Fooproof Yorkshire pudding

I've never been very good at making Yorkshire pudding. Years of cooking on an Aga meant that by the time the meat was perfectly roasted, there wasn't enough heat left for the puds. Years of pudding failure = deep-seated belief that my Yorkshires would always be a flat soggy mess.

But now, I have a foolproof recipe. I first came across it when I was cooking on the Miele stand at the BBC food show; we made the batter into toad-in-the-hole. Yesterday, I made a huge ballooning effortless Yorkshire. Eggs. The secret is eggs. Lots of them. Not quite Mrs Beeton ("take 2 dozen eggs"), but I reckon this method uses at least twice the usual amount of eggs, so of course it's not going to remain pancake-flat.

I've just spent a merry morning looking up recipes for Yorkshire pudding; Hannah Glasse, Jane Grigson, Elizabeth David, Mrs Ruffell, Michael Smith ... they're all more or less agreed on two eggs to half a pint of milk and enough flour for a pouring cream consistency. But here's an interesting thing: Yorkshire pudding is merely a parsimoniously thin version of batter pudding, one of the earliest dishes in English cookery - think thick Yorkshire pudding. Truth to tell, this would be a batter pudding if you chose too small a tin.

I got a lot of complaints last night about serving this with lamb. I think it's a shame to forego something so deliciously eggy for the sake of a tradition which is almost certainly invented. Next time we'll have it with roast chicken.

This is Jane Grigson's tip about what to do if there's any left:

On roast-beef Sundays, my mother's father, who had reached heights of power and respectability in the Bank of England, forgot what was due to his position and remembered the ways of the Northumbrian farm at Old Bewick which his family had come from. The roast beef went back to the kitchen after the main course, but the Yorkshire pudding remained to be finished up with sweetened condensed milk. I do not know how my grandmother took this - she prided herself on her desserts - but my mother shared his delight in the crisp and sticky pudding. When she had a home of her own, and a family, she passed his taste on to us who only remembered him, in spats and spectacles and pin-striped trousers, from old photographs.

Foolproof Yorkshire pudding

equal quantities by volume* of:

eggs
milk
plain flour

Mix the flour into the eggs; when there are no lumps, slowly mix in the milk. Season: you'll definitely need salt; you could add chopped herbs. Let stand for half an hour.

Heat fat in a roasting tin, pour in the batter, and roast for 20 minutes in a very hot oven (200C).

* last night I used four eggs which came to the 200ml mark in a jug (that volume of flour weighed around 100g). The tin I used measured 25cm x 35cm, and the result was a crisp and thin Yorkshire; a smaller pan would give you batter pudding with these quantities.

Cold beef with lemon and thyme

When families gather together in the summer, the most convenient way to picnic is for everyone to bring a plate of food ... and even if there's no-one co-ordinating, there's rarely much duplication. Yesterday 11 families brought a picnic lunch to share at the lunchtime break of the school cricket XI v the old boys. First to go were the onion bhajis, made by the mother of the captain, who also made vegetable samosas. Quiche, crostini, dips, sausages, raw veggies, smoked salmon - all easily transportable summer favourites.

I made cold beef strips using rump steak, a really good standby when you need something that won't take long and will travel well. The trick is to marinade the meat after you cook it to give it flavour. Quick and delicious - it's just as good hot, too.

Steak strips with lemon and thyme

Choose a thick piece of rump, and trim away the fat. When it's at room temperature, brush it with oil and cook it on a smoking hot griddle pan so that it is rare. A couple of minutes each side should be enough - it will "cook" a little more in the marinade, and if you're eating it cold, it will also carry on cooking as it cools.

For one or two pieces of rump, finely zest a lemon, then squeeze half the juice. Add a handful of finely chopped thyme, lots of pepper, some crushed garlic if you like. For a picnic, put everything in a plastic box. Take a board and a sharp knife, and slice the meat when you're ready to eat.

If you're eating this at hot and at home, put the meat in a shallow dish and pour on the marinade; leave it for about 10 minutes - you'll have to turn it, as there's not much liquid.


Other good things to take to a picnic

Travelling beef sandwich
Superquick noodles

Beef salad with capers and parsley

I've decided this year to cook my way through Elizabeth David's Summer Cooking, and I've started with this very good cold beef salad, which we ate last night for supper. ED gives this as the best use for the little bits left over at the end of a baked brisket, but I used the remains of a roasted silverside.

As she says, better made into a salad rather than reheated in a hash or rissoles - but who does that nowadays, anyway?

Elizabeth David's beef salad with capers and parsley

Slice your beef into ribbons. Make a vinaigrette dressing with finely chopped shallot, crushed capers, chopped parsley, red wine vinegar, olive oil and seasonings. If you are using curly-leafed parsley it should be finely cut, if flat-leafed, you can chop it quite roughly. Combine everything and serve.

Travelling beef sandwich

Here's a treat for a travelling picnic - I posted it last year, now I've improved it ... Alfred and I wolfed it down on the way up to Durham, where he's doing a hockey course and I'm doing some family history research. We stopped on the way at Conisbrough Castle, a Norman ruin.


















This sandwich is very simple, and one of it's best virtues is that you make it the night before you travel, so that in the morning all you have to do is grab it out of the fridge. And it's quick to make. There's no need for butter or any other fat, and you can size it according to the number of people: I used a small ciabatta and a slightly smaller sized steak. A flattish bread works best, together with an ordinary steak. This version was much better and much more manageable than my first effort last year (although that was VERY popular, despite it's rather peculiar appearance).

What do you make for a healthy picnic? Heart of the Matter is looking for picnic ideas .... details on taking part are at the bottom of the post.

One sirloin or rump steak
One ciabatta loaf
some field mushrooms, stalks removed

Cook the steak according to your usual method. Cook the mushrooms whole. Slice through the ciabatta so that it opens out like a book. Put the cooked steak on one half, and pour on the juices. Arrange the cooked mushrooms on top, then fold down the top. Wrap tightly in foil, then put in the fridge with a weight on top. This needs to be made a few hours in advance so that there's time for the sandwich to be pressed.

To serve, cut into finger slices.


































As you see, Alfred enjoyed himself - we were lucky that the sun was shining; I've got soaked twice today in Durham, once outside the Durham Light Infantry Museum (REALLY worth a visit, even if you aren't related to anyone who served in the DLI, as my grandfather did in WW1), and once on the way to the Durham Heritage Centre.






We'd love to hear your heart-healthy picnic ideas ... the Heart of the Matter website is a great place for ideas for heart-healthy recipes (something I wish had existed when we were changing our diet on doctor's orders after my husband's heart attack), and it only exists because so many bloggers have taken the time to share their recipes.

The usual rules: If you’ve participated before, you already know the basics. If you haven’t, check here, here and here for ideas on what “heart-healthy” means, and we hope that you’ll join us! Again, we ask that this please be a single event entry (please don’t use your post for other events – that way we can keep things centred on healthy heart awareness). Just send your entry to joannacary AT ukonline DOT co DOT uk (could you use the title HotM, so they don't get lost) by midnight Monday 25th August (a Bank Holiday in the UK) , linking to my site, Joanna's Food (and to the HotM blog if you’d like) and I’ll post the round-up on the Thursday or Friday on both sites.

Related links

A fabulous spot for a picnic in the south of England
A place in our garden for a picnic

Rabbi Blue's meatballs

These meatballs are a family favourite - easy, comforting food which all of us (apart from Lucius) can cook. We eat them regularly, perhaps once a month - if we haven't had them for a while, one of the children is sure to ask for them.

I haven't consulted the recipe in years, and, now that I look at it, I see that I haven't been putting in lemon juice for a very long time, if ever. That will be an improvement. We generally use French mustard, either grainy or not, depending on what's in the cupboard. I sometimes use other types of jelly (blackcurrant, quince), or even lumpy jam if there's no alternative. Its a long time since I've used tomato juice, as I generally use a tin of chopped tomatoes, perhaps a little stock to make extra sauce when there are lots of meatballs.

It's a very forgiving recipe, it takes moments to put together ... I'm blogging it now so that I don't lose sight of its origins, because I'm about to give away the book from which it came - it's the only recipe I ever use from that book, and I need the shelf space. I'm going to give the recipe and preamble in its entirety, because - well, Rabbi Lionel Blue is like no other.

Self-pity meatballs

These meatballs were refugees from Sweden. They journeyed across the Atlantic to the States, and then journeyed back to Europe, so although this recipe has a Scandinavian basis, when it reached me it had acquired an American kick, which I toned down because of my British understatement. It is very easy and very versatile. It is good both for solo cooking, and for party cooking when all the tribes of Israel descend on me. When I am on my own for too long, I get lachrymose. These balls sauce me up, and I decide that life is worth living, and I even get down to prayer - my first for some time - and I just say "Thank you!"

I give here the quantities for one large portion. It is enough for one self-pitying rabbi or two normal people. Multiply the quantity according to the number of your guests and their emotions.

1/2lb mince
4 fl oz tomato juice
4 fl oz tomato ketchup (1/2 a small bottle)
1 tbsp redcurrant jelly
1 dssp lemon juice
1/2 tsp made-up English mustard

Wet your hands, and roll the mince into balls, the size of small walnuts.

In a saucepan combine all the other ingredients except the lemon juice. Heat on the stove until it is just simmering.

Carefully put the balls in the simmering sauce, and cook very slowly over a low heat for a long time (40 minutes at least, but longer will be better).

Before serving add lemon juice to taste. This will moderate the sauce, which is very rich. You will not need any extra salt or pepper.

I like to eat the sauced balls with rye bread, especially the Jewish type, which is worth seeking out because it is flecked with caraway seeds, a taste I enjoy.

We always eat this with rice - it's the only way one or two of my children are prepared to eat rice (imagine refusing risotto!). I think next time I might try it with a little rye bread on the side.

Taken from Simply Divine, Recipes from the Cooking Canon and Rabbi Blue, by John Eley and Lionel Blue, BBC 1986

Make your steak go further

I've blogged this way of cooking steak before ... it's delicious, it's easy, it's good for a party. And it's also a really good way to make a bit of expensive meat go further - one steak cut into ribbons will do for two or even three people. It's got those lemony-thyme flavours I love so much.

There were just the two of us for supper last night, the last time for a while, as full term at Oxford ended yesterday so Horatio will be home later today, and Easter is upon us. So this was a little treat, with cauliflower gratin.

Related links

Fillet of beef
Steak with lemon and thyme
Cauliflower gratin

Simplifying a roast beef dinner

For all my married life and longer, I have read The Spectator every week. The political articles are good, the book pages are better, and the home life columns used to be the best, but, alas, some of the columnists are no longer with us, and, recently, editors seem to have deemed home life to be of little interest. One of my favourites was Jennifer Paterson, the Spectator's cook, who wrote a cookery column like no other, and later became a TV cook, one of the Two Fat Ladies (the one with the motorcycle).

She lived for the moment, and didn't go in for journalistic tricks, so she didn't bother to anticipate an occasion which would crop up in the lifetime of the magazine (thus no dinky ideas for Valentine dinners), and she certainly didn't give Delia-ish instructions for Christmas cookery. She cooked no-nonsense food, and made it clear that, although decent food was important to her, she had other interests - for instance, she was very hot on obscure saints. This is a typical example of the sort of writing you'd get:

I am so unnerved by the announcement that a bird-eating tarantula has given birth to 700 babies in London Zoo that my mind has glazed over and I can think of nothing else. What about next year when all those babies do the same thing? They are bound to get out or be let out by anti-something or other people, and life will be far more dangerous than having attacks of lysteria hysteria. Any spider that can eat a bird is worthy of a lot of terror. However, on we must go.

JP's novel method for roasting beef first surfaced in the Spectator in 1987, and I remember thinking it was an interesting idea, although I never did anything about it. Years later, I bought a copy of her collected Spectator columns, and there it was. Again, I did nothing about it. Now that I have - for Lucius's birthday celebration last night - I cannot think why I let all that time ... TWO DECADES ... go by without roasting beef in this markedly effective and simple way.

Here is help for anyone unnerved by the last-minute titivation required for a roast dinner; for those with one oven; for those who like a simple life; for those who wish to talk to their dinner guests; for those who like to prepare ahead.

What is this wonderful recipe? You cook the beef up to 24 hours in advance, keep it out of the fridge, and serve it on the hottest of hot plates with the hottest of hot gravy (which you can now also make ahead). Astonishingly, it is just as if you had cooked and rested it in the more usual manner. She says it also works with lamb.

Yesterday was busy: visit to the butcher, young to fetch from the station at various times, tea for a neighbour, a four-course dinner to prepare, an early-evening real tennis match to watch. The perfect opportunity to use this method. I cooked the beef at tea-time. While Lucius and I were out watching Horatio play his semi-final match (he won, although he nearly threw it away), Lettice made gravy and roasted potatoes. We have only one oven, and this method meant that it could be at the perfect temperature for both meat and potatoes (normally it's a bit of a fudge).

I can do no better than let the lady herself explain the details:

I have discovered that if you are going to have some roast beef or lamb for some meal there is no need to do it just in time. I do it the night before, thus obviating all that last-minute sweating over the oven and leaving nasty greasy oven pans in the sink when you need them most. It doesn't matter whether you are serving the meat as a hot repast or a cold one, the meat will taste much better, having saved all its juices within rather than pouring them out on the carving board. It will be easier to carve and the leftovers will be as good as the original. There is nothing more depressing than the sight of an old joint that has been carved when hot then left to grow sad and grey in the larder. If you are intending to serve it cold, well and good. If hot just pretend it is. Served on hot plates with the accompanying hot vegetables and gravy made from the deglazing of the oven pan (also done the night before and kept up your sleeve) no one will notice. When you consider that a hot joint should have 'rested' 20 minutes before serving and then all the time taken in carving and serving, the actual meat is never all that hot anyway.

These are the instructions for roasting the beef (although you can perfectly well use your own usual method):

Put the meat on a grid over a pan. Smear with oil if you like (I don't bother). 250C for 15 minutes. Turn the oven down to 185C, and roast for 15 minutes per pound. I no longer cook in imperial, so my 2.3kg (ie 5lb) sirloin got 15 minutes at the higher temperature, then one hour at the lower. Perfect, pink.

If you are roasting lamb: Use the above instructions, and add a further 15 minutes at the end (ie at the lower temperature), for a rosy finish.

Really really worth a go. So long as your plates are very hot (and therefore not made of pottery, which will crackle). Amazingly, it works. Just don't put it in the fridge once you've cooked it.

The full menu, decided by the birthday boy (our family tradition):

avocado
one baked scallop (each!)
roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, peas, and gravy
apple crumble

Related links

Fillet of beef
Birthday celebrations last year (v similar menu)

Lazy beef stew

I thought I'd posted this weeks ago, but found it lurking on the dashboard, marked as a draft ...

Okay, this dark beef stew, rich in taste and soft as butter .... contains only beef and onions, took less than a minute to put together, and cooked very slowly for nearly four hours. I wouldn't pass it on if it wasn't good.

Very lazily, I opened a can of Eazy onions, tipped them into a heavy casserole, added 750g Hereford beef stewing cubes from Waitrose, clamped on the lid and put them in a slow oven (150C). I had a mild panic after a couple of hours, thinking that the meat would have dried out ... but when I peeked, I found a lovely juicy half-cooked stew. Unbelieveably tasty and tender after nearly four hours. The key is to make sure the lid fits well; if you're unsure, put some greaseproof paper over the top of the pot and then clamp on the lid.

If you don't have Eazy onions (they're worth looking out for, a good shortcut when you're in a hurry), or aren't quite that lazy, then you could add a little effort to this by chopping and slowly sweating a couple of onions. You could also flavour this stew any way you wanted ... a little thyme, perhaps, or some chili, or orange peel and anchovy with a garnish of olives, or ... well, you get the idea.

Just don't think you've got to dredge the meat with flour and spend hours frying it if you want a delicious casserole.

Polyunsaturated herb dumplings for stew

When we were in Edinburgh, I was talking to a Scots nationalist who said, irritatingly, that the English had no sense of their own identity. I thought - think - that he is wrong, but it is undoubtedly true that we are not assiduous cooks of our indiginous cuisine.

So yesterday, to go with an oxtail stew, I made dumplings. Nice, light, polyunsaturated dumplings. With parsley. Delicious. And very English. Better than haggis, no?

4 oz plain flour (it was a very ancient cookery book, this sort of cooking is deeply unfashionable, but that's to say 125g)
2 level tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 oz (30-40g) heart-healthy margerine (I used Flora)
1 egg (next time I'll use only the white)
a handful of chopped parsley
a little skimmed milk

Mix the flour, salt, baking powder, then rub in the marge. I did this in a Magimix. Add the chopped parsley and egg, then a little milk to bind it all into a stiff dough. You won't need much, in fact, the less you use, the lighter the dumplings will be.

Flour your hands, then make little marble-sized balls of dough, and drop them into your piping hot stew 20 minutes before you want to eat. When you take the lid off, they'll be three or four times the size, light and airy.


A lovely old-fashioned treat, and particularly good when there are lots of people wanting to eat not much stew ... which I suppose is why they were invented in the first place. And not a hint of saturated fat (once you've removed the egg yolk, which is only there to add flavour, but you don't need that if there are plenty of herbs, and if your stew is tasty).

Steak with lemon and thyme

Delicious dinner last night for me and Horatio, while Lucius was out singing (Mozart Mass in C) - get the butcher to cut an extra-thick sirloin or rump steak (say, two inches). Grill it for four minutes on each side, then rest it for four minutes a side in a bath of olive oil, thyme, juice and zest of a lemon, salt and plenty of pepper. Cut it across in ribbons. Lovely rare meat, without the is-it? isn't-it? bother we always seem to have with individual steaks.

From Nigella Express. Good, but not that quick, by the time you've made a salad and - in this house - organised the potatoes. But it's easy, providing you've done the shopping well, at a butcher, rather than a supermarket, and would be particularly good to multiply up for a crowd.

Stuffed quince with nohutlu pilav

This was our dinner on Monday night ... good, but in need of further tinkering to make it perfect; the quince lends sweetness to the mince, while the flesh which is left in the shells is surprisingly sharp.

It comes from Claudia Roden's Arabesque, a taste of Turkey, Morocco and Lebanon

Ayva dolmasi for 2

2 medium quinces
one chopped onion
olive oil
2 tablespoons pine nuts
100g lean mince (I used beef, but I think lamb would be better)
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
less than 1/2 tsp ground allspice
salt and pepper

Bake the quinces whole in a moderate oven, 170C, until they are soft. This will take at least an hour.

Soften the onion in oil, the add the pine nuts and keep turning them until they are golden. Put the mince into a bowl with the spices, and work them to a paste with your hands. Add the onions when they are cool enough to handle, and work them in too.

Cut the quinces in half lengthways and remove the core. Spoon out most of the flesh, taking care not to tear the skins. Add this to the mince, and then press the mixture into the quince. Bake for half an hour at 180C.



Serve with pilau rice: I made nohutlu pilav, the chickpea and rice dish which was served by Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror (who captured Constantinople in 1453) at the Topkapi Palace. A little gold ball in the shape of a chickpea was hidden in the rice, each guest hoping that they would be the one to find it. This version omits the gold.

Nohutlu pilav for 3-4

250g basmati rice
400ml homemade stock (better to use water than a cube, I think)
one small onion, chopped
half a tin (sorry!) of chickpeas, rinsed and drained

Bring the stock (or water) to the boil. Add the rice. Bring back to the boil, clamp on a lid and cook gently, undisturbed, for 15-20 minutes. Towards the end of the cooking time, you may need to check that there is enough liquid. You will know the rice is cooked when all the liquid has been absorbed and there are little holes all over the surface of the rice. Leave it to rest for a few minutes while you prepare the chickpeas. Gently fry the onion until soft and golden. Add the chickpeas and warm through. Stir this through the rice.


I love this taste of the middle east, although I think this particular recipe, again Claudia Roden, would be improved by the addition of saffron. Better than a gold nugget.

This autumnal, seasonal supper would be great for a party: you could prepare the quince ahead, giving it a little longer in the oven. The pilau could also be made beforehand, in which case it should be reheated, tightly covered, in a moderate oven for 15-20 minutes. Easy.

A picnic in the lowlands of Scotland

Yesterday we spent the day in the car, travelling with increasing urgency to catch the last ferry to Mull - so that, by the end, Lucius was imitating Lewis Hamilton as we roared along the wonderful road from Crianlarich to Oban, fearful that we may not have left enough time.

On Sunday evening, I made a beef sandwich to eat on the way. I made it with some fillet steak I bought on Saturday morning, and a sandwich loaf. Next time I'll do it with a piece of sirloin and a flatter type of bread - it'll probably be for the picnic on the way down, because this is very good travelling food - and that will make it easier to manage. This will do one family for one picnic, or smaller numbers for a longer journey.


















We stopped in South Lanarkshire, near Abington, and found a meadow of wildflowers - huge daisies, ragwort, lots and lots of lovely thistles in flower - where we spread out rugs and cut the sandwich. Cherries for pudding (the boys had fun with a stone-spitting competition). Then we made coffee (I have a little stove and a kettle, which I get out at the drop of a hat, to make proper coffee and decent tea ... later yesterday, our host here on Mull found me on the quayside at Oban, waiting for the ferry and brewing tea ... as a fellow tea drinker, he was very pleased). Then back on the road. Half an hour for a proper meal with delicious food. That wasn't the cause of our need for speed, it was a little misunderstanding between driver and navigator in Glasgow (least said soonest mended).

























Travelling beef sandwich

One loaf of bread
one single piece of steak
some flat field mushrooms

a breadknife and a board or plate

The night before your journey starts, cut both the ends off your loaf and hollow it out enough to get the meat in (this is not half as tricky as it sounds, and it doesn't need to be neat or a good fit, because later on you are going to squash the whole thing flat, which will hide all untidiness). Meanwhile, cook the steak in your usual way, making sure that it is as rare as you can bear it. When it is cool enough to handle, push it into the bread, then push in the cooked mushrooms. I found that the best way to get the mushrooms into the middle of the loaf was to use the handle of a spoon.










Wrap in greaseproof paper or foil, and put on a plate and cover with weights to flatten it. Put it in the fridge and either pack or go to bed. If you are like me, write a post-it note reminding you to take the sandwich, otherwise you will have to turn back to fetch it.

Quick and easy, delicious, and, I suspect, infinitely variable - why stop at mushrooms?

Meatballs: a question

The question is: do you fry your meatballs? Or not?

Last night, the secrets of my cheating kitchen were out. I made the meatball sauce before everyone arrived (I can hardly bear to tell you ... slowly sweated huge quantity of pre-chopped onions together with pre-cubed carrot and swede, then added commercial tomato-y pasta sauce), but I hadn't lobbed in the meatballs. So the kitchen was full of people to watch my mass-catering shame. Ready-made meatballs chucked straight from the packet into the sauce.

This sparked a bit of a conversation ..."I'd never have thought to do that." "I always fry my meatballs first," etc etc. Me thinking, I wish I'd made these myself, I wish the sauce was more carefully made.

But we set it on the table, together with baked potatoes and the remains of the lunch picnic, and whoosh - it vanished in moments, a momentary lull in the ceaseless chatter of "my" crew, their parents, and my family (husband, children, parents, sister-from-America-with-her-three-boys). Then out for a game of rounders in the fast-fading light. It wasn't about the food.

Horatio's bolognaise sauce with milk

Lucius and I went out to supper on Monday night, so Horatio was left to his own cooking devices. He bought mince for a bolognaise, something he often makes with Alfred. They usually follow a Mary Berry recipe in the Aga Cookbook (you can tell, because of all the tomato and grease on the pages!). I don't know whether he couldn't find the book or whether he wanted a change, but this time he used a different recipe, something more authentically Italian, which specifies using milk. Lettice couldn't believe it: "bizarre" she said. I've never made a ragu with milk, although I've often thought I should - but it's so easy to keep on doing the same old thing. Now I think I will always use milk, because it was delicious - sweet (too sweet, said Horatio), thick, rich, smooth.

The book he used was Pasta, by Eric Treuille and Anna del Conte, but he simplified the recipe according to his taste, and what he didn't find in the fridge. Bacon? Nah. Bay leaf? Don't need one of them. Garlic? Of course. Nutmeg? He didn't bother to answer, just gave me one of those "are you mad?" looks that teenagers do so well. Full fat milk? Is there any other kind?

Obviously this is a recipe I'd have to adapt further - take out the butter, use lower fat milk, make sure the mince was extra lean. And I would use the flavourings - nutmeg is particularly good with red meats, although I'm never quite sure whether I can taste bayleaf unless it's in a fish pie.

Horatio's slightly simplified classic ragu bolognese

Fry a couple of onions in a mixture of butter and olive oil (60g & 2 tablespoons). When they're nearly cooked, add a finely chopped garlic clove. Tip in 500g mince, and brown it. Here Horatio, a cook after my own heart, added his own embellishment, some chopped chorizo (he had left out the 60g bacon specified in the original recipe). Then add 2 tbsp tomato puree, 150ml red wine, 150 ml stock. Bring to the boil, and simmer gently for two hours. While it cooks, add milk. You need to add 150 ml in total, two tablespoons at a time at 20-30 minute intervals. You'll know when it's ready - it's a lovely thick, rich sauce.

He ate this with pasta shells. I'd serve it with spaghetti. Delicious. I know because we ate the leftovers for lunch.

A good beef stew with thyme and anchovy

I made this yesterday for Lucius and some American friends of his who were coming to supper. It had to be easy, because I was off to my beekeeping class (this year's project), so Lucius had to dish it up, when he'd much rather be chatting than worrying about food. The idea was to make double rations, so that there would be plenty to freeze, but it was so good that there's not much left. This stew is strongly flavoured.

Chop three large onions and sweat in a little olive oil. Add one kilo of diced stewing steak. Turn up the heat and brown. Add a dash of wine (I used port, because there was some around). Shake in some flour (about a tablespoonful). Add all the contents of a tin of anchovies (chop them first if you like, but they'll melt away to nothing. Add four sliced carrots.Stir in a finely chopped sprig of thyme (my sprig was very big, to go with the strong flavour given by the anchovy). Add liquid (I used chicken stock and some water) to just cover. Bring to the boil, then simmer gently for an hour or two, depending on the cut and size of the meat.

Served with baked potatoes, cauliflower bake, and a tomato salad. I ate it lukewarm when I got back from beekeeping (we discussed the diseases of bees, which are many and varied). It would be good with a little orange zest grated into it (or a strip of orange peel added at the beginning and fished out before serving).

Birthday celebrations

A gathering of some of Lucius's longest-standing and closest friends demands something good to eat, something a little more than the everyday. On the other hand, Lucius likes best the food he always eats, so it's a dilemma. Or, perhaps, a compromise. Mostly it was good things we occasionally eat, plus one or two new ideas.

So, with our drinks we ate smoked salmon on brown bread, dusted with a little grated lemon zest as well as juice. We sat down to Elizabeth David's Prawn Paste, which sounds unappetizing but is a lovely delicately-flavoured light starter to eat with toast. Then we had fillet of beef, adapted from Nigella in How to Eat, which is a forgiving dish in terms of timing, and therefore worth knowing about - you get lovely rare beef even if you sit down half an hour later than planned. This we ate with little boiled potatoes and a huge green salad from the greenhouse. Then a very runny, not entirely successful but tasty Tiramisu from the Prue Leith Bible, because Lucius amazed us all by announcing that it was his favourite pudding. And good English cheeses from Riverford - Green's cheddar, double gloucester, and stilton. Followed by coffee with chocolates from Gorvett & Stone - a choice of either chilli (REALLY good, and with a serious kick) or mint.

Next morning, hot home-made bread with honeycomb given to Lucius by Andrew Ritchie, and this year's marmalade. Also lots of coffee.

Lunch was mass catering, with the arrival of lots more people, mostly family. We were 34 in the end (we'd been 14 for dinner). But all home-cooked - it's what we do to look after ourselves, so it's the least we can do when we invite people over. Chicken pieces, some cooked in honey and mustard (a huge favourite with the children), some in lemon juice and honey. Sausages (I didn't come over all Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall, I bought them in Waitrose, so ignore the boast above). Vicky made a salad with the leftover potatoes and some leaves from the greenhouse as there was no parsley in the house. I cooked carrot slices in orange juice, which sounds horrid but is a revelation once you've boiled the orange juice down to a sticky clinging sauce. There was another green salad (which I forgot to put the avocado into, so that we've got an avo mountain to get through this week!). Also boiled potatoes, because Lucius likes them hot at every opportunity. Puy lentils dressed in vinaigrette. Bread, cheeses.

Puddings were Pavlova dressed with very runny strawberry jam and yoghurt, pears in red wine, Claudia Roden's orange cake - and the blood orange jelly which I forgot and which is still sitting in my fridge! And then Huntswood birthday cake - three times the size of last week's, and with a lot more candles.

Fillet of beef

This is a wonderful recipe for a special evening - not least because you don't have to worry if things are running a little late. I'm posting it because two or three people asked me for the method on Saturday evening.

I've adapted this over the years, but the basic recipe and most of the method comes from Nigella Lawson's How to Eat. (The amounts given here are to serve eight; I doubled it for 14, and had plenty left over to add to Sunday's buffet lunch.)


You need a heavy pan that will fit two fillets without touching each other. I use a heavy roasting pan, but would like, one day, to buy a rectangular Le Creuset dish which would be the ideal.

Olive oil
Finely chopped shallots (or onions)
a good sprig of thyme
one head of garlic
one tin of anchovy fillets
two 750g fillets of beef
4 tbsp brandy (Marsala would do)
300ml good red wine

Slowly cook the onions. Just before they start to brown, add the chopped thyme and garlic, and, after a minute or two, the anchovies (and their oil). Once this is all amalgamated, push it to the ends of the tins, to make a space for the meat. Sear the fillets on all sides until they're brown. Add the brandy, bubble it up, then add the wine. Cover with a loose tent of tinfoil.

At this point, Nigella cooks the meat for 10 minutes on the hob, turns it over and cooks for a further five or ten minutes. She then rests the meat while she tidies up the sauce. She says you can get this far BEFORE THE FIRST COURSE.

On the other hand, I have an Aga, so after browning (and I do that very thoroughly) I put the meat in the "bottom oven" (85-100C) for at least half an hour. I have once or twice left it for an hour and it was still rare.

Cut into thick slices, lay in a heated serving dish, and spoon over some of the juice. Serve the rest in a jug.


Either way, it's a good-tempered dish.

Beef and prune stew

Last weekend, we had all of Lucius's colleagues and their families to lunch. 18 of us. Two tables, one for adults, one for children, presided over by Lettice, who was the only one of our four at home. Lucius said we should have stew, and this is what I made, slightly adapted from Tamasin Day-Lewis's Good Tempered Food. Next time I'd leave out the prunes, as the children didn't like them, and I thought they distracted from the rich tastes created by so many spices.

The amounts given here are from the original recipe, which she says does four. I multiplied by four, and there was tons left over (v useful in the freezer, we've already eaten some with another set of friends).

350-400g soft prunes, soaked in orange juice for a few hours
1kg chuck beef, cubed
flour
4 medium onions
garlic
celery

1 tsp each of:
coriander seeds
cumin seeds
cinnamon
dried ginger
cayenne


2 pieces of orange peel
2 bay leaves
stock or water

Slice the onions and soften in olive oil in a heavy casserole pan. Chop a little celery and some garlic, and cook with the onions for a minute or two. Add 2-3 tablespoons of flour. Add the meat (I do not bother to brown it, but if this is something you always do, then go for it). Dry fry the seeds and bash them in a mortar with the cinnamon and ginger (TDL is a purist, and does all four, but I am not, and it still tasted good). Chuck in all the spices, not forgetting the cayenne (you can put less of this, but, even if you don't like hot food, do put some in, because it really does add a depth of flavour). Add the drained prunes, orange peel and bay, and just cover with stock or water. Bring to the boil, and simmer for about an hour and a half.

This is better made the day before, so that the flavours can settle, and so that you can remove any fat that has risen to the surface and solidified. Serve with some chopped coriander or parsley, and harissa, which you can buy in the supermarket. TDL gives a recipe for it, and I will try it one day, but not when there are 18 people coming to lunch!

I served this with mashed potato, delicious canneloni beans (this season's - I bought them in France at half term, and they are so fresh they don't need soaking before cooking) which I strewed with herbs from the garden (sage, thyme, some tarregon which was particularly good), kale, and frozen peas, which were by special request of Lettice.

Daube provencale

Today we were 11 for lunch. My oven's not working, so no question of a Sunday roast. Stew. This recipe is one I've used off and on for years, it's very easy and is full of complex flavours. The amounts here serve 4-6, but it's the sort of recipe that doubles up pretty easily, so I often use it for a crowd.

1kg braising beef - topside, shin, etc cut into thick slices (you can cook this in one piece, although obviously then it takes a couple of hours to cook, rather than an hour or so).
275ml red wine
3 tbs olive oil
2 crushed cloves of garlic
a branch of thyme (or a tsp dried herbes de provence)
100g bacon
1 onion, chopped
225g chopped tomatoes
a strip of orange peel
some anchovy fillets

Mix the wine, oil, garlic and herbs in a large bowl. Add the beef and marinade for at least a couple of hours, and up to two days. Soften the onion and bacon together in a casserole, add the beef & marinade. If you are very keen (and I'm mostly not) you could brown the beef slices before adding them to the dish; I'm more likely to do this if I'm cooking the beef in one piece). Add the tomatoes, anchovy and orange peel. Bring to the boil, and simmer on a low heat for an hour or so. OR put in a low oven (160C).

This is delicious with mashed potato. Today I served it with small new potatoes smothered in parsley; braised leeks; courgette and lemon salad; peas. Not very provencale, but easy and good.