Absence and presence

I have been working so much this blog has been impossible to find time for, but  to let you know, I am travelling to Sicily in 10 days staying on an organic farm. I fully expect to come back with many food ideas and images and will put a Sicilian post up on my return.
In the meantime, check out my other blog work, for Phood Studios.
happy summer to you!

Dawn raiders and raspberry ripples plus pretty portfolio pics

I made ice cream! The first time in years and years, since we used to make it at De Los Santos, where the richest chocolate icecream was served with petite little cinnamon churros.

Amazing, the quality and amount of food we prepped in that small kitchen now that I reflect. We made an unctuous cheese dough for cheese balls that were sprinkled with smoked paprika salt when fried, I gutted buckets of squids every second day, pulling whole fish from their bellies sometimes, before skinning and preparing them for calamari, sinks full of spiky shrimp needed veining and shelling, fillets of salmon had their bones delicately tweezered out for curing, an orchard of lemons were preserved in cinnamon and bay leaves, rabbits came delivered whole for boning to be cooked for hours in stews.

We did it all to the sounds of reggae rocking a transistor radio propped on the dishwasher's window. We'd shimmy around and do the work, singing while stirring, pausing here and there on the back alley steps for coffee or a coke on scorching Melbourne summer days. After work on Saturday nights we'd all go out to an underground club run by one of the casual chef's who was also a DJ and dance to ragga and trance and stumble out to the rising dawn and the Victoria Market fruit and vegetable marketers loading their shelves, the fishmongers and florists starting their day as we headed home for bed before another shift began.

Anyway, I was testing a recipe for a video we are doing at Phood and I am gobsmacked at just how good this icecream is. Phoebe is eating it with a slow kind of bovine dedication, using a tiny teaspoon (the only way to eat icecream).
It's raspberry ripple, or raspberry nipple as 5 year old River hears it. Unbelievably good, and although a little bit of standing around holding an electric whisk is required, it is very very easy. I can't wait to show it off to someone. I feel exalted, clever in a culinary way that I haven't experienced since making bread for the first time.

Rasberry ripple icecream

3 eggs

2 egg yolks, extra

1 teaspoon best quality vanilla extract

1 cup castor sugar

2 cups double cream

350g fresh or frozen raspberries, defrosted

2 tbsp icing sugar

Method:

To make the raspberry ripple place the raspberries with the icing sugar in a food processor and blend until smooth. Set aside.

Place the eggs, extra yolks, vanilla and sugar in a heat proof bowl over a pan of simmering water and beat for 5-8 minutes with a hand-held electric mixer until thick and pale.

Remove from the heat and beat again for 5-8 minutes until the mixture has cooled.

Whisk the cream until stiff peaks form.

Fold the cream into the egg and sugar mixture, removing as many lumps as possible while still being gentle. A figure 8 movement works for me.

Pour into a 2 litre capacity tray and spoon over the raspberry puree. using a spatula or butter knife, gently fold it through the cream mixture to create swirls.

Freeze for 6 hours.

A while back I posted about shooting with Darren Hickson from Shoot the Moon for a food photography competition. We did the shots at the lovely Trove in Levenshulme - well, I can now publish these shots because the competition is over (we didn't win - boo hoo). I love these pictures - the light is natural and warm, the wood from Trove's great table and floor makes a great backdrop and, if I do say so, the food looks pretty good too. The first dish is a salad of ricotta and local lettuces with blood orange, fennel and radish, and the second is baked quail eggs with parma ham.

Powerhouse Phood

On the work-front, thought I'd show some photos I did at Powerhouse back in winter, with Andy Goodfellow. Powerhouse have branched out and now have a fully-fledged food specialist photography business Phood. I am lucky enough to be working with them in developing this business as a food consultant and stylist. Many thanks for the opportunity guys!.
Andy loves moody shots, texture and not-perfect, rustic food. I have to pay tribute to my influence - the fabulous food blog What Katie Ate. The more I grow as a stylist the more confident I am to take a reference and go somewhere else with it. Perhaps one day people will be referencing me!

It hails, Jeff wails, but Spring is on my plate

The thing I like about shopping at my organic grocer (find it here) is that I can actually tell what season it is - which is more than I can say about the weather. I was delighted to find spring garlic (looking like dwarf leeks), spring onions and sorrel, lovage and a mad arrangement of salad leaves on my Saturday shop. While I was in layers of leggings and leather, dashing from the car park to the trolley bay, shaking the hail from my hair, inside was SPRING, in the bright and delicate freshness of her green bounty. I made a lovely light lunch from some leaves, an avocado and chickpea salad, coriander and creme fraiche on corn tortillas.

 Despite the endless misery of rain and more more more grey days, I can delight in Spring while driving through the suburban streets of South Manchester; the canopies of trees forming a collage of colour. Sometimes it is the hazy mellow shades of yellow and green, from the dandelions and daffodils in the grasses to the elms and willow trees above, other streets are awash with the rapturous pinks and rubies and magentas of cherry blossoms, camellias and those deep-purple leaved trees whose names I don't know.

But I must be feeling a tad melancholy because on Sunday I heard Jeff Buckley on the radio and started crying into the dishes, washing the crumbs from the breakfast plates, trying to sing along but my voice breaking up, Oh, lover, you should have come over...

I remember when I heard he had died. The radio played that same song. I was driving through the streets of Melbourne, it was night and the lights of cars making their climb up Punt Road blurred into carnival streamers as my eyes welled and leaked.

Today, was I crying for the memory of crying? Or for having once been 20 and hurt so easily, waiting alone in a cold night's house by a phone, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes, waiting for a call from someone, who should have, should have come over?

Music transports us in such subtle pervasive ways. Memories layer upon each other creating a story of their own - the story within the story of our days, how themes emerge by this layering and finally, something like hearing Jeff Buckley unexpectedly on a rainy Sunday morning washing the dishes reminds us of the context of our lives, the invisible imprint of all those small hurts, the endings and thrilling beginnings, the phone calls that never came, the lovers that didn't turn up - these flare up and vibrate again fresh within you - and there you are, bawling, wiping the tears away with a tea-towel.

A bit of greasy comfort food was what I craved after a night of free-flowing wine and conversation with some friends. Luckily I had some left-over risotto in the fridge to make arancini with. Arancini are the perfect antidote to a hangover-hollow tummy. Their golden crumbed crust gently yields to soft, warm, cheesy rice. I also like to serve them with a (not very authentic) creamy mayonnaise-based dipping sauce, for extra oozing indulgence.

You can use any leftover cold risotto as your base for arancini - I am going to assume you know how to make risotto (if not find a recipe here). Using wet hands to avoid stickiness, take a small handful of the rice and roll between your palms into the size of a golf ball, then roll in some fine polenta and fry in hot vegetable oil till golden.

Here is some flavour combinations that work: a simple rosemary risotto would be nice with a small blob of mozzarella in the middle of the balls and served with a roast tomato dipping sauce. For the sauce you can roast quartered tomatoes in a low oven with some olive oil, salt and a sprinkle of dried oregano for about 40 mins and then blend with a little extra olive oil. Another, easy option is to spoon sundried tomato paste into good mayonnaise. The same can be done with some store-bought black olive tapenade served with pesto arancini. My little balls of loveliness here are smoked aubergine arancini (from Yotam Ottolenghi's risotto recipe found here) and my dipping sauce was made with some left-over mint and pistachio salsa verde mixed into a spoonful of mayonnaise.

Mint and pistachio salsa verde
(Spring brings all the nice green herbs and leaves into the forefront of my cooking, this salsa found it's way onto Gareth's toast in the morning, topped with some soft French cheese, it's also good with grilled fish and lamb)

1/2 c mint leaves
1/2 c parsley leaves
6 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup shelled, unsalted pistachios, chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 lemon, juiced
1 tbsp sherry vinegar
2 tbsp capers, chopped
sea salt

Method

Very finey chop the mint and parsley, put in a mixing bowl and add the rest of the ingredients. Mix together well then store in a clean jar in the fridge.

An accidental Lent

April, and a budget month in our house.

That one glorious week of sun turned foul just in time for the Easter break, spoiling everyone's fun.

I ring my mother in the perfect one day better the next state of Queensland and she says it's 28 and gorgeous. She's having a barbie and has a rolled neck of pork stuffed with fennel and herbs and has made an upside down fig cake. She is putting up her pretty Indian outdoor parasoles, I imagine their twinkling bells in the distance daintily mocking me here, sat on the floor with my back to radiator.

Mum says what are you doing for Easter and I haven't thought of anything. I haven't bought chocolate eggs, don't even know when you are supposed to give them, but Gareth and I have had a few hot cross buns for breakfast. Mum admonishes me saying my kids can't be the only children in the world who don't get Easter eggs and tells me that you dye real eggs on Friday, eat chocolate on the Sunday. So I google how to make real Easter eggs, gather the kids for an Easter-themed mission of buying food colouring and let them choose chocolate bunnies for the Sunday.

Dyeing the eggs was fun. It filled in another miserable grey afternoon and the kids actually begged me to let them eat hard-boiled eggs. Thanks mum.

The reason we are skint is we spent up in March with a trip to London to celebrate my 39th and River's 5th birthday. I got to dine at Nopi, River got to see real Egyptian mummies.

Nopi was amazing, everything and more than what I expected from Yotam Ottolenghi. We dined downstairs at one of the communal marble tables, where I could spy the kitchen staff so serenely going about the business of sorting leaves and podding beans. River and Phoebe spent the entire evening in the ladies toilets where the hexagonal surround of mirrors shot their reflections out like some disco video of the early eighties. I might be kidding myself but I also think the maitre-d mistook me initially for Stella McCartney, but that's another story. Let's just say I was looking and feeling good that night.

River and Phoebe loved London, especially the tubes with their resounding buskers and huge elevators of ascending and descending people all in lines, their maze-like tunnels and the whoosh of outgoing trains. Everything that I was worried about for the kids was what they loved; the mass of humanity all rushing, pressing, charging, quick quick quick, Gareth weaving us around the streets and platforms like the old Londoner he once was - thrilled and delighted them. Mention the word London in our house now and River says I LOVE London! It's sparkling crown jewels, dinosaurs and ruined civilisations made it the best toy ever.

Anyway, it's over now. We are skint and I am cooking with what is in my dry store and what is in the fridge. No quick dash to the shops for a special ingredient - that ends up costing £20 because I always buy more when I'm there. I did a big shop at the beginning of the week - the supermarket, the organic grocer, the bakery, and that's it - I am making it work.

It's kind of liberating actually - that old theme of liberation through restriction - because, in order to use an ingredient before it gets tired I have cooked in ways that I never have before. (That pear with the brown spot's going in a crumble)

Take this lunch I just whipped up out of a quarter bag of spinach leaves that were hanging about, still fine, but may have been forgotten and thrown out in more frivolous months.

I wilted the spinach in a small pan, added a tiny splash of extra virgin olive oil, some black pepper, sea salt and a teaspoon each of some pesto I had made a few days ago and single cream. It's piled on to toasted sourdough, topped with avocado (39p each at the organic grocer The Unciorn this week! I bought 3!) and chopped parsley.

The aubergine is providing the most value-for-money. So far from my Value Bag of 4 aubergines I have made a smoky aubergine and lemon risotto from Yotam (again). I never thought the squidgy, sometimes blandness of aubergine would go well with the squidgy, sometimes blandness of risotto, but I trust Yotam and was fascinated. The trick is charring the whole aubergine on a gas flame, and using the softened, smoky flesh to fold through the rice. Topped with shredded basil, lemon zest and small chunks of fried (or roasted) aubergine and it is equisite.

The second dish I made was a tomato pilav with dill, feta and aubergine (recipe to follow). I followed a basic recipe from Claudia Roden's Middle Eastern Cookery book and added what I had hanging around: it really upped the ante of our usual baked rice dishes.

The third aubergine was thinly sliced and fried and added to a bolognese style sauce with cubed potatoes and layered with pasta and bechamel by Gareth for his and the kid's dinner one night that I went out. I still have one aubergine left that needs cooking soon or else it will go soggy and sour - a batch of baba ganoush may be on the cards.

I was initially miserable at having no money to play with over the holidays, a bit sulky actually, but it's OK. I am realising how often we waste food, buying when we already have plenty. The kids have played  together in the house, making up elaborate games of vampires and animal worlds and who can stuff as many cuddly toys as possible in their pillow case before the police-man comes (an over-sized Lego torch).  I went shopping and tried on lots of clothes I loved and had the strength to turn away. Getting ready for a dinner party that night I re-styled an outfit from my wardrobe and felt fab. We've cut back but not been compromised. A kind of accidental Lent really.

Tomato pilav with dill, feta and aubergine
(Serves two greedy adults having seconds with enough for a left-over lunch for one, or 4 respectable, moderate eaters)


1 brown onion, chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, peeled and whole
500g tomatoes, skinned, seeds removed and chopped
1 medium aubergine, cubed
1 bay leaf
3 tbsp chopped fresh dill
2 cups long grain rice, washed
some water
4 tbsp feta, crumbled
some chopped parsley and dry oregano to garnish (optional)


Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 200 Degrees Celsius
Place the aubergine on a baking tray and drizzle 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over it, turning each piece over in the oil with your hands to make sure it all gets coated. Place in the oven and cook until golden brown (about 15-20 mins depending on your oven). Set aside but keep the oven on, turning it down to 180.
In a large casserole dish fry the onion in the rest of the oil until soft and golden. Add the garlic.
Now add the tomatoes and season generously with salt and pepper.
Saute the tomatoes, squashing them with your spoon, breaking them down, pour a little water over them, enough to just cover, add the bay leaf and simmer gently for about 30 mins, checking to make sure they don't dry out - add a little more water if needed.
Taste the sauce - it should be nice and rich in texture and flavour - add the rice and cover with enough water to double the volume and now put the roasted aubergine in the pot with the fresh dill.  (I also added a sneaky pinch of vegetable boulliion)
Bring to a gentle boil, put the lid on and put in the oven for about 25 - 30 minutes or until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender.
Serve in bowls topped with the finely crumbled feta, a sprinkle or dry oregano and fresh parsley.

Hope springs

Daffodils punctuate the grassy strip between the motorway, their bright little heads swishing violently as the bus whirs by. The sky is still grey mostly but sun peeks out some afternoons and my ankles dare to bare themselves to the breeze. Sunglasses can be spotted on some all-too-ready-for-shady-glam mums on the school run and I have made salads instead of steamed veg to balance childrens' meals of pizza. The trampoline has been cleared of puddles and decaying leaves, my daughter's head up and down, smiling at me as I wave from the kitchen, the door ajar. Spring! (Nearly)

Here's some food from a shoot I did with Andy Goodfellow at Powerhouse Photography in Leeds - a great team of super chilled but talented people who I hope to do much more work with in the future in their exciting new venture dedicated wholly to food photography. Watch this space...

chocolate and sour cream bundt cake

meatballs with fennel, cumin, lemon and almonds

sweet potato, hazelnut and orange cakes

chocolate and cherry cheesecake

endaname beans with lilly mushrooms and zesty soy dressing

chilli soba noodle with black sesame

Meatballs with fennel, cumin , lemon and almonds

(meatballs can be made with a variety of herbs and spices, depending on your pantry, mood or the cuisine you are referencing: if making your own simply mix around 400g of minced beef (or lamb) with a finely chopped onion, a handful of breadcrumbs and an egg then flavour as you wish: parsley, ground cumin and cinnamon are nice flavours for this dish. Roll the mix (wet hands are a help) into golf-ball sized balls and put in the fridge for a an hour or so to get firm. HOWEVER  I often cheat and buy pre-made meatballs from the supermarket - basically because I am a sucker and tend to cook two to three different meals a night to suit a: my daughter's fledgling status as an inquisitive gourmet (she is getting very sophisticated but still finds a lot of the food I want to eat too spiced) b: my son's outright fussiness and need for simple food and c: my cravings that must be satiated - therefore, little cheats like pre-made meatballs give me one less job)



approx 15-20 meatballs

2 tabs olive oil

1 bulb of fennel

2 cloves of garlic

1/2 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp fennel seeds

500ml vegetable stock

zest of 1 lemon

3 tbsp chopped parsley

3 tbsp flaked almonds, toasted

Method:

Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan (that has a lid - or else use a large casserole) and cook the meatballs on a medium heat, turning to brown on all sides then remove and place on a plate while you cook the fennel with the garlic, turmeric, cumin and fennel seeds.

Stir for a few minutes on med-high and then add the vegetable stock, turn to high and bring to a bubbling boil for a minute, then reduce the heat to low and put the lid on.

Check from time to time that the sauce isn't drying out - add a little more stock if needed - after about 20 mins remove the lid and bring to boil again to reduce and slightly thicken the sauce. Check for seasoning and add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve topped with the lemon zest, chopped parsley and toasted almonds and a side of cous cous and yoghurt seasoned with paprika and olive oil.

Sneek pre-view

So, I promised to post some pictures from the cookbook I styled with the funny and fantastic photographer Paul Blinston from Millers Photography. It is for a major Asian restaurant here in Manchester called Vermillion Cinabar. Can't wait to see the final product!

In lieu of poetry - a blueberry bundt cake

I am remembering who I was. I lie awake and am awash with impressions of the past. Ten years ago feels so unbearably different to now. To who I am, to what I encounter, to how I live. Mostly I am so grateful for the stability and love that I have no complaints about the present. Being older grants the serenity to just do the work that needs doing, to chop wood, carry water, so to speak, without needing the blazing epiphanies that marked my youthful quests for enlightenment.

But at the moment, I feel as if something crucial is begging to be brought forth. Is it that the chaos that I had in my 20's was somehow vital to my creativity, and in that, my soul? I got the idea of that aphorism from an article I read, my four year old on my lap, as I carefully sipped coffee at a Saturday morning cafe and didn't even have the trace of a hangover.

My husband and I both lived chaotic creative lives before marriage and family - although he had the benefit of great self belief and I was more prone to oscillating between hope and despair.

We both obstinately lay no material foundations: to work just for money for security was in some way to surrender to the fear, to the forces that wanted to control and keep us small. We studied and made art (in Gareth's case) and wrote and meditated (in mine) and made enough money to get by. I moved all the time. Packing my room of things down into boxes and bags and piling them into my car to drive the vast east-coast highway between Sydney and Melbourne, the Gold Coast and Byron Bay. I used deep optimism and a sense of fate to land the job I needed, to find a house of friends to live in, to meet the right person at the right time.

There was however a need in me to meet someone who would love me enough to want to marry me, to have children with, and perhaps my wandering was not just to find myself, but to find him. In my late 20's I once again trusted my instincts and flew to England on a one-way ticket ready for adventure and secretly sure I would find my husband.

And here we are.

Now, as an on-call, grounded mother with school runs and bedtime cuddles and nutritional lunch considerations, as a reliable worker, a commercial artist (of sorts - food styling has it's freedoms and thrills but is mostly firmly rooted in reality) I have to find ways of making sure that I stay attuned to intuition and a more poetic, animistic essence that was once my greatest ally and defining talent. I can not court chaos. I can not pack my life down on a whim. I must find the extraordinary in the ordinary and keep a sense of magic in the mundane.

So, I am  a keen observer. I keep an eye out for coincidence, the ludicrous, the ludicrous coincidence: like the two women in the exact same full-length faun coloured mock shearling jackets standing outside the off-licence lighting each others fags as I waited at the traffic lights.

I remind myself each morning to stay present and grateful, I stay quiet for a while upon waking and chat to my version of God, I try to remember my dreams. I have an inner dialogue that is so prolific I am shocked to discover sometimes that there is this huge part of me that is rarely shared and acutely edited for the general public.

Music and poetry can touch this secret part and helps me move outwards of sorts from the small but incessant demands that take up my time. Joni Mitchel is one such artist who sang the song of my own. I over-did Joni a while back, and haven't been able to listen to her for a while, but the other day I saw a book of her complete lyrics in the charity shop window and knew it was a gift for me. Small epiphanies. I am enjoying reading her lyrics without the music, letting her poetry remind me of why I loved her so much. It reminds me of who I was, who I still am.

Cooking is a daily poem that needs composing and seems to be the fitting synthesis of the inner and outer worlds: the necessity and desire to nurture, practical alchemy.

So here's a recipe:

Blueberry and blood orange bundt cake
(the blood orange lends it's crimson juice to make a lovely sunset-coloured frosting, but any orange will do. I ALWAYS rush ahead and put my icing on too early when the cake is too warm, hence it has not stuck but slithered off  or been absorbed in these pics, also, my cake stuck to bottom of the tin, and that nice undulated top bundt cakes get was ruined. If anyone knows how to sucessfully extract a cake from a bundt tin, please tell me! It did, however, tastes fabulous!)

165g butter, softened
1 1/2 c castor sugar
3 large good eggs
1 tsp vanilla essence
zest of one blood orange (save juice for glaze)
2 cups fresh blueberries
3 c plain flour, sifted
1 tbsp baking powder
1 pinch salt
1/2 c milk with a squeeze of lemon in it or buttermilk

for the glaze:

juice of one blood orange
approx 1 cup icing sugar


Method:


Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees Celsius and grease a bundt tin with some butter.

In a large bowl beat the butter and sugar together with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy - at least 5 minutes.

Add the eggs one at a time, beating in between to combine, then add the vanilla and zest.

In alternate stages, add a third of the flour (mixed with the baking powder and salt) and then some of the milk, then the flour, the milk etc. Beat for a further 30 seconds - try not to beat the mix too much once the flour is in, just enough to combine, then fold the blueberries through the batter and pour into your bundt tin.

Bake for about 1 hour, or until set, and while cooking make the orange glaze. In a bowl add icing sugar to the orange juice and whisk with a metal hand whisk, adding more icing sugar if the mixture looks too watery - it should be about the density of honey.

Cool in the tin for a few minutes then turn the cake out onto a wire rack, pouring the glaze over with random abandon once the cake is room temperature.

Once he was better

Once Gareth was feeling better and I was liberated from my soup kitchen rota, I served-up this highly textured and densely flavoured couscous, inspired by Yotam Ottolenghi (again). I added preserved lemon because I made some at Christmas from lovely cheap organic lemons - it added a nice salty piquancy. We made a meal of it by accompanying the couscous with slices of aubergine, courgette, baby leeks and red pepper tossed in a marinade of kofta spice mix, sea salt and olive oil and then roasted for about half an hour.

Couscous with herbs and almonds 

150g couscous
160 ml boiling water
1 small onion thinly sliced
1 tbsp olive oil
salt
pinch of ground cumin
1/3 c sliced almonds lightly toasted in a dry fry pan
3 spring onions finely sliced
2 teaspoons preserved lemon rind very finely diced, or the zest of one lemon
3 tabs parsley finely chopped
3 tabs coriander finely chopped
olive oil

Method:

Place the couscous in a large bowl and cover with the boiling water. Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and leave for 10 mins for the water to be absorbed into the grains.

Fry the onion in the olive oil until it has browned and is soft, add the cumin and salt, stir a few times and turn off the heat. Add the onion to the couscous with the toasted almonds.

Once the couscous is just warm rather than steaming, add the chopped spring onions and herbs. Check for seasoning and drizzle a little olive oil through to dress. Serve at room temperature.

Sicily and soup in bed

Last week Gareth was sick and off from work and I didn't have much on apart from a few nights at the restaurant. We spent the entire below-freezing week in bed, propped up on three pillows each, drinking coffee then chai, Google street-viewing our way around Sicily. We are going in July for two weeks - although I feel now like I've already been. Gareth would point the little man down a street and just zoom on down - the baroque town of Noto is all alley-ways and the odd old couple on a bench taking a rest, they have large municipal bins and it' seems rather quiet in winter. Ortigia is again the high density alleys of two-story houses, some with flowers on the balcony, and weaving about you eventually pop out at the sea where again large municipal bins gather as the sky soars out all wispy clouds and blue.

I could easily eat pasta three nights a week, with risotto on the fourth, but Gareth decided this same week that he had had enough of pasta and scrunched his nose at all my usual dinner suggestions. All he wanted was soup. Seeing as he had a cold I thought ginger would be a good place to start, so, this is what we had (in bed) one day, and Gareth liked it so much he made it for himself the next night when I was at work. I do think using a good quality vegetable bouillon is important if you are relying on it to flavour and season soups, I like Marigold organic Swiss vegetable bouillon powder.

Spiced red lentil, yellow pepper and carrot soup

2 tabs olive oil
1 brown onion finely diced
1 yellow or orange pepper diced
1 stick of celery finely diced
1 inch piece of ginger grated
2 cloves of garlic crushed
2 teaspoons of Chana masala spice mix
3 medium carrots peeled and roughly chopped
1 cup of red lentils, washed and rinsed
2 - 3 teaspoons Marigold organic vegetable bouillon
3 cups water

Method:

In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan cook the onion, celery and pepper in the oil on a medium to low heat until softened and the onion is translucent. Add the ginger, garlic and Chana spices and cook for another few minutes, stirring frequently being careful not to burn the garlic. Add the carrots and lentils, stir and then add the bouillon and water. Turn the heat up a bit and let the soup reach a gentle boil for a bout 5 minutes to soften the carrots, then turn it down and simmer until the carrots are cooked and the lentils have yielded. If it's looking too thick, just add some more water. Transfer the soup into a blender, or with a stick blender, pulse to your desired texture - I like a few lumpy bits.

At my table

I love having plenty of food in the house. I love the happy sunshine of fruit in bowls on the table, the serene rows of dried herbs and spices on my kitchen shelf, coloured like the beautiful textiles of arid lands. I can not rest unless my fridge is full of curry pastes, tapenades, olives, cheeses and the freezer has a stock of good bread ready for toasting. My little dry store cupboard needs aborio, brown and basmati rice, red and green lentils, two tins of Italian tuna, tinned tomatoes and at least 3 shapes of pasta for me to feel comfortable and if a cake is on a plate somewhere, well, I feel almost holy with contentment.

I really am not an accomplished baker, so I suppose it's why I seem to favour posts about baked things - I feel a real pride in my efforts. Also, my evening meals arrive on plates when it's too dark to make pretty photo foodie art.

My mother was always one for having a full pantry, but mostly, I suspect, because she didn't believe in used by dates. My father in his seventies opened a gourmet food provisions shop (with the idea that he could wax lyrical with customers about food all day, eat a few English crackers with some Gentleman's Relish, turn a few jars to face the right way, do the crossword and saunter home with a good bottle of red off the shelf - which he did for the most part because my mother - busy in her fruit shop next door - came in and tidied and kept the fridges stocked, did the bookwork and checked the used-by dates of everything and with a huffy "it's perfectly fine!" would take them home to sit in her pantry for another few years).

On Tuesday I still had some figs and poached rhubarb hanging about in the fridge and wondered if a cake existed using both of these ingredients. I felt the subtle perfume of each fruit would marry well together. I found a recipe online (from some tacky weekly celebrity mag in Oz) and used it as a template as I didn't have quite enough eggs for their version, they asked for ground almonds but I only had polenta ( consequently, the mix was a little dry so I added yoghurt). I also felt that the 250 grams of butter indicated was just too much - pulling out a whole slab of butter for a cake makes me not only nervous about my belly getting wobbly but also because that would mean there wouldn't be any back-up butter supplies left for my toast - and I like a lot of butter on toast (just like my mother).

So, it was with trepidation that I put the cake in the oven. Would it work after so much modification??

It was SUPERB.

You put half of the wet mix in your tin then top it with the rhubarb, then pour the rest of the mix in and top with cut figs drizzled with honey. Already I am thinking of different combinations - poached damson with pear, apricot and apple...

Fig and Rhubarb Cake
(I used a small round tin - about the size of a side plate - 20cm by 20cm)

125g butter, softened at room temperature
3/4 c castor sugar
dash of vanilla
3/4 c fine polenta
1/2 c dessicated coconut
3/4 c organic self-raising flour
3 eggs
3 tblsp plain or vanilla yoghurt
pinch of cinnamon
5 stalks of rhubarb
1/4 cup castor sugar
4 large or 6 small figs cut in half or quartered
1 tblsp honey

Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 160 degrees Celsius

To poach the rhubarb, cut the hard white ends off, peel any tough stringy fibres off with a veg peeler and cut into 4cm lengths. Cook the rhubarb in a pan with the 1/4 cup of sugar and just a splash of water until it's just tender - about 5mins should do it - remember, it will cook more in the cake and take on more sweetness too.

In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter, sugar and vanilla until combined and then add the polenta, coconut, sifted flour and cinnamon and beat for a few minutes only before adding the eggs, one at a time and then the yoghurt.

Have your tin greased (you can use greaseproof paper too, but I didn't bother and it came out a treat) and sppon in half the mix, top with the rhubarb to form an even layer, then add the rest of the mixture, flattening with a baking spatula. Top with the figs - press them in lightly - and drizzle the tops of the figs with honey.

Bake for around 1 hour 15 mins - check and give it another 15 if not set.