The Giant Jaffa Cake: Recipe and Philosophy

Inspired by my friend Madame Jo Grey's impressively accurate giant French Fancy (baked for her daughter's 2nd birthday last year), I decided to attempt a similar feat with the humble jaffa cake. Like most sweet-toothed Brits, my other half Ant is a big fan of the jaffa cake and I loved the idea of presenting him with a home-baked giant version for his birthday. After much pondering and a little online research, I settled upon the method below - a mixture of existing recipes, intuition and my own invention. I was rather pleased with the result, which you can see pictured here (next to a standard jaffa cake to demonstrate scale).

The Giant Jaffa Cake was served at Ant's birthday party last night and became the subject of much admiration and discussion as it sat waiting to be eaten all evening. But the proof is in the pudding as they say, and I am happy to report that there was a big thumbs up all round from our guests, who scoffed the lot enthusiastically within minutes of it being cut.

Giant Jaffa Cake Recipe

Equipment & Ingredients

• Wok or large curved frying pan (make sure this will fit in the oven), lined with greaseproof paper
• Curved breakfast plate or shallow dish
• Note: the wok/frying pan is to make the base and the plate will be the mold for the jelly, so make sure the two are the right proportions in relation to each other to create a convincing jaffa cake.

For the jaffa cake base:
225g unsalted butter
225g caster sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 large eggs
200g self raising flour
25g cornflour

For the jaffa cake topping:
Jar of shredless marmalade
Packet of orange or tropical fruit flavoured vegetarian jelly crystals (available from any good healthfood store)
150ml double cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon unsalted butter
150g dark chocolate, broken into small chunks

Method

Preheat the oven to 180〬c/gas mark 4

Cream the butter and sugar together, by hand or in a mixer, until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and then the eggs, one at a time. As spoonful of flour between eggs will stop the mixture from curdling. When well combined, add the rest of the flour and the cornflour and finally a little milk to bring the mixture to a sticky batter consistency.

Pour the mixture into the lined frying pan or wok and check after 25 minutes. Use a cocktail stick to see if it is cooked through - if it comes out with cake mix on it you'll know it's still raw in the middle and will need to give it a bit longer. When's it's done it should look golden brown and feel springy to the touch. At this point, remove from the oven and leave in the wok on a rack for 10 minutes or so before carefully turning out the cake to cool completely.

Meanwhile, make the jelly using half the amount of recommended liquid. Because I could only find tropical flavour vegetarian jelly, I made it up with a mixture of orange juice and water (boiled together). Add a dollop of orange marmalade to get that extra tanginess and mix with a fork until everything has dissolved. Pour into the plate or shallow dish, leave to cool then put in the fridge to set.

When both bits of the giant jaffa cake are cool, carefully slice the top off the cake to make a flat surface for the jelly. Mix a tablespoon of marmalade with a little freshly boiled water to make a paste. Brush this onto the centre of the cake where the jelly will go and leave to go sticky. Now comes the tricky bit. Carefully lift the cake and turn it upside down, lowering onto the plate of jelly. Holding both bits together firmly, turn the cake back over and hopefully the jelly will come loose. You may need to do a little adjusting to get it to sit centrally on the cake.

And now for the chocolate topping. Rather than using unadulterated melted chocolate - which is difficult to spread neatly and may melt the jelly - I prefer to use a ganache icing, which goes on cool and is much easier to spread. Pour the cream into a heavy bottomed saucepan and add the vanilla, butter and chocolate. Bring to the boil, agitating as you go to stop the chocolate pieces clumping. As soon as the chocolate has melted, remove from the heat and whisk until thick and glossy.

Allow the icing to cool for 10 minutes or so, whisking occasionally to keep it smooth and making sure it doesn't start to set. Using a spatula or palette knife (I use the scraper that came with my Kenwood Chef), dollop the icing onto the cake, starting at the top of the jelly and spreading around evenly, working your way down in stages and making sure not to let it drip onto the underneath of the cake. Smooth everything over as much as possible, then use the side of your spreader to mark lines across the top in a criss-cross pattern. Go in opposite directions for each line to get the best effect.

Pop the cake in the fridge to set, then serve with pride.

Thanks and credit are due to my culinary guru Nigella Lawson whose baking bible How to Be a Domestic Goddess proved an invaluable resource in the development of the Giant Jaffa Cake.

A Sussex Country Pub Rediscovered (and Other Culinary Adventures)

It's not unusual for my weekends to revolve entirely around food - i.e. the shopping, planning, cooking and eating of it - but this last one was a particularly gloriously gastronomic few days that warrants a special mention. It all started on Friday evening with a homemade Bill's-inspired salad supper - basically lots of little taster salads piled onto a plate like a chaotic leafy mezze. The different salads I conjured up included: carrot, ginger and sultana; baby spinach, pesto and feta; mini roast potatoes & mayo; blanched cauliflower in a mustard dressing and a handful of stuffed olives. This went down very well with Him Indoors in spite of its healthy nature (he has a Homer Simpson approach to food) and set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

On Saturday, after a visit to Hove Museum, we had lunch at our old favourite the Sanctuary, where I indulged in the marginally less virtuous but arguably still quite healthy nutburger and potato wedges, while Ant was very restrained and had the soup (Sweet Potato I think). Then in the evening, we met up with Steph and Russ, who'd booked us into Bodega for a Tapas dinner. This was somewhere new for us, and made a change from the excellent but always manically busy Casa Don Carlos. The size of a postage stamp and decorated with kitsch bunches of grapes and Spanish memorabilia, this very authentic feeling rustic joint offers equally bona fide homely fayre from which I chose pisto manchego, artichoke salad and olives. It was all very delicious and amazingly good value, especially the house red wine which went down a treat.

After Saturday's free-flowing Rioja and the ensuing cocktails at In Vino Veritas, we were both in need of some hangover-busting sustenance on Sunday. Pub roast called, and the sun was shining, so we ventured out into the country to make the most of both. Our first stop - the famously epicurean Ram at Firle - was absolutely heaving with not a parking space in sight, so we swung across the other side of the A27 to the Lamb at Ripe. The last time we'd been there was for a family birthday celebration five or more years ago, and at the time we were less than impressed. Though I can't remember exactly why it was bad, I seem to recall there being an incident involving Ant and a disappointing fish pie - never a good combination. Well clearly the place is either in new hands these days, or has cleaned up its act, as it turned out to be one of the best Sunday lunches I've had in ages.

The Lamb is a in a lovely spot - right in the middle of the tiny twee village of Ripe and far enough away from the A27 for it to be nice and tranquil in the spacious beer garden out back. Inside it's also pretty roomy, and was amazingly quiet compared to other nearby hostelries like The Ram or the Cricketers, which are invariably packed out at weekends. There was no veggie roast on the board, but the very accommodating and friendly staff were only too happy to knock one up for me - combining the stuffed mushroom starter with the veggies from the roast (carrots, potatoes, swede and red cabbage) - all beautifully presented, and cooked to perfection. Ant had the homemade burger which was apparently also top notch - I can certainly vouch for the accompanying chips. I don't know how long we've been missing out on this now excellent establishment, but I shall certainly be making a point of going back there again soon, and would encourage anyone in the market for a country pub lunch in Sussex to give it a whirl. There's even a nice easy circular walk out the back of the village, ideal for working off the generous portions.

Our weekend culinary spectacular concluded at home with one of my thrown-together pasta dishes (sun dried tomatoes, feta, spinach, broad beans), which I am told was the pièce de ré·sis·tance; I couldn't possibly comment of course.

Links
Google map of my favourite places to eat in Sussex
Country Pub Rant - another pub-related post by me
Sussex Pub Links

Vegetarian Christmas Lunch, My Way

There are few things I enjoy more than cooking up a feast for friends and family, so it was a great privilege to be the designated chef for this year's Christmas lunch round at my Mum's on Thursday. Usually I hide in the lounge watching old films with my sister while big bro and Mum do all the food, but with both siblings away this year, I was only too pleased to offer my culinary services, and Mum was delighted to be able to put her feet up for once. I do a roast most weekends anyway, so it wasn't a massive challenge, but I did go a little bit crazy since it was a special occasion. Ant helped me do most of the preparation the night before, so there wasn't actually much to do on the day, giving us all more time to knock back a glass or two of delicious pink Prosecco. The above picture may look like a disgustingly greedy portion, but in my defence, they were unusually petite plates (Mum's not mine). It was also the first year in ages that there has been absolutely no meat or fish on the table, and although not everyone present was a vegetarian (most apart from me are pescetarians), it was so tasty that nobody minded in the least. I always try to make a plate of food as colourful as possible, so the following assortment was conceived with aesthetic as well as gustatory variety in mind.

Chestnut & spinach loaf
This was adapted from a recipe in Leiths Vegetable Bible. I replaced half the nut quantity with a tin of chestnut puree (making for a more moist end result), and added some cheese (Lancashire) to the middle layer with the spinach.

Roast potatoes
My mum is a bit of a traditionalist, so I am never normally allowed roasties with their skins on. To me the crunchy nutty jacket is by far the best bit, and thankfully noone complained when they were served my preferred version of this Christmas dinner staple, complete with skins.

Mashed swede & squash
We'd had a rather large squash (I'm not certain what variety) delivered in our Abel & Cole veg box, so it seemed a shame not to include it. I steamed this together with some swede and mashed them up with lots of butter and black pepper, and a little rock salt.

Oven roasted ratatouille
Not normally something associated with Christmas dinner, but the sharpness of the tomatoes and fresh basil, combined with slowly roasted courgettes, leeks and peppers provided a welcome contrast to the other stodgier flavours and textures on the plate.

Spiced red cabbage
Stewed down with red wine, stock and spices for over an hour, this added a fantastic splash of purple to the plate.

Oven roasted coriander carrots
According to Delia, winter carrots are blander than the summer variety, so she suggests roasting rather than boiling them in order to preserve maximum flavour. The addition of ground coriander seeds and black pepper is also her suggestion, as found on p.198 of Delia's Vegetarian Collection.

Parmesan-coated roast parsnips
A special request from Ant, these were based on another Delia recipe that I'd made once before a few years ago and he had never forgotten.

Peas & broccoli
Unadulterated greens, simply steamed for the best flavour.

Gravy
Made to my own special secret recipe.

Condiments
I am afraid I didn't stretch to making these myself, but we did have a good selection - including cranberry sauce, red onion chutney (my favourite) and mango chutney.

According to plan, there was plenty of everything left to make a substantial bubble & squeak on Boxing Day. We just warmed it all through in a big vat on the stove, whizzed in some extra herbs and spices, then grated over a generous helping of Applewood cheese and finished it off under the grill. Since that second gut-busting blow-out I've been living on a more moderate diet of cheese and crackers, which is honestly my favourite bit of the Christmas culinary indulgences.

Killer Trifle (and Other Delights)

We had a few friends over for dinner on Saturday night, which meant that for most of last week I was preoccupied with planning, researching, shopping for and preparing a feast for the occasion. With so many dietary requirements to cater for (a coeliac, a vegan, one nut-allergic and one lactose-intolerant person), this proved quite a challenge - but one to which I rose with my usual foodie enthusiasm. Rather than serving up a sit-down meal (which makes more work for the hosts and means guests feel obliged to eat what's on their plate), we went for a more informal help-yourself buffet arrangement, comprising of the following:

• Butternut squash, sweet potato, roasted garlic and ginger soup
• Spicy roasted vegetable, tomato and rice soup (which was actually more like a stew)
• Home-made garlic and sundried tomato focaccia bread
• Home-made granary bread
• Gluten-free garlic naan bread (courtesy of Waitrose)
• Cheeseboard
• Various crackers and crisps
• Garlic and dill marinated green olives
• Jalapeno peppers
  
• Rocket (delicious sprinkled on the butternut squash soup)
• Houmous
• Caramelised onion and goats' cheese tarts (courtesy of Ezinda, via Waitrose)
  

For dessert, I made three separate trifles (one vegan, one gluten-free and one full-fat-everything-goes version), all of which were eye-wateringly boozy. You may be forgiven for thinking of trifle as a garish retro pudding à la Abigail's Party; but not in my house - I have reinvented this most misunderstood culinary genre and made it my own. Forget any notion of tinned mandarins, bland trifle sponges, sherry or (heaven forfend!) jelly - the main ingredients of the Rowstar Trifle are rum and chocolate, with just a nominal amount of fruit (soaked in rum of course). This version was pretty much made up as I went along, with the odd reference to the trusty kitchen shelf, and went something like this (from bottom layer up):

1. Chocolate cake soaked in Mount Gay golden rum
2. Bananas soaked in Havana Club dark rum
3. Simple chocolate sauce (from Green & Blacks' chocolate cookbook, with added rum)
4. Mascarpone topping (stolen from Nigella's mascarpone trifle recipe), with a splash of Smith & Wray white rum
5. White Chocolate custard (made like standard home-made custard, but with white chocolate grated in at the end)
6. Mascarpone topping, as above but with melted dark chocolate swirled in
   
7. Caipirinha syllabub (made with lime juice, sugar, cachaça and double cream)
8. Dark and white chocolate shavings to decorate
   

Silence descended upon the kitchen as everyone (apart from Ian, who it turns out doesn't like bananas) devoured theirs with gusto and even, in certain cases (naming no names), came back for seconds. One poor guest (who shall also remain nameless) was overcome and had to have a 'little lie down' afterwards - surely the testament to a great pudding if ever there was one! Most of the meal went un-photographed (I can't think of everything), but I did manage to get the above shot of one of the trifles before it was totally demolished. Do feel free to request further elaboration on ingredients and method should you feel inspired to concoct your own; and I heartily recommend that you do.

My Cupboard is Bare

When I originally took up the challenge of trying to write about food for a whole month, I thought it would be easy; cooking, food shopping and eating are some of my favourite pastimes after all. But I found that after two weeks, it was a struggle to find new things to say about my day to day eating, and various circumstances prevented me from indulging in any noteworthy extra-curricular culinary activities. So as you may have gathered, I failed the challenge. But it has still been a worthwhile exercise, that will hopefully lead to more foodie posts in future.

This weekend I am off to another music festival - Kendal Calling in the Lake District. I'm taking Ant with me this time, so I imagine that mealtimes will be much more regulated than my infrequent ad-hoc snack attacks at Latitude. And if the weather turns out to be as grim as predicted, we might even go off-site for a meal at one of the area's notable restaurants or gastro pubs at some point. Certainly a visit to the Lakes wouldn't be complete without a trip to the legendary Grasmere Gingerbread shop, whose distinctly moreish produce can only be bought (legitimately) directly from the shop, or via their website.

Photo by Frazgo on Flickr.

Jo's Cherry and Almond Clafoutis

There's been a distinct lack of sweet things so far in this month of food-themed posting, so I thought it was about time to rectify that. I do love a pudding, or a cake; or even, if I'm really depressed, a whole unadulterated block of marzipan. I have stopped baking so much at home unless we have guests, because we only end up eating the whole batch ourselves and feeling terribly guilty about it. So it is a welcome treat when I go to someone else's house and am presented with a homemade cake. Especially if that house is Jo's, and the cake happens to be a cherry and almond clafoutis.

The knee-weakening creation you see pictured here was one of three puddings offered at our first barbecue of the season over at Jo and G's place on Saturday. There was also a classic Victoria sponge with fresh cream and jam filling and a deliciously dense chocolate cake (which you can see in the background). I thought it only polite to at least sample the vegetable and haloumi kebabs first, but really I would have been happy just to gorge on dessert. Luckily everyone else had stuffed themselves with burgers and sausages, so there was plenty of pud for me when the time came. They were all delicious, but the (apparently very labour-intensive) cherry clafouti was definitely the best of the three - the light crumbly franzipan and juicy fresh cherries complemented each other beautifully. The recipe that Jo used was from an unknown cutting, but I found this one online, which sounds close enough. I might give it a go myself when I have a free afternoon, but if you should beat me to it, be sure to save me a slice.

The Kitchen Shelf

I can't believe I've been writing solidly about food for over a week now, and only given the most passing of mentions to my beloved cookbook collection. Much of my cooking is done ad-hoc without reference to a specific recipe, but books do play an important part in my culinary life. Before I learned to cook properly, I used to rely heavily on a few simple recipe books, which became well-thumbed during my university years. The Student Vegetarian Cookbook (now out of print, but there are plenty of alternatives on offer) still gets used occasionally for late night munchy attacks, and The Penniless Vegetarian was recently donated to a friend who decided to give up meat, but served me well it in its day.

These days I tend to pore over the more luxurious illustrated volumes, finding inspiration and comfort from the mouth-watering pictures and florid descriptions from foodie-evangelists like Nigel Slater and Nigella Lawson. Nigella is a particular heroine of mine and her How to Be a Domestic Goddess is my absolute bible for baking. Her cupcakes (p. 39) are virtually foolproof, quick as you like to make, and always a crowd-pleaser at parties. Being, as I am, an aficionado of trifle making, I can also particularly recommend her unconventional but wondrously indulgent 'Passion fruit, Mascarpone and Meringue Trifle' (p. 151), which was the original inspiration for my own banana, rum and chocolate variation. Speaking of unusual variations, I couldn't mention Nigella without thinking of her 'Nonconformist Christmas Pudding', as featured in Feast (p.69). Don't tell people it's got chocolate (and a LOT of booze) in it beforehand, just enjoy watching their faces as the blissful realisation arrives.

You can always tell my favourite recipes from where the pages have stuck together from having ingredients spilled on them, and the 'Lime and Chocolate Cheesecake' (p.145 - great dinner party dessert) from Nigella Bites is probably the most amusing example of this. Nigella's mentor (and mine) Nigel Slater, reads more like philosophy than cookery - you can dive into his Kitchen Diaries or Appetite and salivate over the passionate descriptions of every day dining for hours, without any intention of making something. Even his (excellent) autobiography, Toast, tells of a fairly traumatic childhood in which a love of food provided constant consolation. As well as converting me to the ways of frittata-making (p.54), Nigel's Real Fast Food can be credited as the originator of my now legendary (in Ant's eyes anyway) Welsh Rarebit (or 'Rabbit' as he calls it, p.272).

Being a near-lifelong vegetarian (25 years and counting), many of the books in my collection are unsurprisingly meat-free. A fairly recent addition, and quickly becoming the most frequently used, is Leiths Vegetarian Bible. Unlike many of my favourites, this isn't heavily illustrated, but is a brilliant reference when you need to know what do do with an unusual vegetable, or have to conjure something at short notice from what you have to hand. The original veggie guru, Rose Elliot, has numerous volumes available, of which the quaintly retro Rose Elliot's Vegetarian Kitchen is the most comprehensive. Helpfully organised by season, it also includes an entire section on how to 'do' a complete vegetarian Christmas, from nut roasts to party finger food. I have used the Christmas cake recipe (p.280) for the last few years, and found it most satisfactory.

Even Dame Delia (she isn't, but it sounds good) has published a collection of all her meat-free recipes, which includes some excellent soups (try the 'Tuscan Bean & Pasta with Rosemary' on p.37) and a 'Food for Friends' section which is ideal for dinner parties. The 'Warm Lentil Salad with Walnuts and Goats' Cheese' (p.46) is especially good for that ever-growing contingent of wheat/gluten intolerant guests. For something a little more exotic, I tend to reach for the World Food Café Cookbook (mentioned in my previous post) - a sort of travel diary-come-recipe book, with beautiful photography from all corners of the globe, and a wealth of colourful veggie food to match. Madhur Jaffrey's Eastern Vegetarian Cooking covers everything you could ever need to know about curries and the like, and for a more homely approach to global cuisine, Linda McCartney on Tour has some interesting and easy to follow recipes, such as the Vegetable Kichdi on page 101.

Long out of print, but still available secondhand is Alan Hooker's Vegetarian Gourmet Cookery, a 70s classic passed down to me by my biggest culinary influence, and maker of the best cakes ever - my mum. I love to picture her conjuring up perfect soufflés, dressed in some billowing floral batwing ensemble (á la Margot from The Good Life), and serving them up on one of those kitsch hostess trolleys. I'm sure nothing of the sort ever occured, but the idea amuses me. After several deflating attempts, I gave up on soufflé-making years ago, but have occasionally made use of the many nut roast recipes in this vintage tome.

I love receiving cookbooks as gifts, especially from those fellow-foodies with whom I regularly exchange cooking tips and recipes. The lovely Jo (who could give Nigella a run for her money in both glamour and baking stakes) recently added the delectable Green & Black's Chocolate Recipes to my shelf, from which I have already had some success with the 'Cape Ginger Tipsy Tart' (p.105). Michel Roux's extremely useful Eggs was a Christmas present from my brother, who also incidentally taught me that the best way to make a decent chilli is to pour a whole bottle of beer into it. At the other end of the kitchen shelf is a selection of food magazine back issues - mostly Waitrose Food Illustrated, with the odd delicious and all 12 issues of my gift subscription (thanks Ant!) to New Zealand magazine Cuisine, which we discovered when travelling there several years ago. It's a brilliant mag, and I would have kept the subscription going, but found it frustrating reading about recipes for the wrong season and restaurant reviews for places I could never visit.

The kitchen is overflowing with cookbooks, but there are still so many more I desire. I guess it's time to put up another shelf...

My kitchen shelf, as a handy Amazon widget:

Spicy Sweet Potato Stew

It's supposed to be summer by now, and yet the last few days have felt distinctly autumnal - all blustery winds and driving rain. This makes me uneasy, as I am off to a festival next weekend and I NEED it to be sunny. Coming home from work last night, I was in need of something heartening to raise my spirits, so what better than a sweet and spicy stew to put a little sunshine back in the soul? This was made up as I went along from the sparse selection of vegetables left in my fridge (half a leek, half a pepper and a sweet potato), and those trusty cook's staples that I would never be without - namely tinned tomatoes, veggie stock, tinned beans, red lentils, minced garlic (I am far too lazy to chop it myself), tomato puree and chilli. Just chuck it all in as illustrated, simmer for 30 minutes and serve with brown rice or big hunks of rustic bread. If you are uncomfortable with this sort of freestyle cookery, I highly recommend the World Food Cafe cookbook for a whole host of similarly comforting and colourful concotions. Oh, and be sure to make enough for two nights, as it's even better the next day - I'm looking forward to my second helping after yoga this evening.

My Kind of Omelette

I don't think I ever really liked omelettes until I was about 14 or 15, despite the fact that my mum makes a cracking one (wow, I didn't even see that pun coming). Hers were always the 'classic' folded variety, which are quick to make, but not as easy as they seem to get right. Over the years, I've learned to make a passable version, not quite up to mother's standard, but as long as the filling is tasty enough, it works. What I am far better at, and tend to default to when omelette is called for, is the Italian 'frittata' variety, which is cooked slowly and finished off under the grill. I was originally inspired to make this by the legendary Nigel Slater's classic (and first) cookbook, Real Fast Food, which he signed for me back when I was working at Waterstone's in Richmond. It's now become one of my regular weeknight staples, largely because it is so simple, and yet depending on what you put in it, can look and taste quite exotic. It also works well cut into slices as a healthier alternative to quiche (no fattening pastry). So with an affectionate nod to Nigel, here's my own frittata recipe, with ingredients as included for last night's dinner that could easily be substituted for a bit of whatever you have to hand.

Ingredients

• 4 large (free range organic) eggs
• Large knob of butter
  
• 1/3 packet of feta cheese
• Half a red pepper, thinly sliced into long strips
  
• 1 small leek, chopped
  
• Handful of olives, halved
  
• Handful of rocket, chopped
  
• Balsamic vinegar
  
• salt & pepper (I use Halen Môn smoked salt, which works wonderfully with eggs)

Method
Melt the butter in a frying pan until frothy, then add the leeks and peppers, stirring to coat. Keeping a careful eye on the vegetables, gently beat the eggs (I use a knife), crumble in the feta, add the olives and rocket and seasoning. When the leeks and peppers are starting to soften (they'll need stirring occasionally), turn up the heat slightly and splash in about a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, keeping the heat relatively high until the vinegar had reduced and the vegetables are sticky and browning. Pour over the egg mixture and shake about until the vegetables are evenly distributed. Turn the heat down to minimum and leave for 10-15 minutes until the eggs are just set underneath (you can check by gently lifting with a spatula). Meanwhile, heat the grill to high so that when the frittata is ready you can pop it straight under. It only needs a minute or so to cook on the top, and should turn a golden (not brown) colour. Cut into slices and serve with salad for a healthy supper, or for extra comfort-food factor, good old fashioned chips and peas.

Simple Storecupboard Supper

Yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far here in the UK, so it would have been a crime not to dine outside on our beautiful deck and make the most of a balmy evening. This easy salad took me about ten minutes to assemble, and was just the ticket washed down with a refreshing Peroni. It was a happy accident that all we had in the way of fresh veg was an avocado and a couple of juicy tomatoes - together one of my favourite foodie combinations. The rest was thrown together with store cupboard staples, for which I make no apologies.

Ingredients

• 1 perfectly ripe avocado
• 2 medium sized tomatoes, also ripe
• Splash of lime juice
• Olive oil
• Tin of mixed beans, drained and rinsed
  
• Half a tin of spinach (well squeezed)
• Handful of olives
• Generous dollop of pesto
• Teaspoon of minced ginger
• Dash of tabasco
• Plain natural yoghurt
• Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method

Peel and slice the avocado and slice the tomatoes quite rustically, arranging both alternately around a plate or shallow bowl, sprinkle over a little lime juice and season with salt and pepper. Mix together the beans, spinach, pesto, ginger and olives, adding extra olive oil as needed to create a smooth texture. Season to taste, and for an extra kick, add a dash of Tabasco. Pile on top of the pre-arranged tomatoes and avocados and finish off with a spoonful of natural yoghurt. If I'd had some fresh basil, I would have used some as a garnish, but instead I swirled a little more pesto into the yoghurt to make it look pretty. Drizzle the whole thing with a little olive oil for that added Mediterranean flourish. Eat alfresco with good company and beer.

****

This morning's BBC Breakfast reported on a new study from the British Journal of Cancer which claims that following a Mediterranean style diet - specifically less red meat, and more peas, beans and lentils - could cut the risk of cancer by 12%. Now, you might think this is stating the obvious somewhat, but that doesn't stop me feeling quietly smug, as I've been doing just that for years!

A Whole Month of Foodiness, Yay!

Considering the amount of time and energy I spend thinking about, planning, concocting and consuming food, it has so far been rather feebly represented here in relation to my other interests. The problem is that I will often intend to record and share my culinary experiences, but then when it comes to the actual moment of preparing or ordering a meal, I am far too preoccupied with the task in hand to remember to take a photo or write notes. I was reading today over on Wordridden about NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) - an online community that encourages bloggers to write a post every day for a month on a given theme. This month's topic is Food, so I have resolved to follow Jessica's example and start chronicling my daily foodie activities here, at least for the next month. It'll make a nice change from gigs and fancy dress parties anyway! Meanwhile, as a sort of introduction to my culinary life, here is a little miscellany of foodie photos that I have taken on those rare occasions when I am not too busy tucking in...

From top left: Lunch at Mum's with cranberry muffins, Belgian waffles in Bruges cafe, get well cake made by Jo, Bom Bane's starter, German banana split with Advocaat

OK, so it's mostly cakes, but what on earth is wrong with that?

Annual Bunfest

Bank Holiday weekends. Don't you just love them? A free day off, and in the case of Easter, two! I get uncharacteristically excited by the prospect of this annual four day weekend, which somehow manages to avoid all the intense pressures and emotional minefields that inevitably punctuate the Christmas break. Perhaps because we are all full of the joys of Spring, spurred on by the presence of daffodils and blossoms on trees, and more importantly, fuelled by chocolate (which surely must have a positive effect on the collective endorphins?) that it seems to be an altogether jollier affair. This weekend I shall be taking the opportunity to go out dancing several nights in a row, safe in the knowledge that there will be no shortage of compensatory sleep-time available. I also have to make a start on my final photography project, the subject of which being People at Play, so am hoping that tonight's Super Hair party and tomorrow's Piratefest will provide plenty of suitable subject material.

Of course no Easter weekend would be complete without the obligatory gastronomical over-indulgence, of both the solid and liquid variety. It's a custom amongst my clan to spend most of Good Friday eating Hot Cross Buns - freshly baked of course, none of your lame shop-bought imitations (the worst possible example of which amusingly bemoaned here by Alien Spouse), heaven forfend. There's nothing like the smell of rising dough wafting through the family home to warm the cockles - the anticipation of that first warm buttery bite (real butter of course, no margarine for me please), the softly spiced aroma teasing the senses, until finally the first batch of buns arrive on the table, only to be snatched up in an instant by eager hands and salivating mouths.

Mother's buns are truly superior to any others I've sampled - traditional and simple, they tick all the boxes without over egging the pudding. I prefer her little pastry crosses to the doughy ones you usually find on commercial versions - the contrast in texture between soft bun and crumbly pastry really hits the spot, and is what makes Mum's buns extra special. Having said that, I'm not averse to experimenting with convention and can't seem to shake the notion of marzipan crosses from my culinarily inquisitive mind.

The idea first occurred to me when Mum announced that she wouldn't be making a Simnel cake this year, and we all agreed that the thing we'd miss most about it would be the little toasted marzipan balls on top. So I naturally started pondering how else these almondy treats could be incorporated into the Easter festivities, and was soon researching the feasibility of marzipan-topped buns. Turns out I'm not the first one to come up with this concept, in fact an article in this week's Times suggested marzipan as a common alternative to dough for cross-making. So why, in a family where marzipan is the ultimate comfort food, more often than not eaten by the block, have we never thought of this before? Not wanting to rock the boat of family tradition, I've floated the notion past my mother via text message, saying simply: "Marzipan Hot Cross Buns - heresy or genius?". I'm really hoping she agrees the latter.

Photo of Hot Cross Buns courtesy of Joellybaby at Flickr.

Pancakes!

So eager was I to eat my pancakes last night, that I completely forgot to take any photographs before wolfing them all down (with help from Mr M of course), so this account of our Shrove Tuesday conconctions will unfortunately be illustrated in words only. My history of pancake-making is a mixed affair, which has sometimes ended in disaster and disappointment, but I am pleased to report that this year's batch was particularly successful, no doubt due to the inspired addition of beer to the batter mix. Apparently this is a traditional method, and results in a lighter, and, I can now confirm, tastier, pancake. We usually make a whole batch and keep them warm in the oven before digging in, otherwise the poor chef has to stand at the cooker while the other person does all the eating - not my idea of fun (me being the chef). Fillings are then applied ad-hoc from a pre-assembled collection of sauces, toppings and appropriate accoutrements - the pinnacle of which this year was the winning combination of Ice Cream (vanilla Swedish Glace to be precise), advocaat and chocolate sauce. For years I had always dismissed advocaat as the kitsch tipple of 70s housewives, but have become a complete convert since a recent visit to Belgium, where it is generously added to all manner of desserts and drinks. The 'Snowball' cocktail (a mixture of advocaat, lemonade and lime) was a surprise hit at our Christmas party last year, when Tim described it as "like fizzy white chocolate" before knocking back several glasses of the stuff.

Now that I have seemingly mastered the art of the perfect crêpe, I intend not to limit their consumption to a once a year ritual, but to celebrate this simple yet versatile meal on a regular basis. I also think some ongoing research into further uses for advocaat would be more than justified.