Best recipes for leftovers: Chicken with creamy mushrooms, puy lentils and cous cous recipe
Leftovers. They tend to lurk in the fridge. Danny seems to have a mental list of them. “I just wondered who is cooking tonight? We have loads of leftovers. Pork and chicken and then there’s that ham…” D gets up earlier than I do. He has hours to examine the contents of the fridge. “We MUST use these leftovers up. It’s such a waste.” I know that it’s a failing but I rarely think, “Cold roast chicken. That could be transformed into a risotto/pie/sandwich.” I spot the chicken dressed in...
read moreMonsoon
This monsoon weather is finally getting me down. I am beginning to feel like a character from a W. Somerset Maughan short story that one knows will be slowly driven mad by the rain the moment they clap their hands and order another G and T. The cottage is pretty damp in places and usually dries out in the summer. This morning, I was gloomily dressing downstairs in our musty sitting room and by chance looked up. This sunflower, in a vase in the kitchen was facing me. Vibrant, sunny and so full of hope that I had to smile. So many fruit trees in...
read moreMashed potatoes infused with basil and rape seed oil recipe
Potatoes are important to Danny. Not just having some on the plate. They have to be the right variety. When he talks about potatoes it’s like a man describing a tribe of much loved children. And then there are the best ways of cooking them. “Creamed potatoes need lashings of cream and butter. That’s why they’re called creamed.” The milk bottle is silently returned to the fridge. The urge to create a new potato dish bubbles to the surface every now and then. This can only be attempted when I am cooking and D is...
read moreFretting about tomato blight
I woke at four this morning fretting about our tomatoes. It has been the same for the last three nights. We sleep right under the eaves. When it rains, we can hear the gentle patter of rain drops on the roof and a whispery tinkling into the gutter. In the winter, snuggled up with Danny under the giant duvet, it’s a comforting sound. In the summer, with the prospect of blight, it’s a sound that instantly chills me to the bone. I am a bit of an ostrich when it comes to bad news. I have been known to avoid opening bank statements for...
read moreSlow roast belly of pork on a nest of Victoria plums recipe
Last night we were at a super party where the hostess had cooked a wonderful lamb tagine with squash, chick peas and spinach. It was intense, rich and delicious. She mentioned later that she hated the combination of fruit and meat. “Apricots in a tagine will lift it and not overpower the dish.” “I know that you can use anything seasonal but I just don’t want fruit.” “Have you tried dried fruit?” I love fruit and meat. Coincidentally, we had decided to try cooking belly of pork on a nest of plums the...
read moreThe swing seat
Several years ago I decided to tempt Danny to spend more time in the garden. He wasn’t turning brown the way the rest of us do as the summer progresses. The face that smiled from behind the computer screen in The Rat Room was pale and pinched. He needed fresh air and a dose of vitamin D. I decided to buy him a swing seat for his birthday. I knew that he wouldn’t want a flimsy two-seater. It had to be long enough for D and the Min Pins to stretch out on. With a decent frame, soft cushions and the promise of many lolling years. I had...
read moreJam sandwiches
“I wondered if you’d like a jam sandwich? Margaret pushed a tiny bag of dainty sandwiches along the worktop towards me. “They were rejected by a passing monk.” I was intrigued. “He took the paté and cucumber ones. It’s a long drive to Ambelforth so I’m surprised that he didn’t want the others.” She pushed the bag a little further toward me with an encouraging nod. I was vaguely peckish but . . jam sandwiches? To be polite I took a tiny sandwich and sampled it. Perhaps it was the jam...
read moreRoof top protests and The Great Escape
When we released Mrs Boss and the keets on Sunday evening I expected them to repair to the luxury of the castle to sleep. Mrs Boss was having none of that. She clearly was keen to return to the familiarity of her five star hotel, The Hen House. Luckily, the keets wanted to join her and eventually tentatively negotiated the steep staircase to the communal penthouse bedroom and the snug hay filled nesting box beyond. This was their final roosting space for a couple of nights. There was a problem. Mrs Boss’ old enemy, Barbie, had gone...
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