Fig and Orange Jam

Yesterday was one of those days that made me glad to be alive.
Nothing extraordinary happened.
In fact nothing happened at all.

And yet, it was one of those moments that creep up on you suddenly, when you know, in a heartbeat, that you are where you are supposed to be.

And it seems to me, that finally, I'm here. Where I'm supposed to be.

I had recently heard about a new local farmshop - one of those off the beaten path, family-owned-family-run gems one hears about occasionally, from here and there, and usually does nothing about, save reminisce for some seconds about how nice it all sounds. And then life takes over. As usual.

But yesterday being one of those so-rare Sundays without a plan, we decide to actually try and find it.

So we get in the car, windows down, sun on my bare arms, wind in my hair, Hotel California playing on a loop and sure enough, a long, lazy drive through winding country roads later - we are there.

And I marvel to myself how wonderful and how most-unusual it is when the journey is as enjoyable as the destination hopes to be.

The entrance to Fernygrove Farms is marked by a little blackboard sitting on an obscure turning, off the "main" road. Had we not been on the lookout for it, we'd have, without doubt, missed it. The signage - handwritten chalk on board - promises a "coffee shop with a view!"

We bite.

We turn into a dirt road that seems to lead to nowhere, and finally arrive at a little parking lot. There are three cars parked, we're the fourth. I already love it. We park beside a white van, sliding doors open, gorgeous golden lab sitting inside, wagging it's tail, waiting patiently for its owner to return. And I feel like I'm in a book.

Fernygrove Farms is an unassuming a series of converted barnyards. One houses a butchery and farm shop, the other is the coffee shop, which we enter, lift up our heads...

...And let out a collective gasp.

"Wow" says my 3 yr old, eyes bright with wonder
"Coo" says my 7 month old, right in my ear
Sid slides his hand in mine, and I squeeze a little harder
I love moments like this.

Because in front of us is a sight that I have trouble believing still exists. It extends, for as far as the eye can see, this English countryside of the books and the movies - that patchwork quilt of green fields, those grasses waving in the summer breeze, that sunny, bucolic utopia where skylarks sing and wild roses bloom. And us. In the middle of it all.

There's so much green, my eyes hurt a little. This is therapeutic you see, what with staring at concrete for so many years. Too many years. 

Inside is airy and light. Standing fans help dissipate the still heat.
The radio plays Snow Patrol:
"If I lay here. If I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world.
Forget what we're told. Before we get too old. Show me a garden that's bursting with life."

There's a girl with a smile and another blackboard, chalked with the same hand as the one outside. The menu is limited - fresh farm produce - eggs, ham, cheese, tomatoes.
I have a ham sandwich on flatbread that's slathered with something that blows my mind. I ask what it is and the smiley girl says it's a fig and orange chutney - "all grown on the farm," she tells me proudly "there's some of each in the farm shop!"

So off I go to the farm shop, buy what I need and then I come home and experiment before the memory fades.

Here's what you need:

1-3/4 cups water
1 cup honey or 200g sugar (or more or less, your sweet tooth, you decide!)
4 oranges 
14 ounces dried figs, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup orange liqueur

Here's how you do it:

Wash the figs and trim the end stalks. Quarter them and place them in a large stock pot. Moving on the the oranges, grate the rind and save it - we'll be using the zest. Cut away the white pith and then segment the oranges. 

Heat the figs with 1/4 cup water just to get them started. Cook the figs on medium-low until they start to break down, stirring and smashing them with the back of a wooden spoon to help break them down further. They will start to thicken. Now add the honey, oranges, and zest, and liqueur and stir to combine. I use Grand Marnier...but listen, this is optional really,  Im adding it only because The Closet Gourmand once told me that dessert without alcohol is rubbish and since The Closet Gourmand is the best chef I know, I just shut up and listen. But you don't have to.

Anyway, keep stirring so that the mixture won’t burn on the bottom. Since you are working with honey and not sugar, the tendency to stick and/or burn might be a little higher than usual. Cook the jam to your desired consistency; the longer you cook the mixture, the thicker it will be.  

Figs and oranges that's all this is, but the flavour of their union make me shake my head in disbelief.
This is incredible stuff.

I treat myself.
I spread a little brie - salty and rich and creamy - on a cracker and slather my chutney on top.
And I realise I don't need to worry about my memory fading.
This sort of stuff stays on in a place where no one can take it from me.

Chickpea and Lentil PatTEAs

Isn't it an absolute giggle how certain words take on an entirely new meaning once children happen.

Take TEA for example.

Not sure why that's in CAPS, but now that I've done it, it can stay that way.

Although it took me longer to type out the above totally useless sentence (not to mention this one) than it would have to erase and re-type tea in its grammatically correct avatar, but oh well. My fingers sorta do their own thing sometimes. Freaky, I know.

Anyway, we were discussing tea. Or TEA. Whichever you like, my dahlings.

So in the pre-kid era (I just love that phrase "pre-kid era" by the way. It's got an out-of-wordly charm to it.  You know, like the pre-historic era. Which it may well be, really, given how long ago it all seems.)

But anyway, in the pre-kid era, tea to me was tea. As in the drink.

A nice hot steaming cuppa Darjeeling brewing in a fat round teapot. Preferably a white one. Don't ask why. One doesn't ask silly questions.

So yes, tea meant tea. And tea time meant, sitting on the sofa, garden door open, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under, with a good book, teapot (yes the white one) having done it's job, sipping delicately on the freshly brewed Darjeeling.

And NOW?

(that's fully intentional CAPS usage, in case you're wondering)

NOW. Hmph. 

I shudder as I type. Which makes for tricky tpygni. 

(hee)

See, NOW,  when one says "TEA" in my world, it means something entirely different.

Which is kind of a dramatic understatement on my part.

Because compared to the above described scenario, we could well be on different planets.

Because, now, tea means a whole host (I don't count, it scares me) of grimy nearly-4-year old boys stomping into my house from the garden after playing whatever sport they happen to be playing on any given day.

Frankly, I never really know what they're playing. Looks all the same to my untrained eye, because really all they seem to be doing is climbing on top of each other. And a few chaps seem to get properly pounded while they're at it. Oh and there's always a ball involved. And sometimes some bats or racquets. But sometimes not. Truth be told, I'm amazed the lot of them manage to disentangle themselves in one piece. Seriously. I have actually stopped watching them because my heart stops a little too much, a little too often when I do, and really - that can't be good for you. 

The only civilised thing in the whole shebang is the fact that they take turns to get pounded. Seems (interestingly) in this rather strange game that everyone's clamouring to get pounded. As in, the goal is to get pounded like a mutton chop. I once asked my son the rules of the game and he gave me a rather pained "like, really, how can you not get this" look and then proceeded to say "I don't know"

So I left it at that.

Still, the important thing (and one that makes my heart swell with so much pride, it's practically a balloon inside my chest) is that these guys take turns. Gentlemens' code of conduct. Or something.

Anyway, so after the above-described activities which happen quite routinely in my garden conclude,  

they all traipse in, demanding tea.

But you know of course that they don't really want tea

As in my notion of tea.

This lot aren't even allowed tea.

Unsurprisingly I might add.  Add caffeine to their already overstimulated nearly-4-year systems and they might all just explode with excitement.

Which might be quite fun, except I dare not try it.

So, no.

The tea they want is food.

And enough to feed a small city

How these kids have this much tummy capacity in their entire 24 inch frames is beyond me

But as you know by now, much of what they do is beyond me

I just stand and watch in dumb amazement most of the time

Which I find is really very helpful

Right, so mostly because I got rather bored, rather quickly, of making cucumber sandwiches or cheese sandwiches or cheese and cucumber sandwiches, I started exploring a few marginally more exciting options.

And NOW I can boast that TEA is part of my repertoire

Ha.

For e.g. I refer to these chickpea and lentil patties

Or PatTEAs

yes yes thats where I was going all along, very clever of me I know, thank you

Here's what you need:

200g can chickpeas, rinsed, drained

200g can red lentils, rinsed, drained

1 medium onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, finely grated

50g raw cashew nuts

½ bunch coriander, chopped

2 tbsp curry powder

2 tbsp ground cumin

2 tbsp ground coriander

2 eggs, lightly beaten (optional)

50g chickpea flour

Here's how you do it:

Combine 2 cups water, chickpeas and lentils with some salt in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer until the lentils are tender and falling apart, about 10-15 minutes. Drain in a colander, and let cool to room temperature

Meanwhile, toast cashews in a small dry skillet over  low heat, stirring, until golden and fragrant. Chop them as finely as possible.

Finally, heat 2 teaspoons oil in a skillet. Add onion and cook, stirring, until softened, and translucent. Keep aside. 

When all of the above has cooled, mix all the ingredients together and shape into patties - its time to cook!

Preheat the oven to 180C.

Heat 2 tbsp oil in the pan.  Fry the burgers for 2 minutes on each side, then cook in the oven for 10 minutes, or until warmed through.

These are SO, SO good for you, you know. Chickpeas and lentils are packed with good carb and protein - just the kind of health enhancing, life lengthening stuff one feels obliged to feed children. Fresh coriander adds both aroma and flavour, while the spices lend a subtle kick of flavour to it all. I've borrowed inspiration from Mark Hix, who adds cashews to his potato patties and its a frankly brilliant touch - it adds a smooth, creamy "meatiness" to the patties that is just delish and really just brings it all together for me.

As an accompaniment, I use toasted pittas and a raita/yogurt sauce that is cooling and refreshing, the perfect foil for our piping-hot-off-the-pan patties.

Here's what you need for it - just mix it all together!!

100g Greek yoghurt

2 tbsp tahini paste

2 tsp maple syrup

Juice and zest of 1 lemon

¼ tsp chilli powder

My troupe of dirty, muddy, sweaty, grimy - and eternally adorable - boys seem to love their patties - hope you do too! x

An Ode to Writing. And to Salmon. But Mostly to Writing.

This is much harder than I ever imagined it would be - this picking up where we dropped off business.
Especially in light of the fact that Sid and I talk about it a few months ago...

In sort of comes out of the blue you know, although I have been expecting it for a while, somewhere in the hidden recesses of my mind. But still, it surprises me. Maybe because I want it to. It makes hearing it easier somehow.

"When are you going to start writing again?" he asks casually.
But I know he's anything but. There's almost a rebuke in there somewhere, I know him well enough to hear it.
I turn to face him, look straight into his almond eyes.
"I don't know...I need to get back into it...it takes a lot of effort you know" I say defensively. "Writing is hard. Good writing is hard anyway"
"No it's not - he says - not for you.  For you, it comes easy"

And while I dismiss him on the face of it, like we all do when a compliment is flung our way - one that somehow obliges one to act on it - inside, I believe him. Mostly because I want to.
You see because my love affair with words is stronger than any association I've had with almost anything else in my life.
And so I think maybe, just maybe, he is right.
That Writing will come back to me.
And we will be, once again, good friends.
Pick up where we dropped off.

But no.
It doesn't.
It's peeved at me like a churlish lover who's been ignored too long.
My excuses (particularly trying pregnancy? new baby? moving cities? new home, new life, new everything???) fall on deaf ears.
Unrequited love folks. It's hard.

So Writing spurns me and I spend many long hours in front of a blank screen, cursor blinking patiently, trying to conjure up something worth reading.
But I can't.
I try.
And I fail. And I fail. And I fail.

And so eventually, I realise I'm on my own.
And I grit my teeth and carry on.
I write.
Mostly rubbish.
And I want to give up several times.
But I cannot.
Im not the giving up type you see.

And so we come to today.
And I write. And it's still partly rubbish. Which is better than mostly rubbish.
So I decide to give it a go.

So here we are again. You and Me. And Food. And Words.
All that I love and always will.

Be kind to me, my friends, with these first few posts...
Be patient.
Because Writing and I need to become friends again.
And that may be a while yet.
And when we do, I'll let you know.
Or perhaps you'll let me know.

So:

I made this one for lunch today, and it simply had to be shared. Try it and you'll see why.

Heres what you need:

For the Rice
1 cup basmati rice
1 cup coconut milk
1 cube stock
salt to taste

For the Salmon
400g boneless salmon fillets
1 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1 tbsp soy sauce
2 small red chillies, finely chopped
2 tbsp. honey
1/4 cup orange juice
2 cloves crushed garlic
3 tbsp. fresh ginger, chopped finely

Heres how you do it:

Heat the oil in a medium saucepan. Add the garlic, ginger, and red chilli and stir over low heat for a few minutes. Add the orange juice and stir until the sauce reduces by about half. Add the lemon juice, soy sauce and honey and cook until you see the glaze thicken. Remove from heat.

Preheat the grill.

Cut the salmon fillets into chunky cubes. Rub the glaze into the salmon chunks and marinate by
leaving covered for about 20 minutes. Place under the grill for a few minutes until the glaze is sticky and yummy and caramelized and the fish is cooked through.

Meanwhile, wash the rice in cold running water until the water runs clear and drain off. Combine the stock, coconut milk, and salt in a large heavy saucepan over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low. Add the rice and stir. Cover the pan and simmer over low heat, until all the water has been absorbed and the the rice is fluffy.

Transfer rice to a plate, spoon the salmon and glaze on top and there you have it. This is classic lunchtime fare folks - light and luscious, tasty and delicious and positively bursting with Omega-3 goodness. Just the thing when you're stuck in that moment between somewhat hungry and not hungry enough.

Which is me now, so I'm off - but see you very soon.

Because here we are again. You and Me. And Food. And Words.
All that I love and always will.

An Ode to Writing
And to Salmon
But Mostly to Writing
(Lest it gets peeved again)

Crispy Duck Salad with Goat’s Cheese, Apples, Pecans and Sour Cherries

It’s been so hot, I can hardly think.

But then given that summer visits us, oh once in about 6 years, it seems terribly churlish to complain.

So I'm not going to.

Instead I'm going to tell you what I think are the very best-est things about this gorgeous summer...and it’s a long and lovely list…

… cloudless azure skies, golden beams of sunshine, the lazy breeze against your cheek - cool and clean, flowers, flowers, flowers - everywhere in rainbow bloom, birds chirping, children laughing, the rolling hills of England, lush and green and absolutely breathtaking...

And...

Cherries.

Yup.

Cherries. Those fat, plump, lively, burgundy coloured jewels of summer – they are my absolute favourite of the red fruits!

And now? At this time of year, when the English crop is ripe and rich, it’s just about as perfectly perfect a time to go on an all-out cherry binge!!

Which is exactly what I’m doing.

And suggesting you do too!

Because with their sublime aroma and intense sweetness and glossy good looks, I can hardly think of anything more bingeworthy!

And of course you can eat them fresh – there’s nothing ever like the fresh stuff, picked, washed and straight in the mouth, bursting with flavour and natural goodness – but if you’re whimsical like me and want some excitement in your life, try putting them in something different.

Like really different.

Like way out there.

Just to make life more exciting.

Which is always a good thing.

Or a great thing.

Depending on your perspective.

I’d personally go for great, but I’m optimistic like that.

And also very bored, if you haven’t figured that out already.

Anyhoooo, my cherries are going in a salad. Not a fruit salad (booooring) but a salad-salad.

See, its V. Imp. to make salads interesting. Especially in the summer when one craves the cool, fresh, lightness of a salad and you end up eating so much of the stuff, there's serious danger in getting mind-numbingly repetitive. And honestly I can’t think of anything more dull.

So yes – every self respecting woman (or man) (I don't discriminate) ought to be picky about their salads. Take me, for example:  I only eat salads where there are lots of different things going on: some kind of green stuff, something salty, something tart, something nutty, something crunchy. And always a little hint of sweetness.

So I’m doing cherries with game meat. In a salad.

Because its summer time and one must eat salad. Because the cherries this season are among the best I’ve ever tasted. And because game meat and cherries are simply meant to be.

I’m using dried cherries today – ruby red and tart, a perfect foil for the rich, aromatic, crispy, salty sins of the flesh…

Voila! this is my Crispy Duck Salad with Goat’s Cheese, Apples, Pecans and Sour Cherries.

Mmm. Mmm. So good that I want to marry this salad. It’s pretty much everything I would ever want in my life.

It’s funny actually that a lot of people I come across in foodie-land seem intimidated by the thought of cooking duck. I don’t quite know why? Perhaps there’s still some element of the exotic about it…but believe me - there's a world of intense flavor to be discovered when you choose duck instead of taking the tried-and-true path with chicken. Richer, darker, tastier – the complexity in texture and flavour you get with duck just doesn’t compare.

And if it’s flavour we’re all after, it doesn’t get much better than this – this is a beautiful, delightful, succulent and perfectly yummy dish, guys, one that you will really love.

It’s different.

It’s super duper simple to make.

It’s visually beautiful.

And well, of course it’s got to be yummy, else it wouldn’t be on yummyami, would it?

Btw – someone once asked me if yummyami meant that I was implying that I (ami) was yummy or that my recipes are yummy.

I refused to answer that.

Semantics. Sigh.

Oh by the way, if you’re vegetarian, you can leave out the duck.

But if you’re not, you can not.

I don’t mean you can not, as in you can’t.

You can.

You can do whatever you want – it’s a free world.

But more as in you don’t need to.

If you don’t want to, that is.

Anyway, here’s what you need:

-          ½ duck breast, sliced into thin strips

-          1 tbsp sesame oil

-          2 tbsp soy sauce

-          160g salad greens

-          2 green apples, cored and sliced

-          40g salted pecans

-          150g dried sour cherries

-          70g Goats cheese

-          1 tbsp dijon mustard

-          1 tbsp maple syrup

-          ¼ tsp paprika

-          1 tsp apple cider vinegar

-          2 tbsp olive oil

-          Salt and pepper, to taste

Here’s how you do it:

For the crispy duck, marinate the duck breast in sesame oil and soy sauce for 3-4 minutes. Then heat a frying pan until hot and fry the duck strips until crisp and golden-brown

For the dressing – mix Dijon, maple syrup, paprika vinegar, olive oil, and salt and pepper in a jar. Put the lid on the jar and shake well.

Separately, mix greens, apples pecans, and goats cheese into a large salad bowl. Top generously with the sour cherries. Add dressing to taste, mix well and tuck in.

So good I can’t speak.

Which is why I write…

(if you’ve ever wondered)

Summer Bruschetta

Soooooo…

I have a confession to make.

You know the whole “I’m going to be a kinder, gentler, more patient person?”

Well...

That lasted all of one day.

Today, I’m back to being selfish, impatient and rude.

Life’s more fun like that, don’t you think?

Just kidding folks, just kidding!

I mean, you all know what a sweet, cherubic angel I am, the very picture of kindness and gentler than Grace herself…

But when the kid woke this morning and asked for “pasta” for breakfast, I had to seriously give it my all to stop from flipping like a pancake on a smoking griddle. Know what I mean?

Anyway, we’re making Bruschetta today. Which I’m warning you is a super simple recipe.

So if you’re looking for complicated cooking folks – come back later. Like in 3 months. Which is when it will get cooler. I hope. Because it’s 34 degrees and I can’t do complicated in 34 degrees. I can barely do anything in 34 degrees. TBH, the only place I like 34 degrees is on the beach with a Margherita in my hand. In London? Not so much. London, you see, is not built for 34 degrees. The trains are stifling, the buses are stifling, the supermarket is stifling. I hardly know how things stay alive in there. Not alive alive, but you know what I mean. Anyway, to make a long story short – if you’re wondering how all of this is relevant – I can’t step into a supermarket without feeling like I’m going to collapse in less than 5 minutes straight onto a bed of curly lettuce...

Which basically means I have no ingredients with which to cook the complicated stuff.  For supplies these days, I’m relying on my friendly neighbourhood Waitrose delivery guy, but then when I order online I do only the basic stuff – you know, bread, eggs, milk, tomatoes. The complicated stuff I gotto pick out myself. I just do. It’s written.

So therefore we’re making Bruschetta today. Which I’m warning you is a super simple recipe.

(Did I say that already?)

By the way, on a side note, I must tell you that while London can’t cope with 34 degrees, the British can’t really cope with 34 degrees either. They’ve all gone a little mental. I mean there are guys at work wearing hot pants and flip flops. And I am SO not exaggerating. I’ll take a picture one of these days, seriously, and show you. I can’t comment on the women, mostly because there’s like five women in the entire office. Which is why I work where I work. I like men. Yeah baby. Just kidding, just kidding. But yes, there are really only like five women on my entire trading floor. One of whom is me. And trust me, I’m not wearing hot pants and flip flops to work. Though maybe I should one of these days. Just for giggles. No? Bad idea? Ok, bad idea.

Anyway, another reason why we’re making Bruschetta today, (which I’m warning you is a super simple recipe) is that its gonna take me a bit of time to get back into the swing of things after my hiatus. And on that note – thanks TONS to the folks who wrote in about how much they missed this nonsense I spew. Seriously, thank you. I missed writing this nonsense I spew too, but I promise you my hiatus (I like that word, I think I'm going to use it all day) was for a very valid reason. Not the usual “I got busy” and “work’s been too hard” and “I’m so tired” stuff.  I had a truly valid reason. Which I’ll tell you later because I think we’ve already gone too much off track on this fine and sunny morning.

So, I think it’s about time to get to what we’re really doing here today.

The answer to which – if you had ANY doubt at all – is that we’re making Bruschetta. Which I’m warning you is a super simple recipe.

But stay with me. Some good things are about to happen to you very soon.

Because, Bruschetta is amazing.

Just amazing.

It’s the very essence of summer.

A mouthful of tomatoes and garlic and basil – all cool and fresh and utterly delightful.

Words cannot express how refreshing this is on a hot summer’s day.

NOT more refreshing than a Margherita on the beach…

Sorry.

But close.

Really. Try it and you’ll see how soon it becomes an integral part of your emotional well-being.

Here’s what you need:

- 2 tbsp olive oil

- 5 cloves garlic, crushed

- 75g red cherry tomatoes

- 75g yellow cherry tomatoes

- 1 tbsp Balsamic Vinegar

- Handful of basil leaves

- Pinch of cayenne pepper, for a little kick

- Salt and pepper, to taste

- 1 whole French baguette or Ciabatta loaf – basically any bread with a flattish, open surface and a crisp, floury crust.

Here’s how you do it:

In a small pan, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add crushed garlic and stir until golden and aromatic. I love garlic. I absolutely do. It's one of those things that can make anything taste good. Remember that, seriously. The next time you're cooking and you taste what you're cooking and go "ho hum, I think this needs a little something" - try garlic. Please. I'm telling you. 

Anyway, set it aside and allow to cool. And save the extra olive oil you've cooked it in please - we need it!

In another bowl, halve the red and yellow tomatoes lengthwise and combine with basil, vinegar, cayenne, salt and pepper. Pour the olive oil & garlic mixture on top and mix through thoroughly.

Now cut the bread into slices in a way that maximises surface area, like 1cm thick. Add some more olive oil to a pan and brown the bread slices on both sides. Yum yum yum.  There's really nothing on earth like the smell of baking or browning bread. It makes my head spin. Anyway, we're done. Mainly because now I need to eat. So, to serve, spoon the tomato mixture over the slices of bread and dig in.

Told you it was a super simple recipe. 

Low on effort, high on taste

No time prepping = lots of time eating

Just the way I like it!

Cheerio folks!

See ya soon xx

Spaghetti Bolognese. Just Because...

Something happened to me today.

Something extraordinary.

And wonderful.

And permanent.

And yet it happened in the most ordinary of circumstances.

Which is probably why it’s worth writing about. Or maybe it isn’t. Let me know?

So, I was driving my son to school this morning as I always do. We were taking the same route, at the same time, in the same car. All perfectly normal. All perfectly mundane.

When suddenly a small voice from the back seat pipes up: “Mama, you’re coming back later? You’re coming back for me?”

And I almost crash my car.

Because momentarily I find I have lost control, hit, by the poignancy of the question; the sheer simplicity with which it is uttered.

My little boy, my child, this precious piece of my heart, doubts – actually doubts – that I will come back for him?

I choke back emotion and say quickly in my cheeriest voice: “Of course my darling. Of course I’m coming back for you – I want my Ranbir back!”

I take a peak then, secretly, in my rear-view mirror and see his little face, tense with anticipation, relax into a smile. He makes an almost inaudible happy squealing sound, and the knot in my throat just tightens further.

And it dawns on me – right then, right there, in the middle of the road, stuck behind a garbage truck – just how easy it is to be selfish in this complex and ever-evolving saga that is the parent-child relationship.

And when you strip away the nonsense, how easy I have it, compared to him.

I'm not, by any means, denying how hard motherhood - or parenthood - is. Of course it is. It’s the hardest thing most of us have ever done - the unending second-guessing, the self-doubt, the debating on end, over choices pondered and decisions made – and then that defining question: Am I a good mother (or father?) How do I really know? (You don't!)

And yet we do it, parenting, each in our own way.

For it is that one thing in life that is learned but can never be taught.

But still. Despite this. Despite all of this, today I realise how easy I have it.

How easy it is to view the world from the lens of an adult – all powerful, all-knowing.

How easy it is to stand in that position of power and demand that a child – innocent, ingenuous, all-trusting – obey you blindly.

How easy it is to underestimate their emotions and bark orders at them: “eat, sleep, go to the toilet, come here, go there, stop whining, do this, do that, play with your toys, tidy up your toys, we’re going out, we’re going back home.”

And how difficult. No, how utterly impossible, inconceivable even, it would be for me to be in this place that he is in right now.

This place where his entire existence rests on the trust he’s placed on me, his father, his little world, to be there for him, to look out for him, to protect him. This place where everything he does, his every action, is essentially out of his control. This place where he never really knows – with certainty – when he will be fed next, when he will be asked to sleep or wake or dance or play. When he will be left with the nanny, when he will be taken along. When he will be cuddled. Or kissed. Or shouted at. And why?

And – at the deepest, darkest core of it - this place he's at, where he is unsure, still – if I will, if I intend to, If I want to come back for him.

And I marvel at the essence of it all.

Because - old or young, three or thirty three - we are really all the same. And Ranbir - in his own way - has done nothing more than to have asked that eternal question, the one we grapple with from the day we are born to the day we die: Am I loved?

And so, with that, just those two simple questions posed to me by a three year old from the back-seat of my car, I find myself touched – profoundly. And I resolve to be a kinder, gentler, more patient human being.

Because that’s what this little person expects.

Because that’s what this little person deserves.

Because that’s what being a mother means.

And so it’s Spaghetti Bolognese tonight.

Because he loves it

And I hate it

I mean, face it – there’s absolutely nothing I can say to talk up the nutritional value of Spaghetti Bolognese. There’s  meat. And there’s carbs. Lots of it. And… ummm, yep, that’s it. Ok fine, I put carrots and real tomatoes in my version – but if you’re shaking your head and smiling to yourself right now, you’re absolutely right – who am I kidding?!

And so, it’s a dish I have vowed to keep out of my kitchen and off my son’s plate. But sometimes you have to reverse the roles and do what they love.

And really while nothing would make me happier than for my child to live on a diet of broccoli and green beans, nothing would make him happier than Spaghetti Bolognese.

And so Spaghetti Bolognese it is.

Just to see the sparkle in his eyes

Just to see the smile on his face

Just to hear the sound of his laughter

Because that’s what being a mother means

Because I love him

Because I want him to know it

Because...

Here’s what you need:

- 2 tbsp olive oil

- 1 whole red onion, diced

- 4 grated carrots

- 5 cloves garlic, crushed

- 800g chopped fresh tomatoes (depending on the size of the tomatoes)

- 1 can tomato paste

- 1kg lean minced turkey (or lamb or beef)

- 2 large glasses of red wine (yes, yes, it’s really ok but if you’re that picky, just  skip) (don’t then be asking me how my child sleeps through the night…)

- 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce (2 if you like it spicy)

- 2 tbsp dried oregano

- 2 tbsp dried basil flakes

- 2 fresh or dried bay leaves

- Drizzle balsamic vinegar

- Salt and pepper, to taste

- 800g dried spaghetti

- Lots of freshly grated parmesan, to serve

Here’s how you do it:

Heat the oil in a large, heavy-based saucepan over medium heat. Add grated carrots and onions and garlic and cook until softened. Increase the heat and add in the minced meat. Cook for a few minutes until brown, gradually stirring it into the carrot mixture.

Now, pour in the wine and boil until it has reduced in volume by about a third. Reduce heat and throw in oregano, basil and bay leaves.  Now add the fresh tomatoes, tomato paste, Worcestershire and balsamic vinegar and stir well while the mixture heats.

Season well with salt and pepper. Cover with a lid and simmer the Bolognese sauce over a gentle heat for 30 mins to 1½ hours, whatever you need, until it's rich and thickened.

Serve with Spaghetti and a generous sprinkling of Parmesan cheese.

Yeah – there’s a reason they love it J

Iron Man's Food

So I saw Iron Man last night. 

On screen that is. Not in the flesh. If I'd seen him in the flesh, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be on some hospital bed in an ecstatic swooned-out state.

But no, quite sadly, I'm still here.

But I saw Iron Man.

A.k.a. Tony Stark. 

A.k.a. Robert Downey Jr. 

A.k.a. The peak, pinnacle and zenith of absolute yummyliciousness.

Marry me?

Please?

Seriously though. Men don’t come this sexy these days.

If you find ‘em, go grab ‘em I say.

I did :)

Ha!

Still. Despite an admittedly sexy husband, if you want me to bare my soul to you, I won’t lie: I do love Iron Man. I mean, what on earth is he doing with Pepper Potts? And who’s called Pepper anyway? Pepper belongs in my food blog, right up there with Salt. 

While I (IMHO) belong with Iron Man.

Ya falla?

Anyway, see I’m not one of those Superhero crazy types. You know, unlike Sexy Sid. Now, Sexy Sid would marry Batman, Superman, and all the Avengers put together if he could. Seriously.

Now, I don’t quite see the appeal in this motley crew. Besides Scarlett J that is (now, Scarlett J, anyone would be willing to marry). I mean, they’re cool and all. And they have 12-packs and 14-packs. And big, strong arms. Besides Scarlett J that is. Scarlett J has other things. Nice things. Anyway. So, yes they're all that. And they save the world. Which is most commendable, all of it. But have I ever wanted to marry them? Nooooo…

But Iron Man? A.k.a. Beautiful, Balbo-sporting Tony Stark? Famous, powerful, rich, heroic, arrogant, charming and oozing sex appeal like a bottle of Manuka honey turned upside down? I mean – come on folks!

Anyway, I won’t give the movie away - (I’m many things, but I’m not a spoilsport!) – but I will say that if there was one scene in the movie that endeared me to IM more than ever before (not that I really needed an excuse), it was the one where, presumed dead, he’s actually alive, taking shelter in somebody’s garage in snow-bound Tennessee. Jarvis has (temporarily) conked, despair fills the air, the snowflakes fall fast and furious and IM needs to pick himself up and get back on the horse (in a manner of speaking). It is in this – this moment of need then – that he asks for (among other less important things):

A TUNA SANDWICH.

Yup! You’ll heard me! A Tuna Sandwich. 

A Tuna Sandwich is what The Iron Man wants in his moment of darkness. 

And with that?

He has me at Hello.

Because the Tuna Sandwich is the bomb.

The Tuna Sandwich is a legend unto itself.

Nothing beats a Tuna Sandwich done right. And I mean, nothing.

Now, here’s the thing, people. I’m a straight-talking, direct kinda gal and I say it as it is. So, here it is, plain and simple:

America: While I don’t understand your gun laws and you speak funny, and you spend way too much time debating issues that are better left to people to sort out in their bedrooms (I mean, really), here’s the thing: No one, and I mean, No one does a sandwich like you.

I really miss your sandwiches, I do.

That wholesome, hearty bread, filled to the brim with any number of generously stuffed, delicious fillings, topped with fresh lettuce and tomato, and finished off with real condiments. My, oh my, oh my.

Seriously, I cannot believe how these places in the UK get away with calling those measly buttered slices of yesterday's thin white bread with half a slice of ham and 1/10 of a leaf of lettuce in them, a sandwich. Makes me laugh, always has. Except when it makes me cry.

Want to get a real sandwich?

It's New York City Baby!

Katz’s Deli? Now that’s a sandwich.

I challenge you to finish one of those babies on your own!

And I miss it, I do, I do.

Ask me 5 things I miss about New York and “a real sandwich” is one of them.

I dream about this stuff, folks, seriously.

And it's a real problem. Like I mean, think about it - England, the land of the Earl of Sandwich has no idea what a sandwich is.

See what I mean?

So, anyway, coming back to the point, when All American Iron Man, wanted an All American Tuna Sandwich, guess what happened?

I came home and made one.

And then I ate one.

And then I decided to make you make one.

So you can eat one.

And so there you go.

Thank Iron Man.

You don't need to thank me.

I do this for pleasure.

But you're welcome, anyway.

Right, there is nothing fancy about this, nothing glamorous or exotic or quaint. It’s just a simple Tuna sandwich – classic, traditional and timeless.

The most important thing here – which holds true for all food that doesn’t have the luxury of being embellished with 500 spices – is the quality of the ingredients.

Garbage in, garbage out. Capiche?

So, please! Buy the best tuna, some kick-ass Dijon mustard, amazing mayonnaise (none of that light stuff please) and GREAT bread. You need GREAT bread.

Here’s what you need:

- 2 (6 ounce) cans of high-quality tuna 

- 5 tbsp amazing mayonnaise

- 2 tbsp plain yogurt

- 2 tbsp kick-ass Dijon mustard

- 1-2 tsp fresh dill, finely chopped

- 1 tbsp fresh parsley, finely chopped

- 1/4 tsp cayenne. I love cayenne. Cayenne will change your life. Trust me.

- Salt to taste. And Pepper if you like. Though I'm not digging the word "Pepper" these days...just saying :) 

So that’s that. 

You can throw in about ¼ of an onion if you like, for some heat. I’m just not a huge fan of raw onion.

Mainly because I like to be kissed.

Life’s all about priorities.

Sigh.

Or you can do the whole celery thing. Say a quarter cup, diced. I hate celery.  Right up there with bananas. But you may love it. Nothing wrong with that. Celery, I mean. How can anyone love bananas? So anyway – want celery? Go for it my friends. Do what you love. That’s what it’s all about.

Right, last bit – the bread. The bread is really the main thing here, you gotta get the bread right. Now, I will only eat Tuna Salad on Pumpernickle. Only. That’s a rule. I’m weird like that. You of course can do anything you want, but please – if you can get some Pumpernickle, try it and see how beautifully it goes with Tuna. To put it romantically, Tuna and Rye are simply “meant to be”

Now, Pumpernickel to the uninitiated, is really German Rye bread. It’s slightly sweet, dark, dark brown, almost black coloured bread made from whole, coarsely ground rye. And it’s amazing. It’s hard to find here on my island, but it’s everywhere in America, you lucky devils!

Anyway, it goes really well with smoked meats, and fish fillings...lox, caviar, and Tuna of course.

Right, so I won’t tell you how to make a sandwich (basically because you're not five), but I will tell you how to eat it. Top with lettuce and a thick slice of ripe, red tomato. And eat it with ketchup please.

Wait. Wait. Don’t judge.

Try it.

And while I know it just sounds wrong to be eating a sandwich with ketchup, remember that your Tuna sandwich has a whole load of Mayo in it. And Mayo and Ketchup are Yin and Yang. The ultimate logic defying taste combo. Addictively, fantastically good stuff. And I’ll leave it at that…

Oh and while youre at it? Crush some potato chips (yes, just basic potato chips or crisps or whatever you want to call it) and mix it with ketchup and when it’s a all one big mess, eat this concoction as a side, along with your Tuna Sandwich.

Do it. 
And think of me.

While I think of Iron Man. And his Balbo.

Hmmmm…….