Category Archives: books

a good egg

Posted on by
12

P1210183

On Thursday night I went to a lovely party at Tart, on the Gloucester Road, to celebrate the publication of A Good Egg — A Year of Recipes From an Urban Hen-Keeper. 

Genevieve Taylor is the hen-keeper of the title, and her book is a charming and inspiring diary of a year in her kitchen, her garden and her hen-house. When not tending her hens, she is also a very talented food stylist and cook (you’ve doubtless been inspired by something she has created without realising it, as her work has appeared in many magazines and ad campaigns), and the book grew from Genevieve’s blog, The Urban Kitchen, which she started when her first batch of chickens arrived and surprised them all with their dedicated laying: 3-4 eggs a day, every day, all year. That’s a lot of eggs.

P1210185But Genevieve is clear that A Good Egg is not an egg cookery bible (neither is it a how-to for prospective hen-keepers), explaining that it’s “a seasonal diary of all that I did with my eggs, and the food that I grew and gathered to eat alongside them.” In fact it is Genevieve’s passion for seasonality that is at the heart of the book, informing her writing as well as her recipes. A point she proved with a lovely reading from the 14th March which was all about wild garlic; as she read we were treated to slices of wild garlic flamiche (the wild garlic had been gathered locally, that morning), followed by mini mocha eclairs and tiny rhubarb pavlovas. Delicious.

P1210186And the recipes — nine or ten for each month — despite coming from the kitchen of a very talented cook, are by no means complicated or fussy; rather they are dishes designed for busy family life: delicious, wholesome and speedy. Of course the temptation is to say “Pah!” to seasonality and leap ahead with the help of the supermarket — which in the case of Crisp cannellini bean and Courgette Fritters is exactly what I intend to do. Other recipes to whet your appetite include a Peach and Almond cake with lavender syrup; English Nicoise of Smoked Trout, Jersey Royals and Asparagus; Courgette and Lime muffins; Broad bean, Feta and Mint Omelette… I could go on… and on!

P1210184

The book is a rather beautiful object in its own right — a Tiffany-blue-green cloth cover, with an (egg yolk?) yellow ribbon for marking favourite pages — illustrated throughout with wonderful, hunger-inducing photographs, taken by Bristol-based photographer, Jason Ingram (his blog is over there to the right of the screen and well worth exploring).

P1210187

This last image I include, because it sums up for me, Genevieve’s un-fussy, straightforward approach to cooking: for who hasn’t failed on the planning-ahead at some point? I am  regularly caught out by the dastardly line, hidden in many a recipe, which runs something like “… and now leave in the fridge for 12 hours, preferably 24.” No! No! No! My friends are arriving in four hours’ time, not tomorrow, goddammit! Though I must stress, this particular recipe does not offer a clever route around the protracted process of making a Christmas Pudding. It’s just that I liked her admission that tradition and rules don’t dominate her kitchen or her recipes — in this case it’s her failure to make the Christmas pud on Stir Up Sunday. Her Carbonara with cavolo nero is probably a better example, not least because she describes it as “inauthentic in the extreme,” though it sounds heavenly.

And finally, as I have already said, although A Good Egg is not a guide to keeping chickens, be warned, it will certainly tempt you to have a go. Last night, as I thumbed through my copy, I found myself considering all manner of bizarre constructions — tree house!? — in order to add a chicken or two to our household even though I know our garden is far too small.

fallow*

Posted on by
7

anemoneIn January, I embarked on an interesting project with two friends, which will run until July. It’s strange to have a formal structure to my week after so many years in which my work has come in fits and starts with lengthy lulls between the deadlines. I can’t write about it in great detail because, although it’s not a secret or particularly special, the project isn’t entirely mine, so it wouldn’t feel right to air it here until we’ve finished. Enough to say that it’s rewarding and painful in equal measure, and doesn’t leave me with much spare time. Something has had to give, and I’m afraid it’s been the blog.

But this post is by no means “over and out!”, more an explanation of the fallow state of my corner of the internet.

P1190966I began writing here, nearly three years ago, in order to record the life of my small city garden. Naturally enough, as with most other blogs I read, its remit quickly expanded; but the garden was always there in one form or another —  a bunch of flowers, a newly planted bed, rose petal jam. But in January the garden was asleep and so it felt like an appropriate moment to take time out from blogging regularly.

P1190968Actually, the garden wasn’t entirely asleep: these Anemone de Caen, which I planted in an old wine crate last spring, have been flowering, one or two at a time, since late October.

Over the last week other things have started to emerge and the usual gloom I feel about the garden at this time of year is lifting. My mood was given a further boost by the arrival of a really wonderful and incredibly inspiring book: Veg Street Grow Your Own Community by Naomi Schillinger, whose blog Out of my Shed is one that I have long admired. I’m off to read it now, over a cup of coffee and, as the sun is out, I might even venture into the garden with pen and paper and make a few plans.

I will post a proper review of the book later in the week, but for now I’ll just say that I cannot recommend her blog highly enough, and I feel sure that I’ll be saying the same about her book.

* Hoping that, as with farm land left to lie fallow, there will be increased productivity later in the year!

bea’s brownies

Posted on by
13

I like to think that she’s been inspired by me, but I suspect that Bea’s sudden passion for baking is really due to her obsession with The Great British Bake Off. Over the past two weeks she has made two loaves of bread, cheese rolls and now these brownies.

Bea used the recipe from Paul Hollywood’s book How To Bake, and it requires marginally less butter and chocolate, and crucially, I think, fewer eggs, than Nigella’s brownie recipe which, despite repeated attempts, I’ve never made successfully (the squidge v cake balance is all out of whack – too wet and not cakey enough for my liking).

Bea doesn’t like walnuts so she used pecans instead and we had no cranberries so she made do without. I hovered in the background whilst she worked, biting my tongue. I was quite surprised by how controlling I am when it comes to other people using the kitchen. Matilda is also obsessed with The Great British Bake Off so I can see that I am going to have to learn to ease up a bit and just let them go for it.

kantha curtains and gentle stitching

Posted on by
19

I’m not very good at sewing – too impatient, I think – but I have always loved textiles, which makes for a somewhat frustrating state of affairs. Over the years I have amassed a stash of lovely fabric in the hope that one day I will feel confident enough to do something with it all. In my mind’s eye I can see quilts, cushions and clothes, whilst my real eyes rest on neat stacks of untouched chintz and ticking. Unlike knitting, which can always be unravelled or ripped back, you reach the point of no return with sewing the minute you get going with the scissors, or at least that is how it feels and it leaves me in a state of creative paralysis.

Two months ago these Kantha quilts were part of that guilty stash. I bought them on a whim, seduced by their colours – the contrast between the faded fronts and electric backs – by the charming wood block designs and most of all by the characteristic rows and rows of running stitch. Once home I tried to convince myself that I had a plan for them – cushions, perhaps – but I quickly realised that I really couldn’t face cutting into them. They were too special. So I draped them around the place instead, slightly regretting my hasty purchase. And then I had one of those lightbulb moments: with only the tiniest bit of entirely reversible sewing, my quilts could become a pair of mis-matched bedroom curtains.

A quick rifle through the rest of the stash threw up some faded velvet which I used to lengthen the quilts by creating a deep hem at the bottom. At the top I used discreet metal curtain clips in order to attach them to traditional curtain rings. It took a morning.

Every day I admire the miles and miles of tiny stitches, and every evening when I close the curtains I enjoy the quirkiness of their not matching. I often wonder how long it took to create each quilt, and although I know that running stitch is not exactly difficult, the overall effect of those tiny stitches suggests a very complex piece of work. The sort of thing I’d usually file under ‘impossible’. So it will come as no surprise to learn that I had never thought about having a go at Kantha embroidery myself. Until last week that is…

when I got my hands on Jane Brocket’s latest book The Gentle Art of Stitching, which includes two very lovely Kantha projects – both quilts, but small’ish, one for summer and a blanket-backed version for winter. I immediately saw possibilities for my stash, but without the back-breaking cutting that a patchwork quilt entails (this one was fun to make, but the cutting part drove me slightly demented).

I must also add that I was further inspired by Jane Brocket in person when I went to hear her talk at the Malago WI (I’m not a member, but outsiders are welcome and I would recommend an evening in their company which included Champagne and cake).

Having heard Jane’s entertaining and fantastically straightforward account of how she came to create each of the 40-odd projects in The Gentle Art of Stitching, I came home convinced that I am not lost to sewing. And more specifically, that even someone with skills as limited as mine might just be able to attempt Kantha. Watch this space.

NB I meant to add that quilts like this are widely available online. As a general rule prices vary from quite pricey (but affordable if you compare against a pair of readymade fully lined curtains), to really very expensive depending on the age of the pieces and the quality of the work, though I imagine you can pick up a bargain on ebay if you are lucky. Mine came from La Belle Boutique on Picton Street in Montpelier, and they are pretty old, with lots of lovely patches here and there, though probably not strictly antique.  

make hay while the sun …

Posted on by
3


… resolutely fails to shine.

We were in Hay last Thursday because Joe was appearing at the annual Hay Festival with Frank Cottrell Boyce, whose book, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Flies Again, Joe illustrated.
They gave a lovely talk about the delicate business of bringing Ian Fleming’s famous flying car back to life, and then Frank read whilst Joe drew Chitty. The session ended with some very sweet and occasionally hilarious questions from the audience.

Despite the dreadful weather the festival was packed with happy, if soggy, visitors, and we had a wonderful time.  If you’ve never been, Hay is a fabulous, very family-friendly literary festival and really worth visiting. The atmosphere is incredibly relaxed and
there are lots of interesting things for all ages.

Next year, and I’ve been saying this every year, long before Joe started illustrating and writing children’s books, we’ll be really organised: we’ll book a cottage and plan our half term around the festival and all the events. Ha! As if – although clearly lots of people do.

retreat

Posted on by
11

I’m not getting very far with the post-holiday cleaning blitz. The house, particularly at the top, in the girls’ bedrooms, is a tip. It’s not just a case of needing more bin bags unfortunately. Though that would help. The problem feels bigger, more fundamental than that. I always knew that we were a family of collectors – our house is a minimalist’s nightmare – but I worry that without realising it we have actually become hoarders, which is a far more disturbing state of affairs. I am chipping away at the hoard and the hall is filling up with fat sacks to go to charity, but it’s a thankless task.

In an earlier post I likened the process to an archeological dig, but I was wrong, it’s more like a war. The war against Random and Unnecessary Stuff, a lot of which seems to be broken pink plastic, but which the girls insist they cannot live without. Battles are being fought on more fronts that a single person can manage. The insurgents are driven off each morning (figuratively, that is, I make them walk to school), only to return in the afternoon, full of vigour and ready to throw themselves into the challenge of regaining the ground I’ve conquered in their absence. It is driving me mad.

But I have devised a new strategy: after an energetic skirmish in the morning, which usually sees a few key items being carted off to the car, destined for the charity shop or dump, I beat a retreat to the sofa and immerse myself in a book for an hour. I find this restores my mental health, and I can enter the fray for a final round before the opposition troops return. I am currently flipping between Madame Bovary and New Selected Stories of Alice Munro. I am ashamed to say that I have never read anything by Alice Munro before (ditto Flaubert), and I find her a complete revelation. Sharp-eyed and witty, Munro draws deft descriptions of people and places, and somehow expands the form so that each story has the weight and power of a novel. The real revelation for me, though, aside from her elegant prose, is that however hard I might try, I can never see where her stories are going – quite how this incident will connect with that, or what the significance of that turn of phrase or detail might be. This is a feat of extraordinary brilliance, I think, in a short story, where so often it can feel as though the text has been marked up with red pen, so that the reader can be in no doubt where the plot is heading.

So, if you are fighting similar home-front battles to mine and you find yourself in need of a little mental stimulation, I cannot recommend this collection of stories highly enough. I ought to add, too, that even if your life is battle-free this book will do you good.

four seasons in a day

Posted on by
12

I’ve been trying to write a post about something nice and Christmassy that I did at the weekend, but I’m not getting very far. This is because I am also chasing last minute bits and pieces for an event which may or may not happen tomorrow evening, as it is totally weather dependent. Meanwhile, outside the weather is taunting me with an impressive medley and I keep leaping up to take photographs. I suppose I’m only encouraging it.

So far this morning we have had high winds and heavy, heavy rain; thunder and lightning; three separate hailstorms; sleety-rainy-haily stuff and now, brilliant sunshine.

I’m expecting a rainbow and perhaps some snow by this afternoon’s school run.

The other post will follow soon enough. But in the meantime Amy left a comment asking for the chocolate shortbread recipe which I mentioned in this post – here it is, Amy, and sorry that it’s taken so long for me to get round to writing it up. It’s not mine, but from The Great British Book of Baking (the first one, as I think there might be a second one).

Ingredients: 260g plain flour; 100g caster sugar (plus a little extra for sprinkling); 40g cocoa powder; pinch of salt (not necessary, I think if you use slightly salted butter); 200g unsalted butter, chilled and diced.

Method:

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/gas 4  Grease a loose-based 20.5cm cake tin

Put flour, sugar, cocoa and salt into a mixing bowl and stir well to combine. Add the butter and rub into the dry ingredients until it resembles fine damp sand, or sandy crumbs. Tip it into a prepared tin and press into an even layer using the back of a spoon. Finally prick the dough well with a skewer or a fork, and then score into 12 sections.

Bake in the oven for around 25 mins until just firm.

Remove from oven and sprinkle with a little more caster sugar and then, before removing it from the tin, carefully cut along into the pre-marked sections. Leave to cool before removing from tin. This might be difficult as it smells wonderful, and you may be tempted to eat it, but it is still quite crumbly at this stage, and will set firmer as it cools.

this week’s biscuit

Posted on by
14

The Nanowrimo challenge grinds on, and it seems to get harder every day. I am now over 30,000 words into the task and despite the pain, boredom and frustration that I experience each day, I am enjoying the process. I can’t bring myself to call what I’m writing a novel, as currently it’s just a thicket of ideas with barely a squeak of a plot, but a story of sorts is emerging. Obviously this calls for more biscuits.

These chocolate and nut bars have proved very popular with the girls too, which is a surprise as they all claim to hate nuts. The recipe is from a very old cookery book, The Cook’s Companion, by Josceline Dimbleby, which my mother gave me twenty years ago, and which I still turn to on a regular basis. These little bars can be run up in ten minutes or so as everything is made in a pan, and they take twelve minutes to cook. Although only the thickness of a biscuit, they have a slightly cakey consistency which I think means they occupy that part of biscuitdom normally only inhabited by the Jaffa Cake. They are great on their own, but brilliant with ice cream. I have used toasted hazelnuts as the recipe suggests, but I think any nuts would do.

Chocolate and Hazelnut Thins

125g butter; 25g plain chocolate broken up; 1tsp instant coffee; 75g soft dark brown sugar; 1tsp vanilla essence;  1 egg beaten lightly; 25g plain flour; 1/2 tsp salt; 50g skinned hazelnuts, toasted and chopped up.

Preheat oven to 190/375 gas 5; Butter (and I also line) a 25 x 30cm Swiss roll tin.

Melt the butter and chocolate together over a low heat, stirring all the time. Add the instant coffee and stir to dissolve. Remove from the heat and stir in the sugar and vanilla essence and then the egg. Sift in the flour and salt and mix until smooth.

Pour the thick mixture into the tin and spread evenly, or tilt the tin to get it to level out across the base. It will look like a very scant amount, but don’t worry. Sprinkle with the chopped toasted hazelnuts.  Bake for 12-15 minutes, turning the tin halfway through to ensure that it cooks evenly.

Leave in the tin for a few minutes before lifting to a wire rack to allow them to cool. Alternatively, eat them straight away, whilst still warm.

NB – late addition here: I didn’t bother with the 1/2 tsp of salt as I used lightly salted butter rather than unsalted.

walnuts again, again

Posted on by
3

Here is the cake I made with the walnuts from Monday’s post. The last slice was snaffled by Joe this morning. The recipe is from The Great British Book of Baking which was published to tie-in with last year’s series of The Great British Bake Off.

It’s a good book, filled with a fantastic range of recipes including, as one would expect, lots of regional treats such as Cornish Fairings, Bakewell tart and Welsh cakes. I like the way that this regional leaning also stretches beyond our Great British borders to include delicacies from overseas, such as naan bread and focaccia, which as a nation we have taken to our hearts. All the recipes I’ve tried so far have worked brilliantly and in each instance had the children agitating for me to bake more. And if that weren’t enough to recommend it, the book is also packed with really, really lovely photographs.

So, having gorged myself with coffee cake, I spent the best part of this morning trying to work it off by weeding and cutting back various parts of the garden. But my work only sent me scurrying back to the book again, this time in search of recipes that include either fennel seeds or hazelnuts. I found both – a fennel loaf and a fruit cobbler.

And while I was in the garden I found this: a white lipped snail, or Cepaea hortensis as I now know it to be. Although just as much of a pest as the common browny-grey garden snail, Helix aspersa (oh, the joy of Wikipedia), nature has taken the time to give it a beautiful caramel-striped shell which means that it’s still out there eating my precious fennel, because it was just too pretty to move. Anyway, as I see it, there is plenty of fennel to go round – after all, the recipe I found for fennel loaf only needs a teaspoon of seeds.

NB The walnuts on top of the cake came from a packet I found mouldering in the back of the cupboard and are not from the tree in St Andrew’s Park. The ones I gathered were far smaller than their supermarket cousins which, I noticed from the packet, were grown in the US.

notes and curiosities

Posted on by
8

I am always on the look out for strange and interesting little communications. Aren’t we all? A good friend alerted me to this rather special small ad on the community pin board in our local Somerfield. I love the effort that someone has put into this.

The next two notes are also from local shops. The first, from a while back, was
in the window of the lovely secondhand bookshop Bloom & Curll on Colston Street.
The second is one of several notices that decorate the walls of Cox & Baloney, the cafe, secondhand bookshop and vintage clothes emporium on Cheltenham Road.

Little notes and lists have started popping up at home too. Last night, as I went
upstairs to bed, I came across this funny little memo stuck to the landing wall.

It was Matilda’s To Do list for this morning. I have no idea why she gets up at six, as
there really is no need, but I love the allocation of 15 minutes to brushing hair. I was
able to go one better on the item for 7am – “ask mum to write note to games” – and I managed to provide the missing piece of PE equipment instead.

And finally, two more lists, obviously written at the time when Bea and Martha
were enjoying that heady burst of enthusiasm for school that one only experiences
during the first week of term.

How things have changed. Martha’s list would probably now read: Get up, complain bitterly about school, fake stomach ache. And as for Bea’s obsession with milk, I haven’t the faintest idea what that’s all about, but I do know she’s not achieving that daily target.