My last meal.

So I was over here, and I got to thinking about what my last meal would be. I thought it would be tough as there are many foods I adore, from the elaborate to the simple (peanut butter on toast came a very close second, and might still make it in the running for dessert!).

However, in the end the result was obvious. It would have to be aubergine parmigiana, (melanzana parmigiana to give it the correct title) and would have to be accompanied with handmade focaccia.This is not only the meal I would pick as my potential last ever, it also happened to be the one I decided to cook for Valentine's day. We're not that big on Valentine's day. There are no grand gestures, no expensive gifts, and certainly no trips to fancy restaurants. Instead we're low key, low budget and low maintenance. In a very cliched way we are a couple who celebrate our love for each other with random and constant acts (K, I can hear you vomiting....) and it has to be said that much of this occurs through the medium of food, not unlike other couples I know.

So as the weekend rushed forth I toyed with all sorts of ideas for main dishes. As you may (or may not) know I have a tendency toward the epic tradition when it comes to Valentine's. Yet this year I didn't want a Homeric mission. I knew I was going to be out all day, and after all the chaos that the previous weeks had thrown I figured we'd want the food equivalent of a huge indulgent duvet. As a result I went with our favourite meal of the moment and made it the night before. I'd say it's nothing special, as we have it almost once a week, except it is special. Somehow, through some frying and some baking, a simple dish of aubergines, tomatoes and cheese becomes something far far grander than the individual ingredients. It sits happily as a starter, and yet we prefer to completely indulge and eat platefuls as a main, with the sauces slopped up with bread.

Considering I am someone who supposedly didn't like aubergines, this dish is a revelation, and proves that if you prepare them well, and treat them right they can become something that I would be desperate to have as my last meal.

Beware, it does take a little time to prepare. It's one to make in advance. It also tastes even better on the second day, especially made into a sandwich with any remaining focaccia. It took me a little while to get this recipe totally right, but I do now feel like it's ready to share.

Sorry about the slightly ad-hoc nature of the recipe and instructions, it's take from an email, as that's the only time I've ever written it down. I've added (what I hope are) some helpful photos...

Aubergine Parmigiana - Serves four as a main just with bread, or more with salad

You'll need a 9" pie dish or something similar.

4 aubergines (sliced lengthways in thin slices - not sure how thin, I
just try for as thins as I can without a mandolin, although I know
that probably doesn't help. Also, I don't really worry about some
being thicker as you can deal with that when you fry them)
2x tins chopped tomatoes
small onion
dash of basil (I use dried in winter, fresh in summer)
olive oil (er, lots? have the bottle on hand)
Parmesan (also lots, I think I use 150g) grated finely.
salt and pepper

Righty, so you slice your aubergines and place layers of them in a
colander, sprinkling them with salt as you go. Then put a plate over
them and weight it down to get all the juice out (this is absolutely vital)
I leave them for as long as I can, probably 20-30 mins.

While they are draining knock up a quick tomato sauce. Chop the onion
into small pieces and fry in a medium saucepan in a bit of oil. When
glossy and soft add the basil and then dump in the tomatoes (and a
dash of wine if you fancy it) leave to simmer until a bit thicker, but
don't let too much evaporate.

Drain the aubergines and then dry them thoroughly. I do this with a
special tea towel or kitchen roll trying to get as much liquid out as
possible. Heat a frying pan and have a ramekin of olive oil and a
pastry brush to hand. Brush oil on one side of the aubergine slice and
fry oil side down (four or five at a time) in the dry pan. You want
them to be just about to turn browny black (you'll know what I mean
when you see it, and some charred bit are no problem, I even like
them! - see photo, where I got a bit distracted dashing for the camera and got a little over-charred, you want them a bit less brown than this),

brush the side up with oil and flip them over.Remove from the pan when done and start the next batch. This can take a while!

You can cook the thicker slices for longer at this stage to even it up a bit.

Okay, now you're ready to assemble: Get your pie dish. Place about a
third of the tomato sauce in the bottom:

cover with a layer of aubergine,and then sprinkle with a third of the Parmesan. Then repeat. You want
it so you have about three layers, (although depending on the
aubergines I sometimes get four) I think this number make it just
right. You want to finish with a layer of aubergine topped with
Parmesan.

Don't worry about thinking there isn't enough tomato sauce in there,
and that it might be too dry. It will prove you wrong every time!

I cook mine the day before often and then re-cook the night we want to
eat it as the flavours develop really well. I also like the top of
mine to go really dark, almost charred, as I love the flavour!

Place in a 190C oven and cook for about 40-45 mins, until the cheese
has melted and going brown at the edges and it's bubbling slightly.

Try and hold out not plunging a fork in immediately, it'll be so hot!

Serve with lots of bread and be smug!

Carrots aren't just for Christmas...they're for cake.

The first year we truly started to eat seasonally, no longer nipping out to supermarkets to pick up things, but relying almost completely on our box scheme and farmer's market, we found it rather tough. We thought we knew veg, we were smug vegetarians. Summer graced us with glorious tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers. Autumn held pumpkins and courgettes by the armful. We were doing fine, this seasonality malarkey was great. Until the strange shaped objects started appearing on our doorstep as winter deepened."What on earth is this?!" cried N in horror as he pulled a large brown stick-like object out of our box one particularly dark, damp evening in January. "They've even run out of parsnips now" he exclaimed, "they've resorted to sticks and twigs!" It was black salsify, and the first of many new introductions over the winter months.

Now? We're well seasoned at seasonality, we scoff at another root in the box (and cheat a whole lot by asking for the "deluxe" box during winter in the hope of getting something that isn't brown or white!) However, there are still times when I struggle with winter veg, and for some reason it's often the carrots that catch me out. I don't know why. I love them raw, and happily munch on them on days when I remember to pack them in my lunch. But more often than not they are forgotten about and then hastily added to meals at the last minute rather than being the star of the show.Then suddenly a few weeks ago I started craving carrot cake. I think I needed some brightness, a dose of vitamin D, or B, or C, or all three. I needed something that was fresh and yet comforting. I needed an all-rounder of cakes. One that wasn't just winter or summer, so no ginger cake (winter for me) or victoria sponge (the epitome of summer) would do. It had to be the perennial classic: carrot cake.So I dashed home, I hunted out the recipe and started pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cupboards. Then the huge flaw in my poorly-laid plan hit. I didn't have any carrots! A fit of "I must eat them before they go bendy" had struck and they'd been snuck into lunches and devoured. Oops!

But this week, I finally successed. I got in slightly earlier from work, and I even remembered the carrots. I managed to pull together the other ingredients, and off I went. It was worth the wait. I always forget how much I love this recipe. I didn't have icing ingredients, but I don't think it needs it. It lacks nuts for the same reason. This is my very own carrot cake recipe, and it makes me proud. I felt even prouder when N said "is there booze in this?" in a very approving tone, and I had to admit that no, there wasn't, and yet it tastes moist, and spiced and indulgent enough for you to expect a boozy addition.

Ladies and gentlemen, as an offering on this dark, damp, miserable Wednesday evening in February, a little something that I hope will lift your hearts and spirits.

Rebecca's very own carrot cake

I make this in a loaf pan, and sometimes ice it, and sometimes don't. It an adaptation of my pumpkin cake recipe, and one day I will post a marmalade version too. Until then, plain carrot it is. This manages to feel both righteous and indulgent. I wish I made it more often.

300g grated carrot
100g raisins
100ml light olive oil
175g self-raising flour
175g caster sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp grated nutmeg
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp mixed spice

Grease and line a large loaf pan (mine is about 4" x 10"). Preheat the oven to 150C.

In a large bowl beat the eggs. Then add the oil, sugar, carrot, raisins and mix. Then add in the flour, spices, and soda. Mix until combined. Pour into the loaf pan, and bake for aprox 1 hour 15mins (mine sometimes takes less, keep an eye one it) or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool before removing from the tin.

p.s. can we not mention the bad photos and the lack of good light here at the moment? Thanks, you're the best.

Empty plates

I have a real thing for empty plates. I seem to photograph them all them time. Often, I find them more appealing, than plates full of food. Weird, I know. Perhaps it is because usually the food that once occupied the plate in question is invariably in my stomach, and making me feel smug. Perhaps there is just something about the tines of a fork (because more often than not my empty plate shots involve forks). Perhaps it's just that I have no patience, and so my documentation of food becomes uselessly after the fact.Tonight, it was an empty bowl that caught my eye. This time, satisfyingly empty because the risotto that was in it was entirely my own recipe, and as a result gobbled down even more smugly than usual. Fortunately I made far too much than two could possibly eat in one sitting (although we tried, we really did) and here is plenty more sitting on the stove waiting to be packed into the fridge for frying into risotto cakes tomorrow.This is a nice autumnal dish. A hint of sweetness, a touch of spice, and an unctuous creaminess that balances well with a dry rose wine. Winter is fast approaching, but I refuse to give in the hearty meals entirely, instead I think you need something which can occupy the "in between" space, hence the rose. I hope you all enjoy this too.P.s. Who's stupid idea was it to attempt opening shop in one of the busiest months of the year? Eek!

Spiced Butternut and apple risotto (probably serves four (ish) )

1 small butternut squash
2 medium-sized sharp apples (I used bramleys)
one large leek
2 cloves garlic, minced
150g risotto rice
1 pint of good vegetable stock
2 tsp cumin
1 bay leaf
1 tsp dried sage
glug of olive oil
glug of cider
pinch of salt
freshly ground pepper
freshly grated parmesan

Preheat the oven to 190C. Peel the squash, cut it into quarters and scrap out the seeds. Douse with a smidgen of oil (I used chili oil to add a hint of heat to the eventual risotto) and roast until soft. Mine took about 20 mins, but it'll depend on your oven and the size of the squash. Remove from the oven and cool.

Slice the leek and heat a large glug of oil in a deep frying pan. Gently sweat the leeks, being careful that they don't brown. Once they begin to glisten, add the minced garlic and fry for another minute. Then add the sage, cumin and risotto rice and another small glug of oil. Coat the rice with oil and heat for two minutes and then begin adding your stock. You want to add this a ladle-full at a time, and wait until it is absorbed by the rice, before adding more. Meanwhile, peel, core and quarter your apples. Blend together with the roasted squash in a food processor. When you are three quarters of the way through adding the stock (eg. when there is only a quarter of a pint of stock left to be added) add the pureed squash and apple mixture to the pan, with a large pinch of salt, a grind of pepper, the bay leaf and a generous glug of cider. Wait until the liquid has been absorbed, and then add the final stock. When this is cooked down, check to make sure that the rice is soft, but retains a slight bite.

Serve immediately, topped with a generous helping of freshly grated parmesan and a large glass of dry rose!

All by ourselves

Look!

We grew that. All by ourselves! I know earlier this year we had radishes, and last year we got two little tomatoes, so this doesn't technically count as our first harvest from the North London Garden. But it feels like it is, because this is more than a mouthful, this is enough for a meal, a meal made from a courgette picked just moments before cooking, from a pot in our back garden.

I feel so immensely proud. Last year we lost all nine of our courgette and squash plants to disease. This year, we seem to have prevailed, and are finally beginning to see the fruits (or rather the vegetables) of our labour.

My biggest problem after picking the courgette was knowing what to do with it. We have tonnes of courgette recipes. Being veggie they are a large part of our diet. The problem was that I wanted to make a dish with our not-so-little beauty as the star of the show.

In the end I settled for a puff pastry tart. My Mum and I discovered this concept in a restaurant years ago, and have been using it ever since. It's such a basic idea, but it's so effective.

You roll out puff pastry into a rectangle or square (or any shape you like really), and then place vegetables on top, sprinkle with a little cheese, dab the edges of the pastry with milk, and cook at 190C until the pastry edges are brown and puffed up. Simple, yet oh-so good. We have many variations of the recipe. I believe my Mum does it with roasted veg and lashings of cheddar, I often forgo the roasting, and add parmesan, basil and balsamic vinegar. However you do it, it really allows the vegetables to hold their own against a flaky puffy indulgent background.

This time I sliced the courgette really thin (note to self (I must invest in a mandolin, it would make things so much easier and faster) and layered them prettily on the pastry base. I then place little cherry tomatoes in between the rows. Over this I sprinkled a very light helping of Swiss cheese and a dash of balsamic vinegar. Off it went into the oven, and out came this:


It was so nice. I can't believe how amazing the courgette tasted. It just goes to prove how much better home-grown is.

I can't wait until our tomatoes and beans start fruiting!

Wholesome, yet tarty!

I realised a few days ago that onions seemed to be reproducing in the veg bowl. Every time I walked past more seemed to have appeared.
Now, I like onions, but when there are only two of us it's sometimes hard to use them all up. Not unlike the bananas that make their way into the flat. I'll chop an onion for a pasta sauce, or soup, or stew, or to top some bread, but then I'm still left with a few billion vying for my attention.

So this week I decided it was time for a serious attack, before they got too comfortable and started sprouting.

I've become rather addicted to caramalised balsamic onions. I first discovered them on Valentine's day last year when I made an onion tart from Delia Smith's Vegetarian Collection. She suggested red onions, as you get a slightly sweeter flavour, but I've since done it with normal white onions on many occasions for topping cornbread or focaccia and I still really enjoy it. If anything I like the less sweet version.

Whilst eyeing up the onion situation this little tart came to mind. Delia makes them as starters, but I figured that with all the onions I had I could make a large version topped with little rounds of chili-rolled goats cheese. I also decided that instead of the cheese-heavy pastry that Delia uses, I would make a more wholesome version using light wholemeal flour (which has been ground down much finer than usual wholemeal to make it more suitable for cakes and pastry).I was really pleased with how this turned out, the only problem was I made too much of the onion filling! I was so keen to use up the surplus that I just kept chopping! So now we're going to be eating caramalised onions with everything. Oh well, they are tasty and I'm sure it's good for you, I'm just not sure I fancy them for every meal.

Caramalised onion tart with goats cheese: serves 4-6.

First make the pastry so it can rest in the fridge.

8oz light wholemeal flour
4oz cold butter
sprinkling of salt
cold milk

Sprinkle the salt over the flour and then rub in the butter until you get a coarse breadcrumb texture. Then slowly add milk, a tablespoon at a time, until it just comes together as a dough. Leave to rest in the fridge for 30mins.

Preheat oven to 180C. Then roll out and lift into a 8 inch loose-bottomed tart tin. Prick the pastry with a fork and then fill with baking beans and blind-bake for 20mins. Remove from the oven when slightly golden and leave to cool.

Filling:

4 large onions
oil
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
goats cheese log, cut into as many slices as you want to top the pie.

Slice the onions and the place in a pan with the oil. Cook over a low heat for about 20mins until soft, glossy and golden. Add the vinegar, stir and continue to cook for another ten minutes. Leave to cool.

When cool, place the onions into the tart shell, and then top with the roads of goats cheese. Place back in the 180C oven and cook for about 20mins until the goats cheese is just beginning to melt and brown. Remove, rest for five minutes and then serve.

Soupy twist

We welcomed March with a double-whammy of crazy "meals" (cake and toast post-pub at midnight, and an uber-carb-fest for lunch in front of the Carling Cup final) and so when dinner time rolled around N and I were in need of some serious vegetable goodness.

I thought I was feeling pretty tired and uninspired, then I spotted my stash of rosemary, stolen from the huge bush in K's garden, and suddenly an idea came flooding to me. I don't often cook with rosemary, except to put it on the top of focaccia, but the scent of the fresh sprigs conjured up memories of Italy and I knew that at least one handful of the fresh herb was destined for the pot.


I raided the vegetable draw and discovered some leeks and courgettes that needed using. I added to that some plum tomatoes, stock and broad beans and in half an hour we had soup.

I've never really improvised with soup. I'm not sure why. I'm happy to experiment with any sauce I make, and most of our meals involve some free-styling on my part. Yet when it comes to soup I've always followed recipes, with the odd exception of removing cream in favour of soy milk. Then last night something happened, I don't know if it was sheer laziness (the soup book was across the room), or if I was being headstrong, knowing that I probably wouldn't have all the ingredients a recipe asked for, but for some reason I decided that suddenly I knew what I wanted and how to get it.

The result? A veg- and bean-packed soup that was hearty enough for a chilly evening, but somehow light enough to be slurped from a mug in the sunshine this lunchtime. Yes, there was a tiny amount left to be savoured again today, much to my delight, because I was really pleased with how my first soup experiment worked out. N must have been too because he ventured back for seconds.

This is a soup to fix vegetable withdrawl, and is still tasty enough to be a treat. I'm calling it "soupy twist" in hommage to "A bit of Fry and Laurie." Why? Well, because I can. Oh and it's a bit ad-hoc as I wasn't actually paying too much attention. As ever.

Soupy Twist (Italianesque vegetable and bean soup)

Serves four, probably.

A large knob butter
fresh rosemary, chopped (a tablespoon-ish, perhaps)
3 medium leeks, scrubbed and sliced
2 courgettes, sliced into rounds
400g (1 can) broad beans, drained
400g (1 can) plum tomatoes
1/2 pint low-salt veggie stock
white wine
tomatoe puree
dijon mustard

In a large pan heat the butter, over a medium hear, until just melting, then add the rosemary. Fry until the herbs begin to soften in the fat, then add the leeks and turn the heat down. Saute the leeks for about five minutes until they become softened, slightly translucent and beginning to brown slightly. Add a squeeze of tomatoe puree, a teaspoon of mustard and a slosh of white wine and stir to combine and lift all the juices. Then add the courgettes, broad beans and tomatoes and stir gently. Cook for five minutes and then add the stock. Simmer slowly, uncovered for aprox 30min, or until reducing and thickening (this will depend on how thick you want the broth, we had ours slightly thinner than pasta sauce). Check that the beans are cooked and the courgettes have softened and collected the juices. Season to taste. Serve with crusty Italian bread, ciabatta or focaccia.

Sunday soup

Sunday seems like the perfect day to make soup. It's lazy, easy and comforting. A November Sunday is even better, because chances are it's cold and wet too. So it was that I found myself copying out a recipe my Dad had sent and suggested; carrot and ginger soup.

I love carrots. I quite often have one chopped up raw with my lunch, and I remember loving stir-frys when I was a kid because of the carrot, the sweetness of which matches perfectly with the saltiness of soy sauce. However, despite my love for them, it's hard to get through how many inevitably arrive in the organic box. They may be a staple during this time of year, but there are only so many I can get through in a week when I don't cook a roast dinner for six on a Sunday! It's just the two of us, and the cat - who quite frankly would rather another carrot never crosses his path - and so when the haul of carrots arrive occasionally a sinking feeling comes with them (although not as badly as when the Jerusalem artichokes get on the scene, which no doubt you'll start hearing about in a few weeks!).

Given the carrot overflow imagine my pleasure when my Dad suggested this soup. I waited all weekend to do it, admiring the stock of carrots in the fridge with gleeful satisfaction. "I know what I'm doing with you" I thought in their direction. This evening, I copied out the recipe and started organizing the ingredients: 1Kg of carrots, no problem. Oops! It seems my mid-week nibbling was a little premature, only 500g remained. So I did the only thing possible. I upped the bread quota!

In the end the halved soup recipe was just enough for one normal and one small portion, which when topped up with onion focaccia, was perfect. If I'm honest the soup was a little too sweet for me, and the ginger was only a subtle residual heat. I think next time, when I make a full batch, I will probably taste it and then add some more ginger. Other than that I hightly recomment it. I think a sharp piece of vintage cheese would have gone down very well with it too, but as it happened the bread was enough for us, with the burnt caramelly flavour of the onions a perfect accompaniment.

K's magic stew

Phew, almost didn't make it for today's post. I'm working on something very exciting at the moment. Something very hush, hush, and it's totally consumed the latter half of my day. The first half of course being taken up with Arsenal's fabulous win over Man Utd. Mwahahaha!

Anyhew, to come back to the point. Today we're going to talk about stew. Not just any stew. K's Magic Stew.

I have a friend. No, wait she's more than a friend, she's a posse member, and to a certain four ladies that's a very very special thing to be indeed. Not only is she one of the posse, she's also part of the hivemind. Now this comes with certain responsibilies, like finishing my sentences before I've even thought of them, texting me at the exact same time I text her, thinking the same things and not even having to say them outloud. You're getting the picture now aren't you?

Well, this lovely hiveminded lady, let's call her K, has talents far wider ranging than just knowing what I'm thinking, and amongst these is cooking. Not just any cooking, but the cooking of all those fabulous comforting savoury dishes that make you think of warm fires and hearty walks in the hills, even if you never had or did those things.

Once when I stayed with her she made stew. Just stew. Not a decedent plate of beautifully stacked food, resting in a "jus." A bowl of simple, steaming vegetable goodness. It was amazing. One of those things that stays with you forever.

When the weather became cold and rainy here, and the autumn veg started piling up, I thought of the stew, and failing having K to make it for me, immediately emailed her for the recipe.I almost followed it to the letter, but couldn't resist adding some wine! I hope she doesn't mind, but I am going to post here exactly what she told me. The results were wonderful, if you ever need a bowl of autumnal comfort then here it is:"Basically get the veg you want chop it into large pieces (larger than you think as it mushes down!oh and peppers are surprisingly good in it!) and cover with water and a veg stock cube - add pepper (I don't generally bother with salt as its usually in the stock cubes) and whatever herbs you fancy. The secret is a bay leaf....you need a bay leaf. Simmer away until veg etc are almost cooked and then crumble in a further stock cube, taste for seasoning and add the dumplings for the last 20mins or so. You can make it without the stock cubes but you generally need some pretty flavoursome veg and need to simmer it for longer!"

My dumplings:

118g self raising flour
50g vegetarian shredded suet
herbs to taste
white wine to make into a dough

Mix together the flour and suet, then add as much dried herb of your choice. Then add white wine so that it comes together into a dough. Place in the stew twenty minutes before serving, and turn over ten minutes into the cooking time.

Get your five a day - eat cake!

Doctors, politicians, nutritionists and all manner of other health "experts" keep harping on about needing to get our "five a day" of fruit and vegetables. Now, being a vegetarian, it's really not that hard to manage this, and quite frankly if you're veggie and you do find it hard you must be doing something very wrong indeed and might want to consider switching sides.

We usually eat a dinner that mainly consists of vegetables, albeit bulked out with some pasta, or bread or cous cous. But, if we might need a top up of veggie goodness, what better way to do it than by eating cake! Pumpkin and carrot cake to be precise.

A few years ago for Halloween my then flat-mate and I were the lucky recipients of quite possibly the largest pumpkin in the world. It was a gift from a friend who worked on the grocery stall on the market where I was tending the bread stand. He had promised that when Halloween came round he would get me a pumpkin, and wow, what a pumpkin it was. I could barely lift it into the van, and walking home I must have been quite a sight. An ickle person with an uber pumpkin. I must have been somewhat akin to a pumpkin on legs that afternoon.

Now, we gutted and carved it and "Gerald" did us proud. His leering face grinning at us for the whole Halloween weekend. Problem was, we then had a huge bowl of pumpkin flesh sitting in the fridge and no idea what to do with it. I was considerably less adventurous in the kitchen in those days, and after an experiment with pumpkin pie - loved by my housemate, hated by me - we ran out of ideas.

So I decided to do what any self-respecting person would do in that situation. I baked it into a cake! You get carrot cake, why not pumpkin. It's orange, and not too strongly flavoured and goes well in pie with spices. Thus was the birth of the pumpkin cake. It went down very well indeed. Light, moist and spiced it was a lovely autumn surprise.

That was three years ago, and for some reason I just didn't get around to making it again. No pumpkins came my way and alas the recipe I used went astry too.

Then suddenly Halloween rolled round again and I got my act together and bought us a little pumpkin. It didn't get carved this year, there just wasn't time. But it did make itself into a cake. I had to top up the amount of pumpkin needed with carrot, but I think this gives an extra dimension to the flavour. We ate it at half time during the match last night and it was really nice. I can't help thinking though that it will be nicer tonight having had a day to rest and the spices to develop.

I've been storing it in the fridge because of the high veggie content. Just take it out a little before serving so it reaches room temperature as it's nicer when not cold. I adapted this recipe from Rachel Allen's one in Bake. Mostly because it was the first one I found that used a loaf tin rather than sandwich tins. I topped it with orange buttercream icing. I would have preferred a less sweet cream cheese icing in hindsight, but didn't have the ingredients.


Pumpkin and carrot cake, with orange buttercream.

200g grated pumpkin
100g grated carrot
100g raisins (I probably would have soaked these in alcohol if I'd though ahead!)
100ml olive oil
175g self-raising flour
175g golden caster sugar
2 eggs
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp fresh grated nutmet
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp mixed spice

Grease and line a 5" by 9" loaf pan (I actually used one that was a bit longer than this and it stil worked fine). Preheat the oven to 150C.

Beat the eggs in a large bowl, then add the oil, sugar, pumpkin, carrot and raisins and mix together. Sift in the dry ingredients and bring the mixture together. Pour into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the surface. Bake on a central rack for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, or until a skewer comes out clean. Leave to cool completely before turning out of the pan.

Orange buttercream icing:

75g unsalted butter, very soft
175g icing sugar
zest of one orange, finely grated
2 tbsp milk
enough juice from the orange to make the icing come together.

mix the butter, zest and milk together, then add the icing sugar and combine. Add enough orange juice to make the icing wet enough to spread easily - though it should still be thick. Ice the cake when completely cool and leave in the fridge to harden the icing slightly before serving.

Cauliflosaurus

Who knew that dinosaurs were such fans of cauliflower?!

This amazing vegetable arrived in our organic box today, and since I promised I post to show off my newly decorated dinosaurs last week, I couldn't resist doing so with a dramatic cauliflower backdrop.


Still to come this week: mustard scones and pumpkin and carrot loaf cake.

Preparations/ Preparazioni

I am currently preparing myself on two fronts: firstly, for the oncoming autumn, it's late harvest of luscious vegetables slowly giving way to the onslaught of months and months of root vegetables; secondly, for our holiday to Italy!

Why I am I preparing for the autumn first? Because, if you hadn't noticed from previous posts, it's here already. Meteorologically the season of autumn officially started on September first. In my opinion it started long before that, because despite the odd glimpse of sunshine it has felt distinctly autumnal for at least a couple of weeks now. Tonight is no exception, it's blustery and chilly and when we went for a walk earlier the streets were strewn with damp brown leaves.

I usually like autumn. I like autumn fruits and being able to wear jackets again, and the promise of showing off my scarf and glove collection. Thing is, I've been showing off my scarves all summer because it hasn't been warm enough not too. Autumn, I like you, but please leave me alone with summer for a few more weeks?

Which bring me to the second piece of preparation. We're off to Italy next week for a well deserved holiday. I think N deserves it more than me, but I'll cope with a rest, I'm a trouper. We have been craving a trip to Italy for a long time now, and having decided long ago that the summer was set to be yet another wash out we booked the flights and next week we shall be on our way. Hopefully with some sunshine to ease our vitamin deprived skin and lots of delicious food and wine to ease our deprived stomachs.

Okay, you could never describe the stomachs in this house as deprived (even Sniff is getting a bit thicker round the middle these days!), but if you ask me you can never ever have too much Italian food. So yesterday I set about making a roasted vegetable lasagna. A meal that I feel bridges the gap between the end of the summer and the beginning of autumn: lots of fresh vegetables from harvest time, roasted to concentrate their goodness, and then baked to provide a hearty meal.

I used Delia Smith's recipe from her vegetarian collection and tweeked it slightly to fit what I had on hand. I had to use plain lasagna sheets as I didn't have spinach ones, and instead added a layer of fresh spinach. I also did have tomatoes to add to the roast vegetables and so added an extra red pepper. In hindsight I think the dish would have benefited from the presence of tomatoes and I next time I make it (and I will because I love lasagna) I will add a layer of tomato sauce. I think a tomato sauce - rather than just some roasted tomatoes - would help cut through the creaminess of the bechamel sauce, as I found it a bit much. On the whole though it was a good dish, and with some adaptations to personal taste has the makings of a great dish to warm you up on a cold autumnal day.

I'm afraid I can't be bothered to type out the recipe right now. Shocking I know, but it's late and I want to read my book, the recipe is long, and it's in the other room. Plus, I want to wait until I have changed and adapted it and tried it again with tomato sauce included and a slightly different version of the bechamel. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it! I promise next time I make this, and get it right, I will post the full recipe, including my tweaks.

England's double winter.

South African cricketer Shaun Pollock commented this week that England was a nice place, it was just a shame about the double winter: one from October to March and then a milder one from April to September. He's so right.After yesterday's tease we're officially back in autumnal territory. How do I know this? We're eating soup and hot bread and the red wine is getting drunk considerably faster than the white. Boo. Nigel Slater even commented in his column today that he hasn't managed to eat a long lazy evening meal in his (beautiful) garden once this year. And as we all know Nigel Slater is the fount of all knowledge when it comes to the gardening, cooking and seasons malarkey.

So, as we moved towards another resounding cricket victory, the light failing, the rain threatening, and Sniff whinging I took to the kitchen with root vegetables and a blender. It's still August people! How is this allowed?

The result? A spicy butternut squash soup with still-warm malted bread and a hunk of cheese. Good hearty food, perfect for that late August evening meal (I hope you can feel the sarcasm dripping from that).

Nevertheless, lack-of-summer bitterness aside, it is a lovely soup and one that will disappear from the bowl quicker than a sunny day in Britain - and boy, that's fast!

Serve with a good brown bread and either a swirl of sour cream, a dash of chili sauce or plain with a piece of strong cheddar. I adapted the recipe from one D gave to me, mostly because I didn't quite have everything on hand.

Spicy squash soup - serves two, very generously!

1 butternut squash, peeled and cubed
1 jacket-sized potato, peeled and cubed
1 large carrot, peeled and sliced into rounds
3 small onions, chopped
1 pint vegetable stock
1 tsp hot chili powder (or to taste)
1 tsp smoked paprika (or to taste)
salt
pepper

Place a good amount of oil in a large heavy-based saucepan and bring up to heat. Add the onions and fry until just softened, but not brown. Add the spices and fry for a minute to released the flavour. Add the veg and stir until it is completely coated and fry lightly for a minute. Then add the stock and bring to the boil (covered) for fifteen minutes, or until soft.

Allow to cool. Drain (retaining the liquid) and blend slightly with a third of the cooking liquid. Don't overdo it or it'll be too gluey. Add more liquid to get the consistency you like. Return to the heat to warm through, season to taste and then serve immediately.

There's hope yet.

The weather this summer has been awful. I mean to even call it summer is an insult, because aside from three days in June the whole period has been a wash out. We were so looking forward to a summer of mornings drinking coffee on the decking, browsing the paper in the sunshine, and then perhaps doing some plant and vegetable tending in the early afternoon. Oh no. Everything's been against us, from N working 24/7 to the weather deciding to skip the good stuff this year and plough straight back into the damp dingy greyness.

Then, on top of this, when we finally did make it into the garden to tend the overgrown veggies and make an inspection of potential autumn crops we discovered that all our pumpkins, squash and courgettes had mosaic disease. Brilliant, yeah, thanks for that.

As a result the only gardening we got to do was ditching a bunch of virus ridden plants in the compost. It's to late now to plant more too. It was so disheartening. Okay, so perhaps we haven't been the most attentive gardeners, but I have been out there watering and attempting to keep off snails, the least we could get in return is just one or two plants with healthy crops.

Oh well.

However, not all is lost. As the pictures show, the rhubarb is thriving and we might still get some late tomatoes. *crosses fingers and toes.* If we could just get some tomatoes I will be very happy indeed.

I also bought radishes and turnips today in the hope that if we plant now we can still have a few things produced of our very own. I am hoping that we might even be able to grow some things indoors to prevent the pesky squirrels getting them.

WIsh us luck.

Full body armour needed

I like beetroot. This has been one of the many revelations during the past eight months of food adventures. Others include my new-found love of Stilton and my wish to never see another root vegetable during February having been cooking dutifully, seasonally and endlessly since November!

But let's get back to that first revelation: beetroot. I never liked it before, particularly the smell of the unnaturally bright red vegetable swimming in pickle. Then suddenly it arrived in the organic box and I had to find a solution for it. I consulted the master of making vegetables exciting - Ottolenghi - and discovered the notion of roasting it, then tossing it in red wine vinegar before chopping it and serving with feta or goats cheese in a salad. I was an immediate convert.

There was only one problem, having done the roasting, peeling and chopping everything around me, hands, chopping boards, surfaces, was stained a rather annoying shade of magenta. Grr. I have since resulted to only dealing with the pesky pink vegetable on a red plastic board whilst donning latex gloves, and a dark apron; a sight that brings much amusement to N.

I had this technique down and we've eaten many a roasted beet salad in the last few months, so when a stack of four apple-sized beets arrived last week in the box I decided it was time to branch out and try something different. I was planning ciabatta for the weekend and it had been pretty cold and rainy so I thought that a beetroot soup would nicely use up all of the bunch. Plus, it's a superfood so how righteous we could feel having scoffed whole bowls of it (before heading to the pub of course!).

So I patiently peeled, chopped and boiled the beetroot, highly smug that not only would we be eating some delicious (I hoped) healthy food all produced at home, but I had once again thwarted the attempts of the beets to stain our entire flat pink.

I should have known, pride comes before a fall, or should I say splatter?

With the beets cooked and seasoned and the stock evapourated I whipped out the magic whoozsher (the name for the brilliant hand blender/whisk/processor that N's Mum bought him for his birthday) and placed it carefully deep in the soup ready to puree it. You can tell what's coming can't you. Why oh why was I so smug so soon. I pressed lightly on the lowest setting and promptly splattered pink juice all over myself, and anything in a three metre radius. Even the recipe book, cunningly placed in it's perspex guard didn't escape unharmed! I had to resort to pureeing small amounts at a time in the small jug that came with the blender, transferring it into another saucepan once the desired mush had been reached.

The result was a rather chunky, but very nice beetroot soup, served with hot ciabatta by a somewhat pink-splattered me! It was a good job I looked in the mirror before heading out the the pub as I'd managed to cover my entire face in small, but bright magenta and thus very noticable, splatters.

It was a good soup, but I'm not sure how often I'll be attempting it, and I certainly won't give it another bash before I've hunted down some suitable full-body armour!

Beetroot Soup (serves four)

4-5 medium red beetroot, peeled and diced
1 onion
500ml vegetable stock
100g apple puree
glug of chili oil
salt
pepper

Put some chili oil (or plain olive oil) in a deep pan and on a medium heat. Once it's hot add the onion and sweat them for a couple of minutes. Add the beetroot and mix for a minute, then add the stock and a small amount of seasoning. Cook until the beetroot is tender - around 15 minutes depending on how small you dice it. Take off the heat and stir in the apple puree. Place in a bender - with a lid! - and blend until smooth. Return to the saucepan and re-heat adding seasoning to taste.

We also added some chili sauce to give it a nice kick.

Serve with hot bread and feta cheese if you have it.

"They're so purple!"

It was quite the exciting evening here last night. We harvested the first of our own grown vegetables! I know we've had rhubarb and herbs, but this was something we'd planted and grown ourselves from scratch, no help from friends (the rhubarb crown was a gift from friends trying to cut down their ridiculously prolific plant), no sneaky growing from things started in pots at the garden centre (most of our herbs). This was all us!

What was it we harvested? The uber potato! Remember the two random plants we discovered growing manically when we got back from LA? The ones that we had no idea what they were? Well according to my parents they were potatoes, and needed "earthing up." So we bought two massive half barrel tubs and dutifully re-potted and earthed them up. I thought this would stop their manic growing, or at least slow it down. Oh no, they continued to take over their part of the garden. We had no idea whether we'd actually get potatoes, whether we'd earthed up in time, or if it would turn out to be just one immense potato that would one day burst out of the tub sci-fi style.

We've been looking at them for a while wanting to investigate whether we'd been successful. After having had gorgeous home grown potatoes whilst at my parents, and knowing we planted our before them we figured it must be about the right time to poke about and see what we'd managed.

So last night, with N home from work before seven for the first time in three weeks, and the cupboard looking a bit bare we decided it was time. Armed with the strength gained from a pint of Guinness N began the battle with the uber potato. He poked around in the soil and suddenly little purple potatoes started surfacing! It was so exciting. We'd grown those!

What was funny was that the huge plant clearly got a little too carried away producing leaves as the massive plant only produced six mini-potatoes. However, they were shiny perfectly purple potatoes and we were very proud indeed.

We carried them into the kitchen, scrubbed them and then boiled them to be served alongside a veg and bean stew. They were light and fluffy, almost buttery in flavour. I'm not massive on potatoes, but if they're are going to be like that bring them on! I want to plant more, right now.

It was so wonderful to eat something we'd grown ourselves, especially as the purple ones are an unusual variety and apparently quite hard to grow. I can't wait to see how they other plant did, and then to start seeing the results with our other veg (assuming the squirrels actually leave us something).

I'm totally hooked to this gardening malarkey now, bring on the next round of planting!

A photo essay: Look what we're growing!

A photo essay: North London Garden veg update

A photo essay: From a North East Garden.