Beans, blossom and bluebells



This simplistic task of pegging out my whites and admiring the view from between the pegs reminded me how lovely it is to live here, especially when the sky is blue. I have been busy in the garden the last two weekends, investing the time sowing and planting in the hope of bumper crops later in the summer. In addition to planting, I have done a lot of pottering and admiring as you will see!

 

 

Not wanting to miss the bluebells this year, I wandered over to a little woody copse a few metres from the end of our garden with my camera.

 

 

From a distance this circle of Scot's pines, sycamore and oak doesn't look much and I rarely bother to walk over to it. The children go through phases of making dens in there but most of the time it's taken for granted and we forget it's there.

 

 

At this time of year though, there is an unmistakably blue haze that emanates from the lower part of the copse. The bluebells are up. Covering the woodland floor, this circular indigo carpet lines the wooded area.

 

 

The fragile nodding bells with their leathery, frondy leaves forbid anyone to enter the woodland grove lest the flowers be crushed underfoot.

 

 

 On return from the bluebell grove, I noticed that the apple blossom is finally out. Our fruit trees are very small because we planted them when we moved here four years ago. So far, there has been very little fruit but the blossoms suggest we might get more this year. 

 

 

 My job this afternoon was planting courgettes. I always dig a hole about six inches deep, fill it with horse manure, cover it over into a heap like a little mountain and put the courgette plant in the top. Courgettes and squashes are very hungry vegetables and like a lot of nutrients and water, so the mountain stores this inside and the roots travel down to feed. The slightly raised position also ensures the vegetables sit above the ground and don't lie on the soil and rot.

 

 

The beans are doing well in the ground. We have set a double row of runner beans and a double row of borlotti beans. White and pink speckled borlotti beans are so lovely in soups and stews. You also don't need to keep an eye on them for getting too big or stringy because they can grow to maturity with the beans getting bigger and more flavoursome inside.

 

 

 These healthy plants germinated and grew very quickly in our new greenhouse; a huge benefit after the long winter.

Remaining courgettes grow on the windowsills, waiting for us to find time to plant them.

 

 

 

 Broad beans finally poke their heads out of the well-hoed soil. I just can't wait to eat them but everything is so far behind, it will be months rather than weeks until they can be eaten.

 

 

This forsythia looks spectacular growing around the barn window. It blooms like this for about six days and then the flowers drop off. A reminder that spring is well underway.

 

 

 

 

Rose red camellia japonica blooms stand out against waxy evergreen leaves. 

 

 

 

 This cherry tree was planted last year and has a beautiful blousey blossom.

 

 

 

 Victoria plum blossom is very open and simplistic in comparison.

 

 Rosemary is thriving against the garden wall in a light sandy soil. The little purpley flowers look pretty as a garnish for potatoes and lamb.

 

 

The copper beech by the gate has unfurled its leaves to provide a striking contrast to the lime green of its cousins. 

 

 

A line of white linen drying in the spring sunshine is a happy sight in the garden, proving that not all garden beauty lies in nature, growth and flowers.

 

At the end of the day when the sun sinks behind the farm, the colours turn from bright yellows and cerulean to indigo, lime and gold. Time for a well-earned glass of wine.

Porky products and olive bread

Before I begin. Let me first apologise to my more-squeamish followers. This post is not for fainthearted foodies. I can promise my next post, which should be published later on, is more benign and much prettier.

So anyway, I have acquired a whole pig that has been shared with my parents. I love a bargain and I am a great believer in filling the freezer for emergencies so when my local butcher offered me a deal, I couldn't resist.

Let me place this pork fetish into context; we are ex-pig keepers. A few years ago, my dad and I kept a pig each on a neighbour's bit of land and we did indeed utilise everything but its oink. We butchered it ourselves and turned it into all manner of porky products, such as black pudding, homemade sausages, pork pies, bacon, brawn and conventional roasting joints. Ever since then, we have wanted to keep pigs again but while our house is perfect for vegetables and chickens, there are no rough pieces of land suitable for pigs. Our kind butcher offered to cut the pig up how we wanted it and promised me he would keep the head whole.

 

Peggy and Nettles; our first experience of pig keeping

Now you may wonder why anyone in their right mind would even begin to want to deal with a pig's head. In many ways even I wouldn't bother, but I was determined to give it a try. As a keen collector of vintage cookbooks, I had perused many old country recipes that use part, if not all of a pig's head and curiosity had got the better of me. In addition to the head, I asked for the offal, trotters and bones so nothing would be wasted.

 

It's all gone a bit Lord of the Flies in our kitchen

I sat the head in the centre of the kitchen while I pondered what to do with it and set about boiling up the bones to make little pots of jellied pork stock for the freezer. 

 

 

I filled a large stock pot with bones, trotters, onions, juniper berries and seasoning and let the whole lot simmer for 6 hours.  The end result was poured into little plastic containers and stacked in my freezer for when I make pork pies or pea soup in the winter.

 

 

Meanwhile I decided to boil the head before roasting to ensure all the inside bits had cooked properly. I think it looks quite endearing with its head partly submerged in a bath of stock. 

 

Whilst the end product of roasted pig's head doesn't win any prizes for presentation, it was very delicious. The pig's cheeks or more traditionally named 'bath chaps' were enjoyed by our guests. The flavour is very sweet and the meat a lovely porky contrast of very white and very dark meat. The crispy ears were also popular like a crunchy pork scratching. The leftover meat that we and our adventurous dinner party guests didn't manage to finish was mashed up with onion and herbs and turned into potted pork-perfect for spreading on toast.

 

 

 In addition to the roasted head, I made a big pan of smokey ham and pea soup for a starter and froze the rest in portion-sized batches.

 

 

 

To accompany the soup and a pate that I was planning, I knocked up a quick olive bread.

Simply throw in 2 chopped cloves of garlic, 3 heaped tablespoons of sliced black olives and a large tablespoon of olive oil into your regular white bread dough. On the second rise, score the top of the loaf and scatter with chopped rosemary and a dusting of flour. I think these rosemary flowers look very pretty-such a shame they won't survive the oven.

 

 

This loaf has a lovely Mediterranean flavour and a good consistency. 

 

 

This pork liver pate was very easy to make.

 

 Put a very fresh pork liver (free of sinews) and a large handful of chopped belly pork into the food processor with 1 onion and 2 cloves of garlic and blend until smooth.

Place into a bowl and add a good handful breadcrumbs and a small glass of port or brandy. Mix well.

Line a loaf tin with streaky bacon and pack the pate mixture inside. Wrap the bacon around the top and lay a sheet of greaseproof paper on top. Wrap in tin foil and place in an oven tray containing about 1 inch of water. Bake in a medium oven for 2-3 hours until the top feels firm and springy. When cooled, turn on to a pretty plate and garnish. Serve with the olive bread. 

 

This is just a little insight into what I have done with the by-products of our bargain pig. While I wouldn't go into a butcher's shop and buy a pig's head out of choice, I feel quite confident in making sure this perfectly economical cut is not wasted if we ever keep our own pigs again. If you ever see pig's cheeks on the menu in a trendy Norfolk gastro pub, I strongly recommend you give them a try.

Spring lamb French style



After an extended period of harsh winter weather with the ground lying dormant, nature seems to be waking up. The first primroses are in bloom in the churchyard and the daffodils are slowly replacing the late snowdrops.

 

My teaching job took me on the French exchange for a few days to the welcoming town of Niort in the Poitou-Charentes region. About half way down the Western coast and about 30 miles inland from La Rochelle, we enjoyed a considerably warmer climate than Britain for the duration of our stay. With stories of ongoing frosts and snow coming from home, I made the most of the sun on my face. Whilst it still felt chilly on our return, at least the sun has been out. Spring seems to be starting. 

 

A view of the French town of Niort from the roof of its fourteenth century castle keep.

 

Lunch: du pain, du vin et de beurre-simplicity itself!



 

Every time I go to France, I come home with an intensified appreciation of food. I am inspired by the way local foods are celebrated; each course is savoured with regional wine and meal times are warm, conversational and ritualistic. Whilst I do aim for this approach at home, I never serve three or four course meals as a matter of routine.

Needless to say, I embarked upon this trip with a nearly empty suitcase and returned with it crammed with pungent cheeses, local wines, Calvados, olives, sweets, pate, tins of cassoulet, sausages and liqueurs.  

Having returned home just after the Easter period, I felt the lack of my usual roast lamb, so I set about researching authentic French lamb dishes. A leg of lamb is an expensive cut of meat, and feeling the pinch of my over-indulgence across the channel, I wanted to prepare a more economical meal that didn't compromise the flavour.

 

Finally I settled on Rachel Khoo's 'Navarin d'agneau printanier'-Spring lamb stew. The recipe called for neck of lamb, a marbled cut of meat surrounding a central bone. It was not only the price that attracted me to this dish (£4 per kilo), but the reputation of the meat; the marbled consistency and the bone imparts a beautiful sweet glossiness to the flavour. Furthermore, I am heartily sick of root vegetables and crave the green beans and peas that play a key role in this stew.

 

Four slices of lamb neck

 

I was cooking a dinner party for 8 people so I used 10 thick slices of neck, costing me just over £10 however, you could feed a family of four with this dish for less than £5. I tend to use Graves' Butchers in Briston for everyday meat (http://hvgravesroasts.co.uk/contact_us.htm). They are fantastic value and quality, source locally and know their stuff. I always find them a wealth of knowledge about different cuts of meat, how long to cook particular joints and flavours that compliment particular dishes. Interestingly, the butcher that served me yesterday said that not many young people cook neck of lamb and that it's more popular with their elderly customers. All it needs is a longer cooking time.

 

Rachel Khoo's Spring Lamb Stew taken from her book: The Little Paris Kitchen (I have adapted it to my taste and availability of ingredients)

 

Ingredients (for 4 people-I doubled main ingredients and trebled herbs and spices)

1 tbsp olive oil

1kg/2lb 4oz lamb neck, cut into pieces

2 garlic cloves, crushed to a paste

1 onion, finely chopped

1 bay leaf

2 sprigs of thyme

4 carrots, cut into chunks

100g/3½oz fresh or frozen peas

100g/3½oz green beans

salt and pepper

 

 Brown the meat in a flame-proof casserole dish. Do it in several batches and set meat aside if you are cooking a lot.

 

 

I used much more flavour than Rachel Khoo suggested-especially more garlic and thyme. 

 

Instead of the chopped carrots as suggested, I found these lovely Chantenay carrots in the greengrocers and thought they would look prettier left whole.

 

You add the onion, garlic, herbs and carrots to the lamb, cover with water and bring to the boil, before placing in the oven at around 170 C for 2-3 hours (or until meat begins to fall off the bones).

 

It is still early for all of these vegetables, and broad beans proved the biggest challenge to purchase locally. French beans made an excellent replacement. 

 

15 minutes before serving, boil the green vegetables and add to the stew.

 

 

The spring vegetables look like glistening jewels in the clear stock.

Add salt and plenty of pepper to taste. 

 

 

 

 As an ex-vegetarian, my husband is squeamish about eating meat from the bone, so in this case, I removed them. I don't think this is necessary for the less fussy, but our lurcher, Bella, enjoyed the by-product.

 

 

 

 Navarin d'agneau printanier

 

This was a very delicately flavoured dish. I served it with potatoes boulangères which made an excellent marriage.

 

 

 

And so the last of the snowdrops take a bow in the garden, making way for primroses and the promise of bluebells.

 The chickens scratch contentedly in the sunlight, searching for beetles and stray potato peelings.

 

Let's all keep our fingers crossed for a warmer spring and a fertile gardening year.

Lady Marmalade



The abundance of pungent Seville oranges in greengrocers for sixty pence per pound can only mean one thing: 't is the season for making marmalade.

 

 

 

Seville oranges seem to be the orangest oranges. They are knobbly, not especially juicy and very bitter. Yet these qualities seem to impart the best flavour and texture for marmalade.

Marmalade is one of those uniquely British entities that I love. It reminds me of hotel breakfasts-which is a wonderful reminder on a wintry Sunday morning when I'm padding around the house in my slippers clutching part of the Observer. Picture the hot, crusty, hand-cut toast, slathered with slightly-salted butter and adorned with golden, orange shreds. To me, this is utter dreaminess.

 

 

I follow the Delia Smith school of thought when it comes to this precious English preserve. There are certain recipes in my life that always have to be Delia: Christmas cake, roast turkey and cheese scones to name but a few; marmalade is one of these.

I double the quantities, but I use two preserving pans for each quantity. The danger of overloading a jam pan is that it takes hours to set and what you gain in quantity, you lose in hours of your life.

 

The recipe for one quantity (5/6 jars) is:

 

2lb Seville oranges

4 pints water

1 lemon

4lb sugar

 

Method:

Cut the oranges in half. Squeeze out the juice of the all the oranges and the lemon and pour through a sieve into the preserving pan. The idea is that you collect and save the pips and pith in a sieve to help the setting process later. Set aside the sieve and add the water to the preserving pan. Scoop out the worst of the pith from the orange halves (compost your lemon skin unless you want to save it for a lemon cake or save it to flavour a roast chicken). Place the scooped out pith into the sieve with the pips.

Next, cut the halved orange skins into quarters and shred: chunky or fine, it's up to you. Chuck the shreds of orange into to the pan with the juice and water. Place the pips and pith into a muslin or jelly bag and tie up. Chuck the little bag of pips into your pan too. In case you are wondering-the pips and pith are full of pectin-the magic ingredient that will make your marmalade set. This is released into your liquor as you heat it up.

Boil the little golden shreds of orange in the juice and water for two hours. Do not add the sugar at this stage. After two hours your shreds should be soft and becoming slightly transparent.

 

The shredded peel before boiling.

 

My jelly bag full of pips and pith is suspended in a cluttered sea of shreds.

 

After two hours, take out the muslin bag and cool. Squeeze out the white, gloopy pectin from your pith bag into the pan. Add the sugar and bring to a rapid boil. Depending on your cooker and pan, it could take between 20 minutes and 1 hour to reach setting point. (Look up how to test for setting point if not sure) Make sure you have some clean, hot (10 minutes at 100 C in the oven) jars ready. I strategically bought my husband a jam funnel for Christmas. This makes life so much easier when ladling this glistening sticky concoction into your little jars; no sloppy mess or sticky dribbles!

 

 Once you have put your marmalade in the jars, screw your lid on tightly straight away with the help of a tea towel or oven gloves- it is too hot for hands!

Don't even attempt to put labels on until your jars have cooled and you've wiped them with a damp cloth.

 

 I was delighted to find this Cath Kidston preserve labelling kit in my Christmas stocking this year. Instant pretty jars to ensure you are never short of a lovely homemade gift to present to friends and loved ones.

 

 These stout little vintage Kilner jars are for family use. No need for a fancy lid cover-just a nice wide neck to allow in many butter knives at breakfast time.

 

 If you save smallish jars, it doesn't cost you much much to give them as presents.

 

 

 It was a busy day yesterday and aside from the marmalade, I made cheese and onion rolls-that almost didn't get their picture taken  due to the hungry hoards.

 

 A wholemeal loaf kept the rolls company for a while.

 

 A packet of dates leftover from the Christmas period inspired me to knock up a Delia Smith sticky date cake, the perfect accompaniment to my new favourite tipple: Lapsang Souchong. As children we used to call this 'kipper tea'-because of its smokiness-it doesn't have a hint of fish, honestly. Just really smokey, refreshing and alternative.

 

This is such a moist fruit cake and perfect for my hungry husband who comes in from the snow after chopping wood, heading in the pantry direction with a dangerously famished intention in his eyes. The perfect slice of cake with a mug of tea.

 

Delia dictates:

110g raisins

225g pitted dates-chopped

175g sultanas

110g currants

275g margerine

275ml water

400g tin condensed milk

150g plain flour

150g wholemeal flour

pinch salt

3/4 teaspoon bicarbonate soda

1 generous tablespoon marmalade (see above)

 

Preheat oven to 170C

 

Method:

Throw all the fruit, margerine, condensed milk and water in a pan. Bring to the boil, stirring regularly. Simmer for just 3 minutes. Pour into a large mixing bowl and cool for 30 mins. Sir in the flours, bicarbonate soda, salt and marmalade. Spoon the mixture into a greased and lined 2lb loaf tin or 8 inch square cake tin. Cover the mixture with a double layer of greaseproof paper with a couple of 1 inch slits in-this prevents the top of the cake burning. Bake for 2 1/2 hours. Cool for 5 mins before turning onto a wire rack. This cake will keep for several weeks in an airtight container-if it doesn't get eaten before then!

 All of this productivity is due to the current climate. Rarely does our house look like a Christmas card-but it does right now. Long walks, sledging and baking are compulsory whilst the garden lies sleeping beneath its white blanket.

 

 Big blue North Norfolk skies and snowy farm tracks are a perfect setting for Miss DB to take out her sledge.

 

 The medieval estate church looks stunning surrounded in a white carpet.

 

Our house and the church balanced at the brink of the field, the resting place of a Norman village whose remains are nothing more than the occasional lucky beep on the farmer's metal detector.

  

 The track to civilisation.

 

 

I love the intensity of the sky. When clear, there is no difference between a layer of snow or two feet of golden corn. The sky is still vast and blue.

 

I love it when the county freezes and everything is covered in clean, white snow. I find myself dreaming of Narnia, contemplating the appearence of Mr Tumnus and hankering after the hot chocolate and Turkish delight offered by the White Witch in her sledge. When the snow turns muddy and begins to melt, I wish it would go away instantly and make way for spring, birdsong and the promise of new growth.

There is something so wonderful and a bit bonkers about having exotic, cheap Seville oranges to make this deliciously English preserve in the depth of such dormancy.

Now is the time for tea and toast. Until next time.. x