The very long, very hot, July weekend

Storm clouds behind an apple tree on Sunday afternoon.

I'm knackered. I'll keep this short.

Long: Thursday (10 guests), Friday (7), Saturday (8). Hannah, Jane, Sonya. We'll get to them.
Hot: around 30°C. More when stood in front of the hob or oven.

He's called Otto. And we have two of him

Many things to report, none of them important. My IQ is inversely proportional to the temperature. The heat affects ingredients as well as people. My goats cheese soufflés rose well and then sank even weller. Butter was either fridge rock or sun cream. Rhubarb sorbet didn't set. Two birthdays were celebrated. I did a day's storylining on Jekyll & Hyde. I met a French woman with the most unbelievably perfect English accent and a lady from Luxembourg.  A man turned up with a guitar and sang. It was the hottest day of the year. It pissed with rain. Our dishwasher packed up on Thursday night (beyond repair. Bloody marvellous). And the whole kitchen is now fan assisted, not just the ovens. Cracking bargains from CostCo.

And so to the group shots.

Hannah (middle, radiant in pink), or as she's more commonly known, Hannah LYDS, celebrated her birthday.

Jane and James (either end) and friends enjoyed food, much wine and James' repartee.

Sonya (take a guess) also had a birthday. And a dance. And a headache, after some unplanned pillar interfacing during said dancing.

Thankfully there was much overlap of the menus or this run of three might have been close to unmanageable. Everyone had the herb crusted rack of lamb and there were no vegetarians. My lamb is damn fine now. I have it to a 'T'. Hannah told me it was the best she'd ever eaten (and yes, she's had it before). I made a glorious port gravy using over a kilo of roast lamb mince in the stock. Gravies are still my favourite thing to get right. No idea why. It thrills me.

Lamb served medium pink with a crust of breadcrumbs, parmesan, mint, coriander, parsley and basil.

Turns out that 30°C is too hot to make soufflés and sorbet. My soufflé roux was too slick. I should have chilled it but it didn't occur to me. Some post hoc Googling reveals this to be an old trick. It meant the soufflés rose wonderfully, more than tripling in height, only to sink faster than the price of Rolf Harris' paintings. Chocolate truffles succumbed too. Even at 10.30pm and straight out of the fridge, they maintained their dignity for no more than ten minutes.

Sorbet just wouldn't set. Even with the freezer on super setting all my efforts were rewarded with a chewy, chilly sludge. I offered up raspberry and rose as a replacement. I'll do this again as rhubarb seems to be entirely green now. Rhubarb doesn't really have season so I'm not sure why this is. Were it a vibrant green I'd be happy but the sorbet once churned is more like the colour of discarded chewing gum. Raspberry comes out a very satisfying scarlet.

The upside of the heat was long, sultry sessions on the decking after dinner.

Rock and Roll (from Tommy)

Sex!

Was it something James said?

Vinegar porn

Complete coincidence that there were apples in the background but they work rather well I think.

I make a special trip to big Waitrose (the East Finchley branch, as Ming asked) for one main reason: a few bottles of L'Olivier fruit vinegar. I'd only ever seen the red pepper and the raspberry before. The red pepper variety is the base of a glaze that I use so often to coat roast vegetables and as an essential zizz in tomato sauce. The raspberry adds a fruity depth to a vinaigrette  I've even drunk the raspberry vinegar with vodka, sugar syrup and lime juice. THAT's how good it is. Don't mistake them for the pretty bottles of insipid sour that sit in some slick cardboard packaging at the back of your least used kitchen cabinet; probably a 'gift' at Christmas from someone who either doesn't care or doesn't really love you, or both. These are fruit vinegars of depth and character.

Soft focus vinegar porn

Anyway, imagine my dismay when I was told Waitrose no longer stocked the red pepper variety. A quick Google revealed a whole range: fig, tomato, grapefruit... none of which was available in the UK. You know that feeling when you find EXACTLY the scroggit you've been looking for only to the see the '$' next to it. Damn! But then I saw the Upton Smokery website and a screenful of exquisite, acetic temptation. New varieties! I ordered the Red Pepper, Grapefruit, Fig, Tomato and the Tomato and Basil. would have bought the whole range but I can neither afford it nor need it. The cassis would be great with duck, if I ever cooked it. Passion fruit sounds wonderful too, if only I could think of a recipe.

The first use will be on Friday. I'm serving goats cheese soufflés and normally I accompany this with a roast onion confit but the host has a mortal dread of everything allium so it will be a rocket and walnut salad with a walnut and grapefruit dressing.

They arrived today with a hand written note from Chris at Upton. The Tomato has been discontinued so he'd included two of the Tomato & Basil; hoped that was OK and to compensate had added three varieties of their own smoked sea salt. Normally  smoked salt is a waste of shelf space, like someone walking a box of Maldon past a bonfire,  but their stuff smell like a night in an arsonist's sleeping bag (in a good way). I'll be trying it on my tomato crisps this week. I think this will be a regular in my kitchen. And I hope this is the start of something significant with Upton Smokery.

This is my recipe for the glaze. I say recipe but I add stuff in rough ratios until I like the flavour.

New River Restaurant House Glaze.
In a glass, mix a tablespoon of oil with one of red pepper vinegar. Add a half tablespoon of (ideally) sugar syrup or failing that, castor sugar. Add a squeeze of lemon or lime juice. Fish out any pips if using lemon. Whisk with a fork. Taste and adjust. Add a knife tip of smoked paprika, less of cayenne, a good pinch of sea salt, black pepper and at least a half teaspoon of ground coriander. Taste again. Add more of everything probably, until something tingles. The flavour should be intense. Remember that this will be spread thin. Toss in some chopped herbs, maybe chives, lemon thyme, coriander leaf. Pour over roast veg.

This works very well with butternut squash that's been cubed and roasted at 180°C for about 25 mins. Check after 20. Depends how small your cubes are. Add some roast peppers too.

Manjit said 'my dancing days are behind me'. Four hours later...

That's Manjit in the middle, life and soul. Mind, she had a fair bit of competition.

An unusual weekend. Two groups of mums all originating their friendships in Woodberry Nursery school, Winchmore Hill. Was there a completive spirit as to who could make the biggest evening? Possibly.

Food wise there was nothing new to report, so I won't. I have just spent £60 on L'Olivier fruit vinegars though so will soon be prancing around here like an excited puppy. Fruit vinegar of this quality is at the heart of my dressings and glazes. It's an easy way to present something unusual. I served roast peppers, squash and courgette with my sweet, sour and smokey glaze this week. I've even drunk them with vodka and lime juice. More on this in the week.

Friday night, hosted by Helen (left) and sometimes Amy (right).
They'd all just jumped in the air (well, where else?) so Amy's a bit blurred. There's a clearer photo of her further down.
I'm making no jokes about people being a bit 'blurred' later.

Hosts Helen and Debs.

Saturday, hosted by Debs (right). These look like the more sober group here. 
Just shows how deceptive appearances can be.

I do like people to have a bit of a bop after dinner. Certainly it's not obligatory but If you can throw some shapes (sorry) in a stranger's house, it indicates a certain level of relaxation; that inhibitions have been at least parked.

I noted that as Friday evening progressed, after initially being quite reticent, Manjit grew more sure of her preferences. At one point, telling me to 'take off that crap' - the music her friends had just selected. I found it hard to deny her.

Saturday's night's guests took a little longer to take to the dance floor (the back lounge with the rug rolled up) but lacked no gusto once established. I think the early work was done by Cindy (below). She's South African and knew and liked my favourite new band Die Antwoord from Cape Town. I think they are spectacularly creative and original.

And here's that clearer photo of Amy I mentioned. She looks a little startled here though. Maybe it's due to Kirsten's nun impression. Best not to ask too many questions.

The Merchant House's stuffed courgettes

Someone on on the LYDS list asked me if I'd read Shaun Hill's book: The Merchant House. I hadn't. I have now and I wish I remembered who it was that recommended it. If you're reading this - shout out.

[EDIT: I've just learned that it was Samantha Hill. 'Any relation?' I asked, only half seriously. But yes, she's Shaun's daughter-in-law.]

I confess I'd not heard about Shaun Hill but the blurb excited me: a hugely experienced chef who decided to do something different and convert his Ludlow home into a restaurant staffed only by himself in the kitchen, his wife out the front and one waiter. Not only did he succeed in creating a much-in-demand restaurant, he was soon Michelin starred. One man, cooking on his own, in a kitchen smaller than mine, wins a star. It demonstrates what's possible!

What made the book so attractive was knowing that all the recipes had to be achievable by one person, albeit one vastly more accomplished and skilled than me, in a small space, in limited time. No brigade here, pushing all manner of food beauties to the pass, to be assembled by a head chef. It helps also that he writes so well... and with great humour. He has a healthy disdain for cheffy puffery, focussing on a limited menu of simple, delicious dishes. Which, obviously, is an aim I share in my own limited endeavours.

Shaun left the Merchant House in 2008 to go and run the Walnut Tree in Abergavenny. I've been there once (sadly post Franco) but now plan to go again.

Groups this weekend were my mate Sarah-Lou on Friday with her sizzle of Ealing mums. SL had meant to be one of my first diners in the third week, way back in 2012 but had been laid waste by leurgey en route. She's a TV writer, like me. Well, not like me. She's much busier and well liked.

Friday. Sarah Lou is at 3 o'clock. I thought this would be an interesting variation (I needed step ladders) but didn't consider than most of the shot would be table. I have just re-oiled it though. Not that you care.

 Saturday saw Jenny P (left) with her family; including a daughter visiting from Honk Konk. 

Both groups had given me an open spot for the starter so I thought I'd try one of Shaun's and settled on his Sicilian Stuffed Courgette. Why? The flavours seemed similar to the caponata that I've made many times; an unusual combination of everyday ingredients: olives, capers, oranges, breadcrumbs, onions and currants. A store-cupboard dish almost.

One caveat: no idea why he calls these 'stuffed'. The mix is piled on top and baked. 

I served them with Shaun's tomato and ginger sauce, which should maybe be better termed as ginger and tomato. (Just checked. It is. Oops.) This isn't an easy dish to make look like the sexy thing. This was my attempt.

My take on Shaun Hill's Sicilian stuffed courgette with ginger, garlic and tomato sauce.

Shaun Hill's Stuffed Courgette with Tomato and Ginger Sauce. This is enough for a main meal, especially if you add some chargrilled chicken, polenta or pork.

Serves 4.
Fry one finely chopped red onion in a good glug of olive oil until starting to colour. Add 90g of fresh breadcrumbs and fry until just golden. You might want to add more olive oil if it's all looking too dry. Season with salt and pepper. Now add 12 green olives, chopped (I mixed black and green), one tablespoon of small capers and two tablespoons each of pine nuts, currants and chopped parsley. (And bloody hell, why are pine nuts so expensive!? Anyone know where I can source good quality one cheaply that doesn't involve buying a skipful?)  Add the juice of a freshly squeezed orange (perhaps a touch of zest too), taste and season and set aside.

Why do recipes say 'freshly squeezed'? When did you last 'squeeze and leave'? Mind, the word 'fresh' is so misused on packaging; seeming only to reassure us that the foodstuff isn't actually off.

Anyway, boil four courgettes for two minutes and then refresh in ice water. Along with the mix, these can be kept until needed. Or thrown out... if you've changed your mind about the whole courgette thing and just fancy munching on the mix. I wouldn't advise this though.

Halve the courgettes, oil and season. Here I added a step and griddled my cut courgettes to give deep, dark grill lines. Pile the mix on top, brush with more oil and bake for 20 minutes at 200°C.

Shaun Hill's Fresh Ginger, Garlic and Tomato Sauce.
Skin (plunge into waters, boiling then cold) four good red, ripe tomatoes, quarter and deseed. Then chop small. Peel and finely chop a four inch knob of ginger, two shallots and two garlic cloves and a small red chilli (I omitted this). Sweat the above in a glug of oil, cooking gently for a couple of minutes. Add the diced tomato and a tablespoon of passata (God knows what you do with the rest. A Bloody Mary maybe?). Heat through. Season.

Just before serving, warm the sauce and beat in 25g of butter along with a couple of tablespoons of herbs. Shaun specified coriander and chives, I used coriander and dill, mainly because I don't believe anything less than a kilo of chives adds any flavour to a dish. Maybe chives were different once? Maybe they tasted of something?

The dish was well received  By this I mean clean plates and not just warm words. Even a couple of the men who confessed to pre meal concerns were won over.

And bugger! I've just realised, as my iPhone pinged the final result, that I've missed this year's Wimblybum men's final.

And look, I didn't even mention Jekyll & Hyde.

This blog is late but I don't care.

Where I was.

I'd had it all planned. This was going to be called Red Bavarois and Berries Not but then I was waylaid by work, writing work. I was whisked away to Wotton House (above) to help plot a new series of Jekyll & Hyde with (showrunner) Charlie Higson. This is why I don't care. I am very excited about the new work. It's such fun to be on a show at the start, helping to create a world and people it with characters who may become national icons; family friends. It means this blog might suffer though. When I sit down to write, the series will come first.

My apologies to the two groups who came last weekend. I'm normally very prompt in posting the group shots but my head has been full of magic and menace.

These are Friday's vegetarian guests, corralled by Nita (tallest at the back).

Saturday's pack of carnivores. Friends of Nasli (next to the brown pillar).

I was going to give you the recipe for the new starter, a bavarois of roasted red pepper. It's based on the pea one, substituting roasted red peppers and tomatoes for the legume content. But I kinda winged the creation so I have no definite amounts. I'll do it again some time and write it up. I served it with croutons of black olive bread and a salad of bitter frisee and baby sorrel in a lemon vinaigrette. Oh, and as I was in Borough Market, I couldn't resist buying some bright orange edible nasturtium flowers. I've come to my senses now though. here's a bad picture of the meal.

And the berries? I've been cooking much with strawberries (pate sablée) and raspberries (Pavlova) recently so I was reading about them. I came across an article about the divergence in the scientific and the popular understanding of what is a berry. Normally this kind of schism is only of interest to the pub bore or the quizmaster... so here goes:

Berries are rounded fruit containing seeds. So strawberries and raspberries are not berries at all. They are aggregate fruit. Things that are berries include watermelons and bananas. Also, if a fruit is red it means it isn't pollinated by insects, who see far more of the blue and ultra violet spectrum of light. Red fruit are eaten by birds who then spread the seeds in their droppings. Red pepper bavarois is eaten by neither.

Dried fruit or vegetable slices

Anything that can be sliced finely can be dried to a crisp. I often do apples, onions, tomatoes and more recently: strawberries. Slice with a knife (duh!) or better, a mandolin and dry on baking parchment, silicon sheet or Silpat for at least three hours in the oven at 70°C. It's an interesting and unusual (but simple) way to present everyday produce.

Veg should be seasoned first, especially tomatoes. Not just salt and pepper; I sometimes dust with smoked paprika or ground coriander. Fruit can benefit from a light brushing of sugar syrup - I often use a vanilla syrup on my apple slices - but it's not necessary; it just takes time and a low heat.

Peel the backing away from the fruit, rather than pick the slices off. Kept in a sealed container, these will last for at least a week.

I've also had success with blanched citrus peel which can then be ground to create a tongue dance dusting for desserts.

Deena's Dozen

Deena's Dozen. Herself at the front, hands crossed.

I always said I'd never do it.

"Someone will pull out," said Deena. "They always do." She's right. Too frequently the numbers tumble due to illness or child minding machinations. 10s become 8s. Deena hadn't noticed the stipulation on the web site that we cater for groups of 6 to 10. She confessed that she hadn't looked before she booked. And it was impossible, anyway, to exclude one of the couples. This was a tightly knit group. But it wouldn't be a problem. Someone always pulls out.

They didn't.

So I was faced with cancelling Deena's husband's birthday party... or entering the world of proper double-digit catering. Take a wild guess.

If I step back a few feet... I love how the back of the house is framed by the vines. Feels like a hidden space.
Anthony's pointing, with much amusement, at a tomato crisp. I don't know why. Perhaps he finds fruit funny.

We can't seat more than ten at the dining table so our old patio table was pulled into service in the lounge. This meant hosing off the shed spiders. A little bit of mobile protein that would not have pleased! The plan was for an eight and a four; call it the VIP seating or the unpopular table. In the end it was even more mixed and matched. Some staying out in the late June sun and others ranged across the two tables. By the main dish, it had gender split, with the women in the lounge, having managed to wangle in an extra chair. 

Deena expressed pleasure at the sight of the men remote. She preferred it like that.

Three tables in service. If you look carefully, you might see the world's largest cauliflower in the utility room.

And, of course, OF COURSE... just after the starter was served there came a call from a fraught family member with talk of childhood emesis*... and we lost one couple. The universe had listened... too late. 

The problems aren't just in the seating though. I can't plate up for twelve. I don't have the counter space and even if I did, the first plate would be cold by the time I finished the last, especially with a meat/vegetarin split, as this was.

I discussed this with my boys, for the 10+ I needed both their help. We decided on a canteen style service, with guests queueing with plates and us serving them as fast as we could. It seemed to work. The plates certainly weren't as elegant as they normally are but no one cared, apart from me. Yes, we had mismatched plates, a right old mishmash of linen and we had to wash all the cutlery between every course but It didn't affect the flavour of the food. It may even have contributed to a more relaxed atmosphere. I want to be careful here though, a restaurant can be too relaxed. We are here for you. Service must still feel... attentive but generous. People soon get the arse when there's no wine, or water on the table. Even brilliant food will not ameliorate appalling service but good service will salvage a poor meal. I think guests are much more likely to excuse bad cooking than a bad attitude. Not that I want to experiment!

Starter was roast onion tart with charred asparagus, a horseradish mascarpone and a little dressed rocket. Oh god, I've just realised I've been spelling mascarpone as marscapone, all my life. I've even looked it up. How embarrassing.

I don't think I can make a dark brown tart look any prettier than this. The pink sprinkle is peppercorn.

Mains was either a whole roast poussin (baby chicken) or roast vegetables with a sweet, sour and smokey glaze. Both were served with a basil pesto and/or a lemon verbena hollandaise sauce.

The poussin were stuffed with rosemary, garlic, lemon and shallots and roasted - a sprinkle of Madeira (always spell that wrong too) towards the end - for 40 minutes at 220°C. These were half kilo birds. There are many recipes that ask for 50 or even 60 minutes of cooking: 'until the juices run clear.' After that long there'd be no juices to run!

***Update*** I now roast the poussin for only 34 minutes. No pinkness, just juicy flesh.***

I rested the birds for 15 minutes, basting frequently with the roasting juices. You can rest the poussin upside down which makes the juices flow into the breast. This really does work but it means you have soggy skin. It's a choice.

I also did two types of rösti, green beans and a simple lettuce salad with a lemon dressing.

Catering quantities of rösti. I normally do individual ones. Come to think of it... no idea why I didn't this time.

Would I do it again? Yes. But hopefully not often. It was a lot more work and I need both boys to help, which isn't always an easy option. Not only are they often preoccupied but there's always the jeopardy of a snarling internecine skirmish breaking out which requires use of none-too-hushed disciplinary language from chef. Actually, on this occasion, both my sons, Fabian and Etien, seemed to relish the change. Perhaps because it demanded new levels of attention. So despite the kids' below-counter ankle kicking, I enjoyed it too. I could even make believe it was a real restaurant.

And no, I'm not doing that. Never.



*All reports were of a fully recovered child. See, I'm not heartless.

How to be a good cook. Requirement 1 (of three)

But before we get onto that... Eme came for dinner with friends this Thursday. Eme has many friends and seems to be a bit of a social organiser; this being the sixth visit she's organised to New River Restaurant. Maybe I should start a loyalty scheme? Many thanks for the support Eme. She has this little foible of wanting to eat her desserts with a teaspoon. Little mouthfuls. I used to do something similar... making myself savour.

The main dish was cod en papillote with a lemon verbena hollandaise sauce (and potato rösti, green beans and spinach). This combination needs to be timed to the minute. The fish takes 14 minutes or so in the oven. The sauce needs to be made just before. Yes you can make Hollandaise earlier and try to keep it warm in a bowl over hot water but that risks splitting.

Cod en papillote with a lemon verbena hollandaise, spinach and rösti.
This is before the green beans were added.

So, as a solo cook. I have to put the fish in and then make the sauce just before I plate up. I cheat anyway and do it the Delia way, pouring melted butter onto reduced white wine and egg yolks while hand-blending. But should the sauce split, I'd have to make another batch... and the fish would overcook, not by much but I am a fish fetishist. Just a few minutes changes a fillet of delicate texture and flavour into one of those little, white, school rubbers. I've sent fish back many times. Most recently at Hix in London who tried to serve me a lemon sole with the texture of cotton wool! So I am a little concerned about getting it right myself.

And that's the most important attribute of cooking; of being a decent cook. Timing. You also need interest and commitment, and yes they come together. Enough interest to want to provide something beyond mere fuel and the commitment to follow through. Skill helps but you can prepare delicious food without much skill. Fish en papillote being a case in point. Doesn't matter how good your palate, how creative your flavour combinations, how impressive your knife work or boning technique; If you screw up the timing, your food's pants.

That's something I've learned over these past two years (ooh, a top tip). Never have more than two interdependent menu items. Can't be done. You need things like the potatoes and the beans that are less temporally sensitive. The rösti can be left in a warm oven for ten minutes without spoiling; the beans maybe for three. At a push, you can press an idle teenager into moving veg around a warm pan.

I used to have a menu flow diagram on the fridge for each booking, showing what needed to happen and when. Now I just have a list of the dishes, broken down into elements. I put a dash through them to show I've got them and a line through when that element is as prepared as it needs to be for the final fathering. That's another top tip: take as much as you can as far as you can. Veg can be par boiled or pre cooked. To cook green beans I use the old restaurant trick of blanching in boiling water for 90 seconds then plunging into ice water to stop the cooking. This also fixes the chrolophyl in the beans and preserves a vibrant green colour. To serve I toss them around in a little seasoned water and butter in a very hot pan. Takes two minutes max. I also use my fridge list to jot down changes to the menu and items to buy. This doesn't mean, ahem, that I've never forgotten anything. My family will tell tales of Dad's look of horror as he turns to use the marscapone/goats cheese/raspberry vinegar only to find it's not there. Thankfully, Waitrose shuts at 9 and my children are fleet of foot.

The gorilla is optional by the way.

Pâte sablée

Pâte sablée is the richest of all the French pastry. It's also one of the most difficult to work with due to the very high butter content. You have to struggle for these calories. It's worth the work though; the result is a crumbly, crisp crust or biscuit that does melt in the mouth. It's very much like a fine shortbread but I think the flavour is superior.

Maybe not

This recipe is one of M. Roux Snr's. Of course.

In a food processor: 250g plain flour, 100g icing sugar and 200g butter (cut into pieces and slightly softened). Pulse until the mix is breadcrumbed. Now add two egg yolks and pulse again. As soon as the mix comes together, scrape out onto a floured surface and knead a few times to fully amalgamate. It will stick to your hands, like an underperforming CEO to their bonus. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for at least 30 mins.

When cold and stiff, the dough is much easier to handle. But still, the trick is to roll out the dough between sheets of greaseproof, or silpat and greaseproof should you be so bestowed. Go as thin as you can; 2mm is ideal. Much thinner and the eventual biscuit will be a liability, shrapnel-ing on contact with eager fingers. Peel off the top layer of paper and bake. Any surface indentations left by the paper will disappear.

Bake at 170°C for between 8 to 12 minutes. If you've opted for a chunkier biscuit than it'll be longer still. Watch carefully after 8 mins, especially the edges. The longer the bake, the more developed the flavour but you might prefer the look of the paler. In the pic above, the bake varies by about two minutes.

Strawberry crisp made the same way as the apple, fine slice then dry on Silpat in a 70°C oven for at least three hours.

The traditional method is to make a well in the flour, adding the butter in the middle and then... yadder, yadder. The traditional method of traversing the globe is on foot and I don't do that either. If I thought the texture was better the old way, I'd do it by hand. I don't, so I do it by machine.

Cut the biscuit as soon as you remove it from the oven. I find this easier than fighting with sticky dough. I make indentations with a long ruler before the bake and then follow with a pizza cutter (as seen above). Some chefs use this as a tart case. Good luck with that!

Belinda and I used to make Pâte sablée aux fraise, layers of biscuit, strawberries and cream. This is what came to mind when I was asked for a dessert featuring strawberries and rhubarb.

I made a simple coulis of strawberries first, glazing the cut fruit with this gives an attractive shine and sweetness (sometimes lacking this early in the season). The cream was vanilla but could have been - should have been - elderflower. The sorbet was rhubarb and rose.

Pasta, pork, peaches

Pasta, pork, peaches. Not all together. Fear not. I just love alliteration as much as the next hack. I can't even follow through with the picture look, having failed to take a shot of the dessert. You'll have to do with the brioche.

Pasta was the starter. A new dish of dill pappardelle, crab, asparagus and pea shoots in a beurre blanc (a butter and white wine sauce). 

The crab pasta dish started out in the week as a Jason Atherton salad. Not sure why I changed. Possibly the knowledge that the friday booking included three children. Is there anyone under 12 who doesn't like pasta? Is there anyone over 12? I haven't used crab before in the restaurant, mainly because it is prohibitively expensive. On this occasion I was feeding two groups and the inimitable Pat at Green Lanes Fisheries did me a great deal. I made my own pasta, partly because it means I get exactly the shape and thickness I want and also because I like to roll it with herbs; chives on Friday, dill on Saturday. I choose pappardelle because it's easy to handle and has more structure than say, an open lasagne. This was combined with the best of English asparagus which I steamed, but perhaps I should have chargrilled it. A light sprinkle of lemon verbena herb finished off the dish.

Everything I serve is made from scratch. OK, I don't mill my own flour or press rape seed but I like the idea that you can only get that meal on that night in my gaff. The fact you can flavour your dough to suit the dish is beguiling too. Admittedly  making your own pasta might seem like a OCD turn too far. It's cheap and I'd like to say it's easy. OK. It is easy... there are only two ingredients: 00 flour and eggs so how come get more stressed about serving pasta than any other single ingredient? It's partly because I daren't make it fresh just before serving. Too often I've found the dough isn't quite the consistency I'm after so won't roll right. Or a tiny grain of something sticks in the rollers and shreds the dough. So make it earlier and store it? Yes, but then I remember the time I made ravioli and the filling was just a tidge too damp, not so much that it was a problem when I checked an hour later but just enough that it left me with miserable, sticky, sulky dumplings as I ripped the bottoms off them that evening. This weekend I layered well floured pappardelle with greaseproof paper, making sure the pasta strips didn't touch.

Home made dill pappardelle. Well behaved on this occasion.

Pork was roast belly, one of our most popular mains. I always use a free range, orchard fed pork from Julian at Wades Hill Butchery. This gives me a succulent meat and an excellent crackling. There's no secret to good crackling. Make sure your skin is dry when it goes in though, it's obviously harder to crisp up something damp. I do my belly(!) at 240°C for 20 mins and then for a 3 - 5 hours (depends on the joint) on 140°C. After the hot blast, I put the pork on a rack, under which I put a lot of diced carrots, leek, onion and celery. I add white wine and water to this. The veg takes up all the fat and juices and is the base of the gravy.

One tip with crackling: have your butcher score the skin into squares rather the the more traditional diagonals. It makes it much easier to portion up your meat when you cut into existing grooves rather than across the glass like crackling.

Brioche was for a revisit of a 2013 dessert; pan fried brioche, this time with peaches poached in a elderflower syrup, raspberries, marscapone and almond brittle.

For dessert, I briefly poached peaches in elderflower syrup, served on crisped brioche with crunchy almond brittle and vanilla marscapone. I'd had some issues with the syrup but I added new flowers, picked from my garden on a warm and sunny day. This seemed to work. I'm not sure it was because of the harvesting conditions; correlation is not causation after all. Whatever, the final suryp is both heady and flavoursome. Peaches work well with elderflower. Forgot to take a picture on both nights. Sigh. This is a bad shot from 2013.

Not the dessert I served

Friday was Tony (in red on the right) and his extended family. This shot is my homage to the Brady Bunch.

Saturday was Natalie (centre) and friends celebrating her birthdays. Not all of her group were feeling camera confident so this shot is less, um, structured than most ('that'll do'). Nat's one of the estimable LYDS people and will be reviewing her evening soon. I'll put in a link when she does.