This story begins with me cruising along in the back of an Uber because I couldn’t even contemplate the idea of getting on the tube or a Roastmaster in this heat. For those of you who live outside London, we call the Routemaster buses ‘Roastmasters’ because when they re-designed them to look all curvy and swish no one thought about the experience of the people inside. What resulted is a weirdly proportioned vehicle in which none of the seats is even remotely comfortable but mainly ohmyactualgod the HEAT.

The windows don’t open and the air con doesn’t work so it’s like being a dog trapped inside a car in a desert. Here’s a headline that sums it up very nicely – “a bus designed for people who never take buses” – with a photo of Twatty Mc Twatface himself hanging out the back (that’s Boris Johnson in case you can’t be arsed to click on the link). They’re now replacing the windows with versions that actually open, although they won’t be ready until September (that’s the end of the summer). Anyway.

So I was in the Uber, and I had the windows down because the car didn’t have any air-con, and I see my mate walking down the street so I raise my shades up like a total boss and holler, “alright mate?” to which he replied, “yeah… hot. You?” to which I replied, “yeah… hot.” This is the only conversation that anyone in London is having right now. If you’re not interested in talking about the heat first and foremost then you can jog on quite frankly (or maybe walk really slowly, dragging your feet and sweating).

There’s something really oppressive about the heat here, and I say that as someone who has been to Borneo and experienced 45C heat with 80% humidity. It’s just always right ON you, that sun, and it’s close and sticky and gooey and suffocating. I was walking along the street in West London the other day and a man coming the other way, sweating profusely, just looked up at the sun and shouted, “FUCKING HELL” then kept walking. That sums it up.

So, it’s ice cream and sorbet central around here. In the past week I’ve been through ice cream Bounty Bars (surprisingly light), most of the flavours in Snowflake Gelato, several of the flavours in Gelupo, a stunning Sicilian plum granita at Bernardi’s followed by an apricot semifreddo in the same meal and now this, a pink gooseberry sorbet with gin.
I’m not sure I’ve ever cooked with pink gooseberries before but they turned up in a box of gorgeous fruit and veg I was sent from New Covent Garden market – perks of the food writing biz. I think they’re sweeter than their traditional green counterparts but that could be some mind-bending trickery to do with the colour, I dunno. Anyway, this sorbet is probably the best I’ve made. Better even than this pink grapefruit and gin sorbet I made last year. We managed to get the sugar just right, the flavour of the gooseberries is strong but you can also taste the gin, and just look at that colour!

I’ve actually just had the idea while sitting here of piling it into an insulated bottle flask thingamy and taking it onto the bus with me (probs just get another Uber).

Pink Gooseberry and Gin Sorbet

350g pink gooseberries, topped and tailed
100g caster sugar
1 egg white
100ml gin
120ml water

Put the gooseberries in a pan with the water and sugar and simmer for 5 minutes. Put the mixture in a blender and blend until smooth. If you want to remove any seeds and bits then put it through a sieve now.

Add the gin and allow the mixture to chill in the fridge (I put mine in the fridge overnight). Whisk the egg white to stiff peaks and mix it into the gooseberry mixture – it will look all weird but don’t worry about it.

Churn in an ice cream machine until frozen, then transfer to a tub and freeze for a couple of hours before serving. Yeah you could probably do it without an ice cream maker if you do the taking it out and stirring every hour thing.

Holy shit.

I’ve just come back from the hospital where I was referred for an examination of my ribs and chest because I stacked it in a pub over the weekend. Had I been drinking? Alright yes, but goddamn it if people shouldn’t just level out tricksy little steps in pubs, particularly if they’re potentially in front of someone carrying a pint of lager and a slice of coffee and walnut cake (not natural bedfellows, you say? Whatever). I fell onto my chest with a great thwack, the wind left me, the world spun and when I got up I realised I had cake in my hair.

Cue hanging over the sink in the ladies loo washing my barnet, which then had to be dried under the hand dryer until it was just the right level of post-electrocution frizz. I sheepishly returned to the garden to find a fresh slice of cake and a pint gifted by pub because I assume they could tell I was just unlucky and not a terrible drunken heathen.

I am clumsy, though. No denying it. Two weeks earlier I went arse over tit when exiting the tube station at South Wimbledon, not even realising it was happening until I was on the floor watching my shoe spin through the air behind me. A stranger ran out into the road to retrieve it and I dusted myself off and then ten minutes later came over all shaky and had to be placated with at least three ice-cold beers in quick succession.

I was going to say it’s a wonder I don’t hurt myself in the kitchen more often (TOUCH WOOD), which would at least have provided some kind of link into this recipe but then I remembered The Great Sprout Water Burn of Christmas 2014 and that was the end of that.

So now this is an unrelated recipe for grilled cauliflower but whatever. It’s very good. Do you remember when cauli was in danger of not being eaten anymore? It was like, ten years ago or something and all the farmers said they weren’t going to grow it because no one was bothered. Along came people like Ottolenghi getting all spicy on its ass and hey presto, cauli problem solved. It does take strong flavours well, and also it likes a bit of grilling. Combine the two and what have you got? Well, just about every side dish in every vaguely Middle Eastern restaurant in London right now is what.

So here’s my two penneth. You can smother the cauli in any spices you want really, so long as they, you know, go with cauliflower. Cumin, paprika, coriander seed, that kind of thing. I kept it simple, then blobbed thick, cool labneh here and there, topping with dukkah – that’s just a mix of nuts, seeds, spices and salt but together = squirrel crack. Eggs give the dish richness and also make it more filling but if you don’t want them then – wait for it – leave them out.

The salad is a herby arrangement with radishes, olive oil and pom molasses squizzled on top. Pitta on the side and plenty of extra dukkah cause you won’t be able to get enough of it. I’d like to take the credit for the dukkah as it’s the best ever but I can’t, Donald made it. I’m scared that if I don’t tell you karma will catch up with me and I’ll accidentally drop a brick on my toe at the next opportunity.

Grilled Cauliflower with Labneh, Dukkah and Eggs

For the dukkah (do not ask me why he did this in cups. It’s probably because we just bought some new ones)

1 cup mixed hazelnuts, pistachios and pine nuts
1/2 cup sesame seeds
1/4 cup cumin
1/4 cup coriander seeds
1/4 cup Maldon salt (or other good sea salt)
2 teaspoons chilli flakes
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 heaped teaspoon ras el hanout

Toast the nuts and sesame seeds in a dry pan or oven. Bash up the seeds and nuts a bit until they resemble the picture above. Mix everything together.

For the cauliflower

1 small cauliflower
1 tablespoon vegetable or groundnut oil
1 heaped teaspoon paprika
1 tablespoon grape molasses (you could also use date molasses, which is sweeter, or pomegranate molasses, which is more sour)
Hard boiled eggs (however many you want, I did three). I cook mine from cold then when the water starts boiling time 6 minutes – this way you get a slightly squidgy centre.
Labneh (strained yoghurt, I tell you how to make it here or buy it in a shop like the Turkish Food Centre)

Salad and toasted pitta, to serve

Prepare your BBQ for direct grilling.

Trim the cauliflower and cut it into thick ‘steaks’. I had a small cauli which only yielded two steaks – you don’t really want it any thinner as the florets will break apart. Rub them with the oil, paprika and grape molasses and season with salt and pepper. When the BBQ is ready, cook them for around 5 minutes each side or until tender.

Serve the cauliflower steaks with dollops of labneh, dukkah, hard boiled eggs and salad.

The reason I’ve called it mind-bending is because it has chopped hard-boiled eggs, which, combined with the crème fraîche, create a sort of egg mayo vibe. That’s a melon-twister. Still, egg mayo and carbs go together very well indeed, as we all know. I then added bacon, chopped gherkins and capers, spring onions, parsley and a dressing made with creme fraiche and mustard.

There is nothing restrained about it, but it is a lot of fun. Rich and salty with pops of acidity, it’s full-on but not overwhelming, thanks to the crème fraîche; the flavour of the Jersey Royals still comes through.

Mind-Bending Potato Salad Recipe

1kg Jersey Royal Potatoes
2 eggs
80g bacon, chopped into lardons
1 tablespoon capers, chopped
4 gherkins, finely chopped
3 spring onions, finely sliced
1 clove garlic
300ml creme fraiche
1 heaped teaspoon Dijon mustard
Juice of 1/2 lemon
A large handful of parsley, chopped

Boil the potatoes in salted water until just cooked, then drain and run under cold water to cool a little. Fry the bacon until crisp and hard-boil the eggs, then peel and chop.

Mix the crème fraîche, mustard, garlic, lemon juice and some salt and pepper in a bowl. Mix the potatoes with the bacon, eggs, spring onions, capers and gherkins. Add the dressing and herbs and mix again, gently. Taste for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if needed.

For a short period before heading off to university I went back to live with my parents. As a ‘mature student’ at 21 I’d already been living elsewhere for three years and so it was a major change, especially since I’d made a string of poor choices when choosing houses. One that immediately springs to mind is the place I shared with six young men. SIX.

Can you imagine how bad that was? Bathroom grime of unprecedented levels; a fridge no-one dared open; pints of red wine spilled on the carpet (actually, was that me?); broken windows; stinky boxers glued down everywhere and a neverending chorus of bodily functions. The house was filled with Man Fug so thick you could bang your head on it.

There were many benefits to moving home, then, including pleasures such as not waking up to remember that someone had projectiled in a helicopter motion in the front room (this happened, he sort of spun around as he was being sick therefore spraying all four walls and furniture with the contents of his stomach + 12 cans of Stella).

The kitchen was unusable because obviously no one ever cleaned it, so it was good to be back in the parents’ shiny, orderly, well-stocked kitchen, to have dinner cooked for me, to not fear food poisoning or have to decide whether it’s a better life choice to just throw a pan in the bin rather than bother trying to wash it.

One of the best things about being back, though, was Sunday lunch, and there’s a meal my mum used to cook which apparently she didn’t consider anything special but I absolutely loved, to the point where I still think about it now. It doesn’t sound fancy, and isn’t, but it has some of my favourite ingredients.

There was a roast chicken, stuffed under the skin with a mixture of butter, herbs and lemon zest, new potatoes boiled and drenched in salsa verde and finally, a broad bean salad with crisp pancetta and a vinaigrette. The smell of the roasting chicken would fill the kitchen while Dad picked the broad beans from the garden.

We’d sit around the table and discuss important matters like whether or not Dad had won on the horse racing and which of my ex-boyfriends was really the worst. I’d pick lazily at the dish of remaining potatoes, scooping out the oily pools of salsa verde with my fingers.

There was never any broad bean salad left. I think mum’s version was based on a Delia Smith recipe but I just make it with whatever combo of herbs, pork and onion I have around at the time. This recipe has lardons of bacon and a cider vinegar dressing and it’s a lovely salad to make whatever the age of the beans – even when they’re old and tough, the other ingredients are robust enough to handle it. I always think of the salad when the new season comes though, and so here we are today.

Broad Bean Salad with Bacon, Herbs and Vinaigrette

1kg broad beans (un-podded weight)
80g bacon, cut into lardons
1 spring onion, green parts finely sliced
1 tablespoon each finely chopped chives, mint and parsley

For the dressing

1 clove garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper

Remove the beans from their pods. Place in a saucepan with some water, bring to the boil, cook for 2 minutes, then drain. Place the beans in a bowl of cold water. Squeeze each bean from its tough skin (this is by no means necessary, it just means they’re extra tender and bright green).

Cook the bacon lardons until crisp and add to the beans with the herbs and spring onion.

Shake all dressing ingredients in a sealed jar until emulsified. Add a tablespoon of dressing to the salad and mix. You may want more, depending on how many broad beans you found inside your pods. Check seasoning and serve.

This is the third in a series of recipes I wrote for the Wine Trust 100 website, which I’ve been posting here too because, why not? I’ve also made Roman style lamb with caponata and crab fried rice. 

The wonderful thing about the British weather is that we can definitely define the seasons, from April showers through to rusty autumn leaves and the bare-naked chill of winter. When summer comes around though, anything goes. One minute you’re sitting on a roof terrace hosing back Tinto de Verano like nobody’s business, the next a wave of thick blue-black cloud has moved over, and you’re setting up a brolly over the BBQ. Yes, I have actually done that (the brolly stank so much of smoke that it was unusable afterwards).

There’s a certain element of risk to the British BBQ then, but that doesn’t mean we have to be boring with our choice of what goes on it. I feel that the image of the sweaty red Brit serving up raw sausages is a little unfair nowadays, but I certainly do see the same dishes on rotation throughout the summer, notably cous cous salads and really bad pulled pork. There’s a dangerous pulled pork obsession gripping the nation, the problem being that no one knows how to cook it properly, and we end up gumming pappy buns of cotton wool textured meat doused in BBQ sauce. Stop.

As much as I adore (properly) slow-cooked meat, there’s a lot to be said for seafood on the grill. Squid is cheap and easy to cook yet, as far as I can tell, rarely used. I love to stuff them, and make many variations on the filling, including one with Thai flavours like lemongrass and lime leaves, and another with chorizo-led Spanish vibes. Here I’ve gone light and fresh with prawns and soft herbs, which matches the salty and crisp Assyrtiko beautifully. It’s the main grape variety from the island of Santorini and I’ve long thought it underrated. Lean and super mineral-y these wines cry out like gulls for grilled seafood.

The idea when cooking this dish is to channel a mahogany-skinned Greek, expertly tending the BBQ on the white-painted terrace of his island home, overlooking the glittering turquoise Aegean.

BBQ Stuffed Squid with Prawns and Herbs (matched with 2014 Assyrtiko, Wild Ferment, Gaia)

8 small squid, cleaned and prepared (if you have the tentacles too you can grill these separately, they will crisp up beautifully, or chop them up and add them to the filling mix)

150g cooked prawns, finely chopped
1 handful chives, finely chopped (save a little for garnish)
1 handful parsley leaves, finely chopped (save a little for garnish)
2 spring onions, finely chopped
1 large clove of garlic, crushed or finely chopped
Zest 1 lemon
Oil, like vegetable or groundnut
Lemon, halved, to serve

You will also need cocktail sticks, for securing the squid.

Mix the prawns, herbs, garlic, lemon zest and some salt and pepper in a bowl. Stuff the mixture into the squid, taking care not to over-stuff (as they will shrink during cooking). Secure each with a cocktail stick.

Rub the squid with oil and season lightly, then grill until golden (this will take around 5 minutes or so on each side, but will depend on the size of the squid).
At the same time, cut the lemon in half and grill until caramelised.

Ensure the squid are piping hot throughout and serve with the caramelised lemons.

I wanted to call these ‘sexy chops’ but then realised that would make me sound like an idiot. They are, though, and they fall into the category of crusty, charred, heavily flavoured chops, which are clearly better than the soft, wobbly, rare kind, all trimmed up as a rack with silly hats on. Worse = ‘lollipops’ (urgh). Last time I ate a lollipop it was a gaudy pink marble that got stuck in my hair when the wind changed direction.

Anyway, it’s not cool to call foods ‘sexy’ just like it’s not cool anymore to bang on about how good the lamb chops are at London’s Pakistani restaurant Tayyabs, because it’s just something that everyone here knows. The reasons they’re so good are three: they’re bashed out very thin, they’re marinated in an intense paste, and they’re cooked hot and fast. So flame + heavy spicing = top chops. That was my model for this recipe.

These are D’s speciality, really. He cooks them a lot and I mean like, once a week in the summer. The basic idea is that you get a load of spices, chuck them into a grinder then lube up the mixture with a sloosh of oil. It makes a sort of slurry which you can then slap about with the chops. The hot fat crisps up with the spices to make a coating that will have you sucking the bones clean, chucking them over your shoulder and reeling off lines from Game of Thrones.

Will the spices burn? No, they won’t because you’re going to bash the meat out nice and thin, then cook it offset on the BBQ. This means the chops cook but the spices don’t burn and the fat doesn’t drip onto the coals creating a massive fireball bucket in your garden.

I also recommend making the garlic + pom molasses + yoghurt dressing with grilled lettuce as it’s killer with the chops. Sexy, even.

Seriously Good Spiced Lamb Chops

10 small lamb chops (we used middle neck)
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
3 black cardamom pods, seeds removed and husks discarded
2 teaspoons Urfa chilli flakes
2 teaspoons regular chilli flakes
1 cinnamon stick
Salt
Olive oil

Grind the spices and mix in some salt. Slosh a bit of oil on the chops then rub the mixture all over them. Cook offset on the BBQ (e.g. the coals are on one side, the chops on the other). Done.

Grilled Lettuce Salad

2 baby gem lettuces
4 tablespoons yoghurt
1 tablespoon pomegranate molasses
1-2 cloves garlic, crushed
Small handful mint leaves, chopped
Small handful parsley leaves, chopped
Salt
Olive oil

Mix all the ingredients apart from the lettuces. Season. Quarter the lettuces lengthways and rub with oil. Cook on the BBQ until lightly charred then dollop the dressing on top. Serve.

I’ve been sick for the last week and holy crap if it hasn’t been the most boring stretch of time in recent memory. The thing about being low-level sick is that you feel too awful to do anything, but not quite bad enough that you can ignore all those e-mails rolling into the inbox, shouty and attention-seeking like wheels on a fruit machine. Being self-employed is a wonderful thing in many ways, but one of the major downsides is that when you’re ill, there’s no one else to take over. You have to carry on because you made your choices.

There’s also the isolation. If I didn’t go to the gym (yes I have been working out, thanks for asking), then some days I actually wouldn’t see another living soul apart from the cats, and although wonderful, they’re a bit light on chat.

As soon as I could move again even slightly (Lemsip Max Strength Cold and Flu Capsules are the freakin’ future), I was craving Many Green Things. I wasn’t even interested in carbs, which is unheard of since that time I got salmonella in Borneo and couldn’t eat anything without… actually never mind. I wanted vegetables, and I wanted them chopped so I  could just sit in bed and fork plant niblets into my mouth like an endless vitamin conveyor belt.

I added some cured pork too, which I had because… actually, this seems like a good time to tell you about the ‘snacky box’. So we have this plastic tub in our fridge which is always full of meat and cheese offcuts. They come from D’s wine bar, (I’m calling him ‘D’ now to avoid usage of unsatisfactory ‘significant other’ words) because there comes a time when the ends are too small to serve to customers.

Think Tomme de Savoie, ends of Iberico ham, mini lumps of lardo. You get the idea. I like to use these small quantities to pep up salads. Here I’ve used the end of some cured ham or other, diced and then fried until crisp – you could use any number of fatty cured meats really, or even diced English ham (but don’t fry it).

Apart from the salty meat addition, it’s all fresh ‘n green and in keeping with that, I’ve done a light buttermilk dressing full of English garden herbs. I don’t have a garden, but if I did it would have a vast, tangled herb bed alongside rambling roses and beds of wildflowers with fuzzy stems and floppy, dusky-hued petals. I bought my herbs from Sainsbury’s and had to use my imagination.

Chopped Asparagus Salad with Buttermilk Dressing

200g English asparagus
130g cured pork (I used an unidentified sausage from the snacky box), finely diced
100g peas (frozen)

For the dressing:

200m buttermilk
100ml olive oil
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon each parsley, mint, tarragon, chives
Salt

Barely cook the asparagus for a couple of minutes in boiling water, then drain. Run under cold water. Cook the peas by adding them to the asparagus water, letting it come to the boil, then draining and running under cold water.

Cook the diced sausage in a frying pan until the fat has come out and it’s crisp. Drain on kitchen paper.

Vigorously whisk the buttermilk, olive oil vinegar and a pinch of salt in a bowl or shake in a jam jar. Stir in the herbs and check for seasoning.

Mix everything together and serve. You won’t use all of the dressing (or you might, I dunno, it’s your life).

On Thursday, I went to the Fortnum and Mason Food and Drink Awards, because I was nominated for online food and drink writer of the year. I was sure I didn’t have a hope in hell of winning with Felicity Cloake and Sue Quinn as my competition and you know what? I was right. Sue won and I think deservedly so. Congratulations again, Sue.

Was I disappointed I didn’t win? Yeah, of course. As I stood there in my fancy blouse and disco shoes, sweating profusely (for it was the hottest room in London, filled with too many people), my stomach was like a butterfly circus. I knew I wasn’t the one, though, and consequently had bugger all to say if required to go on stage. Cue more sweating. By the end I resembled a floppy poodle clutching a glass of champagne, hungry eyes strobing the corners of the room in search of canapes.

I did get to stand in a room with some properly famous food people though. Imagine me nudging my boyfriend in the ribs and mouthing, “it’s Nigella! It’s ACTUALLY NIGELLA!” and then doing the same for Rick Stein before finishing with my usual, “Marcus Wareing really does look a lot like a Border Terrier, amiright?” He does, though. Check it out.

What has all this got to do with steak sandwiches, you’re thinking? The answer, my friends, is not a lot. This is just a story about me losing an award and then cooking some steak sandwiches as a consolation prize. I think that’s okay.

Now you all know that steak sandwiches are brilliant, but do you also know about pimento cheese? If you’re American, then you will, but the Brits, not so much. It’s a Southern American thang and if you’re interested then there’s a lovely little history on the website Serious Eats. Basically, it’s a mixture of cheddar (crappy stuff – remember, this is American cheese), mayo and seasonings, including of course pimento peppers. It’s traditionally eaten on little crackers but I find that kind of boring, preferring it instead on burgers or in sandwiches.

I love creamy cheese in a steak sandwich (see also: Boursin) and this is fantastic with its zippy grit of pimentos and jalapenos. I also mixed up some chives with olive oil and brushed it on the baguette before toasting on the BBQ. Excellent allium twang.

Who needs awards when you’ve got steak sandwiches? (Me. I need awards).

BBQ Steak Sandwiches with Pimento Cheese Recipe

Serves 4

1 good quality baguette (I used sourdough)
2 thick rib eye steaks
225g Cheddar cheese, grated (this is the time for Cathedral City, not Keen’s)
50g mayonnaise
50g cream cheese
50g jarred pimento peppers, diced (those Peppadew ones but not stuffed)
30g jarred jalapenos, diced
1 teaspoon Chohula hot sauce (or similar)
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon chopped chives

Light your BBQ.

To make the pimento cheese, mix the mayonnaise, cream cheese, and Cheddar together in a bowl. It will look a bit stiff but don’t worry. Add the pimentos, jalapenos, hot sauce and cayenne. Mix and adjust seasonings if you like, adding more of any ingredient.

Cook your steaks by seasoning highly with salt and pepper. Cook on a BBQ for about 2.5 mins each side (depending on thickness), flipping every 30 seconds (or cook to your liking).Allow to rest, then slice.

Brush the baguette with chive oil, then toast lightly. Spread with pimento cheese, then add the steak. Close, slice and serve.

You will have lots of lovely pimento cheese leftover. Try it in burgers, on other sandwiches, or as a dip.

For years I was obsessed with the idea of visiting Istanbul, poring over travel guides, eyeballing flight costs and dreaming of balmy evenings plinking ice into Raki while sucking up the scent of grilled meat. Then, suddenly, I realised everyone else had been doing the same thing. Istanbul was the hot new destination and I found myself flat broke and sad as I watched other people taking my trip of a lifetime.

Finally, I made it there but it was stressful because I’d over-planned and was constantly worried about missing out. It didn’t help that we’d booked a cheap hotel, which turned out to be a grotty room with child-sized beds in opposite corners and a wet room with a shower over the toilet. The loo roll dispensers had holes in so if you forgot to cover them the paper got soaked and the only in-hotel refreshment option was a fridge downstairs full of soft drinks. LOL.

Anyway, we relaxed into it (read: drank a shitload of Raki) and so it was a good holiday. Has Urfa Lahmacun was one of the places we stumbled across when I stopped being an unbearable bore who wanged on about a spreadsheet full of restaurants and decided to just explore and have fun. It was the best lahmacun we tried on the trip by a long stretch and we made pals with the chef who added us both on Facebook before we’d even got back to the ‘hotel’.

So I decided to make lahmacun because I still think about the ones I ate on that trip, although they’re becoming much easier to find now in areas of London that are not Green Lanes. It’s pronounced lah-ma-jun and is basically a thin circle of dough spread with a spiced lamb topping, cooked very quickly in a wood-fired oven. The topping of meat should be quite sparse really, more of a seasoning than a crust and the dough should be crisp on the bottom. The way to eat them is to roll them up with a salad of fresh herbs, tomatoes, and pickles and scoff em quick, washing down with glugs of Efes.

I’ve cooked mine on the plate of my Big Green Egg, but this is by no means necessary. It gets a super crisp base due to the fact that it gets very hot but you can of course just cook them in the oven, on a baking tray or a pizza stone if you have such fanciful kitchen wizardry. Just make them, is my advice, and make a lot, because one is never enough.

Also, hotels are expensive in Istanbul so get an Air BnB or just suck it up, otherwise, you will suffer. Trust me.

BBQ Lahmacun Recipe

(makes 4 large)

For the dough:

1 x 7g sachet fast action dried yeast
1 teaspoon sugar
150ml warm water
300g plain flour
1 teaspoon salt
2.5 tablespoons olive oil

For the red pepper paste:

You can buy this stuff in Turkish grocers here but it always tastes very bitter and not much else – nothing like the stuff I tried in Turkey. 

3 red peppers
3 red finger chillies (the regular kind you find in supermarkets)
1 teaspoon salt
Juice of 1/2 lemon

For the topping:

1 red pepper
1 yellow pepper
1 onion
2 tomatoes
Handful coriander
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons Urfa chilli (find it in Turkish grocers or online)
1.5 teaspoons black pepper
1 teaspoon regular chilli flakes
200g minced lamb

Mix the yeast and sugar with the warm water. You want warm water, not hot. Leave it to one side to activate. When it’s ready (in about 5 minutes), it should be very frothy on top. If not, your water wasn’t warm enough or it was too hot – start again.

Sift the flour and salt into the bowl of an electric mixer or large mixing bowl. Add the yeast mixture and oil. If using a mixer, set it on low speed for 10 minutes until you have a smooth, elastic dough. If mixing my hand, you’re going to have to knead it until you have the same result.

Put the dough in a lightly oiled bowl and cover with a damp tea towel. Let it rise for about half an hour, or until doubled in size.

Char the peppers and chillies over an open gas flame (e.g. on the hob or under a hot grill if you prefer), until blackened. Allow to cool a little and remove the skin and seeds. Chop very finely and mix with the salt and lemon juice. Set aside.

To make the topping, blend the peppers, onion, tomatoes and coriander then drain into a sieve on a bowl for at least half an hour. Mix with the rest of the topping ingredients, five tablespoons of the red pepper paste and a little salt.

Knock back the dough then cut into 4 pieces. Roll out as thin as you can manage, then top each with a portion of the lamb mix, spreading it right to the edges. You want to top each as they’re cooking, i.e. don’t leave them sitting around with the topping on the dough as they will go gross. They’ll cook on a BBQ in several minutes using a plate. If you want to cook them in the oven, do so at 220C for about 10 minutes (that’s a guess, keep an eye on them).

Serve with lemon wedges, a salad of herbs like parsley and mint, tomatoes and pickles. I made some quick pickled onions with one sliced onion, 3 tablespoons white wine vinegar, 1 tablespoon sugar and a pinch of salt.

Crab is my favourite thing to eat, but I’ve realised you wouldn’t know it from reading this blog, and that must change. It’s both a blessing and curse for me because if I see crab on the menu, I can’t order anything else. It’s a hard life, I tell ya. Anyway, this is a recipe I wrote for Wine Trust 100, so I thought I’d share it here in the interests of upping the crab quota, and also because it tastes brilliant *scuttles away waving pincers* 

I’ve long been of the opinion that crab is the tastiest creature to walk the earth and seabed (sideways). So yes, it’s my favourite food but even if it were not, I’d still recognise that it’s far tastier than lobster, and much cheaper as a bonus. We’re at the start of the brown crab season now, which continues until around November time, so we can make the most of them all spring and summer long.

We’re all familiar with crab salads, crab on toast and crab linguine, but crab fried rice is a great way to use the crustacean that’s often overlooked – unless you’re Thai. The origins of this dish are South East Asian, then, and it makes use of lots of those familiar bright, aromatic flavourings such as ginger, coriander and chilli.

I’ve matched the dish with a Provencale rosé, pale in colour with delicate pineapple and anise herbal notes that make it just about the most moreish of rosé styles. While it’s traditionally considered an aperitif, we all know it works equally well with food, particularly creatures of the sea.

I’ve toned down the chilli heat here (which would normally be three times as punchy) so as not to hobble the wine and I think the match is an excellent one – the bright lime and coriander top notes sing and the deep umami of the crab meat shines just that bit brighter against the wine’s crisp acidity.

Crab Fried Rice Recipe (matched with 2014 Chateau la Moutete, Grand Reserve Rose)

Serves 2

250g Jasmine rice (dry weight), cooked
2.5 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 bird’s eye chilli, finely sliced
1 inch ginger, peeled and grated
3 medium cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 large eggs
150g picked white crab meat
2 spring onions, finely sliced
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon Fino sherry or Shaoxing rice wine
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
Handful fresh coriander leaves
Sliced cucumber, to serve

Heat half a tablespoon of the oil in a wok over a high heat. Add the chilli, ginger and garlic and cook, stirring for around 10 seconds, just until fragrant.

Add half the rice (we don’t want to crowd the pan) then stir fry until the rice is just starting to colour and has taken on a chewy texture – a few minutes should do it. Set aside, add another half tablespoon of oil and stir-fry the remaining rice. Add the first lot of rice back to the pan and stir to combine.

Add the fish sauce, sherry or Shaoxing rice wine and soy. Stir fry to combine and cook until evaporated.

Push the rice to one side of the wok and crack in both eggs, then scramble them with your spatula, stirring until cooked. Break into pieces and combine with the rice.

Add the crab and spring onions and cook, stirring until the crab meat is warmed through. Stir in the coriander and taste for seasoning, adding salt if necessary. Serve with the sliced cucumber.

Spring has sprung. I think? We’re having proper April weather in London when the previous few years it’s been hot enough to get sunburnt. This is what the weather should be like at this time of year – unpredictable, prone to sudden downpours that last only minutes, followed immediately by bright sunshine. If you’re really lucky, there will be rainbows.

I wanted to do a sandwich for spring because it’s been a while since we had one here, which is really poor form from a writer who loves things in bread so much she wrote a book about them. It had to be chicken, for some reason, alongside lots of green things on the softest white bread. There’s a lot to be said for going all out, and as much as I adore the OTT richness of, say, mayonnaise made with the fat from chicken cooked with 40 cloves of garlic, this time, I wanted something fresher.

So the chicken is poached, and the mayo is super-herby. There’s English lettuce floppier than Hugh Grant’s hair and white bread so soft you could sleep on it. There are also sliced Crimean onions, which are mild, sweet and lovely but drove me up the wall for a week because I couldn’t stop singing ‘Crimean onions’ to the tune of Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me A River.

What really makes this sandwich though is the Parmesan crisp. We thought about using chicken crackling at first, which is fantastic in a sandwich but just not ‘spring’ enough. The Parmesan crisp works brilliantly because it’s got the texture, but also the super savoury salty-fat thing going on. It’s like an umami cracker for your sandwiches, basically, and who doesn’t want that?

Spring Chicken Sandwiches

(makes 2 really huge sandwiches which you could reasonably share between 4)

2 chicken breasts
2 bay leaves
1 head garlic, chopped in half
A large handful of mixed herbs (I used mint, parsley and chives)
2 heaped tablespoons mayonnaise
Soft English lettuce leaves
1 avocado, sliced
Sliced red onion (slice it very thin and give then a ten-minute ice water bath if you like to take out the sting)
Parmesan
Good quality soft white bread, sliced
Lemon juice

Poach the chicken in water with the bay leaves and garlic. They’ll take around 15-18 minutes and are cooked when the internal temperature is 71C or you cut them open and they’re, you know, cooked.

Preheat the oven to 200C. Grate Parmesan and pile it onto a baking sheet in heaped tablespoons. Bake for around 5 minutes until flat and crisp.

Mix the herbs with the mayonnaise and a squeeze of lemon juice then spread on both pieces of bread for each sandwich. Layer up the ingredients with the Parmesan crisp on top. Eat immediately, otherwise, the crisp will soften (but still taste good).

I often enjoy popping my rose-tinted glasses on and having a look back at the food I grew up with in the 80’s. Perhaps many of you have stories about grannies and apron strings but what I have is memories of things that came in boxes marked Findus or Bird’s Eye. Fond memories. In the wake of the horsemeat scandal I was delighted to trot down memory lane and revisit the Findus Crispy Pancake, which I filled with 100% horse and coated in crumb the colour of cheesy Wotsits. Yesterday, it was the turn of boil in the bag cod in parsley sauce.

I expect many of you remember this delicacy of cod and sauce ready combined inside a flappy plastic bag, which your mum simply plopped into the water and served up 15 minutes later with peas and mashed potato. It was a personal favourite of mine and so we decided to have a bash at recreating it, with some more modern-day high falutin changes, natch.

I’m a big fan of Farmdrop, which is why I had these hake fillets in the fridge, but also why I didn’t have any wild garlic, since it had failed to arrive from their supplier. I thought it would be so lovely in the sauce that I became a touch obsessed with finding some, spending two hours traipsing around local woodland with no luck; in the end, I bought some in Borough Market for the very reasonable price of ten million pounds per kilo.

It’s very simple this recipe. Just make the sauce, cool it a bit and whack it in sandwich bags with the fish. Is it ok to cook things in sandwich bags? Apparently. I wanted to do this recipe so I didn’t ask too many questions. It’s basically like sous vide except sous vide fish is gross and slimy so we just poached it at a slightly higher temperature (using a thermometer). You could, of course, poach it separately or fry and serve with the sauce but really, you’d be letting the team down.

The mash is lumpy yes, thanks for asking. The reason for this is because we poshed it up by doing half spud, half salsify, and the latter broke our crappy potato ricer (because I bought it in Khan’s). What you see there, then, is lovely smooth mash with chopped salsify in it. We also forgot the peas.

All in all, a resounding success.

Hake with Parsley & Wild Garlic Sauce (in the style of Bird’s Eye)

This is actually incredibly delicious and there’s no reason at all for you to stuff up your mash or forget the peas. 

2 hake fillets (sorry, didn’t weigh them)
1 small onion finely chopped
2 bay leaves
5 black peppercorns
550 ml milk
30g butter
40g flour
Small handful parsley, chopped
Small handful wild garlic, chopped
The heaviest duty zip lock freezer bags you can find
You’ll also need a thermometer

Bring the milk to the boil with the onions, bay and peppercorns, then turn off and leave for 10 minutes. Strain.

In a clean saucepan, melt the butter, then add the flour to the pan, stirring constantly until it’s combined into a light brown paste. Slowly add the milk bit by bit, stirring until each addition is incorporated in the sauce. The sauce should coat the spoon, leaving a clean area for a second on the base of the pan after swiping with a spatula.

Cover with cling film, laying the film directly on the surface of the sauce. Leave to cool a bit.

When cool (you just don’t want it too hot), add the parsley and wild garlic and season to taste (it’ll take quite a bit of salt as it’s rich and creamy).

Put one hake fillet in each bag then spoon in the sauce. Bring a large pan of water up to about 40C, then push the open bags gently into the water allowing the water pressure to force the air out of the bags, once the surface of the water is just over the zip lock line, seal the bag. Bring the water up to about 56C and cook on the lowest heat for 15 mins. When ours were done the water was about 64C, so the fish was cooked through and still super moist.

Serve with mash, peas and a heavy dose of nostaglia.