The aubergine, or eggplant as it is known in some parts, is my favourite vegetable. As well as being a fun shape, it really punches above any other vegetable in the flavour department. I don’t cook it as often as I’d like, because it’s not unanimously loved in my household, which means I try to savour it that bit more when I do.

For someone who calls it their number one, I realised I have shared embarrasingly few aubergine recipes here. I wanted to rectify that, and as they are plentiful, now is the time. Please enjoy four of my most-cooked aubergine dishes. The eggplant quartet. These are not novel ideas, but they are classics. The ones I turn to again and again. Let me know your favourite (and any other aubergine recipes you have known and loved?).

This Japanese classic is very appealing because it takes no effort and looks brilliant. You can add a little grated ginger to the glaze for an extra kick, if you like. It is traditionally grilled but lazily I roast it to make it even more low-maintenance.

Nasu Dengaku

2 aubergines
2 ½ tablespoons miso paste
2 tbsp mirin
2 tbsp sake
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tbsp sugar
Tops of 3 spring onions or chives, to garnish
Sesame seeds, to garnish

1. Turn oven on to 200°c and get your oven tray heating up. Halve aubergines then score them carefully in a criss cross pattern, letting your knife go halfway down the flesh, not quite meeting the bottom.

2. Lightly oil a baking tray. In a small bowl, mix all the glaze ingredients together, then brush/pour it over the aubergines and ensure they are properly covered with it on both sides.

3. Roast for 30-35 minutes on the top shelf of your oven, until the aubergine is fully cooked through and a little crisp at edges. Finish with a quick blast under the grill for an extra golden finish. Garnish with thin slices of spring onion, and sesame seeds. Enjoy with rice or noodles or some pickles.

I would eat Aubergine Parmigiana every week and not get bored. To me, it is all the best things. If you come across fat round Sicilian aubergines, definitely make this with them, it will be velvety as hell. This dish was MADE for la scarpetta, so I like to serve it with a Cuboid Focaccia.

Parmigiana

4 aubergines (the bigger the better)
2 balls mozzarella (again, big ones are best)
100g parmesan, grated
3 handfuls breadcrumbs
Bunch of basil
3 tins of tomatoes
2 onions
2 garlic cloves
40g butter
50ml olive oil
Salt, pepper
Plenty more olive oil for frying

1. Start with the sauce. Infuse the 50ml oil with the garlic cloves (3 mins, gentle heat) then remove them, and add the tomatoes, onions cut into quarters, butter, and nice spring of basil (stalk included). Season and cook for 1 hour, on a low heat, stirring every so often. Put a lid on at the halfway point. This makes lots of sauce so you will have some leftover for another day (or reduce quantities if you prefer).

2. Next, cut the aubergine lengthways into slices about half a centimetre thick. Fry in batches until golden and soft all the way through, they should be silky from the oil, not dry. Season with salt once cooked, as you go. Heat your oven to 200°c.

3. Slice the mozzarella into discs. Now layer up: cover your baking dish or dishes in aubergine slices, then half a cup of sauce, basil leaves torn up, a chunk of mozzarella on each slice of aubergine and a scattering of parmesan. Repeat layers (I like to do 4 in total) and top the final layer of cheese with seasoned breadcrumbs. Bake in the oven for about 30 minutes or until the cheese has melted and the breadcrumbs are golden and crisp.
   
   NB: The second parma can be frozen, baked or unbaked. You can halve the recipe but I personally prefer to make lots so I have a treat for later. Buon appetito.

This Sicilian classic is traditionally served with ricotta alla salata, but I serve it with fresh ricotta and Parmesan. No one has come to arrest me yet. I love the texture of the two together.

Pasta alla Norma

4 cloves garlic
Pinch dried chilli flakes
2 tins of tomatoes
2 medium or 3 small aubergines
1 bunch basil
400g packet spaghetti/other pasta of your choice
1 tub of ricotta
100g Parmesan
200ml olive oil

1. Finely chop the garlic, and cook on a low-medium heat in a few tablespoons of olive oil. Add the chilli flakes, and some salt. When the garlic is soft but not brown, add your tins of tomatoes, more seasoning, a splash of red wine vinegar and a handful of chopped basil, and simmer on a low heat while you prepare the aubergine.

2. Slice the aubergine into batons or cubes. I like to cut them like this so that you can get them on your fork easy with the spaghetti, but if you prefer you can slice them into round circles, Norma would want you to do it the way you please. Fry in batches in plenty of olive oil, turning so that they do not burn, but go a golden colour. It’s very important that they are cooked through, squeaky undercooked aubergine is objectionable.

3. Leave the aubergine to soak off on some kitchen paper, and set aside while you cook your pasta until al dente. Add the aubergine to the sauce and stir well. When cooked, drain the pasta and stir it through the sauce so that you have an even distribution of aubergine. Plate up, and serve each portion very generously with ricotta and Parmesan. The ricotta can be stirred through the sauce upon eating so that it goes almost creamy. Bellissimo.

I love to call these Personal Parmigiana, but they are called Involtini di Melanzane in Italy, if you really want to know. They taste great at room temperature. They are perfect served as a starter, or alongside grilled meat or fish and a simple fennel and orange salad.

Personal Parmigiana

2 aubergines
1 tin of tomatoes
2 garlic cloves, halved
1 onion, peeled and halved
1 basil sprig
150g fior di latte

1. Make a tomato sauce by putting the tomatoes (plus any skinned fresh tomatoes you have lying around) in a pot, with the garlic cloves, onion cut, basil sprig, 30ml olive oil, a pinch of chilli flakes and a pinch of salt. Simmer for 1 hour. Blend with a stick blender.

2. Thinly slice 2 aubergines, then brush with olive oil and grill or barbecue until soft and cooked through.

3. Thinly sliced fior di latte (I use the block from Marco Alimentari which is great value).

4. Spread tomato sauce on each aubergine slice then top each piece horizontally with mozzarella and a basil leaf. Roll up! Put soaked cocktail sticks in each one if you like. Grill all the rolls on a baking tray then when the cheese is melted and they are browned, serve. You will have leftover sauce which could go in a Parmigiana or any pasta dish of your choice.
   
   Thanks for being here! Goodbye from a younger me, and this aubergine memory I won’t forget.

Caitlin Carrick-Varty is a baker, chef and talented writer, whose tempting flavour combinations always stop me in my tracks. Just look at her beautiful Rhubarb, Blancmange and Chocolate Butterscotch creations! I met Caitlin earlier this year at an event about baking with yogurt, and speaking with her felt like talking to someone I had known forever. She bakes with an enthusiasm and a nonchalance that I find uplifting. If you need a cake recipe, please pay Caitlin a visit.

I can’t believe there has never been a plum recipe on the newsletter. Mirabelles and damson plums grow all around my deep pocket of South East London, becoming prune pavement decoration if you’re not quick about collecting them. Like apricots, plums are one of those fruits that I believe to be much tastier cooked. And yet in all my baking here so far I have neglected them. This was a wrong that needed righting.

I am so pleased to have Caitlin here in my silly corner of the world wide web to give plums the attention they deserve. This was the first yeasted cake recipe I’ve ever tried, and it has me sold. Subscribe to Caitlin’s newsletter here, and follow her on Instagram here for more sweet and special inspiration.

Caitlin says:

I was first given a slice of this Plum Crumble Kuchen in Berlin. The friends I lived with called it ‘cake’ – ‘Kuchen’. It was made with whatever fruit they had growing in their garden. Come autumn, the cake made room for apples as well as plums. It’s a yeast base topped with fruit – the grandmother of bread and jam. Everything about this cake is German. As in, the essence of it is distinctly German, which you’ll know when you make and eat it. I’ve added more sugar than my Oma would to the recipe, and a crumble topping (which isn’t that un-German of me). But if you want the hardcore Kuchen experience, make it without the crumble.

Keep it in the fridge for up to a week. Eat it fridge cold, or even better, warm it in a hot oven until all the parts of the cake make good friends (around 3 minutes at 180°C fan), then serve with a spoon of yoghurt.

Caitlin’s Plum Crumble Kuchen

For the yeasted cake

80g milk
1 medium egg
25g caster sugar
25g unsalted butter, softened
3g fine salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon
210g strong white bread flour
4g fast action yeast

850g plums (I like Victoria plums, but any variety is fine, so long as they aren’t overripe. You can use frozen, pitted plums; you just won’t get as vivid a colour from them after baking. Defrost around 900g of plums. Drain away any excess liquid, then weigh out 750g.)

For the crumble

50g demerara sugar
150g plain flour
75g unsalted butter, cold and cubed
A large pinch of salt and cinnamon, if you like

1. In a large bowl, mix the ingredients for the dough until a shaggy mass is formed. Turn it onto a clean worktop and knead for 10 minutes, until you feel it spring to life; it will become elastic and smooth. Grease the bowl you mixed the dough ingredients in with butter or oil. Set the dough in the bowl. Cover it until doubled in size.

2. After about 2 hours, the dough will be doubled. Line a baking tray of around 9x13 inches. Deflate the dough, then stretch it gently like you would a pizza base. Flatten it out until it fills the base of the tray.

3. Brush the dough with a little beaten egg or milk. Keep some of this wash; you’ll use it later. At this point you can cover the dough sheet well with cling film and leave it in the fridge overnight, or up to 24 hours… otherwise, carry on.

4. Pit and quarter the plums. Weigh out 750g of the fruit and lay them over the dough base. Do this however you like, as long as there’s a thin border of dough. Cover the cake with cling film while you deal with the crumble.

5. In a bowl, rub together all the ingredients for the crumble until it feels like wet sand. Chill it in the fridge while the cake rests and puffs up slightly. Give it 40 minutes (double that if you had it in the fridge overnight), then look for the dough around the edges to spring back slowly when pressed.

6. Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C fan. Spread the chilled crumble over the dough. Brush the edges of the cake with a last bit of egg wash or milk. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the crumble has some colour, and the edges of the cake are on the darker side. Let it rest a bit. Then try a corner slice, warm. Plum heaven.

Huge thanks again to Caitlin for sharing this beautiful recipe. You can find all the Guest Special recipes in one place here. Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you soon!

1 year ago… Maternity Leave
2 years ago… Grilled and Glazed Paneer
3 years ago… Mussels and Chips
4 years ago… Apricot Cupcakes, Potato Salad, and Anchovy Bites

I feel like most of my meal planning is working out ways not to eat tomato pasta every day. My brain defaults to it heavily, and if I were to cook it every time I think about it, I would rinse my supply of tinned tomatoes, fast.

As we enter homegrown tomato harvest time, though, it’s right to wolf it down regularly. Even better, you don’t need to cook the things at all, because the sun has done the work. This recipe brings out the natural sweetness of fresh tomatoes, letting them sing sweetly without overwhelming that sun-ripened flavour.

We had to employ a tripod to keep our heavy juicy toms in place this year. Their skins started to burst, telling us in their own way that it was time to pluck.

I recently had the fortune of trying the pizza tasting menu at Napoli on the Road, a restaurant in Soho in London, where the first course is tomato sauce four ways. It was served cooked for 0, 2, 6 and 10 hours. It’s pretty cool how intensely different the flavour becomes just with time. My favourite was the 6 hour sauce, but I am not sure I could warrant that much stove-time at home to replicate it.

In today’s recipe, the time in question is just 15 minutes. As the pasta cooks, the tomatoes are left to stew in their punchy sauce in your warm kitchen. No heat required. Like all the best summer food, this meal doesn’t ask too much of you.

The salt from the fish sauce draws out the juices from the fruit and they mingle together, just long enough to become harmonious. I wrote the recipe down scrawled on a piece of paper my son was drawing on. It was too good not to share.

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While many of my meals are now speedy by necessity, I still like to dip my toes into a high-pressure, high-oil environment from time to time. A dangerous thing to do with a toddler pulling at one’s skirt, undoubtedly. This is a recipe to make with two adults on hand, or no kids present.

I first ate black chickpeas, or kala chana as they are called in Hindi, at Everest Curry King in Lewisham back in 2014. They were served as part of a dry pumpkin dish, and I immediately fell for their dense, creamy texture. I couldn’t get them out of my head.

It turns out they are better for you than white chickpeas: higher in fibre and iron, so I’ve been trying to cook with them more over the years. You can buy them at Indian shops and larger supermarkets (I have found them at Sainsbury’s and Ocado).

I dabbled with them four years ago in this recipe for Black Chickpea Soup, inspired by chaat. Since then, I’ve also used them in curries or in this week’s recipe: Black Chickpea Falafel and Black Chickpea Hummus. It makes enough for 2-3 meals. If you’re going to get frying oil going, you may as well make it worth your time. My son loves the hummus, which adds to the list of reasons to make it.

Black Chickpea Hummus

100g black chickpeas
100g tahini paste
20ml lemon juice
2 garlic cloves
45ml ice cold water
½ tsp salt
Pine nuts, urfa and Aleppo chilli flakes, to garnish (optional)

1. To make the hummus, soak the chickpeas overnight in plenty of cold water (I do this all as one with the chickpeas for the falafel below).

2. The next day, boil the 100g of soaked chickpeas in salted water for roughly 1 hour and 15 minutes, on a gentle rolling boil with a lid on. Keep an eye on them to be sure they do not need topping up with anymore water. They are ready when they are tender to bite.

3. Drain and allow to cool, then add to a food processor with the tahini, garlic and lemon juice and blend well. When the paste is smooth and thick, add in the ice cold water in two goes, blending until you have a smooth, creamy consistency, about the thickness of Greek yogurt.

4. Season with the salt to taste then stir and transfer to a bowl to serve. In a small, dry frying pan, toast a handful of pine nuts. Drizzle the hummus with a little olive oil then top with toasted pine nuts, Urfa and Aleppo chilli flakes.

Black Chickpea Falafel

200g black chickpeas
1 handful chopped coriander
1 handful chopped parsley
½ tsp cumin powder
½ tsp coriander powder
½ tsp cayenne
½ onion
½ tsp salt
1 tbsp plain flour
½ tsp baking powder

1. To make the falafel, transfer your soaked black chickpeas (this will be about 400g once soaked) to a food processor or bullet blender.* Blend well until the mixture is like coarse breadcrumbs and then add the herbs and onion. Blend again, finally adding the spices, plain flour, salt, baking powder and a tablespoon or two of water and stirring well. The mixture should be wet to touch but thick enough to hold its shape. If it seems dry, add a little water. *If your blender is small or not very powerful, you may need to blend in two batches, or use a hand blender to achieve a consistent texture across the mixture.

2. With wet hands, form the falafel mixture into balls by rolling them between your palms. You should get about 15 falafel out of this mixture (they freeze very well). Allow to chill in the fridge in their bowl or on a plate for 30 minutes or so (or longer if you like).

3. Heat up about 400ml frying oil in a wok or other high-sided pan, until shimmering (or until a breadcrumb sizzles when added to it). On a medium heat, fry 3-4 falafel at a time (depending on the size of your pan), for 2-3 minutes, until well browned. Gently turn each falafel with a slotted spoon and allow to fry for a further 2 minutes. Keep an eye on it because the oil will get hotter as you fry and you may need to turn the flame down as it heats up.

4. Transfer to a draining rack or plate lined with kitchen paper and sprinkle immediately with salt. Reserve the cooled oil, strain into a jar and keep in the fridge to fry with again.

5. To complete the meal, I like to serve the falafel and hummus on a flatbread (I use this Meliz Berg bread recipe) with a little optional tahini and garlic sauce*. Top everything with some form of pickles (onions, cucumbers, chillies), red cabbage dressed with lemon, chopped tomatoes, and parsley. The falafel and hummus also makes for a great salad bowl served with bulgar wheat or pearl barley. Let’s hear it for fibre!

   * For the tahini and garlic sauce, just mix a small grated clove of garlic with 3 tbsp tahini and 2 tbsp of lemon juice, and a few tbsp of cold water, stir well until it thickens to about the consistency of double cream).

The last few week’s meals have been a good advertisement for summer eating. Such colour and variety! Lucky my tummy. In the interest of a cool kitchen, I’ve been trying to keep it simple, with the occasional dabble with pastry and dough… Details below.

1. Hot dogs with the lot in sweet potato buns. Became obsessed with sweet potato buns last summer and got them in the freezer at all times again this year.

2. The kimchi and fried oyster mushroom pizza by Flat Earth at the Battle of the Dough - a pizza competition I went to last month held by The Orange restaurant and Wild Farmed. Delicious!

3. A Niçoise salad with extra special anchovies and tuna from The Tinned Fish Market.

4. A chicken rendang. I LOVE packet rendang for a quick midweek dinner. I’ve also become obsessed with jasmine rice. Is it the tastiest rice?

5. The Smile Menu at Whole Beast in Brixton – my favourite burger of the last few years. They give you little packets of rub seasoning to take away which delighted me. Eli sat in a high chair and ate chips for about 15 minutes straight while tapping his foot and nodding his head to a song by Faithless. We could enjoy our meals peacefully. What a treat.

6. A neighbour gave away a giant yellow courgette so I made this. A quick puff pastry tart with courgette and goats cheese.

7. Paneer Jalfrezi, recipe here. I’ve taken to making extra sauce and freezing it so we get two meals out of the work. Then just fry the onions, peppers and paneer and stir it through.

8. Weekend buttermilk waffles. Smitten Kitchen recipe never fails.

9. The Puttanesca Galette from Helen Goh’s incredible Baking & the Meaning of Life. I used big tomatoes instead of cherry, and I added some fish sauce and balsamic to the onions which was a trick I learnt from Nicola Lamb’s buttery tomato pie. So many things I want to cook from Helen’s book. It strikes me as an exceptional cookbook for those who like to picnic.

1 year ago… Berry Iced Fingers
2 years ago… Squid Spaghetti
3 years ago… Cabbage Pasta
4 years ago… Redcurrant Cheesecake

In the spirit of not burning out trying to create yet another cake recipe that the world doesn’t really need, this week, instead please find 12 of my favourite summer recipes from the back catalogue. I love returning to these each year, so I figured you might like to, too?

There’s something for the strawberry sisters, the stone fruit fellas, the corn comrades and the tomato amigos. Barbecue sides, meaty mains, aubergine cakes and berries every way you like.

1. Berry and Apricot Cobbler

2. Ricotta Topped Spaghetti with Courgette Flowers

3. Timballo

4. Berry Iced Fingers

5. Strawberry Tahini Mille Feuille

6. Hot Calamari Sandwiches

7. Redcurrant Cheesecake

8. Vindaloo Pork Chops and Corn Cobs

9. Portuguese Tomato Rice

10. Corn and Anchovy Gnocchi

11. Summer (Whipped Feta) Cauliflower Cheese and Mexican Potato Salad

12. Strawberry Chiffon Cake

Hope you find something to enjoy! And if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, All My Pies is now for you. Signing out with a picture of my local mulberry tree in all its glory. Mother Nature, we salute you.

See you next time, when we will be putting black chickpeas through their paces again.

I love strawberries with tahini. I like them on top of porridge. I like them in a bowl on their own (like you would serve strawberries and cream). But I also like using them as a basis for recipe development, because they’re the perfect balance of richness and freshness, and sweet and savoury.

This week’s recipe is a dessert I worked hard for. I made it four times to get it right. I got to the galette idea pretty quickly, but landing on the format of the tahini filling was challenging. First I thought I’d try a tahini frangipane, but when it came out of the oven, the texture was claggy. I learned this is because tahini can absorb up to 100% of its weight in liquid (say what?).

For my second attempt, I tried a simple tahini custard with crème fraîche and sugar, but this wasn’t quite right either. I also baked the galette on my silicone baking sheet that time, which was a major mistake, and resulted in a soft and not crispy base. Too many variables. Too little time.

Then there were the strawberries. I wanted them to cook and get intense but not to make everything soggy. I wanted them to retain colour and vibrancy. I suppose, my problem was I wanted it all. This dessert was doing its best to beat me, but I wasn’t going to give up.

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We’ve had a crazy week, involving ambulances, vomit, and a night of 30 minutes sleep. I haven’t had such little sleep since the night I gave birth, so it was a real hit to the senses. It’s safe to say my brain is feeling a little dum dum.

I’m learning that when you’re a parent you have to suck up your own emotions and pretend to be made of steel. For the greater good. Not an easy task for a soft lass such as myself, but I’m trying. The good news is everyone is okay now, Eli has learned to say I love you, and all of our bellies are once again full. Just like our hearts.

In the spirit of low-capacity brain function, this week’s recipe is an easy meal that, once you've roasted the vegetables, can be put together in about 15 minutes. I first shared it on an Instagram video a few years ago. It’s very versatile – use whatever 2-3 vegetables you have in your veg drawer at the time. I love peppers, carrots, beetroot, tomatoes, cauliflower, aubergine, fennel or onion here. You can switch up the grain too. The only constants are the dressing and the halloumi. I used the new Odysea yogurt here, which is SO good and creamy (you can get it from Sainsbury’s). Hope you like this one.

Grain and Roast Vegetable Salad with Yogurt Dressing

100g giant couscous or pearl barley
2-4 vegetables to roast, chopped into chunks
150-200g Greek yogurt
1 tbsp tahini
1 lemon
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp nigella seeds
A handful of herbs (coriander/mint/parsley)
1 pack of halloumi
Pickled chillis (optional)
Sumac/Aleppo/urfa chilli flakes

1. Turn the oven on to 180°c. Drizzle the vegetables with olive oil and season with salt and pepper then roast them for 35-50 minutes until they're cooked through and golden (how long this takes will depend on your chosen vegetables, the lower time for peppers and tomatoes, the longer for carrots or beetroot).

2. Toast the coriander and nigella seeds in a dry pan for 1 minute then grind to a coarse powder in a pestle and mortar. Add the tahini to the yogurt along with the juice of half a lemon, the spices, a tablespoon of olive oil, and salt and pepper. Stir well. Wash and chop the herbs.

3. Cook the giant couscous or barley in boiling salted water according to packet instructions, then drain and rinse with cold water. Stir some olive oil through it.

4. Fry the halloumi in olive oil, turning once, until golden on all sides, then season with lemon juice.

5. To serve, place half the barley or couscous on each plate and then arrange half the roasted vegetables on top, along with their roasting juices. Dot the yogurt dressing around the plate and add lots of the herbs, and the fried halloumi. It’s nice to sprinkle some sumac, Aleppo and urfa chilli flakes on at the end. You could also drizzle some pomegranate molasses if you like.

Everyone needs to know about this YouTube channel

Insane though it may sound, sometimes, me and Charles are too tired to watch TV. Instead, we have taken to watching YouTube videos on our television, which I suppose provides a way for us to kind of mindlessly scroll, communally. It turns what could be a cursed, antisocial activity into a more convivial one. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

One of the channels we’ve been really enjoying of late has been the BBC Archive. We were served a video about sweets on there by the strange but great YouTube algorithm. The only algorithm I will ever say anything good about.

The archives contain over 1800 videos of everything from a look at when seat belts became compulsory, to the Rise of Vegetarians. It’s crazy how footage from just 30 years ago can feel so otherworldly.

These are five of our favourites so far:

1. The World of Sweets

2. East Side Story: Contrasting Views of London Docklands

3. Moving to a “Town of the 21st Century”

4. Buying Your First Family Computer

5. The Brockwell Park Lido

Watching for example, The World of Sweets, my main takeaway was how much knowledge the people interviewed had about their craft. They seem to take genuine pride in they work. I usually hate the word (and concept), but they feel like “experts”. Like people you could truly learn something from. Is it me or is that feeling harder to encounter these days? (Okay fine, Kathlyn Turner notwithstanding).

In the time of AI and being ‘chronically online’, there is a lack of mystery now. I think this translates to a kind of a cynicism: how can we tell if what people are telling us (online or about themselves), is true, when to cheat and embellish is now so easy? We risk losing something. Is it genuine curiosity about others? I don’t know. Seems like life was better when all the information in the world was not available at the click of a button, and you actually had to work a little harder to find it.

If we can’t timetravel to that slower world, at least we can dive into a BBC Archive YouTube hole! A little misplaced nostalgia never hurt anyone.

1 year ago… Lancashire Slab Pie
2 years ago… Pasta con Salsiccia e Funghi
3 years ago… Timballo
4 years ago… Summer Cauliflower Cheese and Mexican Potato Salad

See you next time!

I’m burning the candle at both ends at the moment, and unlike usual, not through fault of my own. Boring and occasionally unsavoury life admin is taking up a lot of headspace. In times like these a big kick in the face with flavour is just what the doctor ordered. Sometimes your chicken just needs caramelling.

Along with trying to use my cookbooks more, which I spoke about recently, I’m also trying to use up stuff that’s been in my cupboard too long. I have had a giant bottle of fish sauce for years now, so I thought I’d create a recipe that would mean I could finally get through the thing. Meet fish sauce caramel.

I first encountered fish sauce caramel when my friend Polly made a caramelised pork chop recipe back when we were at delicious. magazine. I thought I’d take the concept and apply it to chicken here. I’ve added ginger which really opens up the palate, as well as kaffir lime leaves because I had them in the freezer. They worked so well. If you don’t have kaffir lime leaves, I think lots of black pepper would do wonders here for an aromatic accent.

This recipe is handsome enough to cook for friends, but low-key enough to make on a weeknight. I’ve served it with a simple, punchy dressed salad that has plenty of crunch (recipe below) and my favourite Thai sticky rice, which Eli loves (as you can see above). Let’s eat!

Limey Fish Sauce Caramel Chicken

For the chicken

4-6 chicken thighs (depending on hunger)
70ml fish sauce
60g brown sugar or palm sugar
1 lime, juiced
2 tbsp neutral oil
1 shallot, thinly sliced
Small knob of ginger
1 heaped tbsp sambal oelek chilli sauce (or similar)
2 kaffir lime leaves (optional)
200ml water
Steamed Thai sticky rice (don’t forget to rinse and soak it the night before!)
1 spring onion, for garnish

For the salad

150g tomatoes
1 shallot, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, sliced
Small knob ginger, finely chopped
3 radishes
¼ cucumber
1 lime, zest and juice
½ tsp brown sugar
1 tbsp fish sauce
1 handful Thai basil (or use regular basil)
1 handful coriander
2 tbsp crushed peanuts or cashews
1 frozen red chilli

1. To make the chicken, in a large frying pan or wok, cook the shallot in 1 tbsp sunflower oil for 5 minutes, stirring now and then. Meanwhile, in a small bowl or jug, whisk together the grated ginger sugar, fish sauce, sambal oelek and lime juice and 100ml of the water. Add this to the pan and heat gently for 5 minutes.

2. Slit each chicken thigh a few times through the skin, then add a tbsp oil to another pan, and brown the chicken thighs, skin side down for 2-3 minutes. Turn them over and cook for a further 2 minutes.

3. Remove the chicken thighs from the pan and add them straight into the pan with the caramel sauce, turning the heat to low. Cook for 12-15 minutes on a medium sized ring, turning halfway and adding another 100ml of water at this halfway point. It will bubble away excitedly, and you can spoon some of the caramel over the chicken as it cooks.

4. To make the salad, mix together the fish sauce, lime zest and juice, brown sugar and chopped ginger and garlic in a small bowl or jug. Chop the cherry tomatoes roughly, and slice the radish and cucumber. Pick the herbs and put them on a serving plate along with the vegetables. Pour the dressing over the vegetables and allow to sit before finishing with the peanut crumb and grating the frozen red chilli on top (alternatively you can scatter sliced fresh chilli over).

5. Scatter the chicken with the spring onion and serve the caramel chicken over rice, alongside the salad. Enjoy!

Here are three podcasts I’ve really enjoyed lately:

1. Conversations with Annalisa Barbieri - The Menstrual Brain

Series 12 of my favourite podcast is here, and it’s as good as ever. This episode was particularly eye-opening (as was the accompanying one on The Menopause Brain from Series 11).

2. Bad Gays - Mandelson: A Homosexual History

Although uttering his name is enough to make one a bit sick in the mouth, if you can stomach it, the Mandelson: A Homosexual History mini series from Bad Gays has been a crackingly thorough takedown of one of UK politics’ seediest characters.

3. Word of Mouth – Tourette Syndrome

Every Word of Mouth episode contains nuggets to love, but this one with Ione Georgakis on Tourette Syndrome was a recent favourite. Michael Rosen for PM.

1 year ago… Confit Tomato Pasta
2 years ago… Sambal Subs
3 years ago… Breakfast Pide
4 years ago… Strawberry Chiffon Cake

Mango season hits every April or May and I always think damn, what a lovely little fruit. Indian mangoes (Alphonso and Kesar) are much smaller, softer, sweeter, more orange and fragrant than the big bully supermarket variety (called ‘Tommy Atkins’). This year, Alphonso mangoes have been harder to come by and more expensive, owing to growing conditions, and the fuel crisis that’s been a consequence of the devastating troubles in the Middle East. See this piece by Ranji Thangiah for more.

When you can find them, you might have to pay a bit of a premium. But that supple, tender flesh and unique flavour is kind of priceless? I paid £13 for a box of Kesars and £2.95 each for 6 Alphonsos for recipe testing, and they were worth every penny. So how to show the fruit at its best?

Roulade, roll cake, Swiss roll, there are many names for a rolled up dessert. Which to choose? I believe a roulade encompasses them all (and can also refer to savoury rolls), while a Swiss roll is traditionally with only a jam filling. You often find roulades made from meringue, but I personally find meringue too sweet, and with the sweetness of gods own mangoes I thought this would definitely be overkill.

I’ve gone with a classic sponge here, adding a little turmeric, amchur and lime zest for colour and acidity. I like what they do. The cream filling is whipped with plenty of yogurt and lime which brightens it against the sweetness of the mangoes, and works really well.

The recipe is more about confidence than any technicality. It’s quick: we’re just making a one bowl sponge, and then baking it in 13 minutes flat. Then we whip up our yogurt cream, chop the fruit, and slightly adorn that same cream for the topping with a bit of passionfruit. And then we are rolling. Let’s do it.

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Let’s hear it for meatballs. Fun to say, fun to eat. Even more fun to say in Spanish: albondigas. Say it out loud if you feel like a good time. I like albondigas because they require your hands to be the tool, demanding a little moment of manual labour at the end of the day. Roll them up into little balls, pop them on a plate. Feel the cool, sensory satisfaction of having made something. There’s too much intangibility in this world, if you ask me. A bit of touchy feely, as I have learned from watching my toddler pick up ants and bugs, is good for you. It’s what nature intended.

With this recipe, I wanted to take the principle of a rice bowl that I used in my Tinned Thai Fishcake Bowls recipe. Those principles being that the meal should be easy to prepare and that it should involve something golden and saucy served on top of rice, because grains soak up gravy like nothing else. Just look at the cuisines of West and Southern Asia if you don’t believe me.

Flavour-wise, it combines the classic British combination of lamb, peas, and mint with North African spices, harissa and orange juice. There’s a slight nod to keema from the lamb mince, cumin and peas too. The result is a moreish bowl with the sweetness of lamb and peas, and the warmth and brightness of the spices, citrus and mint. Hope you’re mad for it!

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Young parenthood demands many a sacrifice (and they are all worth it). But one thing I know as my monthly nursery invoice comes in, is that it’s bye bye disposal income. Gone are the days of travelling abroad, or going out for drinks or a meal with friends. And that’s okay! I get my little thrills at home, on the sofa. So dinners that feel a bit fancy but are simple to make are gold dust.

There is always something so exciting about a restaurant that specialises in seafood to me. Like a steakhouse, I feel that they encourage you to hold your head high, slick on some lipstick, and order something exciting, to be eaten with a napkin bib and a knife specific to the task at hand.

When I had my 30th Birthday party (at the phenomenal family-restaurant Trattoria Raffaele in Sydenham), my Dad made a speech and talked about a trip he took me on when I was 8 or 9. Because I am one of four siblings, my parents used to take us on ‘days out’ where we would have dedicated one-on-one time with either parent, and do something special and different. Just us. Maybe it would be a trip to the cinema, or a journey on the top deck of a London tour bus, or a night in a youth hostel in Kent. They are very special memories. The particular time he spoke about in his speech was a trip to Whistable, to the seafood restaurant (I think it was the Whitstable Oyster Company). He remembered me being wide eyed in awe at the tablecloths and shellfish. Perhaps, as he mooted, that’s where my fish (or restaurant) fandom started.

Anyway, this recipe is supposed to bring a bit of that buzz to your living room sofa.

One of my favourite seafood restaurants is Crab House Cafe in Weymouth, where I first tried fish cooked with rosemary. You have to take a bus away from the main town to get there. Sitting on the back seats as it trundles along the quiet seaside roads is all part of the fun. When you arrive, the oyster beds are in plain sight and the menu boasts fishy treats galore. The way the food is plated kind of screams 2006 and I love that about it. The portions are generous and the fish is fresh as you like. I can see they still have rosemary butter monkfish on the menu now…

Rosemary is often thought of as a woody winter herb, but the new spring growth that has recently taken place in the UK makes for soft, tender and extra fragrant sprigs that are well worth picking for your dinner. You can tell it’s new growth because it literally feels softer and is a paler green. Using these whippersnapper sprigs to flavour butter for fish is one of my favourite easy dinners. Especially because someone on your road probably has a rosemary bush in their front garden, so you can get some for free right NOW.

I have a few strongly held herb beliefs and one is that you should never pay for rosemary.

Rosemary Fried Fish

50g butter
3 sprigs rosemary
1 lemon
2 thick fillets of firm white fish (such as monkfish, halibut, cod or haddock)

1. Melt the butter in a large frying pan on a medium heat. Use one of your rosemary sprigs (as if it is your kitchen utensil) to move the butter around your pan so it is evenly covering its surface. Drop the sprig into the butter and allow it to just begin crisping. When you can smell it, remove it and set aside.

2. Season your fish fillets with salt and pepper. Turn the pan up to medium-high, and add your fillets to the pan. Allow them to brown well on one side for 2 minutes. Slice the lemon into thin slices, saving a quarter to juice later.

3. When you are sure the fish is brown on one side, use a flat spatula or fish slice to flip it over in a confident movement. Turn the heat down to medium. Add the lemon slices and a little more butter to the pan, and then put all of your rosemary sprigs back in the pan and continue to cook it with the fish for 4-7 more minutes.* Spoon the flavoured butter over the fish as it cooks to help it to stay hydrated. You can also put one of the lemon slices on each fillet as they cook. The rosemary should crisp up nicely so it’s like a delicious herby crisp. Enjoy!

*Tips:

• How long you cook the fish exactly will depend on type of fish and the thickness of the fillets. You can test the fish by a finger test: the fillet should feel slightly firm and spring back when you touch it. You can also test it with a metal skewer in the middle: put the skewer in, if it comes out warm, the fish is cooked. If not, continue cooking on a lower heat for a little longer. The ones pictured at the top of the newsletter took a full 8-9 minutes to cook through, but if your fillets are longer and thinner they’ll cook more quickly than shorter, fatter fillets.

• I like to serve this (with the lemon and rosemary – they’re both delicious) with potatoes, and some roasted or pan fried cherry tomatoes. It’s also great with ratatouille in the summer. Here it is pictured with my Wild Garlic Dauphinoise.

1 year ago… Mango Pudding Pie
2 years ago… Apricot and Pistachio Cobbler
3 years ago… Tomatillo Chicken Escalopes
4 years ago… Birria Quesatacos

If (like Ian Brown) you’ve recently longed to stop the world and get off, an overnight visit to The Wild Duck pub in Ewen, Gloucestershire might be just the thing for you. Arriving at Kemble station to make your journey there feels a bit like the scene of the film The Graduate when Benjamin Braddock’s car runs out of petrol and judders to a halt, as Mrs Robinson by Simon & Garfunkel comes to a ritardando. By which I mean, arriving by train and stepping off into the 100-year old station feels like slowing down and entering another decade. There is no queue of taxis. The bus comes about once an hour, if that. A bit like Benjamin Braddock, you will realise that you have found yourself stranded, in a predicament in which you only have your legs as transport.

The good thing is that in fact you are in 2026, and you can call a Cirencester taxi firm, who will pick you up in half an hour. So you entertain your toddler. Walking around the very large car park looking for ants, spiders, and identifying bird songs on the Merlin app. A learner car drives around in circles on a Saturday lunch time. Life is slow here.

The taxi will arrive, and you will pay for it before you get in, because the village of Ewen (which is actually only a half hour walk away, if you had the energy and a child who would let you put them in a pram) has no phone signal.

When you arrive at The Wild Duck, your shoulders will instantly relax. You’ll walk into the Grade II-listed pub, which smells heavily of wood smoke, and sink a half pint of Uley bitter, as you wait for your room to be ready. It is a family room, with a secret annex of carved wooden bunk beds for kids (yours will sleep in the middle of the king size bed with you though, let’s get real). Opposite that luxurious stretch of bed sits an enormous, enamel roll-top bath tub, beneath a sash window with a view of only greenery. You crank it to a chorus of bird song.

As well as the bath, there is an en-suite bathroom, with a shower boasting the greatest water pressure you’ve ever felt. It’s as good as a massage. The towels are soft and multiple, the dressing gowns plush, the 100 Acres bath and body products smell of your grandma’s fresh laundry. The Roberts radio is there only for bluetooth purposes, we are too remote here for radio signal. Homemade cookies sit on the dresser, alongside coffees, teas, a Le Creuset plunger. It’s still before 2pm, so you make a pot. You sup it as JoJo and Gran Gran plays on the box. Breathe it all in. That’s the stuff.

As the toddler naps on the bed, you take it in turns to head downstairs to drink icy rose in a pub garden full of beautiful people glowing in the sun’s rays. Nivea sun cream is on every table, emanating that smell of a thousand holidays. A musician tunes a guitar, plays cover versions of Paul Simon and Bill Withers songs, which in any other context would be mildly objectionable, but here manages to calm and charm you all at the same time.

You wander across the road ahead of your 5:30pm dinner (which they’ve accommodated for the toddler), and chance upon a field of gambolling lambs. Your son loses his mind. The sun is beating down a pleasing 23 degrees and you pick dandelions, blow them in each others’ faces. You talk about what would happen if you moved to a village like this. Isn’t half the fun of a good holiday the role play of imagining the life you’d make for yourself there? Make-believe doesn’t end in childhood.

Dinner time arrives, and you settle down in what they call the ‘Garden Room’, and order a picante cocktail that glows sunset orange. For your meal, you select a prawn cocktail and a shrimp-covered trout in butter sauce. Your partner chooses burrata with spring peas and roast loin of lamb with new potatoes. The food is simple, rich, beautifully cooked. The toddler doesn’t eat more than a mouthful of fish, barely touching his giant plate of kids’ pasta pomodoro because he’s got a bug. But he makes it through two whole hours of you gorging, thanks to multiple wanderings around outside, and the genial temperament he was born with.

You retire to your giant room, to have a second unnecessary bath and soak up the bubbles. Dessert is brought up. It’s time for bed. You sleep soundly on the soft cotton sheets, with the million pillows, and the loves of your life snuggled up beside you. Whenever you wake in the night, you look around and remember you have no obligations here. No dishes in the sink, or bins to take out. You can just be.

The morning brings green juices, coffees, and a fry up that’s meatier than a Turkish mixed grill. Thick bacon chop, sausage, black pudding and eggs, served with bread, butter, tomatoes, mushrooms. No amount of walking could burn off this much protein but do you give two hoots? No you don’t.

The Wild Duck manages to be both a haven in nature and a bustling free-house churning out classic British food with precision. With a menu that would stand up to the best of London’s fancy hotels, and a family-friendly welcome that is backed up by the finer details. This is a pub with rooms worthy of any family weekend away, but especially those without a car, or a budget for holidaying abroad.

It’s hard to relax when you’re at the beck and call of a little person, but at The Wild Duck, we actually, truly did. Book in if you can!

This was a gifted stay. Thank you so much to The Wild Duck for hosting us.

Part of a roast chicken’s appeal is being able to make it by heart. There is reassurance in roasting it the same way, every time. But, mixing it up slightly – bespoking the bird – is equally exciting. Will it be a different pan, herb, brine, or seasoning? Poultry power is in your hands.

My usual roast chicken method is peppered with ideas from recipes past. The boiled and stabbed lemon is a trick I learnt from a Jamie Oliver show about 10 years ago: the softened fruit steams inside the chicken keeping it unbelievably moist and flavourful. I haven’t stopped doing it since. The butter all over and under the skin is from my Mum. And the white wine in the bottom of the dish, which means the chicken makes its own gravy, is from Julia Busuttil-Nishimura. All you need to do is release the ‘fond’.

The fond is a funny-sounding name for the sticky, rich, dark brown, caramelised flavour that clings to the bottom of a pan after meat, fish or vegetables have been cooked in it. I always think it sounds quite serious, like a special agent. Probably on account of it rhyming with the word (James) Bond. But maybe also because it’s like its own secret door to flavour. Once you’ve met fond, you never forget fond.

Here, I have taken these techniques I know and love, and added dill and leeks, which lift the whole thing. Fond mingles with the white wine, herb butter, garlic, lemon and chicken juices and dutifully creates one hell of a gravy.

Serving chicken with rice is not a novel idea. Hainanese Chicken Rice, Biryani, Tikka Masala, Jollof, Jerk, and a thousand other national dishes demonstrate how unanimously loved this combination is. Then there’s Nobel Rot’s roast chicken with morels and vin jaune. It’s a well trodden path because rice, as a carb to mop up every drop of gravy, is first-rate. Carving up the bird to serve makes for a finished platter that looks the part. But it is also way easier to plate up for you and your friends this way. Easy plating, easy eating. Feel good. Fond.

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Paul Simon’s Kodachrome wish has been granted this week. We have been given those nice bright colours, those greens of summers. Sun has poured through the windows turning the grass and trees gleaming lemon yellows and greens.

As Vitamin D levels return to their rightful place, it feels right to dig into the archives and find my choicest green recipes. I had fun picking this selection of my 10 favourite green recipes for spring. Wild garlic features because I’m still a fan of free food. But if you want to make the most of broccoli, leeks, asparagus, fennel or spinach there’s something to enjoy here for you, too.

Green is my favourite colour. And it turns out it’s a pretty great one to eat. Enjoy!

10 Very Green Recipes for Spring

1. Wild Garlic Dauphinoise

2. Gochujang Asparagus Swirl Quiche

3. Fennel Risotto

4. Tomatillo Chicken Escalopes

5. Vichyssoise Soup

6. Wild Garlic Cheese Pide

7. Wild Garlic Spanakopita

8. Broccoli and Cheddar Mascarpone Pie

9. Wild Garlic Shokupan

10. Aguachile

See you soon!

My last recipe was all about the excellent combination of cheese and peppers. Here that pairing is expressed another way, to equally pleasing effect. These peppers have something of the chilles rellenos or jalapeño popper about them, without the deep frying. No one (except me?) wants to be knee-deep in batter and oil on a weeknight.

Instead, we simply roast peppers and fill their pockets half-way through with yogurty Cotherstone cheese which then melts and goes golden as they continue to cook. Caramelised onions and lemons are stirred through orzo along with a few herbs and some chilli flakes. Bring the two together. The job is done!

Paid Subscribers can get 15% off Cotherstone cheese from Neal’s Yard Dairy via last week’s newsletter. If you can’t get Cotherstone in your home city, I’d recommend a mix of good Cheddar and mozzarella here.

Cheese Stuffed Pepper Orzo

5-6 long peppers (red or green or both)
200g Cotherstone
2 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 lemon, ¾ thinly sliced horizontally, saving ¼ to juice
200g orzo
30g butter
1 tsp thyme leaves
2 tbsp coriander leaves

1. Preheat your oven to 180°C. Use a sharp knife to slice carefully lengthwise down each long pepper. Add your peppers to an oven tray and roast for 20 minutes. Meanwhile, cut the cheese into 5-6 long thin triangles.

2. Remove the peppers from the oven and gently add the long cheese slices to the middle pocket of each pepper, then return to the oven for a further 15- 20 minutes until the cheese is melted and bubbling.

3. Get a non-stick or cast iron pan on a high heat and cook the lemon slices until browned. Remove carefully with a long spatula. Cut each slice into two or three pieces and set aside.

4. Cook your onion in the olive oil for 10 minutes until caramelising. Add the orzo and cover with 500-600ml water (exactly how much will depend on the size of your pan). Cook until the water evaporates and the orzo is al dente (add more water if it dries out and needs further cooking) . Finish by stirring through the the thyme leaves, lemon juice, butter and lemon pieces. Serve in bowls topped with a 1 or 2 of the cheese stuffed peppers and the coriander leaves. Enjoy!

As part of my ongoing ambition to use my phone less, I have made a commitment to myself to start making more use of my cookbooks. Instead of just Googling a recipe and overwhelming myself with options every time, I’m trying (where I can) to restrict my choice to the 25 or so recipe books on my shelf.

Their indexes have become my ally. When I have an ingredient to use up in the fridge or a dish type in mind, I’ve been flicking to the back pages and seeing what the the book has got to offer. Sometimes I have no luck, and in these cases I tend to resort to my old rotation of faithful recipes in my Google Keep, or on Smitten Kitchen or Recipe Tin Eats. But often what I need is right there on ink and paper.

I’m enjoying this new style of meal planning. It means that instead of letting some kind of premeditated idea dictate what I make via a Google search, I’m opening up my mind to the images or recipe titles that tickle my fancy after a leaf through. A bit of recipe window-shopping done the old-fashioned way.

The best of this month’s cookbook finds have been:

• Saffron Risotto from Simon Hopkinson’s Roast Chicken and Other Stories

• Roast leg of lamb with and anchovy and rosemary from Simon Hopkinson’s Roast Chicken and Other Stories

• Chocolate and Rosemary Brown Butter Financiers from Helen Goh’s Baking & the Meaning of Life

  

  1 year ago… Fruit Loaf
  2 years ago… Spaghetti and Fishballs
  3 years ago… Old School Cheese Flan
  4 years ago… Gochujang Swirl Quiche

This week I made French Onion Soup from a beef stock that simmered away for four and a half hours on my stove. On the hottest April day in 80 years. It was fitting that I got lost in soup this week, because when I began writing this newsletter – on this exact day 4 years ago – the first recipe was a Vietnamese Sour Fish Soup. And here we are over 150 recipes later.

It has become my tradition to mark the newsletter’s anniversary in some way. Today I am doing so by thanking my Paid Subscribers with 3 very good discounts from some of my favourite food shops: 20% off at the best of the butchers HG Walter, 15% off at Neal’s Yard Dairy (the kings of cheese) and 10% off at Mexican Mama (for all your taco and burrito needs). I hope you’ll make the most of them for your summer cooking. Find all the codes below the recipe. My apologies to readers in other countries and hemispheres who aren’t catered for here, I will endeavour to be more global with the goodies when I can…

Your loyalty and support is what keeps this newsletter bubbling away, like my hot beef broth on that 24 degree day. It helps to cover the cost of ingredients for recipe testing, and the time it takes to write the recipes. But more meaningfully, it keeps up my morale when it all feels a bit much (which while working full-time with a toddler, it can!). Some of you have been here from the beginning – the whole 4 years. What did I do to deserve this?!?!?! I hope you’ve found some meals to love. I’d love to know what they are.

Today’s recipe is an easy vegetarian number that can be a lunch or dinner. You can easily double the recipe if you want to batch cook. Green peppers and cheese are an excellent pairing. The bitter edge of the peppers is softened by the salty cheese, and it works particularly well if the cheese has an underlying milky sweetness, like (my favourite cheese) Cotherstone from Neal’s Yard Dairy does. Check it out with the discount, why don’t you?

The soup is ideally made with pale green Turkish peppers, but if you can’t find these you can use bell peppers (I’d go for a mix of green and yellow in this case).

Green Pepper Soup with Cheese Crisp

6 green peppers (ideally long Turkish peppers)
1 onion, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 potato, peeled and cubed
½ tsp aleppo pepper (pul biber, or other chilli flake)
600ml vegetable stock
Juice of half a lime
2 handfuls of fresh coriander, chopped

For the crisp

100g Cotherstone cheese, grated
1 tsp white sesame
1 tsp black sesame
1 tsp dried oregano (ideally Mexican but any will do)

1. Turn oven on to 180C. Season the green peppers and toss in oil then roast them in a tray for 30-40 minutes until well browned.

2. Finely chop the onion then fry in olive oil for 7 minutes until turning translucent and golden at the edges. Add the garlic and keep cooking for a further 2-3 minutes.

3. Next, add the roasted peppers, followed by the potato, the aleppo pepper and the stock. Cook together for 15-20 minutes until the potato is completely tender.

4. Now add the lime juice and the fresh coriander, and season to taste. Blitz with a stick blender until smooth to your liking.

5. Finally, to make the cheese crisp garnish, toast the seeds in a small frying pan and scatter in the grated cheese all over the pan. Allow to melt and sizzle away until the fat bubbles. Allow to bubble for 1-2 minutes on a medium-low heat, then sprinkle in the oregano. It should be completely golden and lacy on the underside when done.

6. Allow to sit for a minute or so to firm up a bit, then use a spatula to ease the crisp away from the pan around the edges first, and then underneath in a bold, confident movement. It should come away in one full circle. Place on a chopping board and use a bread knife to cut into 4 triangles, like you would a pizza.

7. Serve the soup warm in bowls, topped with the cheese crisp triangles and a drizzle of olive oil. Enjoy!

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The combination of white chocolate and macadamia is not new. It works brilliantly because macadamias are rich and buttery just like white chocolate. I wanted to try the pairing with an added savoury hit from soy sauce and black sesame. I have eaten soy sauce cookies at London’s best bakery, TOAD and they were a prime example of what can happen when you have the right equilibrium of salty and sweet in a baked good (just like Nicola Lamb’s miso walnut choc chip cookies from SIFT).

I tested three versions of these biscuits – a humbling experience. I finally hit the jackpot on version three.

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I feel like Easter is a natural time for novelty baking, be that in the form of a lamb cake, or an ill-advised supermarket Tiramisu hot cross bun. The message I hear is: everyone get high on chocolate. Anything goes. The egg format of this week’s sandwich biscuit is a nod to the novelty. I invested in some new cookie cutters for these, but you could shape these into circles with a glass if you don’t have any cutters. They would still be gorgeous.

Linzers are shortbread sandwich biscuits originally from Austria. Jam is the usual filling (think Jammie Dodger). Here, I’ve made a chocolate version and used pistachio paste in the centre, but I also filled some of these with a Morello cherry jam and I think that worked very nicely. These are easy to make, and they are a blank canvas: you can decorate further with melted chocolate or crushed pistachios, if you so wish.

My teeth are starting to feel the effects of 18 months of increased sugar consumption. The sad reality is I’m going to have to start restricting my intake. Maybe I’ll become one of those serious types that just nibbles a few almonds and raisins after dinner. Here’s to this Easter being the last sugar hurrah! (For a bit…)

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Esters is a London cafe whose menu is full of beautifully sourced ingredients cooked in creative and brilliant ways. They conceived these buns for Valentine’s Day this year, and what a love affair they are. Once I had seen them I couldn’t get them out of my head. My favourite fruit and baking spice, all in one gorgeous plaited dough, showered and shining in pink dust. I’m delighted to be able to share them with you here.

It was everlasting love at first bite. From now on, like hot cross buns, I will be making these annually. They are the kind of treat you try to eat really slowly because you dread it being finished. And let me tell you, Me and Charles were so sad when they were gone. Make sure you pay the talented people at Esters a visit for breakfast, buns, and coffee when you’re in Hackney.

Rhubarb can be weirdly hard to come by in England, which is confusing. Find papaya from Brazil and mangoes from Costa Rica at any supermarket, but rhubarb from Yorkshire? Fat chance! It makes no sense, but the illusive fruit is always worth the hunt. Especially if these buns are on the menu. You’ll make enough jam here for more than 12 buns, so enjoy the rest on your porridge or toast.

I couldn’t find freeze dried raspberries, but my local Aldi sells freeze dried strawberries which worked a treat here. I whizzed them up in my bullet blender.

Please note, you will need a stand mixer for this recipe, or else superhuman arm strength and a LOT of time (just use the stand mixer). The tender dough is so worth the effort. Let’s bake! My thanks to the sun for coming out for these photographs.

Esters’ Rhubarb Tonka Buns

For the dough

240g buttermilk
50g strong bread flour

490g strong bread flour
4 eggs, from the fridge
2 tbsp olive oil
50g caster sugar
10g salt
6g dried yeast
113g olive oil

For the jam
300g rhubarb
150g caster sugar (white sugar yields the best colour for your jam)

For the butter whip filling
100g caster sugar
250g unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 tsp cornflour
2 tonka beans, grated (depending on their size)

For the sprinkle
3 tbsp freeze dried raspberry or strawberry powder
1.5 tbsp caster sugar

1. To make the tangzhong, combine the buttermilk and 50g strong flour in a medium saucepan and whisk until smooth. Place the saucepan over medium heat and cook, whisking constantly, until the mixture begins to thicken, about 2 minutes. Continue to whisk vigorously until the mixture is very thick and looks a bit like smooth mashed potatoes (about 20 more seconds). Allow to cool until it is at room temperature (you can remove it to a different bowl or stir it or put it in the fridge to hurry this along).

2. In the bowl of a stand mixer add: the tangzhong, eggs, 2 tbsp olive oil, sugar, salt, yeast and flour. Fit the dough hook and mix on a low speed until the mixture comes together into a coarse dough, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, then mix on medium-low until the dough is very elastic, about 12-15 minutes. Scrape down the bowl a couple of times as needed during the mix.

3. The dough will have gathered mostly around the hook but still cling to the sides and bottom of the bowl, with a tacky texture. Scrape down the bowl and add half of the 113g olive oil and mix on low speed until it is incorporated into the dough, about 5 minutes (you need a low speed here so the olive oil doesn’t slosh everywhere). Repeat with the other half of olive oil. The dough should no longer stick to the sides of the bowl and will have a smooth and supple appearance.

4. Let the dough rest for a couple of minutes of your standmixer is liable to get hot. Then increase the speed to medium low and continue to mix until the dough is extremely stretch and elastic, another 10-12 minutes. Test the dough to see if it has built up enough strength – which it will need to expand to its maximum volume in the oven. Stop the mixer and raise the hook – the weight of the dough will slowly pull it downward off the hook. A strong dough should stretch the distance to the bottom of the bowl rather than tear. You can also do a windowpane test: pinch off a golf ball-size piece of dough and use your thumbs to flatten it and work it outward into a thin layer. Slowly streth it until it forms a thin membrane through which light passes. If it tears before it thins, or as it falls from the hook, continue to mix it on medium-low for a further 5 minutes.

5. Scrape the dough onto a work surface (you can use a silicone baking matt or lightly dust the surface with flour if you like), then fold the dough in half several times to create a smooth, taut surface. Place it back inside a bowl that will fit in your fridge and cover with plastic wrap or an airtight lid or upside down plate. Let rise at room temperature for 30 minutes, then transfer to the refrigerator and chill for at least 4 hours or up to 24. The longer the rest the better the flavour.

6. To make the jam, finely chop the rhubarb and sprinkle the sugar over. Toss well and allow to macerate for 30 minutes. Cook in a medium pan over a medium-high heat until jammy (a fast, hot cook is better than a slow cook for this type of rhubarb jam).

7. Beat together the butter, sugar, cornflour and grated tonka bean for the whipped butter filling. It should be well combined and a little fluffy when done.

8. The next day or later that day, remove the dough from the fridge. Lightly flour the work surface and roll out the dough with a rolling pin into to a large rectangle. Use a bench scraper or a blunt knife or offset spatula to spread the butter whip filling all over the dough. Take the bottom edge and fold this into the middle then do the same with the top edge so that you have a sort of envelope fold. Take the rolling pin and roll the folded dough out a little bit more, extending its length.

9. Use a sharp knife or a dough scraper to divide the long envelope of dough into 12 equal pieces. Then, use the dough scraper to cut each piece almost in half, creating two ‘legs’ of dough.

10. Now for the challenging part! To plait these into knots, take a piece of dough and gently stretch it to lengthen it a little. Twist the dough so it forms a twisted plait then take the end of the dough that isn’t split in your dominant hand between your thumb and index finger. Wrap the twist around your fingers, finally bringing it down in between your thumb and index finger. Gently pinch the dough to form a knot (this can be tricky and takes some getting used to. Don’t worry if it looks a bit messy, the aim is that it stays together in its knot in baking so the delicious filling doesn’t leech out).

11. On a buttered baking sheet or muffin tray, prove the buns until they double in size. This should take about 45-90 minutes depending on the warmth of your kitchen. At Esters, as long as it isn’t a hot evening, they freeze the buns unproved on a tray and the night before they want to bake them, they place the frozen buns in a buttered muffin tray inside a plastic bag on a counter top to defrost and prove overnight. They are then ready to bake the next morning. So at this point you can decide if you want to bake the full 12 buns or a half batch.

12. Turn your oven on to 190°C and bake for 14-15 minutes. Meanwhile, make a sugar syrup by dissolving 3 tbsp sugar in 150ml water until slightly thick and syrupy. Remove from the oven and immediately gently brush with the syrup using a pastry brush. Then sprinkle over the red berry sugar (I did this through a tea strainer). Top each bun with a generous teaspoon of rhubarb jam. Enjoy and pat yourself on the back for your incredible work.

Thank you SO MUCH again to Jack, Nia and Eve at Esters for bringing these buns into our lives and for sharing the wonderful recipe with us.

Highlights from the last week:

1. Lemony Leek and Lentil Orzo but with dill oil this time

2. Venison Gravy Burgers

3. Nicola Lamb’s hot cross buns. Always so good. I can’t get good at the crosses, does anyone have tips?

4. Blood orange and PB porridge

5. Fondue (Baby’s First), with Jersey Royals and some bread I made and was quite happy with

6. Red Velvet Cake for a colleague’s birthday – I made the NYT Cooking recipe with Claire Saffitz Ermine/cream cheese cross icing. It was BIG, but a success I think?

   

   1 year ago… Stuffed Sweet Potato with Smoked Tofu and Black Beans
   2 years ago… Tajín Fish and Chips
   3 years ago… Dee’s Lamb Biryani

Thank you so much for being here! See you soon with some more Easter baking.

In between devouring our Friday night episodes of The Pitt, we are watching ER again. We first got hooked in lockdown of 2020. In the discombobulation of that time, there was something reassuring about the format. Jeopardy comes and goes in the blink of an eye, before you can get too attached to the patients.

But The Pitt and ER are hitting differently now we have children. Every scene with a sick child makes my heart stop with awareness of the emotional gravity such peril would entail. Injured children come and go, but the theme of family loyalty runs throughout all 15 seasons. It weaves in and out of the lives on screen. Siblings, parents and relatives with checkered pasts show up and destabilise the lead characters in ways only blood ties can.

But most memorable for me was the result of family business off screen. Spoiler alert – if such a thing is needed for a television show that premiered in 1994 – but I’m talking specifically of my favourite characters Mark Greene (Anthony Edwards) and John Carter (Noah Wyle)’s show exits. Both actors quit because they wanted to focus on fatherhood after the birth of their children. Watching before I became a parent myself, I cursed them for having themselves written out of the show. How selfish to pursue parenthood above their duty to entertain the masses. But since having my son, and understanding what monumental responsibility and importance the job holds, I am in admiration of the actors for quitting.

It’s beautiful that they recognised the responsibility of parenthood for what it was. That they didn’t want to miss the years they knew they’d never get again. It’s not an uncommon decision, if one is privileged enough to be able to make it. I recall watching a Carol King documentary, and discovering that she took years away from songwriting and performing to pursue motherhood with all the attention it deserves.

And there’s my own mother. Who quit a job in publishing a few years after I was born to take up mothering four children full time. In doing so, she put her own independence and identity second for 20 years. Thank you feels too small a phrase.

Stay at home parenthood is a choice that few people can afford now, if they wanted to pursue it. Working mothers (and parents) are the norm. For everyone I know, one salary does not cut it in 2026. Having to keep working one or two jobs to keep food on the table and nursery bills paid is its own kind of sacrifice. Grinding to only enjoy your children’s company for 2 or 3 days a week feels like being on an insane hamster wheel.

But would I be able to hack full-time parenthood? After what felt like a decade of impatiently longing to become a mum, I was surprised to discover that I was actually looking forward to returning to work after my maternity leave last year. At first, being at work felt like a break from the constant cortisol uplift of looking after my child all day.

But now that I’m settled into being back, days are moving at a pace that feels impossible to keep up with. The guilt of rushing to the nursery gate and feeling like your boss is judging you and your child needed you and you didn’t give enough to either of them is no fun. Am I being the mother I want to be? I have no idea.

There are a couple of episodes of The Pitt that are written by Noah Wyle. You can tell which ones they are when you’re watching them, even before the credits roll. The clue is in the philosophical reflections on parenthood.

In the most moving of these, Wyle has Dr Langdon recite a blessing by Irish poet John O’Donohue in front of two other fathers. He is removing the beads from a fidgety child patient’s nose at the time. Wyle’s writing is from the perspective of an older dad who has returned to work and lived through the go-go-go years of child rearing. The sentimental wisdom of the O’Donohue passage he chose is exactly the kind of scene that would have washed over me a few years ago. But now hits me like a tonne of bricks:

“May you be gentle and loving, clear and sure. May you trust in the unseen providence that has chosen you to be a family. May you stand sure on your ground, and know that every grace you need will unfold before you — like all the mornings of your life.”

I wish the hours of work that go into raising a child were recognised as the most important work there is. If I can’t step out of the rat race for a moment, like those who quit for parenthood, at least I will make a daily effort to slow down and try to take it all in. Like every well-meaning parent who has gone before me, I know one thing: I don’t want to miss it.