All posts tagged: Spring

Come-To-Bed Parmigiana, 74p [from ‘Veganish’]

Almost three years ago now, I turned up to work late, sleepless, an incoherent babbling wreck chewed up by an 18 month landmark court trial and with bright copper dye fading from my wiry, tousled mania of hair. I left my walking stick in the lobby, and limped in to work…to find a hand thrust towards me in a polite gesture of welcome, a smile, a curt hello. She introduced herself. I apologised seven times for my lateness and my pulled-from-a-car-wreck appearance. She was firm and professional, and she smiled at me again. And I felt that self-same car wreck collide with my solar plexus and toss me down a rabbit hole of giddy head spinning highs and that soaring, almost nauseatingly disorienting feeling of time stopping and slowing and turning on its head. I stumbled away, a new crush ablaze across my cheeks and in every tip of my fingers, burning coiled springs in the soles of my feet, a song whispering in the cold, grey, slumbering chamber of my strange little heart. And …

Perfect Roast Potatoes, 14p [from ‘Veganish’]

Perfect roast potatoes are simply one of life’s greatest pleasures – one of the soft and easy comforts that transports me straight back to a wicker chair in my elderly (and now devastatingly dearly departed) Aunty Helens conservatory in her house in Plymouth, where I spent the summers of my childhood being chased around the garden by a large and furious goose called Charlie. Aunty Helen – as any great Greek Cypriot woman is intuitively inclined to – would feed us from the moment we awoke beneath hand-crocheted heavy blankets, until the moment we crawled satiated and delighted back beneath the same. It was at Aunty Helens that I learned about the birds and the bees, aged 9, leafing open-mouthed through More! magazine’s ‘Position Of The Fortnight’ from a pile of women’s magazines carefully concealed beneath a Readers Digest in the downstairs bathroom. And it was at Aunty Helens that the first seeds of a love of cookery were planted, standing in her galley kitchen that was filled with light, peeling so many spuds we …

Easter Egg Brownies, 22p

I probably come across as a slightly miserly parent here – and I absolutely am not one – but I detest the cheap sugar orgy this time of year. Yes, children should absolutely have treats. My son has plenty of treats. But we’d barely finished the Christmas chocolate this year when the Easter eggs started to turn up, despite me beseeching well-meaning family and friends that we really do get enough. One, in my books, is plenty enough. And so, over the years, I have declared the Saturday after Easter Sunday as some kind of Easter Chocolate Amnesty, whereby we all pool whatever is left to be squirrelled away in the sweetie tin (which comes out on Sundays after dinner), and baked into something for the household to share. I know I sound strict, but I was raised by fairly strict parents, and sometimes I open my mouth and one of them just pops out. At 31 years old, I have never needed a single filling in my teeth, and have narrowly avoided any dental …