Easter eating

By happy accident I mis-typed 'Easter' as 'Eater'. Less seasonal, but just as appropriate.

I love spending Easter with my family but, with the aim of taking it easy, decided to holiday in London. In order to make the most of our location, we plan to eat in a local establishment at least once a month: cue Andrew Edmonds (Lexington Street, no website) on Maundy Thursday. A mellow atmosphere, we ate well and enjoyed watching an eatery which was clearly so well-established that it leaned twoards the old school of charm - that which can turn new custom away brusquely, when not needed.

Good Friday saw us take Boris Bikes (or Barclays bikes, as they are properly known) to London Bridge. The cycling was fine, but after 25 minutes of scouring every last street for a bike station to leave our bikes, I was largely fuming. Happily we were there for Borough Market and a brisk round the vegetables, picking the most pillowy cauliflower, muddiest Jersey potatoes and most sexy asparagus spears, soon chilled us out again.

On Easter Saturday we lunched on asparagus - steamed, butter slid over - and also chicken liver pate and crackers. We drank a half bottle of Domaines Ott Bandol rose (2008) from the wonderful Philglas and Swiggot. Supper was roast poussin (rubbed about with garlic and chilli) and fennel salad - raw, sliced thinly with lime juice, oil and perhaps a little mint.

Breakfast on Easter day was somewhat shoddily carried out, but the idea was so very lovely that I forgive myself. A soft-boiled egg sitting on toast, pulled open to let the yolk run, in which to dip steamed, buttered asparagus. I must admit that technically I broke my fast with a cup of tea in bed and some ver elegant Prestat chocolates from the gent.

That evening we roasted a half-shoulder of lamb. Recipes varied in advice, from high heat for 1 hour, to slow-cooking for 4 hours: it didn't help with the decision on how to cook it, but it did make me relax as it looked hard to get wrong! I scored the fat on top, pushed garlic slivers into little stabs, and perched the joint atop halved parsnips. Two hours at a high-ish temperature rendered it perfect, and the parsnips soggy/crispy in the most heart-fluttering way. Minted new potatoes and broccoli filled the rest of the plate. It was terribly simple but we could have eaten it twice over. Actually, we did that too...

I am trying for brevity here, but may I just add how surprisingly decent the cold lamb was the next day, with the mint potatoes now transformed into potato salad, with a few crisp leaves?

Recipes for Boynton in 5 fits

I have had my first taste of being an archaeologist. It wasn't intentional, but I had terrific fun!

I had actually started out trying to cater for an archaeological dig, but after some confusion - it was on, then off, several times - it finally turned out to be very much on. A pity I hadn't prepared anything, but my panic immediately subsided when there were four, then three... then just us two! Like babes in the wood, the gent and I were left in charge of a dig.

Fit the first: sausages and sweet potato mash

By the evening on Sunday there were three of us in the country house: the gent, myself, and an Historian with archaeological sympathies who is writing about the house and grounds. Needing something quick and hearty, I planned to roast sausages with sweet potatoes and onion, with some lovely savoy cabbage alongside.

Unfortunately the lack of baking tray (or anything, whatsoever, that might fit that role) made me realise I would have to fry the sausages. In a saucepan. In fact, due to size of the pans, in two saucepans. The potatoes I could roast in foil with garlic... however, when no foil materialised I instead baked the potatoes and scooped the flesh into some hastily-made garlic oil, and mashed.

In short, after 1.5 hours I emerged from the kitchen with just sausages and mash!

Still, every last scrap was eaten, there was some warming wine, and my two companions made me laugh so much that I soon cheered up. The night was very black and we slept a long time in our huge, wonderful room.

thaied in knots

Last night's triumphant red Thai curry came with the premier of my coconut rice. I have always wanted to make this and am now kicking myself that I took so long to find a recipe: it is so devilishly easy I could do it every day.

I decided to make enough for four as (a) I hate having a skerrick of something left in a packet in the cupboard and (b) I always have uses for fridge left-overs.

This was the happiest of choices.

Today was so beautifully hot, and the coconut rice was on my mind, that I came to crave some Thai salads. Larb moo took over my head around lunchtime and immediately I thought of a comment I had read last night about Som Tam.

A quick search revealed several Thai restaurants near our flat, and the gent and I went to check out the menus. I rejected one outright ("No Larb!" "Let's just ask inside" "But... no Larb!") then caved to the gent's pained patient-face at the second. There was indeed no Larb moo as they had no pork, but they offered to make a duck version instead "is it still ... (rubbing my fingers to suggest mince, in a strange improvised sign-language).... spicy?" I asked anxiously. They made sure it was.

So Som tam - for those at the back - is a green papaya salad, shredded up with a few other vegetables to look no more exciting than coleslaw. The taste-nirvana lies in the astringent, spicy, aromatic, fresh dressing. It has the exotic 'otherness' of an un-English flavour: something one has never tasted before, which is so rare in adulthood*. A few years back, fish sauce took me a little while to become accustomed to, and right after, I became addicted. Som tam is an extension of that addiction.

The Larb is heaven-on-a-plate for similar reasons: the same fresh, spicy, aromatic taste in pork or chicken mince, then served in lettuce leaves. I was bursting with pride over how good the coconut rice tasted with these two salads (and a little re-vamped red curry on the side), but the real treat was seeing how excited the gent was by these flavours, too.

I fully accept (ahem, Mother) that saying 'lettuce with mince' gives a somewhat cold and creepy image if you haven't quite got your tongue round the idea. But give it a go: if I can be converted from my ingrained, peasanty suet pudding ways, then I am sure anyone can.




*I will concede: maybe this only applies to a late starter like me. But heck, I'm having more fun because of it!