I am, in truth, an incurable showoff: disgustingly competitive and wanting nothing more than to bathe in the adoration of others. Which is why I was irritated this week, when the home baking I’d poured blood, sweat and golden syrup into looked, well…home baked.
For the last week I have had acute Christmas anxiety. So I made brownies. Christmas brownies. The best brownies, possibly, that you will ever taste.
The bits of Christmas I like most are the stolen quiet moments. And in those quiet moments, I make Nutella Snowflake Bread.
We never really did festive baking in my house. Mince pies were Marks & Spencer. Yule logs never crossed the threshold. Stollen was an unknown, and Pannetone hadn’t made it to South Shields in 1994. The exception was the Christmas cake.
I spend a lot of time evangelising about stews and soups and curries and their particular value during the colder months. And they are important. They swaddle you in warmth, they comfort you with their stodge or depth or nursery-like qualities: they feed you up,… Read More
Bonfire night, for me, conjures up thoughts of food: watching fireworks in a cold, dark field, is synonymous with almost-too-hot-to-hold baked potatoes, thick, steaming soup in gloved hands, and charred sausages. So why do we waste our time with the eternally disappointing toffee apple?
I have fallen in love with scones.
My intention to medicate all autumnal malaises and maladies with appropriate food has been… stalled somewhat.
There are some things which you bake, make or cook which are deeply calming, the very process of their creation, let alone their consumption, is enough to salve the stresses of the day. Pureeing roasted squash for soup is pretty satisfying, or chopping a host… Read More
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. That is, my hopes and dreams and white chocolate are in it; the kitchen utensils that betrayed me are on the draining-board. Today I detail one moderate success and one unmitigated disaster, with pictures for your… Read More