Saturday brekker

Herb has raised the weekend breakfast to an institution. Not for her a mindless re-fuel before getting the papers, and she makes sure to spread the word. I think of her as the breakfast evangelist.  She often texts or emails a report of her weekend morning fodder, always with a question about what I am eating.

By contrast I can be found having left over curry, pork pie or kaya toast to tide me over while I decide what to eat on my leisurely mornings. The luxury of rising later and eating without time constraint definitely changes the menu options! Last weekend I had my first asparagus of the season,  with fennel lemon salad and sobrasada on toast. I sat in the sun, listening to bird song in the May-blooming garden.

This weekend there is a half-term break from yoga, so I headed to the market (more sweet, lithe English asparagus), then on to late breakfast and coffee at Arloe and Moe's. My favourite dish there is the savoury avocado and feta 'sexy toast' but today I was swayed by a nostalgia for the very Australian dish of French toast with berries, yoghurt and maple syrup. 

I wasn't wrong, it was perfect!

Today is Bert's birthday so I raised my flattie to toast her health, wealth and coming year.

simples

And then there are those soothing moments when, with the minimal effort that comes with habit, I knocked up a cauliflower yogurt soup and a couple of loaves of soda bread without even thinking.

Inspired by the gigantic, cream cauli's in the market, I bought one every week and made this. The coriander seeds give a fresh, lemon taste and the soup is somehow simultaneously hearty and light.  Bread, still slightly warm, is the only way I want to eat this.

17 April

spring

I just love the month of May. The garden is burdened with lilac scent and bridal May tree, and saturated with birdsong.  And then there are the Bank holiday weekends which creep up, unexpected. After a hectic year this long weekend has been such an oasis that I re-learnt the art of relaxing, thanks too to Jimmy.

Friday night saw a tired, hungry girl supper of bacon and cabbage stir fry with noodles. Speedy, filling and very Friday-night-slob this kind of dish is the very reason that sesame oil and soy sauce are in my essential staples.

After Saturday yoga - a welcome return to un-cranking my back and neck - I had an undeserved treat, of a trip to Arloe & Moe for coffee and avocado toast. My favourite dish at my favourite place. There followed two superb breakfasts involving eggs, spinach, toast, and occasional bacon; and two afternoons at a steamy, sauna-ey, swimey place, courtesy of Jimmy, which melted my brain and re-set it to factory settings.  Well, maybe not quite that slow, but very nearly. 

After steams, swims, coffees, lie-ins and lovely food, my limbs feel like liquid and not a headache on the horizon!

Tonight you can see that spring has permeated my pantry.  Roast lemon chicken wtih salad and rice, and a Campari and soda. Welcome, Spring! You are a tasty sight.

and this little piggy...

More speedy suppers. 

One

Roast pork belly with rice and veggies, hot. I ate all the crackling in one go, standing in the kitchen, gnawing on the non-crispy stub until my teeth begged for mercy.

As I tidied & washed up I took out an oven dish and put the rest of a the leftover rice as a bed, with slices of cold pork on top.  Foil over, in the fridge.

Two

Day two, home late, I put the oven on to 200 degrees and bunged in the porky-rice dish, still foil covered. I wandered back after 25 mins or so and cooked some frozen peas to throw over.  The pork had softened up and its fat lubricated the rice.  Gorge-pants.

Three

The last 4 or 5 slices of cold pork went into the oven for 25 mins, on high.  As before, it released its tasty fat and also crisped up the edges.  I cooked noodles (you need more than one sheet, one is never quite enough) with chunky-sliced leeks; drained them, then tipped the noodles & leek into the hot pork dish. A modest glug of toasted sesame oil and a less modest slick of soy sauce perfected it all.  A quick stir then down the hatch.

Disclaimer: if you have a hot lime pickle problem, you will already know that this condiment goes well with all these dishes.  Because lime pickle goes with almost anything if you have a pash on it.

yule have a good time

I was in such agonies choosing only two pictures to illustrate Christmas. I have so many of the lunch itself, over the years, that I thought I would make a break and show the behind-the-scenes; after all, we spend so much more time on the lead up and preparation than the actual meal itself!

So here is the cranberry sauce in process, with peeled, prepared vegetables - and the hot ham lunch to reward us after.

This year the storms meant we skipped some last minute shopping in favour of staying dry and off the road. We walked to the village to scour pre-apocalyptic shelves bereft of goods and managed to salvage our smoked salmon on Christmas Eve tradition, and also found the last bag of prunes for our lovely, lovely devils on horseback (pre-lunch, Christmas Day).  This year Ma called them 'devils-on-donkeys' which, unfortunately, stuck.

Some things had to be jettisoned though, so instead of using orange juice and zest in the cranberry sauce, I slugged in some sloe gin, and would do it again next year.

Cooking the ham on Christmas Eve is a practical move, so it is ready for next day's lunch - and saves space in the oven the next day. More, though, it is such a lovely simple meal to have when most other meals are rich or erratic or just not part of a usual routine. My Mother is always the Christmas cook; although I learnt from her I sometimes forget how very simply she can cook - and how surprisingly tasty this is. This year the ham was roasted, very plain, and served just with boiled potatoes and white cabbage.  The intense saltiness of the meat provided all the flavour the dish needed. 

The ends of the joint were sticky with almost burnt fat, and when no one was looking I pulled at the fat and ate it up. 

routine, interrupted

Christmas lunch reminds me of school and how we used to spend the hour before school Christmas lunch making hats to wear. 

Hats!

The full turkey roast in a pub today at 3pm was terrific and made me very happy, but I was so confused when I wasn't hungry again by 6 pm. My routine - if it deserves such a name - was interrupted!

This is my quail's eggs and nacho supper. It hit the spot all right. The dusty stuff in the dish is celery salt, adding another dimension to the eggs, as this season adds a salty pinch of zest to the cold, dark winter.

chicken and rice re-vamped

A little addenda to previous chicken and rice mentions.

I got boring about a very plain chicken recipe some years back, re-ignited my love of it when Melly Bo said it was basically the same as Asian chicken and rice, sans rice (such nice comfort knowing it is a family staple somewhere else), and then promptly forgot all about it.

A year or so later Rosie, staunch robust little Rosie, actually gave in to being tired and unwell and said she'd love to eat something like it: soupy, savoury and nourishing.  Well it only takes chicken pieces, water and a handful of any veg so I gussied some up for her in no time and have been back on the wagon ever since.

Last night I made enough for four frugal portions: 4 big chicken thighs, 6 chunky cut carrots, 3 leeks cut in wedges and a heavy grind of pepper, covered in water and simmered for 40 minutes or so.  Three portions were boxed up for another time.  With the remaining portion, I threw half a cup of rice in the cooking water for the last ten minutes, and some shredded cabbage, making perfect chicken and rice.  I ate it with a dash of English mustard and a nod to Nigella and her 'Praised chicken'.

Tonight I got home late and tired yet again, and was pleased for a little chicken dish waiting.  Having had rice at lunchtime too, I needed a change.  I am simply so excited about this: how easy and speedy it was, and how very filling!

The little portion of plain stewed chicken heated up in no time.  When it was at a simmer I pushed in a scant bowl of pasta shapes (peculiar little ones I get from my local shop, small enough to cook in 6 minutes) and a leftover few florets of broccoli.  After six or seven minutes the pasta was ready and I had an unctuous, soupy mix; into this I grated some parmesan, plonked on a couple of heaped teaspoons of wholegrain mustard and set to.

Perfect.