Warm Roast Potato Salad with Black Forest Bacon

Potato salads make the perfect accompaniment to many meat dishes or a delicious and hearty meal on their own. I personally prefer the roasted potatoes instead of usual boiled one for my potato salads as it intensifies the flavour. If you can't find the smoky black forest bacon, use regular bacon.

• 800 g Small potatoes, cut into 2-3 chunks
  
• 2 tbsp Rosemary infused olive oil
  
• Salt
  
• 5 slice Black forest bacon, chopped
  
• 1 tbsp Fresh rosemary leaves
  
• 2 tbsp Sour cream
  
• 2 tbsp Homemade mayonnaise
  
• 1/2 tbsp Lemon juice
  
• 1/2 tbsp Capers, drained and chopped
  
• 1/2 tbsp Fresh basil leaves, chopped
  

1. Heat oven to 210C/420F. Place the potatoes in a roasting pan, then rub with rosemary infused olive oil, rosemary leaves and a sprinkling of salt. Roast for 30 mins until the potatoes have turned a deep golden brown. Leave to cool slightly.
   
2. Heat a skillet over medium heat. Dry-fry the chopped bacon until crisp. Whisk sour cream, mayonnaise, lemon juice, capers, and the basil in a large bowl. Add in roasted potatoes and crispy bacon. Toss to coat and serve.

I want to thank Elisabeth at foodandthriftfinds for passing the "Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award" to me and Raven at Ravienomnoms sharing her "Stylish Blogger Award" with me. Thank You, ladies!

Henry's tit bread

This isn't going to be the start of a descent into a lot of baby chat, I promise. I am aware that a lot of you don't have children, or don't want them. Or have them and don't like them and don't want to hear about anyone else's. So I'm wary of mentioning mine.

Just like I'm not going to mention my cleaner ever again. I mentioned my cleaner last time and "Brian" left a comment saying "Why don't you get off your lazy arse and clean your own house like the rest of the real world." [No question mark.]

I'm lucky - I don't get much stuff like that. So at first I deleted the comment and my aim was to forget about it. But it bothered me.

My husband thinks I'm being silly.

"She's not your cleaner," he said, "she's my cleaner. When you had a job you had a cleaner. You haven't got a job anymore but I do. And professional, working people have cleaners - and X is mine. If you want to fire her and do it yourself, I'll pay you. But you'd be so shit at it I'd have to fire you for incompetence and re-hire X. And I don't have the energy for all that."

As die-hard fans of this blog know, my dad is a former Oxford History lecturer and the author of an academic text on Karl Marx (available for purchase here). So if anyone is going to be very bothered by the question of whether or not I am lazy for having a cleaner, it's me.

I rang Dad to ask what he thought about all this, but as it was 8.30am on Sunday morning, he was too busy working to talk. So I texted my sister, The Hamburgler, instead, because she knows all about this stuff, too.

Me: Would Karl Marx believe that my cleaner is oppressed?
The Hamburgler: He wouldn't believe it, he would know it. But he also 'knew' that chairs were 'really' the exploitation of man. Fucking idiot. It's a chair.

I don't know about you, but that made things no clearer for me. I would like to say something like "I'm not going to fire my cleaner, who has her own family to support, just so that people like "Brian" don't think I'm lazy. Because out of my cleaner and "Brian", guess whose good opinion I'd rather have?"

But that's just me being defensive. And I suspect that not wanting to starve their workers was the main self-defence cry of 19th Century mill-owners. "Put them out of work?" they'd cry. "But who, pray, would feed their children?"

I could fire my cleaner and do it all myself. Do I not because I am lazy? I don't think I'm lazy. But maybe I am. My cleaner is great and she would find other work. But I don't think that's the point. I think "Brian"'s point is that he thinks being a cleaner is demeaning. He thinks it's a shit job and that anyone who hires someone to do a shit job is a shitty person. But I don't think being a cleaner is a shit job.

Perhaps what "Brian" would like me to do is ring all X's clients and get her fired from everything, then she would see the light and go to university and become a lawyer. Or a buyer for Topshop, or some other suitable job for a young woman that isn't cleaning people's houses.
 
After a lot of thinking like this, I have come to the conclusion that, on balance, it's just best if I pretend my cleaner doesn't exist.

Anyway, I digress.

As I said, I won't go into the foul details, but I had cause the other day to be brought some "breastfeeing bread" by my friend Henry. It is supposed to... how to put this nicely... help things along. I don't think you need to know any more. Or is coyness extra revolting?

Anyway when he turned up with it I was slightly horrified, as it smells a lot like curry because of the fenugreek seeds in it: fenugreek being the active ingredient in aiding... supply. "Oh God," I thought, "curry bread? This is going to be horrid."

But it wasn't. It was fantastic. I mean really, like, "wow" delicious. It's like a very rich soda bread, only better. Superb with any kind of jam and, I suspect, really nice with baked beans. Definitely excellent with cream cheese and salmon, as I ate it just now.
 
Do not fear: if you don't happen to be breastfeeding, it won't make you spontaneously lactate. And if you find fennel seeds or fenugreek really disgusting leave them out. They are only essential to "nursing mothers" (vomit) but if you're not in that social category and don't like them, don't put them in.

[NB if you ARE breastfeeding and need a bit of help, this does actually work, despite sounding a lot like a load of old hippy cack.]

I must admit to you now that I haven't made this myself, yet. Henry assures me that it is easy and although he's no bullshitter, he is a chef - so his level of competence unevens the playing field a bit.

Anyway, here goes. This is copied word for word out of the first Leon cookbook - this is where my 100wpm touch-typing comes in handy - which is why there isn't any swearing in it.

Makes a 1kg loaf

soft butter
330g strong wholemeal spelt flour
170g strong white flour
5g fast-acting easy-blend dried yeast
2 tsp crushed sea salt
1 tsp aniseeds
1 tsp caraway seeds
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp fenugreek seeds - ground
4-g pumpkin seeds
40g sunflower seeds
2.5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
300ml warm water
15g extra sunflower and pumpkin seeds for the top
40g pine nuts

Smear a 1 kg loaf tin with butter. Mix all the dry ingredients (except the pine nuts and seeds for the top) together in a bowl large enough to knead the dough in. Add the oil, then the water, stirring until the mixture sticks together. Knead in the bowl for just a few minutes until smooth. You can add a little flour if it is too sticky, but remember the maxim - wetter is better. It doesn't matter if a little sticks to your hands.

Shape, then put into the tin. Cut a pattern in deep gashes on the top and sprinkle the reserved seeds into the gashes; slighty push the pine nuts into the surface and sprinkle a little extra spelt flour (or bran if you have some to hand) all over.

Put the tin into a large plastic bag that can be tucked under the tin to leave the loaf enclosed with plenty of air. Leave until the dough has doubled in size. This will take about 2-2.5 hours in a warm kitchen.
Bake in a preheated oven at 230C for 20 mins then turn down to 200C for another 20 minutes.

Chickpea Salad with Feta and Sundried Tomatoes

This chickpea salad is tasty and healthy, high in fiber, protein and full of flavours! Tossed with sundried tomatoes and reduced fat feta cheese, perfect for a light but filling lunch.

• 1 tin / 350 g Chickpeas
  
• 100 g Sundried tomatoes in oil, drained and diced
  
• 120 g Low fat feta, crumbled
  
• 2 tbsp Fresh chives, chopped
  
• 1 Small red chilli, finely chopped
  
• 2 tbsp Lemon juice
  
• Salt and black pepper to taste
  

1. Tip the chickpeas into a sieve and rinse under cold running water. Drain and place them in a large bowl. Drain the sundried tomatoes and finely dice.
   
2. Add the chopped sundried tomatoes, together with crumbled feta, chopped chives and chilli into the bowl of chickpeas. Drizzle in the lemon juice, then season with salt and pepper. Gently toss to combine.

Osso buco

The best thing about working at the Evening Standard, which I did from 2005 to 2007, (although for fuck's sake don't tell the Student Loans Company that - as far as they're concerned I was missing presumed dead in western Namibia and therefore do NOT owe them any money for that tax year), was my boss.

He was so great because he'd always say "well done". It didn't really matter what you'd done, he'd always just say "well done". I mean, not if you'd done something bad. If you'd done something bad he'd say "oh dear". And then when you put it right, he'd say "well done".

Call me simple as a drooling gun dog, but that worked on me. Although I'd had nice bosses in the past, none of them had said "well done" with the frequency and fervour of Sebastian.

"Seb I got you a sandwich," I'd say.
"Oh well done," he'd say.

"Seb I rang Antonia Fraser about that thing," I'd say.
"Oh, well done. What did he say?" he'd say.
[She almost always said "fuck off", by the way]

"Seb I forgot to put through all those payments," I'd say.
"Oh dear," he'd say. "Can you do it now?"
"Yes I'll do it now," I'd say
"Oh, well done," he'd say.

You get the picture. On Fridays, I used to get us both chicken shwarmas from Ranoush Juice, just opposite the Evening Standard's offices in Kensington. Ranoush Juice is one of a chain of Lebanese places that will be familiar to Londoners, and not to anyone else. We'd eat the sandwiches at our desks, stinking the place out. On Fridays at the Standard there was nothing to do after about 1pm because there was no paper until Monday. So at about 3pm Seb would say:

"Okay, well done, you can go home now." And off I'd go. You see? I literally hadn't done anything, and he's say "well done". Awesome. It did wonders for my productivity. I would write 100 or maybe even 200 words a week in that place. Phew!
A note: our Friday lunches only lasted until Ariel Sharon had that heart attack; it turned out that his favourite food was chicken shwarma and Sebastian didin't want any after that.

Needless to say, I cried tears of genuine sadness when I left the Evening Standard to go and work at the Independent. And in the 12 months that I worked at the Indy I don't think anyone ever said "well done" to me. Not once. Ever.

As you can imagine there were no tears of sadness when I got the hell out of there.

But I had been infected with the habit of saying "well done" to everyone, about everything. It's a great motivator. I do it to my husband all the time.

"I put a wash on," he'll say.
"Oh WELL DONE," I'll say.

Recently, my husband has been mostly making dinner and I find that, even though before I had the baby he promised he would do a lot of cooking, it's vital to say "WELL DONE THIS IS DELICIOUS WOW WOW WOW" when we sit down. And it works because he's really kept at it.

Last night we had Osso Buco, which is one of those things that has a mystifying name but is really quite a simple thing. It's basically veal shin stew and it incorporates bone marrow, which makes the whole thing very glossy and sticky. Osso buco means "bone with a hole", which is a pretty unromantic description - but that's the Italians for you.

Sorry no photo but Kitty was freaking me out all night and the picture somehow never happened. But it's super-tasty, trust me.

When you go to a butcher to get your meat for this, you can ask for either some veal shin (you want rose veal, obviously) or if you like, "osso buco", which is the name of the cut. I know it sounds a bit like going in and asking for some "spaghetti bolognese", but it isn't.

This is a mash-up of Hugh FW and Claudia Roden in that Hugh does not include tomatoes and Claudia Roden does.

This is a pretty rich dish so you really only need one slice of veal shin per person. It is traditionally eaten with a risotto and gremolata but I won't go into that here because Kitty's only just gone to sleep and I need to go and have a shower before the cleaner gets here. I love my cleaner, but why does she always want to come at lunchtime?

Osso buco
For 2

2 slices veal shin
1 large handful, or about 50g plain flour, seasoned with salt and pepper
some veg oil for cooking, plus a large knob of butter
2 garlic cloves, chopped finely
2 medium onions (i.e. not massive, white onions), chopped
2 celery sticks, chopped
1 carrot, chopped - do not be tempted to be clever and use more than one carrot here because too much carrot makes everything very sickly sweet
1 large glass white wine, doesn't matter what
250ml ish light stock - pork, chicken - if you've got a bit less than that you can top up with hot water, do not fret
3 tomatoes (if you want, don't if not - I think they're nice though), skinned. You do this by making a cross in the bottom of the tomato with a knife and then putting them in boiling water for 2 mins and then the skins come off. The riper the tomato the easier this is
salt and pepper


1 In a large pan or casserole dish that goes on the hob, heat together a long sloop of veg oil and the knob of butter. Dust the veal shin in the seasoned flour and brown all over then set aside.

2 To the pan add the garlic, onions, celery and carrot and cook gently until soft. I find the best way to do this without burning everything is to cook it on the lowest possible setting for at least 15 minutes. You may have a better way of doing it, in which case don't let me stop you.

3 Put the veal pieces back in the pan - flat side down so that the marrow doesn't all fall out, then pour in the glass of wine, turn up the heat and sizzle until it's reduced by about half. Add your stock, topped up with water from the kettle if you need to - (mine has a fucking LEAK, it's so annoying... need a new one... any recommendations?) - and some salt and pepper, bring it all to a very gentle simmer, put a lid on it and cook for 2 hours.

4 And that's basically it. Turn the meat once or twice during cooking and keep an eye on the liquid level - if it looks like it's drying out, throw in some more stock or water. After 2-ish hours take the lid off, turn the heat up and bubble to reduce the sauce a bit.

Rosemary Cranberry Focaccia with Pine Nuts

A wonderfully rustic Italian flat bread with rosemary, chopped cranberries and pine nuts. Focaccia, originated in Italy and usually prepared with olive oil, flavoured with rosemary (or sage)and coarse sea salt, is quite versatile. For salads, or sandwiches, or to accompany soups and dips, Focaccia is the perfect choice.

• 500 g All purpose flour
  
• 8 g Instant active dry yeast
  
• 1/2 tsp Sugar
  
• 2 tsp Salt
  
• 300 ml Water, lukewarm
  
• 8 tbsp Extra-virgin olive oil
  
• 2 tbsp Fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
  
• 1/2 cup Dried cranberries, roughly chopped
  
• 1/2 cup Toasted pine nuts (optional)
  
• 1 tsp Fleur de sel
  ©angiesrecipes
  
• 2 Sprig Fresh rosemary, snap into smaller pieces
  

1. In the bowl of your stand mixer attached with a dough hook, add in flour, yeast, sugar and salt. Pour in water and 4 tablespoons olive oil. Mix on low speed until dough comes together. Increase speed to medium and mix until dough is smooth, about 5 minutes. Turn dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead briefly to form into a smooth ball.
   
2. Coat the mixing bowl with 1 tablespoon of olive oil, place in the dough ball, and turn to coat all sides. Cover with a plastic film and let rise in a warm, draft-free place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.
   
3. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine 2 tablespoons of chopped rosemary and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Heat the mixture until olive oil bubbles, about 1 minute. Add in chopped cranberries and remove from heat. Let cool to room temperature.
   
4. Line a baking tray with parchment paper and set aside. Once dough has risen, punch it down, place on a lightly floured surface, and knead in cranberry mixture, and pine nuts. Form the dough into a tight ball, cover and let rest for 15 minutes.
   
5. On a lightly floured surface, pat the dough into a sheet and lay it on the prepared tray. Cover with a cling film and allow it to rise until doubled, about 45 minutes.
   
6. Preheat the oven to 200C/400F. Dimple the dough with your fingertips and place the rosemary leaves in the indentations. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the top of the dough and sprinkle with fleur de sel. Place loaf in the middle shelf of the oven and mist the inside of the oven with 3 or 4 sprays of water. Bake for 30 minutes until golden. Cool on a wire rack. Serve warm.

Lisa H, from My Lemony Kitchen, was hosting a "Cambodian Souvenirs" giveaway last month. There are 3 very beautiful souvenirs she brought home from her visit to Cambodia: a soft Cambodian silk scarf, a set of beautiful chopsticks and a lovely embroidered purse. And I am the WINNER of this beautiful soft silk scarf. Thank you, Lisa!

Duck with pineapple, chilli and soy

I have lately started to do a thing that I call Russian Roulette shopping, where I go to Waitrose and just hurl whatever the fuck into my trolley. I don't want to make any boring sweeping generalisations about pregnancy and new motherhood, but it is just a fact that for the last three months I haven't been going to the shops with as gimlet an eye and as sharp a purpose as I might have done, say, six months ago.

So as I roll round the joint, cracking open huge yawns, I'm all, like celeriac? Sure, why not. Five aubergines? SURE. Some pigeon? WHAT THE HELL? Then I come home and look at it all and think "Oh God alive, what am I going to do with all this?

But something always emerges from the chaos in the end.

Rightly, this ought to be called Ready Steady Cook shopping. But Russian Roulette Shopping sounds better, even though the parallel doesn't work one bit. What do you want? I gave birth 10 days ago and I think my baby girl might be coming down with a cold and she's definitely got a hurty tummy. Leave me the fuck alone.

Last week, Russian Roulette shopping scored a real home run. In amongst the okra, dragon fruits and sugar snap peas, I had somehow purchased two duck breasts and a large pineapple. Do I remember buying them? No. Perhaps it ought to be called Amnesia shopping.

As luck would have it, my husband found a recipe for duck and pineapple in Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's River Cottage Meat cookbook and set about it, like the trooper he temporarily is. He always turns to Hugh in moments of crisis because he believes the River Cottage Meat Book to be butch despite beating Hugh soundly at pool about 2 years ago. My husband is the most terrible hustler never trust him.

I was sceptical about the recipe. Duck and pineapple? Surely absolutely gross? No. Absolutely fantastic. Like something you would get in a very, very upmarket Chinese place. We ate it sort of laughing, going "I can't believe you made this," and "No I can't believe I made this, either. Cheers!"

We ate this with red rice (obviously) and some creamed cauliflower. But in truth, this would have been better with white rice and some broccoli sauteed with nam pla or oyster sauce.

So here we go:

Duck with pineapple, chilli and soy

This recipe can be found on p.366 of the River Cottage Meat Book

For 2
2 duck breasts
1/2 a pineapple
3 tbs dark soy sauce
1 tsp soft brown sugar or honey
3 garlic cloves, chopped
golfball sized bit of fresh ginger, finely sliced (we didn't have any and it was great anyway, but if you had some, that would be a bonus)
1 fresh red chilli, chopped. Seeds in or out. Up to you.
2 spring onions, chopped
few twists black pepper

Preheat your oven to 220C

1 Cut 2 slices from your pineapple half 2cm thick, cut into chunks and set aside. Chop up the rest and get the juice out, somehow. HFW says squeeze it with your fist. We have a juicer so FINALLY there a use for the enormous buggery thing, but if you are not stupid credulous twats like us and do not have a jucier, just do it the best way you can see how.

2 Make a marinade out of the pineapple juice (there ought to be about 3-4 tbsp) and the soy, sugar/honey, garlic, ginger, chilli and black pepper. Make some slashes in the duck breast and leave in the marinade. Ideally for a few hours, but 10 mins will make a difference.

3 Wipe the marinade off the breasts and sear them quickly in a hot pan in some veg oil. They need about 2-3 mins each side, just to brown the underside and crisp up the skin.

4 In a small roasting tin, make a bed out of the spring onions and lay the breasts on top and then pour over the marinade. The idea is that the breasts poach in the marinade so you need a roasting tin or oven proof dish that's quite small otherwise the marinade will just wash out everywhere and won't do an effective poaching job.

5 Roast these in your hot oven for 8-10 mins then remove from whatever they were cooking in and leave to rest somewhere warm. Do not chuck out the marinade.

6 In a small pan with some veg oil fry the pineapple chunks, turning occasionally so they get some colour. Sieve everything that's sitting in the duck-roasting-receptacle into your pineapple-chunk-frying pan and sizzle to reduce to a syrupy sauce. Poke the pineapple pieces around so they coat well.

7 Return the duck to the pan and turn a few times to coat. I always find it much more clement to slice things like duck breasts before eating, so you don't spend your evening sawing through a huge thunk of meat. Spoon over the sauce and pineapple chunks before serving.


Here is a picture of (part of) the baby because you know you love it you soppy fools.

Brussels Sprouts with Chestnuts and Pancetta

I know there are plenty of Brussels sprouts haters out there, but seriously this veggie deserves one more chance. Not to mention their fantastic health benefits, like cholesterol-lowering ability, anti-inflammatory support, cancer-protective substances, etc., they don't taste bad. Ok, I agree that they don't taste heavenly like chocolate, but they are great just like many other vegetables.
Don't overcook them or they will smell stinky and taste bitter. It's better to serve them while they are still slightly crunchy.

Recipe adapted from BBC Good Food

• 400 g Brussels sprouts, trimmed
  
• 120 g Pancetta, diced
  
• 200 g Cooked chestnuts, broken into large pieces
  
• 1 tbsp Sugar
  
• 200 ml Vegetable stock
  

1. Bring a pot of water to a boil. Blanch the Brussels sprouts for 3 minutes until they are starting to soften slightly. Remove and drain.
   
2. Heat a frying pan and fry the pancetta until crisp, then remove and set aside. Add the chestnuts and sugar, tossing in the pan, then pour in the vegetable stock and reduce by half.
   
3. Add in Brussels sprouts and pancetta back to the pan. Stir to combine. Transfer to a plate and serve warm.