Vanilla soufflé with forced rhubarb.

Easily the best I've made.
Not just height, look at that structure.

I like rules. Not restrictions; fundamentals. I've always been a how's-it-work person. I think it explains my love of particle physics and evolutionary psychology. Given a choice, I would have been at CERN now... but I couldn't manage the hard sums. I gave up at the square root of -1. (I've just realised that's a number pun!) My mathematical mind doesn't extend much further than arithmetic.

Anyway, as with quantum mechanics, so with soufflés. (An effortless segue I'm sure you'll agree.) I like rules with recipes... well, not so much rules as ratios. Ratios make things easy to understand and, importantly, to scale up. What do I mean? I remember white sauce as being 1:1:a half. That is: an ounce of butter to an ounce of flour to half a pint of milk. I am now metric incidentally but this recipe is long remembered. Cake is similar. A basic recipe of a pound of butter to a pound of flour to a pound of sugar is the recipe for (guess what?) a Victorian pound cake. From this simple base you can launch a thousand bakes.

I'm also fed up of making slightly too much mix. Yes you can always eat the spare, but neither soufflés nor the batter keeps well and by the time guests have left, we've cleared the table and washed down I'm not really in the mood for a re-bake. But there are few things I loathe more than wasting perfectly edible food. It's a matter of pride for me that we only empty our small green food recycling bin once a week, and that includes Supper Club scrapings.

My issue with soufflés is that none show ratios, only strict recipes and that's no good for investigation and culinary adventure. Soufflés more than most things need accuracy of ingredients. Although not difficult to achieve a sweet, quivering tower, the cook needs precision here. All good if you are reading from a book, less so if you are, as I was, extemporising with eggs.

Draft one. Smaller ramekin.

Sweet souffles are basically a base of crème pâtissière - ubiquitously, thankfully, referred to as 'creme pat' - cut with a fruity jam or compote and then the whole folded with a French meringue. If that sounds simple it's because it is. Soufflés are simple! But creme pat recipes rarely tell you how much they produce. So you might be making enough for two desserts, or perhaps twenty. As souffles recipes rarely specify an amount of base, it's hard to know. Worse, as with this (brilliant) chocolate recipe, Phil Howard tells you to make x amount of quite expensive cocoa creme pat base but then ONLY USES SOME of it. V annoying.

I wanted, and couldn't find, a recipe for a rhubarb soufflé. But could I just adapt, say, a raspberry one? What of liquid content? Rhubarb is much, much wetter than most berries and certainly all stone fruit. It's also much more tart, so what of sugar content?

I decided to dodge the issue and make a vanilla soufflé, with a bed of roasted fruit and a pouring syrup to be served at table. Additionally this has the advantage and keeping the sweet and tart elements distinct; to be enjoyed as your taste dictates. It also means I can ring the seasonal changes. Expect strawberry soufflés as soon as the August sun is a-ripening.

Sadly, April sees the end of the forced rhubarb season. Goodbye vivid pink and hello tedious green resembling celery. Never mind, the fruit is hidden here.

Also, a warning: you will be weighing egg white hereafter. Eggs vary too much in size. If you are scaling up, allow one egg white (about 32g) per person.

One thing to note: I normally use 175ml ramekins but the deeper the ramekin the bigger the rise. Notice the difference between the first and second soufflé picture.

Vanilla and Rhubarb Soufflés
Seves 6 - assuming 175 ml ramekins.

There are four elements:
1. Creme pat base
2. French meringue
3. Roasted rhubarb
4. Rhubarb syrup

The basic mix is 200g creme pat to 280g meringue (200g egg white + 80g sugar) + a tablespoon of fruit.

Three and four are made together so let's start with those.

Roasted rhubarb and syrup


This can be made hours, or days, in advance.

Take 200g of rhubarb (about half a supermarket pack), chop into small slices, place in a very clean baking tray, something with a lip, and sprinkle with 100g of caster sugar. Bake, uncovered, in a 150°C oven for about twenty minutes. The rhubarb pieces should be soft but still in shape. The sugar should now be an oozy syrup. If not, replace for another few minutes, cursing your oven.

Once done. Put a sieve over a bowl and pour in the pieces. Allow all the syrup to drain off - there should be at least a good 100ml. Reserve the syrup, obviously. Best to refrigerate this to a sticky thickness.

This will be served at the table. You could do big jugs (make your own joke), or serve individual shots - all the quicker to combine fast deflating soufflé and syrup. 

Not forced but still pretty.

Creme pat base
Makes just over 200g

This can be made days before but easier to do it a few hours earlier. It is much easier to make larger quantities of creme pat and I'd suggest you do. I usually make triple this and refrigerate the rest. You can use this thick pastry cream for all manner of wonders. It is stable at room temperature. Try instead of cream in profiteroles and eclairs, or between thin layers of flaky pastry, fruit and/or jam.

Over a low heat, bring 140ml of whole milk with a teaspoon of vanilla paste/one pod, seeds scraped to the almost boil.

Another use for creme pat

Meanwhile in a mixer or with a hand whisk (good luck), whisk together two egg yolks with 30g caster sugar until pale and fluffy. Add in 6g each of plain flour and corn flour (that's about two level teaspoons of each). Whisk in well. Pour on a third of the warm vanilla milk and whisk well to a smooth paste. Add this paste to the rest of the milk. Bring to the boil, stirring often to ensure nothing catches on the bottom. Simmer for two minutes. This is ensures all the flour is cooked out. The mixture should now look and taste like a very thick custard - because that's what it is.

Either use this immediately or leave to cool, with cling film pressed against the surface to prevent a skin forming. If you have to use from cold, best to warm it up slightly in a bowl over simmering water. A very thick, cold, creme pat can be a bugger to integrate with meringue and could lead to a lumpy, and thus badly risen, final result.


French meringue


This MUST be made as needed. French meringue is about as stable as a Tory budget.

French, as distinct from Italian or Swiss, or as it's known more usually: plain old meringue is just whisked egg whites and sugar. See here for guidance on peaks, soft, firm and stiff. One large egg white weighs around 32g.

Take 200g (about six eggs) of egg white and whisk to the soft peak stage, then with the blades still running, add 80g caster sugar incrementally. Whisk for a few more minutes until stiff and glossy. It's important that the mix isn't too firm as this will take more effort to integrate with the creme pat base. You'll end up beating out the air.


To assemble

A great recipe from always interesting David Lebovitz

Heat the oven to 200°C with a baking tray inside. It is important that the oven is at temperature. Meringues need a hit of heat to start the rise. Hence the hot baking tray.

Line six ramekins with melted butter, allow to cool. Coat the butter with caster sugar by rolling some around inside the ramekins.

Place a good tablespoon of rhubarb chunks at the bottom of each ramekin. make sure the base is covered.

Take 200g of warm(ed) creme pat base and whisk it to ensure softness. mix in a third of the meringue. Don't fold it, whisk it in to a homogenous whole. Now more gently, whisk in the remaining meringue. It helps to use a large bowl. The mix should have no steaks of egg white. You don't have to be precious about it, just not so violent that you flatten the mix.

This is a good how-to video of the mixing technique - although I think she overbakes her soufflés.

Fill the ramekins to the top. Levelling with a palette knife and a satisfying flick of the wrist. Clean the outsides, as these will be served at table. Tap the ramekins several times. This flattens the tops and ensures no large internal bubbles. Run your thumb around the insides of the ramekins to make a shallow trench (see pic above). Or you can use a blunt knife tip. This lifts the mix away from the china and ensures a good rise. It does seem to be important. If you don't do this, the mix will dome and split like a muffin.


Place WELL SPACED ramekins, not touching, on the hot baking tray and cook for about 13 minutes, until the top is brown and the soufflé is well risen. Traditionally icing sugar is sieved onto the tops but I don't think this is necessary and just adds unwanted sweetness.

Serve as soon as you can. At the table, ask your guests to poke a hole in the top. Pour in about a tablespoon of the rhubarb syrup. Eat. Tell your guests to drag up the tart nuggets from the bottom. It's a gorgeous combination.

One magical variation would be to churn the syrup (earlier!) in an ice cream machine with a little glucose syrup to make a glossy sorbet to plop into the top. However, you'd need to be making rather more puddings in order to obtain enough juice.

I will do this and report back with pictures.

The C word and the F word.... chocolate fondant pudding

Happy now?

It had to happen. Someone, someday was bound to ask for it. I suppose I should count myself lucky that it's taken this long.

Fondant - or as Greg Wallace insists FonDon' - has a bizarre reputation. Maybe it is just the MasterChef thing; the chocolate terminator of contestants; the dark destroyer of restaurant ambition. All it is really is a badly cooked sponge pudding. Badly cooked? Yes, because like all undercooked cakes it has a sticky centre. But when this comes in the form of chocolate goo, all's good.

Before the flood

The big secret is... they're not hard. You're probably groaning now yeah? "Not hard for YOU!" 
Ok, ok, caveat: making two isn't hard. You know, for the valentine meal with the single rose still in its garage plastic wrap? Making ten - that's an issue. It's a bit like fried fish fillets, or poached eggs - it is, bear with me - the timing is critical. A success is a matter of seconds. And by success we mean goo; the same amount of goo in each. But with ten puddings there must be a period of time between number one turning out and number ten. And if one should split... you'll need number eleven and a new plate. And I only have ten plates!

Of course, success only matters if we have to turn the puds out. If we left them in ramekins, there would be no such issue. So why do we burden ourselves with these expectations? I think mainly for cheffy pride: that it CAN be done so it SHOULD be done. Personally I think that philosophy is best expressed at the bottom of mountains. But no one seems to agree, so instead we have to find the exact moment when the walls of the pudding are baked thick enough to withstand a plate birth and the inside is thick enough not to burst its banks.
And the only way, the ONLY way to do this is by trial and error. Which is #1 reason why I don't like the CF. Waste. OK, so you get to eat the mistakes. But have you seen the size of me recently? I could do with fewer errors.


#2 is that unless you use excellent chocolate, the CF is a mediocre pudding at best. Luckily I have a large bag of Valrhona Guanaja - I opine one of the best in the world. It also needs a good dose of something light and creamy. The CF is a bit of a black hole.

Mentions of dark things brings me to #3. They are impossible to photograph properly, especially in kitchen light at night, which is when I tend to serve them. They absorb light. It took days of dedicated Photoshop work on these images to get them to a point where they don't look like there's just a hole in your screen.

And #4? You should make the pudding mix/batter just before baking. This is not a cook ahead dish. Yes, you can chill and even freeze the puds, but they will be denser out of the oven. For me, this means setting to work just after I've served the main meal instead of slumping against the counter and eyeing up my post prandial tequila.

#5. If you have to use a new oven, a different mould or, hell, even if the weather's changed, you have to do a new trial. Honestly, there's two minutes cooking time between a metal pudding tin and a ceramic ramekin. I suspect that's why the Mastercheffers fail; they've not had time to do a proper trial.

That said, they actually come together in about ten minutes and cook in about the same. Twenty minutes you will revisit, again and again... and again.

Be warned also: there's a lot of idiocy out there. Even Heston falls this time, with his frozen puck of mix inside blah, blah, blah. This recipe is unremarkable for a reason: it works... eventually.


Chocolate fondant pudding
Serves 10

Preheat your oven to 200°C and place a baking tray large enough to hold your moulds in the oven to warm up.

In a glass bowl over gently simmering water, melt 240g of unsalted butter with 240g of the best dark chocolate you can buy/afford. Once melted, remove from the heat and allow to cool.


Butter well your moulds of choice, could be an 8cm ramekin or a small pudding bowl. I use both and they both hold 175ml of mix (you can test with water and a jug). Dust the insides liberally with dark cocoa powder.

Whisk (hopefully mechanically) together 4 eggs, 4 egg yolks and 240g of caster sugar until very light and fluffy. Pale and buoyant - like a debutante on a Nordic cruise. This will take at least five minutes. Gently fold in 100g of plain flour (or four tablespoons if you like but you've already got the scales out). Now equally gently, fold in the cooled chocolate/butter mix until it's streak free.

Fill up your moulds, allowing a 10% gap at the top for expansion. Place on the baking tray and cook for... well who knows? Something like 12 minutes for the tin, more like 14 for the ramekin. the only way to find out is to try. Seriously. You must do a trial. The tops should be firm and the sides just coming away from the mould. The other problem is quantity. Ten puds will take slightly longer than four. How many did you use on your trial? Not ten I bet.

Rules of thumb:
Metal is quicker.
Smaller is quicker.
Fewer is quicker.

Anyway, when yours do finally emerge, up end them as gently as possible onto your serving plate and leave for a few minutes. The steam build up inside will help loosen the puddings. They should simply slide out. If not, edge around, between tin and pudding with a thin blade. Bear in mind that they will keep cooking in the warm tins so some urgency is required. BUT don't shake them out, unless you want to serve hot chocolate splodge. You might think about a dusting a cocoa powder as they are not especially attractive things. Tribbles anyone? Don't go poking anything in the top will you?

Or, leave them in a ramekin and maybe enjoy your stress free dinner! If anyone complains, suggest they bring dessert next time. And insist on a spiral croquembouche.

Take to the table immediately and tell your guests to tuck in quickly. Serve with vanilla or creme fraiche ice cream or maybe some whipped mascarpone and cherries.

Creamy potato bake (Pommes Dauphinoise)

Pommes Dauphinoise to the French; pomme dauph, pots dauph, pots DORF or porpoise potatoes in this kitchen (Dolphinoise, y'see?), is one of those simple dishes that is much more delicious than the ingredients allow. Sliced potatoes, in cream, well seasoned with sea salt and just a hint of garlic. Both my boys relish the leftovers. They look over mournfully at the table if a guest takes the last scrapings; the final golden, crusty bits on the edge of the bowl. Like Yorkshires, this is a golden carb dish that always elicits an 'ooooh' at the table. It goes exceptionally well with our short rib of beef but works also with fish. 

It's a simple dish and recipes abound, however, I do mine slightly differently; in part prompted by supper club vicissitudes. Dauphinoise take a good 20 minutes to prep and at least an hour to cook. But, I can't have my ovens taken up just before service  nor can I accurately know when service will be. Guests have been known to be forty five minutes late. My spuds in cream would be milky mash by then. I needed my pommes to be dauphinoised ahead of time.

I also wanted to find a way to cook the potatoes that didn't result in the serving bowls crusted with burnt creamy dribble. in the oven, the cream bubbles and spits and makes a right mess generally. We're pretty informal in the restaurant but I don't want crockery that looks like it was in a bar brawl... and lost.

You'll need just over a kilo of potatoes for four people. I always use floury Maris Pipers. They are the least 'wet' potato and keep their shape and texture. I know some advocate a waxy spud but I can't be doing with that; all kinds of wrong.

Firstly, butter well an ovenproof dish or tin. Then crush in a garlic clove and squish it all around, ensuring no big startling lumps.

Peel and slice your potatoes. The thickness is important, as is consistency. I go for 3mm - like a pound coin (apols to non UK readers). I use a mandolin; this makes the task much quicker but it is certainly possible with a sharp knife.

By the way. You know that deep fried potato peelings make a very decent bar snack yeah? By 'decent' I mean tasty not healthy of course. Ahem.

Layer up the slices in the dish, pressing down occasionally.

In a jug mix approx  300ml of double cream with 500ml of full fat milk. Do use the full fat. Skimmed milk is just white water. If you're worried about calories, eat less. Mind, if you're worried about calories, what are you doing reading a Pom Dauph recipe? Season the milk well with salt and a dab of black pepper. Taste. It should be salty. Remember this is the only seasoning in the dish. I find this more successful that salting the slices as you go. It's easy to forget a layer and potatoes, like all savoury, starchy dishes, really need salt.

Pour the milk over the potato slices, just covering the slices but not so close to the dish top that it'll boil over. You may have some left over, you may need a little more milk.

Finally, a few dabs of butter on top.

I'm making enough here for a table of ten - plus some second helpings.

I now place the dish on a baking tray/sheet and cover with another, making a sandwich that's easy to handle, and cook for about 70 minutes at 150°C. This results in a dish of par-cooked, yielding potatoes, still pallid like a Scotsman in February, and needing a further blast of big heat. You should be able to push in a table knife without much resistance. Else, do another ten minutes. 

Actually I often use the oven timer and just leave the dish in the oven when it turns itself off. Otherwise, take the dish out and keep until guests arrive. You can do this even a day in advance - but in this case, place in the fridge.

Pots Dauph, all snug in their metal duvet.

Once guests are in place, crank up the oven to 230°C, remove the top tray and blast the potatoes for around 20 mins until golden and bubbling. If it's 30 minutes I doubt anyone will complain. A fan oven will help with the browning. I will often cook the potatoes while a joint of meat is resting, using the still hot oven.

Serving at the table can be an issue as the dish is very hot. We use some small wooden boards underneath to make handling easy but I imagine a tea towel would be fine for a family meal.

Candied orange tart

The edge is a bit rubbish, yes. I'm blaming the tin.

You might see this as a giant and very grown up Jaffa Cake. Grown up in size, in flavour and in richness - oh it's rich - but sharp too. I needed something to serve with my new favourite thing: chocolate ice cream. It needed to be sweet and sharp and fruity... in February  Orange was the only way to go. I am immovable in my conviction that very few fruits complement chocolate. Orange obviously. Mint. Um... a raspberry at a push... if it was raspberry or death. But don't you go pointing a strawberry at me, or banana. Yuk. I've even seen - sweet Lord - pears with chocolate. That offends twice.

Candied orange is basically candied peel with the fruit left on. It's easy to prepare, the only thing to watch is the timing. Too long on the boil and your flesh will fall off the pith. No one wants that. It's a delightfully shiny and succulent thing, candied orange slices. They gleam appetisingly.

There are five element to this tart:
1. sweet pasty case
2. bitter chocolate lining
3. orange mascarpone cream filling
4. candied orange slices
5. orange syrup glaze

Luckily four and five are made together. It's not that onerous. The biggest faff is the case. This makes one 8" tart which will feed eight people, unless they are family, in which case it's four. You MUST serve this with my chocolate ice cream. It's the law. A little honeycomb would bring a welcome sugary crunch too, or some crystallised hazelnuts.

1. Sweet pastry case 
Makes two 8" cases.

Crumble together, by hand or in your food processor. By hand or by processor blend 250g plain flour, 100g icing sugar, sifted and pinch of salt with 100g butter, cubed until it resembles fine breadcrumbs. Gradually mix in 2 eggs, beaten. When the mix comes together, gather into a ball and knead a few times until it is smooth. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for two hours. if you don't relax the dough your pastry will shrink. You don't want this. Pâte sucrée is usually easy to work but it helps a lot if it's chilled.

Once relaxed, split the dough and roll out half to the thickness of a pound coin, until it's a few inches bigger than your tin. I do this on a piece of floured baking paper as it makes it much easier to transfer to the tin and manipulate. Now drape the pastry over the tin and gently ease it up to allow it to drop to the bottom of the tin. Don't squidge it in, it will thin and tear. Carefully push the pastry into the corners and leave a good overhang. Repair any holes with additional pastry. Place the tin in the fridge for another half hour.

Blind bake at 180°C for 20 minutes. Be careful to support the sides of the case. I sometimes put greasproof paper in the case and then push in another tin. This will only work if you have two similar cake tins though. Else use, paper and coins/beans/rice; whatever you normally do. After twenty minutes remove your blind beans/coins/rice and cook for a further ten minutes to crisp up the base. You're looking for a pale golden brown colour.

2. Bitter choocolate lining

Melt 200g (one bar) of 70% chocolate, the best you can afford, in a glass bowl over boiling water until it melts. Stir in a tablespoon of double cream. This stops the chocolate setting so hard that it creates delicious but potentially lap damaging, table shrapnel. Did you know Shrapnel was a British general? True.

Once the tart case is cold, brush or back-spoon the chocolate paste all around the bottom and half way up the sides. As well as giving flavour and texture this also prevents the cream turning the bottom soft, so the tart will last longer - yeah, as if!


3. Orange mascarpone cream

Whisk 250ml of double cream until it thickens. Then beat in a couple of tablespoons of mascarpone. Into the cream - directly over the bowl, to catch the orange oil - finely grate the zest of one large orange. Mix.

Don't add the zest to the unwhisked cream. The orange oil inhibits the whip. I don't know why and I need to find out. Strangely there's nothing on the internet.


4 and 5. Candied orange slices in an orange syrup.

Gently heat a half litre of orange juice - real orange juice, not concentrate, either hand squeezed or hand bought - with 500g of caster sugar. Bring to the boil slowly so that the sugar has all dissolved. Boil for a few minutes. Add two oranges, halved and then sliced, as below, discarding the ends. Ideally these would be thin skinned fruit. We are trying for minimum pith here. The slices shouldn't be wafer thin or they will dissolve. Bring back to the boil then reduce to a simmer and leave on the heat for about 25 minutes. You'll see a change in the rind and pith as in the picture. The key word is 'candied'. They should look translucent, like boiled sweets. If in doubt, remove a piece and allow to cool. They will be very, very hot! The rind should yield to the tooth easily. If not, simmer for another five minutes. Set the whole lot aside to cool. 


To assemble:

Fill the chocolate lined case almost to the brim with the cream. Arrange orange slices on the cream in whatever pattern appeals. You probably won't want to use them all. Drizzle the whole thing generously with orange syrup. especially around the sides of the top, where the cream can be seen. Put in the fridge to firm up for 30 minutes or so.

This was the ugly prototype, when I didn't realise the danger of too high a chocolate lining.
No guest was injured in the eating of this tart. This was a family affair.

A chocolate ice cream to end the world

There comes a point in life when you think: that's it, I can do no better. I mean this in a positive sense, like finishing a marathon two minutes before a cardiac arrest, not in the negative sense as you glower at your spouse over another silent, sullen supper (or so my friends tell me). It is as such with my chocolate ice cream. How good? Trouser removing good. No, I don't really know what that means but somehow I believe it to be true.

The recipe is simple enough, make a chocolate custard and churn. The custard recipe is here, but I want this on its own page. If you've ever finished a bowl of Green & Blacks and thought: yeah, nice, but a bit sweet and not quite chocolatey enough (and who hasn't?) then this is for you.

The one thing I must insist on is that you use Valrhona cocoa powder. Please. No they don't sponsor me - I wish! They just make the finest cocoa powder. Do this one thing. You'll be a hero in your own household. Your children will do chores for you, imploring you to make more. You'll thank me one day.

Chocolate ice cream

Makes about 750ml

My quick way - needs a temperature probe, something more accurate than a sugar thermometer too. They are invaluable in the kitchen and much more use than a jam thermometer. This one is £6.  You can use to take the guess work out of meat roasting too. It's pretty much the only way to bake a beef wellington and retain your fingernails.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen...

In a jug, measure 250ml of full fat milk. To the jug add 130g caster sugar and a pinch of salt. Put this in a nice heavy pan on a medium burner, full heat. The amount of heat is important. Don't burn the milk. If you're electric, I have nothing for you.

While the sugary milk is heating, break four large egg yolks into the jug and give them a quick whisk. Keep the whites for something else. Now use your probe to check the temperature of the milk. It's probably around 65°C unless you are very cack handed with eggs. When the milk gets to between 72 - 75°C, pour the yolks in and whisk briskly. Now turn the heat down to half and stir with a wooden spoon. Within two minutes the custard should start to thicken to the classic 'coat the back of a spoon' condition. If it doesn't, call me and we'll talk it through. Whisk in 300ml of double cream. This lowers the heat and stops the yolks scrambling. If you suspect some scramble, sieve your mix before proceeding. Whisk in 80g of Valrhona cocoa powder and mix well.

Chill for several hours in the fridge.

Or you can do it the old fashioned (slow) way of creaming the eggs with the sugar then pouring in warm milk and heat - stir - heat - stir - heat - stir, until the custard thickens.

Either way, you should end up with a thick, cold, chocolate custard. Resist the urge for endless finger swipes. Churn it in your ice cream maker until set. Eat immediately for best effect or freeze for a couple of hours to firm up.

If you eat this from the freezer, let it thaw in the fridge for 30 minutes to appreciate it at best texture.


What to serve it with? I made up this candied orange tart precisely to partner it. Works well with crystallised nuts too. Or poached cherries.

Cod with holy basil, roasted in a paper bag

Not a hint of dryness. Cod at the table (hence funny candle light) with charred Romaine in a lemon vinaigrette,
slow roasted toms and sweet pickled fennel. The fennel roast potatoes came later.

Holy or Thai basil

The joy of cooking in a paper bag - or en papillotte as the French insist on calling it - is the opening. All the aromas are captured, to be released in a steamy plume of aplomb, under the noses of guests. It normally elicits a reaction; a nice piece of table theatre. The other advantage of cooking fish with this technique is it maximises moistness. The fish should come out a tad off translucence, just flaking. It's a very forgiving way to cook too, although timing is still critical, but not like with pan frying. You can also do this for lots of people whereas I would never attempt to pan fry twelve fillets!

This a variation of Salmon en papillote, one of the most popular dishes we do. Cod needs different treatment however as it's a much more tender fish. Too hot an oven will tighten up the fish, squeezing out essential moisture, leading to a dry, tough, fillet surrounded by juice.

It's a dish that maximises the virtues of aromatic ingredients so I'm using lemon and holy basil, also known as Thai basil. This is widely available. Waitrose seems to always have stock. Holy basil, with its distinctive purple stems, is sweeter, more delicate and even more aromatic than the usual green basil. The purple is, ahem, also prettier on the reveal.

If you're cooking for family, or guests you don't really care for, you can use one big paper bag for all the fish. This is a faff saver but does mean you take time to plate up. The fish can get cold. At the supper club we do individual bags, brought to table with a wedge of charred Romaine lettuce dowsed in a lemon vinaigrette and some slow roasted tomatoes. I don't sauce this dish; the tomato juices and the vinaigrette bring enough. I also don't want to overpower this subtle fish.

Cod with holy basil, in a paper bag.

I love the colours of this

Allow at least a 300g portion of skinless cod loin per person. UK supermarkets will be useless for your needs, sorry. Even the wet fish counter will struggle to sell you a decent sized cod fillet... and if they do, they will charge you plenty. The pre-portioned fish on the cold shelves simply isn't fresh enough in my opinion. Just look at how long a 'sell by' they have. And remember, fresh fish doesn't smell. You need a fishmonger. Check for bones by running your fingers into the flesh. You might need to tweezer a few out.

Tear off an A3 size of baking paper and fold in the middle. Place the fillet near the fold and drizzle with a good, neutral oil - rice bran, groundnut etc. You can use olive oil of course, if you want an olive oil favour - I don't. season well with sea salt - but no pepper. Place on two thin slices of lemon and two sprigs of holy basil, enough to cover the whole fillet (as pictured). Fold the paper over and start to fold the sides in, one small fold over the other, securing the end with a few twists. It will look a little like a paper Cornish pasty. This should create a leak proof bag which will puff up. If in doubt, secure the edges with wooden pegs. Place the bags on a baking tray. It doesn't matter if the bags overlap but not the fillets inside should have some air around them. Use two trays rather than overcrowding.

Cook for 12 minutes in a 180°C oven. The fish will continue to cook inside the bag and on the plates, if they're hot.

Lemon vinaigrette

Enough for at least eight

I'm going to include my recipe for lemon vinaigrette but I'm aware that it involves a few esoteric ingredients, not least my own home made, extra zingy lemon syrup. I'm doing this partly for my own benefit - this blog started as, and remains, my own cooking reference.

Over a bowl, to preserve the lemon oils, zest one large lemon. Add the squeezed juice. Now add: a big pinch of sea salt, a twist of black pepper, two tablespoons of A l'Olivier citron pamplemousse vinegar, a tablespoon of lemon syrup, four tablespoons of rape seed oil (or groundnut) and two teaspoons of Dijon mustard. Whisk well before transferring to a bottle. Shake well before using.

Roasted tomato soup

This is my Sunday supplement shot

I've always thought most soup recipes were pretty dumb. I mean the concept, rather than the actual recipe. With soup, the name is the recipe right? Guess what's in pea and ham soup... or watercress... or, simplest of all... tomato? As long as you have a blender, you add the main ingredient to some kind of stock and flick the switch. Soup!

So, predictably, this is a very simple, one oven, one pot dish. You don't even use a liquid, just the main ingredient.

Cooking is mostly about applying heat to food, in order to soften the muscle or fibre, to make it easier to eat. Of course, this often makes it tastier too: charring and caramelising natural sugars. But modern cooking, increasingly, is about removing water from food. Take away the wet stuff to leave more of the flavour particles. Yes, that is the technical term. With British tomatoes this step is essential. Cooking with toms is one of the times I regret living on this slate grey, rain slanted island. We don't get Spanish sun or the Italian heat and our veg hates us for it. It sulks on the vine, refusing to bloom. It's like a truculent Goth, sat in its bedroom, curtains closed to a soundtrack of Nine Inch Nails; refusing to wear the bright clothing; the summer wardrobe. UK tomatoes suck. We've all had the radiant red stuff yeah? For me, usually in a  nothing-special cafe in Italy. The fruit so ripe and sun vibrant that the juice is pink, let alone the flesh. Supermarkets make things worse by picking the toms too early, when still green - easier for transport.

So, sat in England in February the only way to make our native toms sing is to remove the water: to roast them. Bung in some additional flavour too, maybe three or four garlic cloves and/or a sprinkle of thyme leaves. But not too much; this is all about the tomato. Simple, sweet, astringent.

So take a bunch of vine tomatoes, about half a kilo of plum or vittoria. Buy the darkest, reddest fruit you can find. and place them vine down in a shallow roasting tray. Why vine down? Because there's flavour in them there stems and I want to infuse the oil while it bakes. Glug over at least 200ml of olive oil; a good slick. Now sprinkle over a couple of diced shallots and give the whole tray a good shower of black pepper and sea salt. Finally, about 30g of sugar.

Bake in the oven for two hours at 150°C. You want to soften not colour. Now pluck the toms off the vine, they will come away very easily. Put toms, the oily, roasting juices and the soft shallot into a blender. Don't put the garlic in, unless you want garlic soup. Blend until smooth. You may still need to sieve out pips and bits of skin. I don't as I am blessed with a Vitamix, the destroyer of worlds.

Add a dash of double cream, to taste. Too much and it will taste like Heinz (and then, why did we bother?), not enough and it will be tart. Season with salt and possibly more sugar. This will make enough for four people, perhaps.

I serve with a tablespoon of cream and some drops of basil oil. If you're feeling adventurous, try frying some basil leaves, for about ten seconds. I often use this as an amuse bouche as the acidity starts up your mouth for the meal to come.

These only look orange because of the lighting in the Dining Club.