for divorce? I'm not one of them. Kitchen gadgetry? Bring it on. A new recipe book? Itching to test it out.

In fact, I derive as much pleasure outside of the kitchen from my cookbook collection (in all its colour coded glory). I have a special bookcase devoted to my recipe books. Some are old workhorses - an original Delia Smith's Cookery Course in three volumes - still my go to choice for the measurements for yorkshire puddings or custard. I own multiple titles from my favourite cookery writers - Nigel and Nigella - national treasures both, for their ways with the words they write as much as for the recipes they suggest.

There's not physical space for too many more. But I cannot help acquiring them. So it should be no surprise at all that when the nice folk at WHSmith asoked if they could send over a book for me to take a look at, that I found myself happy to oblige. And they chose for me a great volume - River Cottage everyday.

I'm showing you the back cover, not as much for the beetroot salad, as much as for those little line drawings added onto the plate. The whole book is full of them - like doodles in the margin. Which appeals to me hugely, as I am always scribbling in my cookbooks. Jotting down tweaks to a recipe, or the date I first tried it, or who I've fed it to if it is more of a special occasion dish. Making suggestions to myself for a good accompaniment the next time I cook it.

This, for me, is why an internet search for a recipe will never completely replace owning a volume and why my bookshelves will continue to groan under the weight of yet another book full of things which have been sampled, or ones I long to try. Which in the case of River Cottage everyday includes Tupperware Mexican chorizo, Honey Wholemeal cake and Egg tartare. Not all at the same sitting, I hasten to add.

Parcels shaped like books are always a welcome addition under the tree. Luckily for me, hubby views them as the gift which gives twice - the pleasure of reading for me and the obvious benefits to them as resident taste testers. But Santa, a bookshelf extension wouldn't go amiss either.

What is your cookbook crush of the moment? Just in case the big red guy needs a little steer.

Baking frenzy

What with it being birthday season, there's been a fair amount of baking going on.

The hubs got pumpkin whoopie pies (from The Hummingbird Bakery Cake Days)

With cream cheese frosting. Which was my subversive twist as he loathes cheese. Ha! Nobody was any the wiser - they just yummed them up. I am nothing if not a stealth cheese pusher.

And then my Mum - she has never had a terribly sweet tooth and would not class herself as a cake lover. But birthdays demand cake and I knew the boys would eat it. Spiced apple cake with brown sugar frosting sounded suitably Autumnal and a little bit grown up. In my enthusiasm, I neglected to register the part of the recipie which said 'serves 14 - 16....

It was truly a whopper, thankfully an incredibly tasty one, with icing made by making brown sugar Italian meringue and then whipping butter into it, which results in the most divine, fluffy, yet not too sweet frosting. Just don't try to work out the calorie content of a cake which used more than half a kilo of butter, 10 eggs and goodness knows how much sugar. But it did have two apples in too - so at least it counts towards your 'five a day'!

My brother's birthday comes next - he lives too far for me to bake - shame, as there is half an enormous cake left. In fact, if I had been thinking straight, I could have sent it off with my parents to deliver to him on the way home. Thereby saving me from eating any more slices. My thighs would have thanked me.

And that just leaves Mark's birthday at the weekend. He wants a Chelsea FC cake. I am so over baking novelty cakes. The supermarket lurid cake aisle is beckoning....

Seasonal urges

The urge to cook is upon me - it strikes every year at about this time. When a warm meal seems the right way to welcome home the boys from school and hubby off the train. When whatever I've made says 'I was thinking of you today, whilst you went about your business in the big wide world'.

Because they are often on my mind when I stand, hand on trolley in the supermarket, waiting for inspiration to strike. How can I fill them. With food, love, nurturing. They are all sort of bound together in my mind. And I am not the only one for whom this is true, as my latest recipe book aquisition demonstrates.

I think I read about Mad Hungry: Feeding Men and Boys on Alicia's blog. But it could have been Erin. It sounded interesting, but it was an import and seemed a relatively large amount of cash for a book I'd not even flipped through. I had put it out of my mind when up it popped on the shelves of TK Maxx. Meant to be mine then! 

Mark was sufficiently intrigued by the title to pick it up, so I thrust some post it flags at him and told him to choose the things he fancied trying. By the number of pages he marked,it's clear that the book had some tasty sounding things. And this is how we came to be eating Empanadas the other evening (part of my childhood vernacular, but unfamiliar to them).

  

And they were very good. Not instant food, but filled with love. The time was inconsequential - the breathing space of an empty house allows me to plan what is going to appear on the table and cook something that either needs a long time to simmer or whose preparation is fiddly enough not to be practical with the inevitable interruptions that everyone at home brings. And who begrudges a little kitchen time, pottering on a cold day with the radio on and a cup of coffee to hand?

Don't misunderstand, dinner is nowhere close to domestic goddess territory here every evening. There's many a night when we run in the door from school starving hungry and throw some pasta in a pot. Though actually, a little jaunt to Ikea this week did produce not only much happy chatter with Val, but also a couple of bags of Moose shaped pasta. Which you have to say is pretty damn fancy. For a zero effort dinner night. 

Free plums and a dollop of art

The hedgerows behind our house are teeming with little wild plums at the moment.

They seem early this year. But made for a good crumble. Pretty much my only contribution in the kitchen this weekend, as I've been volunteering at Art in Action.

Beautiful, beautiful setting.

Some old favouries amongst the artists - Sarah Morpeth.

Roanna Wells (first encountered at the Knitting and Stitching Show last year).

 And the joy of watching people create.

But I'm tired out and in need of a nice cup of tea and perhaps, if I'm very lucky, there might be a bowlful of leftover crumble  in the fridge.

All's right in the world

It has taken a lot of ferreting in cookware shops to unearth the perfectly dimensioned ice cream scoop.

But now my whoopie pie halves match.

Sometimes, the small triumphs are the most pleasing.

 

Laws of nature

If you buy too many of the first of the season's homegrown strawberries, you may need a vehicle for them.

In the battle of the recipe candidates, scones will always win.

They are also the finest excuse in the world for buying clotted cream.

The homemade strawberry jam ran out long ago. But it looks like the next batch may not be too far around the corner.

Pretzels!

Sometimes food photography is so drool-inducing that you just have to try out the recipe. And indeed, it was a beautiful picture of poppy seed sprinkled pretzels that led me to this recipe.

And my version of it.

Okay, so the pretzels are mutantly chubby (who isn't after the chocolate binge that is Easter?), but they were amazingly yummy  - especially still warm from the oven.

That glossy brown crust is achieved by giving them a quick dunk in a pan of boiling water and baking soda.

Their girth is all my own doing - perhaps using less yeast might result in a trimmer version next time! The recipe states 'a package' of yeast and as mine comes in a tub, I guessed at a tablespoon which was obviously a little generous. But I like to think they look a bit like bunnies all curled up with their little ears crossed over. Or perhaps that's just seasonal whimsy.

Guilty as Charged

Blog abandonment. It's true - I've been neglectful. But we've been busy.

Busy playing cricket in the garden.

Busy making believe (Sir Johnny, Knight of the Backwards Cycle Helmet - captured by his own hand in photo booth)

Busy creating.

Busy walking in the sunshine with friends.

And I'm totally unapologetic about my absence. Because when April is so glorious that it feels like July and the blossom is as stunning as I can ever remember it being, and the children are home from school, it's pefectly okay to be busy grabbing each moment with both hands and squeezing every last drop out.

Life is too short to dwell on the things we don't manage to do.

 Or, for that matter, to eat the same boring breakfast every day. Which I haven't been, thanks to the lovely folks at Dorset Cereals who sent me a case of their new Good Honest Crunch. Though if truth be told, I've been eating almost as much of it straight up as a snack and as an addition to plain yoghurt as dessert. It is really good.

Would you like some to try? I've got a case to give away, and possibly even some of their lovely new crockery, which pains me as I really really want it for myself. But hey, life's too short not to share the good stuff, right?

So, leave me a comment on this post completing the phrase "Life's too short..." and I'll pick a winner after Easter.

If you want some inspiration (and a second bite at the cherry) you can take a look at the life's too short page on the Dorset Cereals website and enter there as well. Good luck!

Sunshine

Doesn't it make everything feel good? The last week we've been basking in the unexpectedly glorious weather. And I haven't even started sneezing and snuffling in earnest yet, so I've been outside enjoying it!

We pressure washed the garden furniture and got some oilcloth for the tabletop, so al fresco dining is in full swing. In the face of some exceptionally lurid choices, I went for the restrained oilcloth option. We're attempting class in the garden.

And what could be better to nibble outside, than a slice of Lemon and Thyme loaf? It tastes like sunshine.

The recipe is from  'Cake Days' - the new Hummingbird Bakery book (my Mothers Day present). It is drenched in a tangy syrup made with lemons and lemon thyme and is sublime. And a great preventer of scurvy - go on - feel the health benefits!

Nice cold, ice cold

My relationship with milk is a checkered one. Having grown up abroad, milk tended to be the UHT variety, unless you were really unlucky and had to have the powdered stuff. So you used it when you had to, rather than for pleasure. Coming back to the UK to real fresh white stuff was a pleasure, until enrolled in a local primary school I was met with one of those third-of-a-pint glass bottles with a straw. They were theoretically a good idea, at least until you let them sit outside in the sun until morning break. Even the wrath of the fierce nuns couldn't get me to choke one down.

But there are some occasions that demand a glass of the white stuff. When I played hockey at University, standard post-match refuelling involved a pint of milk in the bar. Nothing is more perfect with a PB&J sandwich on brown bread and then there are these brownies.

Lorraine Pascale's oreo brownies (recipe here) which are even better the day after you make them. And even more so with a cold glass of milk.

Life affirming baking

You guys are the greatest cheer squad imaginable - thanks so much for all the kind thoughts on my baking exploits! So I just had to stop by this evening and share all the gossip with you - it was such fun - I had completed all the baking yesterday, so there was no pressure at all and I was determined to enjoy the experience.

And it was fantastic. I got to plate up my chicken, sage and pancetta palm pies and slice my marmalade loaf cake, served with greek yoghurt, candied peel and blood oranges in caramel. And then my food was whisked off, with me trailing in it's wake, to meet Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood.

And they were lovely - so amiable and keen to put me at ease (quite important, given the somewhat daunting presence of a film crew in the room). Mary had the air of the health visitor about her - immediately friendly, but you get a sense that she knows her stuff and wouldn't hesitate to tell you in the nicest possible way, if you were not doing things right. Or perhaps it's just that she told me twice that I was doing a good job bringing up my children. And Paul - well, quite frankly he could say whatever he liked as long as I could enjoy his twinkly blue eyes - swoon.

They said my pastry was very good (hooray!) although Paul thought I could have added cream to my pie filling to bring all the flavours together - I'm going to try that next time. And Mary said I had done an excellent job with the cake as it is apparently very hard to bake with marmalade without the cake sinking in the middle (good thing I didn't know that or I may have worried). Paul thought the cake was a bit on the dry side but Mary lept to my defence, disagreeing with him and saying it had a perfect Madeira texture. I get the impression those two quite like to disagree!

And then we had a bit of a chat about choux pastry followed by me shooting myself in the foot by admitting that I do not bake a great deal of bread. The simple truth is, I can buy excellent bread from an artisan baker made less than 5 miles from my front door and it has made me lazy. I'd rather spend my kitchen time making something that I couldn't buy as good a version of. 

Which is truthful, but perhaps not a terribly well judged admission when you are auditioning for a place in a baking competition, when one of the judges owns an artisan bread company and believes baking is synonymous with bread.

But as I waited for the verdict, contemplating the challenges of the next phase of the competition, I have to admit, I was daunted. So when they told me I hadn't made it through to the last 60, I wasn't surprised and, if truth be told, a teeny bit relieved. Because it's pretty high pressure, this competitive cooking business.

And tomorrow, when I am back to the day job of being CEO of my own kitchen, I will smile to myself a little bit. Because I am still really glad to have applied - today  goes down as one of my very finest cooking adventures. And if ever I am asked the question again "What is your greatest baking achievement?" I can reply that Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood say my pastry is very good.

And perhaps I might invest in that Artisan Bread book Rebecca was recommending...

Just desserts

Sometimes, I really get the wanties for something. And then I see them everywhere and the universe keeps sending me subliminal 'buy it' signals. The anticipation is possibly the most delicious thing - researching where the best place to get it from might be; agonizing over the colour choice - I can keep the excitement going for weeks.

But yesterday I finally gave in to temptation - it seemed justified. Aside from just having been paid for a piece of work which covered the purchase cost of a stand mixer, I had made a little bargain with myself and fate and it was time to shell out.

Last month, I had read an article in the Waitrose Weekend paper asking for applicants for the next series of The Great British Bake Off. I went to have a nosey, and found myself filling in the application form - you see, it asked the kind of questions that simply invited a trip down baking memory lane. And there's nothing I like more than reminiscing about foodie tales. So I emailed it off on a whim and thought nothing more of it.

Until along came a very nice phone call from someone at the production company wanting to have a chat about my application. I was surprised, to say the least. And flattered. But I didn't think it would go any further - not least because we talked at cross purposes about pastry and I confessed my utter reluctance to even try making my own puff, which I'm sure marks me out as a total baking dilettante.

But it was a laugh and I had great fun telling the couple of friends who knew I'd filled in the form that I'd had a call back. I also promised myself that if things progressed any further, I would finally treat myself to a stand mixer.

So now you see where this is going, don't you? Because I am through to the next stage - on Tuesday I'm headed off to London, clutching samples of my sweet and savoury baking, for the judges to taste. And if they like my stuff, it'll be off for a screen test. The least said about that part, the better, for I have never harboured the remotest desire to be in front of the camera. But I'm calming my nerves with the thought that it almost certainly won't come to that - as the production assistant warned me, the standard is terribly high and I've already seen some blogs from really passionate and inventive bakers with amazing skills who haven't made it through to the next round.

But tra la la, I don't mind, because no matter what becomes of Tuesday, I have a shiny new mixer to play with and by the end of the day, I will be able to say that Mary Berry has eaten my cake.

 

 

Partying

Making merry with the six and seven-year-old crowd today. Johnny doesn't officially turn seven till next week, but he was sharing his celebrations with a friend and this weekend fell conveniently between their birthdays.

The whole shared party thing is not something we've ever done before. Mark enjoyed his own moment in the limelight far too much to ever consider it and I was always concerned that my own party control-freak tendencies would not allow me to play nicely in the planning of such an undertaking. But then Johnny is a very different kettle of fish.

Being the centre of attention is a form of torture for him and so I swallowed my own concerns and he and his pal cooked up a request for an indoor play centre party. Which I have to say, turned out to be a very fine thing indeed.

Not least because I got to do the invitations. Using a homemade rubber stamp - inspired by this tutorial.

And make them  cupcakes as well, with a little co-ordinating pennant set for each birthday boy, cut from the insides of the security envelopes I have been squirreling away.

And the other Mum smiled indulgently at my boy's wishes for moustache straws (which I made from instructions found here, taken from this brilliant book).

 
United in a hatred of party bag bin-fodder, we opted for brightly wrapped books instead, with a little sweetie treat tied on.

The boys and their friends all had a great time, with no tears or squabbles or misbehaviour from anybody.

And even better, I was allowed to do all the fun bits which I love and someone else was hugely appreciative that I had done them. Turns out that it's really good to share!

And thanks for sharing your kindness with me on the last post - you guys were right - a glass of wine and a hot bath restored all sense of perspective. But sometimes we need to hear that sensible advice from friends. Thank you.

 

Making whoopie

Hooray for frozen ground and cancelled Rugby fixtures - we got to have a much more fun weekend than the one in the diary. Coffee with an old friend on a brief visit from Switzerland, heading off to Christmas Common to choose our tree, lunch in the pub and then returning in the tail end of the beautiful day which had been hiding behind the freezing fog.

And while the boys manfully tackled putting up the outdoor lights in the increasing gloom, I set about my own project in the kitchen.

Whoopie pies! I'd not tasted one before, but Monica had given me a copy of the most enticing looking book, so I just had to give them a go. And let me tell you, based on the chocolate with salty peanut butter filling option we went for, these are incredible. Move over, cupcakes - I may have found a new baking passion. 

There's a great review of the book (complete with a teaser recipe) over at Bakerella. Though if you're hoping to squeeze into some slinky party dress over the festive season, it may be better not to look. Me? I'm embracing the santa belly look. Ho ho ho.

The Birthday season

Late September is the beginning of the birthday season - hubby, my mum, my brother and Mark all within a fortnight. It's not the time to be starting any healthy eating programme, for sure. But it's excellent for flexing ones baking muscles.

And a fine excuse for snazzy candle purchases. They seemed more festive (not to mention less of a fire hazard, in this instance) than having one for each year. Though I realize to my shame that I have managed to spell out "Birthday Happy".  How did that seem a logical placement when I was poking them in?

Fortunately, the birthday boy was far too polite to mention it. Either that, or too busy munching. And there just might be a slice left for my morning coffee today. Birthdays are clearly a very good thing.

Autumn bounty

It hasn't been wall to wall doughnuts this week (thank you for your kind words of support), but the apple theme is one which seems to be persisting.

These were cored and stuffed with apple juice soaked raisins, brown sugar and a cinnamon stick. And then baked in a foil tent until they collapsed into that fluffy goodness that just cries out for a little river of double cream. Autumn puddings are undoubtably some of the finest.

But although there is plenty of immediate gratification to be had from the fruits of the season, there is also an urge to preserve some of that bounty for later in the year. 

Crab apple and chilli jelly - from The Cottage Smallholder's directions. It is truly delicious, and mine turned out with a subtle enough heat for the children to enjoy it too. In the depths of winter, when I open a jar, I will think of the pleasures of today, spent cosseted in my kitchen, laughing with a friend as we chopped and boiled and ladled. And the jelly will be all the sweeter for the memory. Preserving at its finest.

 

Cream and orange

First porridge morning of the Autumn. Trying to move breakfast forward little by little so that our early start tomorrow doesn't feel like such a rude awakening.

My boys are slow to eat, first thing. Like me, they would rather wait until a more civilized hour before they eat breakfast - at 7am, food seems more of a duty than a pleasure. But I know they will be starving by morning break if I don't make them have some. And they are both fans of the occasional bowl of porridge. We sit, the three of us, around the kitchen table. They are surprisingly chatty - tales of dreams of the previous night, plans for the day, sibling jokes and teasing. And I know that tomorrow, I will be trying to relax and enjoy their company without glancing at the marching hands of the clock, or anticipating the next cup of coffee.

You know the cup I mean, don't you? The one you drink on returning from the traffic and mayhem of the school run, when the house is silent and the luxury of the hours until pick-up stretch ahead with infinite promise.

I must make plans, or I fear I will spend tomorrow sitting at the kitchen table just listening to the silence.

New things

Whisper, because I know that summer drawing to an end is a sore point for many of us, but are you feeling a hint of Autumn in the air? Something to do with the imperceptibly darker mornings and evenings, or the plums, or some of my blog-chums in the USA heading back to school.

Part of me rails pointlessly against it, and the other welcomes it with open arms. Not that I'm a Summer-hater, just that anything new always seems exciting to me and that includes the advent of each and every new season.

So I have two new (to me) things to share with you, the first being Plum Crisp. Because I have no power to resist a punnet of juicy oozy purple plums from the farm shop. But also no self restraint, which involves snacking on too many at a time. So part of the punnet needed to be cooked. I turned to Nigel Slater (my guru in all things pudding) and in The Kitchen Diaries, there were two plum contenders - a cake and a crisp.

The crisp won. Though Gina made the cake this weekend, I note. It's almost a plum crumble, but the crumbly bit is made with white breadcrumbs and melted butter.

It's good and  it uses up stale white bread, which is an added bonus. I have a guilt complex  about throwing away bits of the old loaf when we start a new one. Mr Slater's recipe for it is here.

The other new thing on my horizon, concerns Google Reader. I love and am frustrated by my reader in equal measure. It's unread posts mock me when I am busy, making me feel guilty. But there is no way I could keep up with the blogs I like to read without one. But lo, the holy grail. You can get a 'next' button for Google Reader, which takes you to the actual post of the next unread entry in your list.

How much easier to comment, and far nicer to read the posts in their home context. I am a fan. And there's a tutorial here which explains how to do it way way better than I can. You've got to love a new bit of gadgetry now and then.

When jellies go bad

A pressed glass jelly mould - how excited was I? I've been waiting to get my hands on one of these for a little while, for many reasons. Not least, the capacity of my offspring to consume jelly and a slight obsession with the feats of Bompass and Parr.

Hubby made the first one - it was not a success. It tasted fine, but refused to unmould. I doubted his reading of the packet and thought he had put too much water in the mix. So I did one. I even consulted the google oracle for advice on freeing my creation (which ranged from greasing the mould lightly, to wetting it before pouring the jelly in and dunking in hot water baths). I should have heard alarm bells ringing when I read the fateful words 'glass moulds can be a little tricky'.

Slice of jellied slug, anyone?

"...If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same..."

No wonder glass jelly moulds are not that uncommon - nobody actually wants them, because they are such a swine to use. But they are pretty. So it can stay.

Unlike other items, which will be tucked away for the next car boot sale - thanks so much for your advice, by the way. It was a surprisingly fun morning, in spite of the early start. Even after sharing my profits with the offspring (who provided the majority of my inventory in outgrown toys, clothes and equipment) I have a nice pile of spending money. Easy to see how going along becomes addictive - I'm mentally pricing all the under-used items in the house! Maybe next year.

Pink Ginger Cordial

Hot, isn't it? And my hayfever seems to make me incredibly thirsty. But I am not a fan of over-sweet drinks, so I am thrilled that the Pink Ginger Cordial I made this weekend, turned out to be just the answer.

So simple to make as well. I used a recipe from Seasonal Preserves, by Joanna Farrow, with a few tweaks. Here is my version:

Grate 85g root ginger into a large bowl. There is no need to peel it, as you will strain the cordial later. Add to it one lemon (with the skin left on, sliced thinly), 250g granulated sugar and a small handful of raspberries (the recipe called for 3 blackberries, but they aren't in season yet, so I used what I had. They aren't really for taste anyway, just to provide the pretty pink colour. The recipe also called for 1 tsp citric acid, which I didn't have. But I know lemon juice contains citric acid, so I lobbed in the juice of half a lemon too. I think the citric acid would aid preservation, so would be a good idea if you don't plan to guzzle it as fast as we have been doing.

Now pour 500ml of boiling water over all the other ingredients in the bowl. Cover with clingfilm and let it stand overnight. The following morning, strain through muslin and pour into a sterilized bottle. Keep it in the fridge.

With the citric acid, it should keep for up to 4 weeks, but I don't think ours will hang about anywhere near that long. We diluted the cordial with sparkling water and lots of ice. It's got a really great gingery kick and without being over-sweet and is the most perfectly pink colour.

And if you wanted to drown your sorrows over the football, I'm sure it would make a mean mixer with a splash of vodka. Just saying.

Pictures of dinner

The radio has been on a lot this weekend. Partly,  in order to distract myself as I scrubbed the kitchen. Which is what I was doing when a very appropriate piece of programming was aired. Radio 4 was talking about food photography - you can hear it here for the next 7 days.

One of my incentives in cleaning the kitchen is the possibility that I may want to take some photographs in there. Probably of food. Or someone eating it.

But it does seem a little bizarre, when you really examine it -  taking pictures of your dinner. Why do we do it?

For me, the pictures of food are one way of documenting the passage of  life. A way to celebrate the million little things we do for our families. One of the perks of a job which comes without paycheque or accolades, but is  fulfilling, if we only take a moment to enjoy our achievements from time to time.

When I look through my archives, my foodie pictures are rather biassed towards baking. Possibly, because I am too greedy and impatient to eat the hot food before it goes cold, to take the time to photograph it.

But I am pleased that I do take the time to record the odd foodie moment. Just to see that sometimes do I produce something tangible with my days. Even if compiling the mosaic just really makes me want a cupcake right this minute.

Dinner in a box

Something big arrived on my doorstep this Friday. The boys were very excited. "What is it?" they demanded. Dinner in a box, of course. Courtesy of Alice and Laverstoke Park Farm.

Although, that was an understatement, because there was enough for a week of dinners and beyond - a chicken, sausages, mince, lamb steaks, pork loin - I was drooling as I unpacked it from it's insulated nest. Sorry vegetarians, we are an unashamedly carnivorous lot. In fact, I have a fascination with meat - there's nothing I like better than to watch a butcher plying his trade. Perhaps it's the stripy twine they use? But real butchers are becoming a little thin on the ground - three in our area have closed down since we have lived here. Which means I have to keep auditioning new ones further afield.

And to me, one of the best ways to check on the quality of a butcher is to eat his sausages. So that's what we sampled first.

They looked good - and as a bonus, they came wrapped up in Butchers' paper, which for some reason made me extraordinarily happy. Sausages in clingfilm just always seem a little bit sad and sweaty.

Everyone approved - including the cat, who usually declines human food but appeared looking very interested and licking his chops once he'd smelled them grilling.

We've also roasted an extremely athletic chicken. Seriously, the bone density of this beast would have an orthopedic specialist jumping for joy. That bird led a healthy life, for sure. And was yummy.

So, if you are short of a good local butcher, or the time to visit yours, perhaps the thought of a box of organic meat delivered to your door appeals. The kind folks at Laverstoke Park have given me an offer to pass on to you. Now comes the technical bit...

If you order a family feast box before May 31st and enter the discount code LPFFB2 in the Discount Code box on the shopping cart page, you can get one for £39.99 (excluding delivery) rather than the usual price of £48.59. You can use this code as many times as you like, and feel free to pass it on to friends and family too.

And now I am hitting the cookbooks to decide what to do with the pork and lamb. The minced beef is destined for some puff pastry parcels. Possibly to be eaten in samosa style with this.

Yup, guess who's home - hooray!

Corn-henge

I'm not really a fully paid up subscriber to the "don't play with your food" brigade.

Go forth and recreate National Monuments, boys.

Auricula love

Yes, it's true that I could have found auriculas slightly closer to home than London. But these are very special auriculas, from Petersham Nurseries.

Where, after mustering the courage to drive into the big bad city, I met my Mum and sister-in-law, for a belated milestone birthday celebration lunch. Not my big birthday, I hasten to add. But that's no reason for me not to drink Rose Petal Prosecco and eat squid and clams on brushcetta with aioli. It's a tough job, celebrating!

We had an excellent time, wandering round the nursery, coatless in the early Spring sunshine. The best thing to me was that at Petersham, they understand about doing things with style. Take these Auriculas - they were the only variety there, but could there be a more lovely version to sell? And so, on my part, there was no hesitation at all in picking them up and bringing them home to make me smile every time I reach my own front door.

Do you sometimes find that when you buy something, it is less about the thing itself, than about trying to capture a little bit of the essence of the place you bought it from? And that somehow adds value beyond that of the object. That sense of place is so hard to define, but is something that good retailers understand instinctively.

And something that I would like to achieve in our home. A real sense of place. And hoping that little by little, these meaningful objects add up to just that.

There are many reasons that someone might need to have their spirits lifted. And there is nothing more uplifting than getting a little something through the post to let you know that you are in someone's thoughts. It might be as simple as a postcard. Or something a bit bigger. In a mysterious box tied with ribbon.

  And inside there just might be chocolate treats.

And pink lemonade and tea and jam and marshmallows and more chocolate. Did I mention the chocolate? Nature's own mood-enhancer?

So thank you, fairy godmother, and Interflora. Consider my mood enhanced. Now, if I could just spread some of that fairy dust around, because there are some folks out there who could really use a little of it just now.

Very sophisticated

 Caramel cupcakes from The Primrose Bakery book. Officially named the victor in the half-term cupcake taste test. And these suckers are good.

Because turning 6 calls for a new level of sophistication. Though he tells me he doesn't want to get any bigger - apparently it's all downhill after 4.

Happy Birthday little Bean.

Popcorn tea (genmaicha)

So, let's talk tea. I am a diehard fan of hot drinks, but fickle in my preferences. My morning cup of builder's tea is a given, but at work, I drink coffee. Apart from at teatime, when it's tea, or after about seven in the evening, when it's got to be herbal or I turn into the energizer bunny and am totally unable to sleep.

You can imagine what our beverage cupboard looks like, can't you? But there's always space for one more. And this one arrived as a christmas pressie from my sister-in-law (who understands and shares my fickle choices).

I hadn't come across teapigs before, but as soon as I peeked inside the box, I was smitten by the gorgeous little silken pyramids the tea comes swathed in. They call them 'tea temples' - I was already partly won over. But it was when I put the temple in the cup and poured on the water that I really fell in love.

See, the tea Tess had chosen for me was Popcorn Tea, or Genmaicha. And as soon as I smelt it, I was back in Japan. In the little traditional restaurant round the corner from my office where I would eat about 3 times a week. And drink their wonderful tea.

Genmaicha is green tea, mixed with toasted brown rice, which gives it a nutty smell and undertone. It's nickname, popcorn tea, comes about because during the toasting process, some of the rice grains pop and resemble popcorn. And like many good things, Genmaicha has a back story. 

The legend goes that the tea was invented by accident when the servant of a samurai dropped rice into his master's tea. Infuriated by the contamination, the samurai killed the servant but drank the tea anyway, and was delighted by the unusual flavor. He honoured the servant by giving the tea his name, Genmai.

Nice story, but I have my doubts. Mostly because genmai also means brown rice, but hey, it's churlish to doubt a good story isn't it? The tea probably has its origins in frugal Japanese housewives, who added toasted rice to their tea supplies to stretch them, as rice is much cheaper than green tea.

And frugality is a factor, because the Genmaicha from Teapigs costs the earth. So I've been on the lookout for an alternative. I tried  Dr Stuarts Genmaicha, but it's not made with tea leaves (more tea dust) and tastes too muddy. I was disappointed, because I love their Tranquility as my evening herbal tea.

And then I was at Daylesford with Monica and saw this.

But I can't tell you about the comparative taste yet, because I am finishing off the other stuff first. It looks promising though. And it'd look even better if I had one of those glass teapots I've been coveting.

Because tea-time really ought to be a bit of an occasion, neh? What's your tea ritual?

Cooking for the radio

Cupcake performance anxiety - not sure if it's a real condition, but I am suffering.  In which direction does perfection lie?

Regular or bite sized? Orange butter-cream or cream cheese frosting?

The decoration dilemma - whole cranberries, dried cranberries or cranberries frosted in egg white and sugar? Maybe sprinkles?

See, my cupcakes need to be good - they are making it on to BBC Radio Oxford. Or into the studio at least. If there is on-air sampling or smacking of lips on Wednesday, I'll link to the listen again feature. 

It's for a review of  Cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery. Because you really can't review a cookbook without sampling a recipe can you? And their cranberry cupcakes are well worth a sample. I should know - I've eaten at least 6 today. It's all in the name of research, naturally. How we suffer for our art.