The Beetroot Contessa

Saturday scramble

2011-09-21T15:45:00.001+01:00

As a food blogger, I see myself as something of a pioneer of the digital age, exploiting a new and exciting medium to bring new and exciting dishes to you wonderful people of the world. Most you will never have even heard of were it not for me: hands up who had tried raspberries before I came along? Exactly.

The pressures of success take their toll: how to bring a fresh idea to my blog readers table on a regular basis, complete with excellent photos and witty repartee? If you were here with me, you would see me pacing around the house at 3.45 in the morning, making incoherent rumblings and trying to block out the sound of arguing tenement neighbours with tampons stuffed in my ear canals.

Enough of this twilight life, I say! We're getting back to the simple things in life today, and by simple, I mean scrambled eggs on toast.

For years, I thought I was ace at making scrambled eggs. I basically used lots of butter and cooked them very quickly, as one would an omelette. Then one day, I mistakenly turned the heat down and what emerged was a collection of quivering, oozy clouds, with a texture not unlike that of whipped cream cheese. Folks, I was converted.

Alice B. Toklas recommends in her eponymous cookbook that one takes 1/2 an hour to make this dish and says that only this method (along with loadsa butter!) will "produce a suave consistency that perhaps only gourmets will appreciate." I usually take 10-15 minutes, and the result is rich and heavenly. We have this for breakfast most Saturdays.

For two greedy people:

6-8 eggs
Salt and pepper
40g of butter
4 pieces of bread
Optional: chives, smoked salmon

Break the eggs into a bowl or measuring jug and whisk until light and frothy; season well. Melt a tablespoonful of the butter in a non-stick frying pan over a low medium heat, and add the eggs when the butter is lightly foaming. The eggs will form a thin crust at the bottom of the pan which you should scrape off, then turn the heat down a little. Stir regularly, keep adjusting the heat so that curds form a little on the bottom with the liquid egg starting to thicken. Break the curds up so that they're of a the right size for you. The aim is to end up with bits of properly cooked egg with some creamy thickened egg.

Meanwhile, put the toast and coffee on. Keep stirring until the eggs all start to stay together in puffy, oozing mountains. They are ready. Butter the toast, pour the eggs over and add what toppings you like. We usually have smoked salmon trimmings in the freezer which are super cheap, but feel quite luxurious.

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Not so innocent figs

2011-09-19T14:45:00.001+01:00

While Psych boy and I were in Greece, I tried to track down some figs. September is after all the season for these babies and Greece is a land covered in fig trees. Thought they'd be throwing them at everyone? Wrong! There was not a fig to be found. Apparently, people grow them in their gardens and just munch on them there. Some people even throw them away because of an over-abundance of fruits!

To counteract my disappointment, I bought some orange blossom honey in Corfu and had it with some figs bought from my local Turkish shop in Brighton. And unwittingly took some weird photos which the weird guy who works in the shop would probably love...

(some people of a sensitive nature may not want to look at the obscene pictures below)

I had to make this one smaller...

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Tender was the fishy

2011-09-19T14:27:00.000+01:00

Let me just start this post by saying, I HAVE A TAN! Thank you Corfu sun. This is excellent for several reasons:

One, it makes my legs look thinner
Two, I am no longer mistaken for an IT geek
And three, tanning is a professional sport amongst the ladies in my family (natch tan though, no sun beds for us Dorset belles). I hope to win this year.

While I'm at it, sorry for being away for so long. Some may feel that it's acceptable to use social media whilst on holiday (yes, Gregg Wallace, I saw you updating your twitter account whilst on holiday, and you did it several times an HOUR). For me, it felt wrong to blog while I was away, plus, I couldn't be arsed to think about anything else apart from tanlines, food and finding silly stuff to photograph.

Psych boy says I need to grow up. I think I'm getting there.

Clearly, few of my fellow holidayers had more intellectual concerns. I have a taste for the repulsive aspects of human nature, and staying in Sidari was akin to spending a week in an Iceland in Scarborough with a tanning bed and a Greek special. Suffice to say, there was a lot of flesh on show, with a "the whole world is my beach" attitude to throwing some decent clothing on.

There was the guy having dinner with his wife who leaned (leaned!) out of his seat to ogle a scantily clad Russian babe, and then did the old trick of turning the other way to eye-grope her arse before she passed him. His wife didn't talk much after that.

Then there was the guy with a black shirt (for God's sake!) who was making holiday chit chat to some women in our hotel bar, you know the kind of conversation, been here before? Where did you last go on holiday? Really hot, isn't it? How about these mosquitoes! Etc. Boring crap. The well-upholstered ladies were being polite and trying to add a bit of sparkle to the discussion. Anyway, I keep hearing the word 'misery' being bandied about which I though was a bit odd, given the calibre of the previous conversation, until I heard what the knob was actually trying to say.

He was saying: "You look like that bird, umm, whatsername, err, Kathy Bates. Yeah! You look like her in Misery!" Cue nervous twittering from the ladies. Total puddinghead.

Anyway, apart from the usual delights of package holidays, Corfu was beautiful, with lots of dramatic beaches and friendly Greek people. The food was lovely and fresh; I had seafood nearly everyday. And lots and lots of garlic. Heaven! Psych boy and I both got stuck into our Greek slow-cooked wonders like Moussaka and Kleftiko (lamb hot pot cooked with waxy potatoes and hella garlic, natch). We also had a swordfish steak poached in a spicy tomato sauce which was the most melting fish I have ever tasted, almost like a mousse so tender was this fishy. All this was washed down with cheap beer and local rosé which wasn't half bad.

Miss Greedypants forgot to photograph the grilled sea bream - d'oh!

I am now raring to go and try cooking some Greek dishes of my own, and suspect my slow cooker might get lucky with some lamb and garlic action. Uncle Rick has some sexy looking recipes so stay tuned for some post-Corfu feasting...

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Quiche Lorraine or 'back from the dead'

2011-09-06T20:11:00.002+01:00

I've just come back from my cousin's wedding in Suffolk which was, predictably, a massive family affair spanning four days. Being a dame de leisure until my supply teaching CRB comes back, I was able to stay until the Monday and so got all the gossip from the weekend... There were a few storm offs and a knocked over chair, but generally, we managed to get along famously. And no, I'm not going to spread any gossip, at least, not on the blog.

I did have what I would call a 'Sir Pitt moment', and I think we should all take a minute to bask in the imagery. A few years ago, the BBC produced an adaptation of Vanity Fair, which had the usual perky girls and sexily unsuitable men. The Sir Pitt character was singularly unattractive, all feathery comb-over, rubbery skin and yellow cheese-chasing gnashers. There's a moment of sheer horror when, upon Becky's departure from his crumbling house, he looms in for a snog and the audience is momentarily blinded in shock by the sort of teeth which gives Americans an inalienable right to feel superior. I shall not divulge names in a bid to be discreet, but I was subjected to not one, dear readers, but two (TWO!) shaky horse-like puckerings. He also had furry ears the size of my hand, if that makes you feel any better.

I also found out that my lovely Canadian cousin Caitlin (nice ring, oui?) had read my blog without knowing it was mine. Scream! I must be getting about more than I thought...

I'll be adding photos when I get them developed. I had thought that I'd lost my trusty little Ixus (and was slightly disappointed that I hadn't – need an excuse for an upgrade), so I blew the cobwebs off my dad's forty-year old SLR, but who knows what they'll look like...

As a head's up, I know I've not been around a lot, and I'm about to go to Corfu for a week. I'm sure that I will bring back delicious recipes for you guys to sink your teeth into.

In the meantime, here's a quiche that I made last week. Psych boy pronounced it 'a triumph' and he's not one to flatter. The pastry is deliciously crumbly (and layered – my first time making puff pastry!), the filling is deep and creamy and the bacon and onions play off each other marvellously. Feel free to change the filling to suit your mood, just make sure you cook everything first so no naughty water can ruin your masterpiece.

What are your favourite fillings? And what other things do you like to take on picnics?

And just for the hell of it, here's a pic of Beauty boy.

Quiche Lorraine (adapted from Felicity Cloake)

For the rough puff pastry:

225g plain flour
225g very cold butter
100ml iced water

For the quiche filling:

2/3 pack of dry cure smoked streaky bacon, chopped
2 onions, sliced
300ml double cream
5 eggs and 2 egg yolks

'Je me sens un peu quiche'

Sift the flour and a generous pinch of salt on to a cold surface. Cut the butter into 1cm cubes and stir it in, then gently squidge the two together, so the flour combines with the lumps of butter – the aim is not to mix it completely, so it turns into crumbs, but to have small lumps of butter coated with flour. Like the name, it should look quite rough, even unfinished.

Sprinkle a little of the water over the top and stir it into the dough. Add enough water to bring it into a dough, without overworking the mixture, then cover with clingfilm and refrigerate for 20 minutes.
Lightly flour a work surface and shape the dough into a rectangle. Roll it out until 3 times its original length.

Fold the top third back into the centre, then bring the bottom third up to meet it, so your dough has three layers. Give the dough a quarter turn and roll out again until three times the length, fold again as before, and chill it for 20 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180C and put a baking tray in to warm. Grease a deep (at least 3cm) 20cm tin, and line it with the pastry, leaving an extra few centimetres overhang to minimize shrinkage. Keep any extra in case you need it for remedial work later. Line with foil (shiny side down) and weight down with baking beans or rice. Place on the baking tray and blind bake in the oven for 40 minutes, then remove the foil and beans and patch up any holes with the extra pastry if necessary. Bake for a further 8 minutes, then brush the base with egg white and put back into the oven for 5 minutes. Carefully trim the overhanging pastry to neaten.

Fry the bacon for 8–10 minutes, until cooked through, but not crisp. Drain and spread half over the hot base. Now fry the onions in a little oil until soft but not coloured. They should be deliciously sweet.

Put the cream and the eggs and yolks into a large bowl (or a food mixer if you have one) with a generous pinch of salt, and beat together slowly until combined, then give it a fast whisk for 30 seconds until frothy. Pour over the base to fill and then sprinkle over the rest of the bacon. Bake for 20 minutes and then keep an eye on it – it's done when it's puffed up, but still wobbly at the centre. Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Bonkers food pic of the week: a screaming watermelon

2011-09-02T08:50:00.001+01:00

I love this example of watermelon sculpture, ahem, that well-known media which wryly comments on the nature of... Argh, I can't be bothered, for there are more important things to be said.

First of all, SORRY for neglecting you, blog and lovely blog readers. It's been a crazy time what with moving and job hunting and furniture scavenging (so far, I've found a 60's chair on Upper Lewes Road with a torn seat and a swivel chair in the North Laines which doesn't want to go down at all. Both are waiting for... something).

The other thing that's a bit rubbish of me is that I lost my CAMERA yesterday. It had stored on it a tantalising picture of a quiche which I had planned to blog about, not least because it uses a scrummy rough puff pastry recipe. I will have to make another, but I'm sure Psych boy won't mind because he does like a quiche.

So sit tight and stay tuned for some Brighton food adventures to be published shortly. x

Live in Portland, Oregon

2011-08-16T17:49:00.010+01:00

Lots of people will tell you that Americans don't like food and that food in America is crap. It is, mostly. Safeway vegetables are quasi-nuclear: I went away for 6 weeks over Christmas and when I got back the pepper I'd forgotten in the fridge looked exactly the same as when I left it. I threw it away, but not without tasting it gingerly: red water. American milk also lasts for weeks because it's blasted with extremely high temperatures to kill everything, even the good stuff. And don't get me started on an ill-advised Walmart hummus incident, in which said hummus had barely waved to a chickpea across a park, let along lustily rubbed loins with it. Not pretty.

However, live in Portland, Oregon, and you'll be pretty food-happy. You can get the best Thai chicken wings at Pok Pok on SE Division Street: they're sweet, sticky, sour, golden, charred and salty; they ooze between you fingers and lightly coat your tongue with their syrup. They're almost, almost, too much and have ruined chicken wings for me from elsewhere forever.

Toro Bravo is a tapas place on NE Russell Street which has house-cured meats and uses great olive oil: green and grassy and a smidge peppery. If you're ever looking for inspiration for making some tapas, just have a look at their menu and play with some ideas.

For the sweet-toothed among us, the people at Papahaydn on SE Milwaukie make the most beautiful cakes, stunning enough to rival French pâtissiers in Paris. I would eat at any of these places on a regular basis if they were near to me, and am eternally sad that they're not.

It was in Portland that I had my first version of these crumbly Earl Grey biscuits, and cannot remember who made them, but they were consumed outside on the quad at college on a sunny day. Probably with a Stumptown coffee and an American Spirit fag because we were all into that sort of thing back then. I remember thinking that the girl who made them probably did so because there were a few other Brits about that day, and that they were very thoughtful cookies. This version is crumbly around the edges and almost cakey in the middle. I like the subtlety of the tea here, but feel free to add a few phat pinches of you prefer a stronger flavour.

PBR or how the Portland hipsters show they're down with the working class

Earl Grey Tea Shortbread Biscuits

150 g icing sugar
225 g unsalted butter, room temperature
½ tsp salt
½ tsp vanilla essence
1 egg, room temperature
375 g plain flour
1 ¾ tsp baking powder
Zest of an orange
Zest of a lemon
2 tbsp Earl Grey tea (loose, crushed in a pestle and mortar)
A handful of granulated sugar

Cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add salt, vanilla and zests and continue beating. Now add egg, scraping down the sides of the bowl afterward. Don't worry if it looks like it's kinda curdled – it will all be fine. Add tea leaves and mix together. If you do this all by hand, you will be allowed an extra biscuit to make your arm feel better.

Sift together flour and baking powder and add to the butter/sugar. Blend dry ingredients into wet, only until just combined.

Transfer dough to a table dusted with flour and lightly shape into a tube shape. Divide into 4 pieces and roll each piece into 1 1/2 inch diameter. Wrap in plastic wrap or wax paper and chill in fridge for an hour (or longer).

When ready to bake, dab logs with a bit of water and roll in coarse sugar. Slice the logs with a knife (I used my Chef’s knife) into 1/4-inch slices. Bake on a baking tray lined with greaseproof paper at 180˚C for ~12 minutes, or until a light golden colour.

Makes 50 biscuits. Top tip: bake biscuits from two of the logs and freeze the rest for on tap home-made biscuits. Just cut the log into coins and freeze them on a baking tray. Once frozen they can be taken off the tray and put into freezer bags.

Beetroot and Walnut Hummus: cheers to Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall

2011-08-15T18:01:00.007+01:00

This recipe has little narrative to it. My sister Charlotte (not the vegetable munching one, rather, the mojito quaffing one) told me about it. She said it was delicious. I thought it sounded delicious. I made it and it was splendid, so here I am sharing it with you, whoever you are. To top the comfortingly earthy flavours, this hummus has such a gorgeous colour! I don't see myself as a particularly girly girl (feel free to disagree), but there's just something about pink food that makes me want to adore it and gaze at it for longer than is acceptable when one is no longer 6 years old.

Seriously, if you want your kids to eat veg, this has to be the recipe to thaw their frostiness!

Beetroot and walnut hummus (inspired by Hugh F-W)

the beet is a melancholy vegetable
the one most willing to suffer
you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip . . . (Tom Robbins)

50g walnuts, grilled for a few minutes
1 tbsp cumin seeds, toasted (careful not to burn them!)
1 slice stale bread (or a toasted slice)
250g cooked beetroot (not pickled), cut into cubes.
1 tbsp tahini (sesame seed paste)
1 large garlic clove, crushed
Juice of 1 lemon
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
A little olive to serve

Grind the cumin seeds vigorously in a pestle and mortar until your arm feels like it's about to fall off. Whizz the walnuts, cumin seeds and bread until you have a fine crumb. Add all the beetroot and half of all the other ingredients and whizz well. Taste and add the rest of the ingredients as necessary.

To serve, make some arty grooves in the surface with the back of a teaspoon, sprinkle some cumin seeds in the grooves and drizzle over some olive oil. Serve at room temperature.

Bonkers food pic of the week: Arty food or foody art?

2011-08-14T14:43:00.005+01:00

The Ice Cream Scream - Adriana de Barros from Scene360.com

Do you think food can be considered art? Ferran Adrià's creations at El Bulli include such wonders as frozen Parmesan air and spherified olive oil caviar. Now, I haven't been, and never will now it's closing, but seeing home-grown food magician Heston Blumenthal tinkering away with his dishes on his Feasts programme never failed to enchant me. For the 'Victorian' episode he famously imagined an Alice in Wonderland theme which included a mock-turtle soup. The lucky diners were invited to pour a concoction from a glass teapot over a melting golden pocket watch. The layer of gold would then fan out lustily across the surface of the soup. Who in their right mind wouldn't be delighted by such an invitation?

Each dish that comes out of these men's kitchens is a small miracle of physics, incredibly beautiful and sometimes entrancing, yet I hear that some just aren't that tasty. This seems to suggest that it's more about a process (or an idea) than a result and maybe taking this type of risk is what makes these chefs artists: creating something undigestible with the aim to push boundaries of what one can and can't do with a medium. No one liked Egon Schiele when he was knocking about in Vienna, and even I, an admirer, was fairly shocked by a self-portrait of him with a huge red phallus, pleasuring himself. Sympathique? No, but definitely engaging and thought-provoking in some ways.

Brilliant. So we've got mind-blowing dishes which excite the mind and sometimes the palate. Then what? Blumenthal's mock turtle soup is now being reproduced nightly at The Fat Duck, which surely causes it to lose its lustre. His feasts were amazing, but they were also exclusive and limited to a unique performance. Nonetheless, at his restaurant every guest is served the same dishes in the same order. More (ahem) populist, perhaps, but it lacks the frisson of being singled out for something so special. If molecular gastronomy is art, then it's more likely to be of the silk-screen print variety.

Baked pearl barley porridge

2011-08-12T17:14:00.000+01:00

I've been following the food blog Scandi Foodie for a while now and Maria, the lovely lady blogger whose site it is, always has creative and healthy recipes as well as simple but gorgeous photography.

She kindly said that I could share her baked pearl barley porridge recipe, which her Finnish mum makes her for a treat. It's kinda like a nutty rice pudding, but with no added sugar, it's perfect for a healthy breakfast. Breakfast is my favourite meal of the day, especially I have something a little bit different at the weekend. But I'm starting to feel a bit sick of bran flakes and muesli on week days. So this baby is perfect. I made a raspberry compote to go with it the first time, and have made the porridge twice more in a week! You can cook it in the evening, when you have something else in the oven, and quickly reheat it the next day.

Nom nom nom!

I may have stolen some blackberries from a neighbour

2011-08-03T09:06:00.000+01:00

On Sunday, Psych boy and I played a spot of Spiderman frisbee in the park. Needless to say, I was fairly rubbish, but with a bit of patient coaching, I did improve, albeit somewhat inconsistently! I kept losing my concentration, because really, I only mildly care about being able to throw a curved disc in a straight line. Naturally, this approach doesn't stop me from getting upset when I fuck up a pass, in true diva fashion.

On our way back, some blackberries caught my eye. Now, surely it's too early for blackberries? This is early August. I remember picking them in September! Hmmmm... perhaps this is a case for a well-known and talented investigator. Wait a minute while I put on my Miss Marple hat on, lady detective to the rescue. The clues are as follows:

Bramble and apple crumble.

Apples = autumn.

Bramble=blackberry [brain audibly ticking]

You can't have a bramble and apple crumble without either of the two fruits... So blackberries must usually be around in the autumn... [brain-power maximised]

Ergo, blackberries are early this year!

Must mean we're having a good summer. I guess that's true.

So [Miss Marple hat comes off], there they were disregarding the normal way of things, bursting with juice. We filled a water bottle with the berries and took them home, wondering what to make with them.

For a while, I was pretty content just having them in the kitchen, eyeing me with their fly-like eyes and curiously blank faces. But then I thought maybe a cranachan style breakfast with toasted oats would be nice. No whisky (duh, it was breakfast!), but it was pretty good!

Really, what I'm trying to say in a lot of words is that I went foraging! In London! Not in my own garden, that's for lame-o foragers, but in nearly-someone-else's. You couldn't tell where the street ended and their property began: they didn't have a gate, or fence. Just a lot of weeds. Thus, I may have stolen some blackberries from a practical neighbour. I feel happy.

"I love from butter pecan to blackberry molass'
I don't discriminate, I regulate every shade of that ass."

Thank you, Big Punisher, for your words of sweet wisdom.

Blackberry yoghurt cranachan

Oats, toasted
Blackberries, stolen
Honey
Yoghurt
Hazelnuts, chopped and toasted

You know what to do. Just don't add too many nuts - they're quite strong.

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In rode Rick Stein in his battered campervan

2011-08-02T20:08:00.014+01:00

Psych boy is right: I am an advertiser's dream. Whereas I like to think that I am immune to packaging, real or figurative, it is sadly not so. Now, I'm not so silly as to fall for the old 'local free range egg' trick, when I'm buying eggs in inner London. Local to Mile End? That famous bastion of greenery in the East End? Pah! I don't think so, Mr Factory Egg Man [wags finger ferociously].

However, I must admit that such concepts as 'whole foods' and 'additive-free' and 'recycled' really turn me on. That's because I'm a type, albeit one who thinks she's well idiosyncratic and cool. Oh, and add quirky to that mix, please! This is why Brighton and I go hand in hand. Sustainable line-caught fish? Phwoar, you've got me doing an Irish jig on a reclaimed trampoline!

So my point is that I have yet again fallen prey to branding which I see as positive. This time the culprit is Rick Stein's Spain.

The Independent wittily described his presenting style on Spain as being the 'turbo-avuncular mode'

My previous experiences of Spanish cuisine had previously been restricted to a three-day trip to Barcelona. I remember eating a lot of meat and cheese, and vividly felt the dearth of a vegetable community. In all fairness, my girlfriends and I were probably more interested in consuming liquid calories, preferably in the form of devilish absinthe. I do not remember much. However, my sister, Tickles, had lived in Madrid for a few months and experienced much the same thing. You all know how much she loves her veg, too. Thus in my mind, case closed.

But la la la! In rode Rick Stein in his battered campervan. There he went, tearing across the Galician plains, frying up gigantes beans in a flimsy frying pan and making appropriate noises during the money shot. Some of you will already know that I'm a loyal Steinist, so it was only a matter of time before I was sold. He made Spanish food safe and he made it accessible. I know the Stein brand of food, so I know it will be good. And it is! So far, I've made two recipes inspired by his frolicks, and both have been delicious. I sense there are more to come...

Nonetheless, critics say that the food he presents is diluted Spain, that his food does not have the complexity and passion that it should. His presentation of Spanish food is not the chummy cultural experience that it should be, because part of its identity has been lost. Perhaps that's why I like it - not too threatening. That makes me sad. Is branded dilution where we're inexorably headed? Does branding by someone familiar make the indigestible other more palatable?

Brooding aside, this soup is mega-rustic in a good way. The garlic is flavoursome, but in now way over-enthusiastic. As an extra, it also has fierce decongestant properties, so would be excellent in times of colds and flu!

Sopa de Ajo (Garlic soup – from Mancha, Spain)

Keepin' this ugly puppy small

Serves 2:

1 tbsp olive oil
6 cloves of garlic roughly sliced
4 ripe tomatoes, seeded and chopped(not traditional, but tasty and healthy)
2 pinches of smoked paprika
2 bay leaves
2 slices of day old (or toasted) ciabatta-type bread
Some stock (chicken, veg, whatever)
2 eggs
Parsley (optional)

Heat the oil in a heavy pan and add the sliced garlic. Sizzle until the garlic is lightly toasted. Immediately add the tomatoes to cool the pot down and stop any burning. Sprinkle over the paprika, toss in the bay leaves and the slices of bread (you can tear the bread into bite sized pieces before this step if you like). Gently pour in the stock and simmer for ten minutes. By this time the vegetables will be soft, the bread will be silky. Break in the eggs and stir around a little so you get snail trails like in Chinese egg soup.

I haven't tried this but you could add a few cubes of cured ham. Get your charcutier to give you a thick slice rather than the usual paper thin stuff.

The fruit diaries keep on flowing

2011-08-02T10:09:00.003+01:00

The rosewater saga continues... The fruit diaries keep on flowing... I'm still not growing up...

Bum plum!

I'm getting that foraging feeling again, having found these tiny plums in the garden (communal, sigh). They were a pain to cut and stone, and I would like to say that they were worth the 1cm2 of flesh that I got out of each one. I would like to say that they sang with the rosewater. I would like to say that as a 5ft3 person, beautiful things come in small packages. Well, they don't: those tiny little bastards were rubbish. Their big, juicy sisters did all the work. And they did it well. Looks like the tiny plums and I are going to have to get a hell of a lot sweeter. Points to giants of the Psych boy variety.

Poached plums with rose water (inspired by Thomasina Miers)

Plums
Rosewater
Sugar
Vanilla essence
Water
Lime zest
Rose petals (optional)

Slice the plums in half and cut out the stone. Place face down in a dish which can go on the top of the stove. Make a syrup with rosewater, sugar, vanilla essence and water (about 2/3 rosewater, 1/3 water), and stir until the sugar has dissolved. You'll need about 100-150 ml of liquid for 6-8 plums. Pour the syrup delicately over the fruit and, if you have them, sprinkle over some vibrant rose petals. Simmer over a medium heat for 10-15 minutes, until the plums are soft and yielding. Serve with some yoghurt or crème fraîche, and sprinkle some lime zest over the plums.

Thank you summer! Tiny plums: the birds can have you. So there.

“All this class of pleasures inspires me with the same nausea as I feel at the sight of rich plum-cake or sweetmeats; I prefer the driest bread of common life.” Sydney Smith - or the person I shall not be having over for dinner

Fruit seems to be spilling

2011-08-01T19:56:00.003+01:00

In my last post, I think I may have worried some (my multitudinous fans, of course) with my hint at out-of-work-depression. Rest assured, life's not really too hard at the moment. The weather is glorious and I'm not technically unemployed until the end of August, because teaching contracts run from the beginning September for a year. So while I'm not being silly with money, I do have enough to buy food and pay my internet bill for blogging purposes. “Hallelujah, praise the Lord,” I can hear y'all say, “we shan't be without The Beetroot Contessa!” And indeed, you will not. However, if you do have a job for me I have the following transferable skills: can drive a tractor on a hill, intelligently discuss the merits of various crime programmes and possesses a mug in the shape of Margaret Thatcher's head. Devastatingly impressive, I know.

We keep our receipts in her head. Fitting, I think.

So, what with the weather being 'mazing and all that, I am currently in the throes of a fruit binge: everywhere I go, fruit seems to be spilling out. I'll go food shopping and come back with piles of the stuff, more than the two of us can realistically eat, yet somehow, we seem to get through it. And here's how you can do it too:

Buy fruit. Buy lots of it. Buy the stuff on offer. Buy the reduced stuff. Buy eight watermelons for a pound if they're there.
Eat some on the way home (works well with: cherries, raspberries, apricots, anything 'mini' basically. Beware of doing this with watermelon - this is for the advanced fruit-eaters only).
Make a fruity cocktail upon entering your love shack. You'll be amazed how much fruit you can get through when it's blended with booze.
Have dinner, make a fruit roast, the nut roast's little known cousin. Great for vegans.
Sit out the fruit-sweats. Have a glass of water.
Make a fruity yoghurty concocotion and feel the warm be-vitamined glow of a fruit day.

So there you have it. And here's a fruity yoghurty recipe that I've been loving. The basil perfumes the peaches exquisitely.

Peach and basil yoghurt sundae (adapted from Nigel Slater's Real Fast Food)... Is anyone else getting the impression that I am the child of a divorced couple, playing the parents off each other?

Some peaches
Some basil (4 leaves per peach), torn
Some natural yoghurt
Some honey
A few squeezes of lemon

Cut the peaches into 8 segments (or nectarines masquerading as peaches –these are what I had in the picture but peaches seem sexier somehow). Place four in a tumbler and sprinkle over two of the basil leaves. Dribble over some lemon juice, honey then yoghurt and do again for the last 4 peach (or nectarine) pieces. Healthy and delicious!

Yuck? Haven't they been around for years?

2011-08-01T13:06:00.002+01:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yGZtfRajiYThe time has come...

I've been thinking about this for a few weeks now, and I'm excited to announce that I would like to get some guest writers on the Beetroot!

I'm pretty open to anything, as long as it involves food (obvs!), so if you want to put up some of your gorgeous photos, have a rant about molecular gastronomy, share a favourite recipe or indeed write about anything else, get in touch!

Think of it as the Yuck gig you saw two years ago when no one knew about them and you can now smugly say: "Yuck? Haven't they been around for years?"

Check my contact page for details.

They want you, they want you
They want you as a new recruit

Simon Hopkinson's breast of lamb with onions (or: Telly-man love)

2011-08-01T10:12:00.006+01:00

It breaks my heart every time I buy lamb. I always think of the delicious meat my dad used to produce, properly hung, meltingly tender and cooked to perfection by mother dearest. The lambs themselves (when alive!) used to have races in the orchard. There were all these small dips, a bit like half-pipes if you're familiar with skate- or snowboarding terminology, perfect for tiny trotters to pound their way from the top, to the bottom and to the top again. They had such a good life! I sometimes feel a tad envious and then I remember that I like to eat them.

And so my older-man crush on Simon Hopkinson continues with this slow-cooked lamby wonder which makes its own sauce. Yes. you heard me right: own sauce and slow cooked, probably four of the most entrancing words in the English language (apart from “Want a foot massage?” - never get that one, and “You smell of summer” - a compliment from a suitor who turned out to be gayer than Justin Bieber). I may have to devise one of those adorable nicknames for Simon, such as Hoppers or Hoppy, just to show my readership just how much I adore this man. Who incidentally I have never met, and only see once a week on the telly and even then, he's doing a lot of cooking and a lot of talking about the food and not very much talking about himself. But such is life as an unemployed twentysomething.

Simon Hopkinson's breast (hee hee) of lamb with onions

Profound Twighlight quote time: Edward: and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.
Bella: What a stupid lamb.
Edward: What a sick masochistic lion.

1 lamb breast
Splash of oil
Same weight in onions as lamb breast, sliced
1 bay leaf
1 tsp anchovy paste
1 ½ tsp red wine vinegar
A handful of parsley
seasoning

Season the lamb and brown all over in a splash of oil in a lidded cast iron pot. Remove the lamb, set aside on a plate and make a toasty onion bed for the lamb to rest on. Place the lamb on top, and tuck the rest of the onions around the meat. Slip a bay leaf between one side of the lamb and the onions.

Create a cartouche of greaseproof to stop any moisture getting out: cut the paper so that it is roughly the shape of your pot, but bigger. Place on top of the lamb and tuck neatly around the ingredients. Cover with the lid.

Stick in an preheated oven at 150˚C and leave for 2 ½ hours.

Take the lamb out to rest and pour the onions and juice into a blender. Add 1 tsp of anchovy paste, a handful of parsley and the vinegar. Season with pepper and whizz until smooth (add a little water or stock to loosen the mixture if it's a bit thick). Pour over the lamb and watch your loved ones love you even more. Seriously.

NB: I changed it a little - Hoppy doesn't whizz the onions, presumably to retain their texture. I still had a bit of Rick Stein in my head with a Rabo Estofado recipe where you blend some stewed veggies... Sorry!

Bonkers food pic of the week: last man standing

2011-07-31T09:04:00.002+01:00

"A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg." Samuel Butler - Photo by: Nocturnal Moth

I love these eggy narratives by Nocturnal Moth. However, I am a little offended by the flipping of the egg at the back! The artwork reminds me of Salad Fingers, a super creepy cartoon character who has vaguely paedo credentials.

I tried making it with sprouts but it didn't work

2011-07-30T12:42:00.008+01:00

I'm posting this recipe in honour of my sister, know affectionately to me as Cresticles, Crusty or sometimes Tickles when I want to borrow some jewellery from her. She's always had slightly off-beat food tastes, ever since she was a wee one. She'd regularly do shots of balsamic vinegar (though I can't say I blame her), and loved nothing more than a teaspoonful of straight lemon juice. Quite how she still has such gleaming teeth is beyond me. Just don't try this at home, kids.

As an obsessive vegetable eater, she was always chilling out on a patch of bare earth amongst our mum's home grown produce, face covered in smears of soil and fingers stained with veg juice. She was known to grab brussels sprouts stalks and gnaw at them like a giant blond-headed rodent. Maybe it's a sign that she has super-human teeth. Or maybe she was pregnant with a turnip. Who knows. So one day, she spotted a particularly funky-looking leaf, just asking to be devoured. I can only imagine what went on in her language-limited 4-year-old brain, but I reckon it went something like this: “Leaf! LEEEAF! Must. Eat. Green. Things!” Turned out, it was poisonous, and she was violently ill, poor bunny. Yet despite this mishap she was back in her patch a few days later and never left since, at least in spirit.

So, dear Crusty, this is a recipe for you, which I will make you when you come and see me. Provocatively sour, slightly reminiscent of shisha pipes (another thing you like) and it has raspberries. A bit odd, like your food foibles. I tried making it with sprouts but it didn't work. Must. Try. Harder.

Pomegranate molasses and raspberry grown-up juice

You actually use this to make shisha tobacco... Fit.

For two people:

½ bottle of dry white wine
1 tbsp pomegranate molasses (available in good supermarkets)
Handful of raspberries
1 tbsp sugar (or more to taste)

Whizz in a blender. Strain. Add more sugar if you're a pussy.

See below for another way to use molasses:

Pomegranate Lemonade

Aubergines with olive oil, garlic, parsley and feta

2011-07-25T20:42:00.007+01:00

For once, it looks like the picture...

Last week the staffroom was awash with chocolates. It seems that modern-day kiddies a. have much more moolah than I did when I was their age, and b. actually recognise that their teachers are human beings (well, some of them do).

All week I had been looking forward to it being over. Since taking the decision to quit the profession a few months ago, time had been dragging on, and I was impatient (though not alone!) for the holidays to start: time to cook, write and look for a new flat in Brighton. Exciting things. I didn't expect to get so emotional on the last day.

In my last year 9 lesson, the kids had a card going around the whole time which involved lots of pointing and subtle mouthing. Alyssha asked me at one point to come and sit with her because she was 'scared, Miss.' I feigned blissful ignorance. They loved it.

It was that card which pushed me over the edge. They had all left short notes, some along the lines of “I done so much beter at English this year”, but Sophia's really touched me: she said that I'd reasserted her love of English. There I blubbed. As it was my last day as an English teacher, and I was feeling unsure of my value after those months of turmoil, the timing couldn't have been better. They took some pictures, asked me to add them on facebook because they still don't get that teachers don't want to see them snogging each other in their photos, gave me some hugs and off they went. I shall miss them.

So it is thus that after a chocolate and tear-filled last week at school, I am in the mood for some comforting veggies. Top of the list: Simon Hopkinson's aubergine and feta salad which I saw in the Observer food monthly some weeks ago. It's super yummy and so easy.

Aubergines with olive oil, garlic, parsley and feta (Simon Hopkinson)

Serves 4

Aubergines, 2
Garlic, 2 cloves, crushed
Parley leaves, a handful, finely chopped
Extra virgin olive oil, 5-6 tbsp
Salt and pepper
Feta cheese 100-150g,made with sheep and goat's milk rather than cow's
lemon juice, to taste

Heat the grill on high. Run a knife around the neck of the aubergines, one centimetre away from the stalk, just cutting through the skin. Now make four shallow cuts down the vegetable, right to the bulbous end.

Grill them, turning them every 5-7 minutes. This part should take about 35-40 minutes. You want them soft and yielding but not too collapsed.

Transfer to your serving plate and allow to cool for a few minutes. With the help of a knife, “deftly” (Simon says this – makes me feel so clever!) peel off the skin in 4 sheets. Without cutting through the stalk end, split the aubergines in two which should make them look like two hearts.

Mix the parsley, garlic, olive oil and seasoning and dribble over the aubergines. Crumble the feta over the top and squeeze some lemon juice. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Bonkers food pic of the week: suicidal pig

2011-07-21T20:49:00.001+01:00

It doesn't get more chilling than this, folks. A pig joyously cutting itself into saucisson slices for the delight of us human consumers, never mind that he is conveniently already of saucisson-like consistency. The 'cochon prodigue' translates as 'the extravagant (or prodigal) pig'. Not sure it accurately reflects the image, to go all GCSE English language exam on you. I think a lonely hearts ad from a piggy into BDSM might be better suited: "Happy-go-lucky piggy WLTM dominatrix sow to fulfill extreme yet light-hearted cutting fantasies. Has excellent knife sharpener to hand. Lady Gaga types welcome."

Mussel soup with tomato and basil

2011-07-18T19:08:00.018+01:00

Lessons planned. Glass of white wine in hand. And a new favourite mussel soup recipe from Nigel Slater.

I love how he speaks of food. You'll hear him whispering in a churchy hush about the heady aroma of crushed chervil, or the tangy, garnet coloured juices of a raspberry, as if he has found a heathen god nestling in all things vegetable. He reminds me of the impossibly clumsy History programme presenter on The Armstrong and Miller Show, Dennis Lincoln Park. But Nigel would never, ever, slip on his potato peelings. Indeed, he would turn them into a simple but gorgeous snack.

Seven ingredients make up this little dish of perfection, four of which you will most likely have lying around at home: onion, olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, mussels, basil and lemon. It's one of those simple, cheap and super quick mid-week dinners that is going to stay with me for a while. And you could even make it out of season with some tinned tomatoes! The beauty of it! The last time I got this excited about a similar dish was, ding dong, another by Nigel (lentil and pumpkin stew, since you ask – heavenly, and amazing as a work lunch).

I couldn't wait to try this recipe when I read it on the train this morning. I was salivating over it on my way home. And I will be telling my foodie friend Andrew about it first thing tomorrow.

Go and make it too, dear readers. NOW!

Mussel soup with tomato and basil (from the Observer Magazine - Hallelujah)

For the soup

1 onion, chopped
Olive oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed
4 tomatoes, roughly chopped
250g mussels out of their shells

For the basil sauce

1 bunch basil leaves and stems
50 ml olive oil
Squeeze of lemon

Soften the onion in a tablespoon of olive oil in a heavy-based pan, stirring frequently so as to stop the onions browning. Add the garlic, fry for a minute then add the roughly chopped tomatoes. Cook for 10-15 minutes, adding a little water if needed.

While the tomatoes are cooking, whizz the oil, lemon juice and basil in a blender (here I confess: I did half basil and half coriander because it needed eating – delish!), add a pinch of salt.

Stir in the mussels and add 300ml boiled water. Taste for seasoning and add salt if needed. Bring to a simmer and serve with the basil sauce. I had a chunky slice of bread to make a whole meal.

It was good. Nigel, can you please tell me: why are you so freaking great?

Note: I have found a crazy recipe method for mussel soup on Around Britain with a Paunch blog. Check it out!

Basil Fawlty: [about Sybil's laugh] Sounds like somebody machine-gunning a seal.

See below for more info on mussels:

Flirting with Fish

2011-07-18T18:17:00.012+01:00

My trip to the Dorset Seafood Festival in Weymouth did not start well. I had been looking forward to it for months. Food. Sea. Dorset. Basking in boyfriend love and parental attention. Who could ask for more?

Except that I didn't charge my camera.

Thus ensued a mini-tantrum on the parade from yours truly, loudly berating myself for being such an idiot. I'd also left my umbrella at home that week, despite the fact that it was raining hard. Stupid? Yup. Thought going through my head at the time: I can definitely stop the rain through willpower alone. Any luck with that? Er, nope. Did you learn your lesson? Ha bloody ha.

Thankfully, I was saved by Psych boy's generous offer of his phone camera. I was dubious about it, but it was better than nothing, had a zoom, and allowed me to take cliché photos of boats 'n' stuff. Crisis averted, we split up and mum and I went off for some girly fish times.

Maybe I should turn this into a watercolour!

Excitingly for some, first up was the 'Amazing Knife Sharpener with Suction Pad' stall (I found the same one on Amazon, £5 less than I paid, you lucky things). No prizes for creative names here, but it was definitely descriptive. The guy was a very good salesman, but the sharpener was in fact amazing. Being suckers for kitchen gadgets, my mum and I bought one, so gone are the days where I used to screech at Psych boy to make sure the Global knife never touched ANYTHING that had a whiff of metal about it.

We also watched a demonstration run by John Wright, the River Cottage foraging expert. Being a massive modern life grouch, I find the idea of foraging very appealing because it's all so very loin-cloth sporting and gives me that spiritual ancestor vibe. In other words, it makes me feel like I'm saying a satisfying “fuck you” to banks and supermarkets and post office mini-dramas and David Cameron. In this instance, John explained how to cook a specific type of seaweed for ten hours (otherwise that's apparently how long it would take you to chew it). The demonstration was all rather silly and quaint in a nice, English way, and I did learn that one can eat any kind of seaweed, which I got a bit excited about.

Following the foraging demo, we stopped for a light lunch of Pimms and juicy scallop kebabs from the Perry's restaurant stall (we'd been to the restaurant for Dad's 60^th and had scallops then as well – lush!). The kebabs were being cooked on a dramatic grill with lots of exhilarating steam, so of course, I was immediately sold. They had chorizo on them as well, which was a nice, spicy contrast for the sweetness of the scallops. An excellent choice!

Mmmm... Basil mayo

By far the best part of the day was the 'Passionate about fish' stall, run by Duncan and Sue Lucas. It was there that I met my new favourite fish: the Wolf Fish. They have a crazy set of prehistoric-looking teeth which make them look like dead ringers for Shane McGowan. However, in a not uncruel twist of fate, divers call them sea cats because they like to come out of their rocky lairs to be tickled and stroked. How cute. But wait! Doesn't Shane write deceptively moving lyrics despite being well ugs? And doesn't he, like the wolf fish, enjoy hanging out in dank watering holes? Uncanny.

Shane, is that you?

Not sure I'd eat this...

Beyond my flirting with unattractive fish, I recieved a crash course in living-like-a-sea-fish from Duncan. Gurnards were my next favourites after our lupine friends. They look like those pictures of early living things that you get at the natural history museum which can swim and crawl because they have legs to their front, a bit like prawns or lobsters. Gurnards use these to stir up food from the bottom of the sea. Clever, eh? They also have beautiful fan shaped side fins which are a pale shade of lilac in the sun. And you know what? These babies are cheap and sustainable. I need to get me some Gurnard sharpish.

All in all, I'm pleased to say that I've made some new fishy friends, and intend to start extending my fish-eating net, excuse the pun, to a wider variety of fish. I'm already familiar with pollack, but beyond a bit of sea bream, I haven't been hugely adventurous with my fish dishes. I may even go and pick up a bit of seaweed for a feisty foraged stir fry in the months to come. If you're in the vicinity next year, take a peek! You'll enjoy it.

Passionate about Fish

Slow roasted cherry tomato tarte tatin

2011-07-17T18:24:00.005+01:00

For funsies, I compiled a list of my top ten dishes eaten out (don't - I am aware that this is hugely nerdy), and realised that tomatoes featured quite heavily. That's because tomatoes are the shit. Fact. When they're slow roasted, they are are the reason 'manna' moved away from concept to reality. So what better dish to showcase them than a modern twist on the tarte tatin? I had this in Food for Friends in Brighton, a locally famous vegetarian restaurant. The rest of the meal was pretty unremarkable, but this! Oh, my mouth waters at the sweet, sticky memory of it! Here's my version below, which is very simple but quite close to the original.

“The man who can't visualize a horse galloping on a tomato is an idiot.” André Breton

Serves 4 greedy people as a starter or light supper with some bread.

Cooking time: 2 ½ hours

Hands on time: 20 minutes.

To serve: Whipped goats cheese cream:

125g soft goats cheese (of the cream cheese persuasion)
30ml double cream
1 tsp tarragon, finely snipped

Combine the goats cheese in a bowl with the cream, crushing then whipping with a fork for a minute or so. Add the tarragon, stir and chill while the tomatoes are cooking. Easy as pie.

Tomato tarte tatin

20 cherry tomatoes (have a few extra to hand in case you need more)
1 tsp thyme
1/2 tsp sugar
salt and pepper
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 sheet of puff pastry, thawed
1 egg, beaten

Cut 20 or so cherry tomatoes around their waists, and place them in concentric circles, cut side up in a greased 20 cm oven dish. Sprinkle with the thyme, sugar, seasoning, balsamic and olive oil. Cook in a an oven preheated to 140˚C for 2 hours.

Pull the now sticky and rich tomatoes out of the oven. Spoon out any excess liquid. The tomatoes will look shrunken, so you'll need to carefully push them towards the centre with a wooden spoon so they're snuggling with their neighbours. Cut the pastry to size and place over the top of the tomatoes, tucking closely around the tomatoes.

Cook for twenty minutes at 200˚C until the pastry is lovely and golden. Take a plate that fits over the tart so there is no space between the two, press tightly and flip the whole thing over. Leave to cool slightly and serve warm with a dollop of the goats cream.

Bonkers food pic of the week: Sniffing Parmesan

2011-07-17T09:29:00.004+01:00

"How can anyone govern a nation that has two hundred and forty-six different kinds of cheese?" Charles de Gaulle

I go a bit misty eyed when I think about cheese, especially the ones of the Parmesan/Pecorino persuasion, and these guys look like kindred spirits to me. I had these sorts of cheeses all the time when I was in Umbria with my parents and sister as a teenager. The local dish was a rocket salad with shavings of hard cheese and tiny, yellow pears. One day we went to see some of their friends who lived in one of those farm houses that you lust after in films like Stealing Beauty (still one of my favourite films - so evocative!). We feasted on local foods, including the salad I've just mentioned, looking out over the golden Tuscan hills under a canopy of vines. Time stopped.

Pork belly with peaches and thyme

2011-07-11T20:04:00.011+01:00

“Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.” Mark Twain

Dear Jamie Oliver,

Don't you think it's time to focus once again on your cooking? First we were presented with 'Jamie' magazine (retch) which proclaims to be about great food, so why the egotesticle title? Then we got all excited about the hideous Jamie in America telly programme (just plain horror). We've had to watch you humiliate single fathers, trying to manage earning a living whilst being good dads. We've watched you cry in frustration at your inability to change the school feeding system in California. Me thinks, dear sir, that you were biting off more than you could chew, you silly billy, though not surprising given how large your tongue is.

Nonetheless, despite all these unfortunate qualities, you really do make great recipes. Each time I have used one, the food has turned out delicious and that's not to say that I'm such an amazing cook (no, no, you're too kind): your food is just perfect in it's rustic charms. Your At home sausage and tomato casserole is a staple in my kitchen: almost-too-jammy tomato, smoky bacon and man-friendly herbs. This recipe is one of the best ways I've had belly, but you made it with loin – inferior in my view, yet I will forgive you because this thing is so damn fine.

Jamie dearest, at last I implore you: stick to the cooking.

Pork belly with peaches and thyme

800g pork belly
1 bunch fresh thyme, leaves picked
2 bulbs garlic
70 grams butter
½ can peaches in natural juice, drained (use the rest of them to make Bellinis)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Around 5 slices of pancetta, streaky bacon, or 3 slices of back bacon
1 glass white wine
200ml chicken stock
1tsp cornflour

To prepare the belly for crackling:

Preheat the oven as high as it will go. Score the skin, creating deep grooves in the fat, but don't cut into the meat. Place skin side up on a metal rack and pour 1L of boiling water over in a steady stream. This will cause the fat to seize up and oddly dehydrates the skin. Next, and this is where it gets a bit surreal, grab a hairdryer and dry the skin for about 7 minutes, until it's 'as dry as a Saharan skull' (thanks, Felicity Cloake). This is probably the most fun you'll ever have cooking. Lay skin side down on some kitchen roll (three bits of string laid out over the kitchen roll) and score the meat in preparation for a good rub.

"When I see them all running like that, with their things bouncing around in their shorts, I always picture them naked, even if I don't want to. All I see is pork swords."Juno

To stuff the meat:

Now you need to mash up the garlic, butter and thyme, then rub this into the meat crevices. Next, place the peach slices in an even layer and lay the bacon over the peaches, and roll up the meat as best you can. Tie the string around the pork and snugly stuff any escapees back inside. Place in a small roasting tray with the opening looking at you.

To cook the parcel of loveliness:

Stick the pork in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, then turn down to 150˚ for 2 ½ hours. The meat will be all gooey and melty – just how you want your belly. Remove the pork to let it sit. Deglaze the pan with the white wine and boil off the alcohol. Add a few woody herbs to infuse (bit of thyme goes nicely). Add 200ml of chicken stock and reduce for three minutes. Strain and return to the roasting pan. Add a little cornflour mixed into a paste and simmer until thickened. Gravy!

Bonkers food photo of the week - Meatscape

2011-07-07T17:28:00.004+01:00

Who doesn't love a meatscape? If I had the sheer luck of gazing at a meat-berg illuminated by a setting sun, I could happily die right away. Well, after I'd had a massive rump steak with sauce vierge and sweet potato chips. Nicholas Lampert, I really want to m(eat) you!

Thanks to Nicholas Lampert for producing such edible pictures

The Beetroot Contessa

Saturday scramble

Not so innocent figs

Tender was the fishy

Quiche Lorraine or 'back from the dead'

Bonkers food pic of the week: a screaming watermelon

Live in Portland, Oregon

Beetroot and Walnut Hummus: cheers to Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall

the beet is a melancholy vegetable the one most willing to suffer you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip . . . (Tom Robbins)

Bonkers food pic of the week: Arty food or foody art?

Baked pearl barley porridge

I may have stolen some blackberries from a neighbour

In rode Rick Stein in his battered campervan

The fruit diaries keep on flowing

Fruit seems to be spilling

Yuck? Haven't they been around for years?

Simon Hopkinson's breast of lamb with onions (or: Telly-man love)

Bonkers food pic of the week: last man standing

I tried making it with sprouts but it didn't work

Aubergines with olive oil, garlic, parsley and feta

Bonkers food pic of the week: suicidal pig

Mussel soup with tomato and basil

Flirting with Fish

Slow roasted cherry tomato tarte tatin

Bonkers food pic of the week: Sniffing Parmesan

Pork belly with peaches and thyme

Bonkers food photo of the week - Meatscape

the beet is a melancholy vegetable
the one most willing to suffer
you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip . . . (Tom Robbins)