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Iris*, our indomitable hostess in Washington DC, introduced us to this satisfying lentil soup–adapted from a recipe by chef Joan Swensen of Swilly’s in Pullman, WA–perfect for warming the cockles on chilly winter nights. The copious amount of liquid slowly reduces in the long, gentle cooking–thickening the soup and concentrating the taste.

2 tblsps olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped fine

1 stick of celery–chopped fine

1/2 medium green pepper–chopped fine

1 medium carrot–chopped fine

1 large fennel bulb–diced large

4 cloves of garlic–pulped in a mortar with a teaspoon of salt

2 tsp cumin powder

2 tsp curry powder

¾ tsp allspice

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp cayenne pepper

450gms/1lb lentils–pale green flat or Puy (grey-green)

2 pints stock--(I use organic vegetable stock cubes)

4 pints water

1 tin [can] tomatoes (400gms/14oz)–drained and broken up

low/no fat yogurt–a dollop a bowl

fresh coriander or parsley–chopped

salt and pepper

  • Heat the oil in a large casserole over a medium heat.
  • Add the onions, celery, carrot, green pepper, fennel and garlic.
  • Stir well and soften gently for 5 minutes.
  • Add the cumin, curry powder, all spice, cinnamon and cayenne pepper.
  • Cook for a minute, stirring in the spices.
  • Stir in the lentils and tomatoes, then add the stock and water.
  • Bring to the simmer and cook uncovered for 1 hour.
  • Season with salt and pepper.
  • Serve with a dollop of yogurt and a pinch of chopped coriander or parsley in each bowl.

*Iris is President of the pioneering Dupont Circle Village in Washington D.C.

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The Village is a nonprofit neighbourhood programme providing cultural, social and other services to seniors, with the goal of helping them maintain health and independence as they grow older, enabling them to remain in their homes.

http://www.dupontcirclevillage.org

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One of the highlights of an eventful week in Washington (i.e. full of events!) was the discovery of these unlikely little delicacies–roasted Brussel Sprouts.

They are all the rage it seems.

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I didn’t need convincing, though I know this vegetable is controversial, often occasioning pursed lips.

Those school meals again, I suspect, to blame for overcooking them to a mush.

Our host, Iris–a fine cook–was already familiar with the technique and gave me the simple recipe.

We had them tonight with quail, simply grilled; inspired by a recipe in a beautiful new book by Caroline Conran called Sud de France–of which, book and recipe, more later)

Blackened Brussel Sprouts
 
450gms/1lb brussel sprouts–outer parts trimmed
3 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
 
Preheat oven to 400F/205C
 
  • Place the sprouts in a bowl and add the olive oil, salt and pepper.

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  • Turn over to allow the oil to coat the sprouts thoroughly.
  • Empty them onto an oiled sheet of foil spread over an oven tray.

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  • Place the tray on the middle shelf of the oven.
  • Roast for 30 to 45 minutes–depending on their size–shaking the pan every ten minutes to brown them evenly.
  • Reduce the heat if necessary to prevent them burning.
  • They should be dark brown, almost black, when done but with a tender green interior.

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  • Adjust the seasoning if necessary.
  • Serve immediately.

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Just managed to fit in a cooking no-potato fishcakes session on Fox’s Channel 5 here in Washington with host Holly Morris, before we head for the airport.

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Another recipe based on a Nigel Slater recipe. I have always loved fishcakes – must be the comfort food factor kicking in – but these days of course the fact they usually contain 50 per cent potato causes trouble for me as a diabetic.This recipe solves the problem by leaving the potato out! The dill and the grain mustard make the fishcakes special and they sometimes serve as a tasty starter. If you keep them small and cook them quickly, they’ll be crisp and brown on the outside and still succulent inside.

Yogurt sauce

2 x 125 ml pots low-fat yogurt
1 tsp grain mustard
good pinch of chopped dill (from the main bunch) salt

The Fishcakes

400 g/1 lb salmon fillet – skinless and checked for bones

white of an egg
1 tbsp chickpea flour – of course, plain flour works as well

1 tsp grain mustard

juice of 1⁄2 lemon
small bunch of dill – chopped fine salt and pepper (parsley will substitute though dill goes well with the salmon)

2 tbsp olive oil

 

  • Mix all the yogurt sauce ingredients and refrigerate until you are ready to eat.
  • Cut up the salmon fillets in roughly equal-size pieces.
  • Put these in a mixer and pulse three or four times.
  • Avoid working them too much and producing slush at the end.
  • You could just cut them up in small pieces if this suits better.
  • Put the salmon in a bowl.
  • Turn in the egg white and the flour, and then the mustard, lemon juice, and the dill.
  • Season with salt and pepper.
  • It’s a good idea to taste the mix for seasoning at this point – the dill and the salt should come through.
  • Refrigerate if not using immediately.
  • Heat the oil to hot in a frying pan and using a dessertspoon scoop out a dollop and make a ball.
  • Put this carefully in the pan and flatten it gently.
  • Cook on a medium-high flame, crisping and browning the outside while making sure the interior cooks through–about a minute each side, taking care not to burn them.
  • Serve with the mustardy yogurt dipping sauce on the side.

 

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Mid-morning and we’re sitting in the cafe of the Barnes and Noble bookstore at 82nd and Broadway in Manhattan.

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I’m on my second single expresso, Meredith is making her cappuccino last.

(We’ll be here later this afternoon for the Pop-Up event at 5pm.)

“Green tea, right?” says the manager to a new arrival, clearly a regular.

He is a jovial cove who runs a friendly coffee bar.

He knows his regulars but serves everyone with the same in-the-moment civility. It makes for a feeling of community–however fleeting–and reminds me of a library in the “old days”–but without the “shhh!” factor!

The tables of coffee lounge/bar are filling up–with mostly single occupation–as people stop by for a mid-morning morale booster.

“Sir, you just dropped your wallet–I didn’t want you to..!”

Thank you so much!” I say to the young woman and we have a moment of unspoken understanding of what it might mean to mislay your wallet in the city.

Everyone is reading or working a computer–with one exception.

We’ve noticed that coffee lounges that offer wi-fi serve some as make-do offices.

The woman behind me chats on her mobile, connecting with a world elsewhere–breaking out of the floating  “fraternity” and distracting me, unaccountably, in a way that the nearby conversation doesn’t.

I move to another table and re-establish  contact with my  temporary ever-changing safe haven.

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I’m visting NY and DC soon and planning “Pop-up” book-signings in both

cities.

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Come along, say hello and get your book or DVD signed.

Wed Jan 16th, 5-6pm Barnes & Noble café Broadway & 82nd, Manhattan;

Sat Jan 19, 11-12noon the Café at Kramers Bookstore, Dupont Circle,

Washington D.C.

The bookstores don’t know what is going on (unless they read my blog!). This

is an under-the-radar–so bring your book or order it (or DVD) ahead of time

and bring it with you. There won’t be a pile sitting on the table.

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When I woke up this morning Pippa–mother of all cats–was there on the bed as she has been for the last two days. She was at her toilet–conscientiously licking her paw, then wiping her cheeks and ear with it–a built-in flannel [washcloth] so to speak.

It reminded me I hadn’t shaved for two days–I’d been laid up with a “gastro“, which had started at roughly 1.30am on the morning after my birthday.

The only other time I remember being as sick (literally) was the day I was filming the dénouement scene in an episode of Sherlock Holmes. I had a long speech of explanation to deliver to a solemn, suspicious and silent Jeremy Brett, Edward Hardwicke and a very young  Jude Law. I managed the first take without interruption–but had to RUN on the word CUT –and it was a bumpy ride ’til we finished.

Two nights ago at least I had no lines to remember. My timing was better on this occasion! The birthday was over and had been much enjoyed. Meredith gave me an album–cataloguing the story of an eventful year–superb photos mostly taken by her.

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Pippa looking for a photo of herself.

Looking back on my birthday though, there were signs of trouble ahead.

I remember feeling relieved I had planned ahead and prepared the Lamb Tagine (see recipe below) the day before. That left the broccoli starter and the bulgar wheat–simple!

We were eight round the table–old friends–including my old adversary from Poldark days, Donald Douglas (aka Captain McNeil). It was convivial. I was enjoying the occasion.

It was only late the next day that I realised I had forgotten an essential step in the preparation of the starter–grilling the broccoli (see below). As I served up the dish, I had a nagging feeling something was not quite right! (We have a tradition of forgetting key ingrediants when entertaining for crowds!).

PLUS I forgot to prepare the bulgar wheat, so the table had to wait while it fluffed up.

The recipes:

This dish also served as the starter for the special Saturday dinner on my October Cooking Workshop:

It is adapted from a recipe in Ottolenghi’s eponymous first cookbook.

On that night it tumbled over a small pile of salad leaves–radiccio, rocket, lettuce–dressed with olive oil lemon juice and salt.

Here it is on a bed of Sam Talbot’s Quinoa.

1lb broccoli–broken into bite-size pieces

2 tablespoons olive oil

salt and pepper

garlic cloves–sliced as thin as you can

2 fresh red chilis, medium hot–de-seeded and sliced

4 tablespoons olive oil

lemon sliced very thin

  • Steam the broccoli–more than blanched less than tender–still crunchy in other words.
  • Remove to a bowl and pour over 2 tablespoons of olive oil and season with salt.
  • Heat a grill to hot.
  • Scatter the broccoli over it and colour lightly. [Don’t FORGET this step!]

  • Return to the serving bowl.
  • Heat the second batch of oil.
  • When hot cook the garlic slices and the chili until the garlic takes on some color.

  • Pour this mixture over the broccoli.
  • Add the lemon slices and mix in carefully.
  • Serve on a bed of salad leaves dressed with  olive oil, lemon juice and salt.

Lamb Tagine with dried apricots & flageolet beans

(Reproduced from Delicious Dishes for Diabetics p 138)

This superb dish for company is adapted from one in Frances Bissell’s exceptional book The Pleasures of Cookery.

for 6/8

2 kg/41⁄2 lb boned shoulder of lamb–cut away as much fat as possible, ending up with about 1.5 kg/31⁄2 lb lean lamb, cut into 2 cm/1 inch cubes

3 tbsp olive oil
3 onions–sliced
4 cloves of garlic–chopped
11⁄2 tsp cumin seeds
11⁄2 tsp coriander seeds
850 ml/11⁄2 pints/31⁄2 cups stock--I use organic vegetable stock cubes
24 dried apricots–halved (use the yellow ones as they show up better in the sauce later)
salt and pepper
parsley, or even better coriander–chopped
1 large tin flageolet beans–drained and rinsed

  1. Heat the oven at 160°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3.
  2. Seal the meat in hot oil, using a large frying pan; when nicely browned, remove it to the ovenproof casserole you will serve it from.
  3. Gently fry the onions and garlic in the fat and oil left in the pan without browning them.
  4. Fold in the whole spices and let them cook a little.
  5. Add almost all the stock, leaving just enough in which to heat up the beans, and let it reduce a bit.
  6. Add the apricots. Season this mixture and pour it into the casserole.
  7. Add a handful of parsley or coriander.
  8. Heat the beans in a little stock and when hot add to the casserole. Turn everything over carefully.
  9. Bring it all to a simmer and place it on a low shelf in the preheated oven.
  10. Cook for 2 hours, checking after an hour to see if it needs topping up with stock – being careful not to lose the intensity of the sauce.
  11. Serve over bulgar wheat [Which you’ve remember to prepare!]

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This could apply to the edible pulse–which is a little wonder too: but here it’s a reference to our bantam cockerel, who goes by that name.

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Chickpea arrived with two companions about eight months ago.

For a while we laboured under the illusion that all three were miniature poules [hens].

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This is what Meredith had sought out at the chicken fair [foire aux poussins]  in a nearby commune of Couffouleux last May and had been assured by the sellers, that the three chicks were all dwarf hens.

French neighbours in the know were not convinced–and as the three grew larger, tell-tale plumage started to develop on two of the three.

It seemed those in the know were right!

We began hearing sounds that were only too familiar to us, living as we do in the countryside, surrounded by farms and free-range poultry!

OH NO! Please–we don’t want a cockerels, we asked for HENS. We like quiet in the mornings; we don’t want to be woken betimes with full throated  COCK-A-DOODLE-GOOOODMORNING-TIMETOOPENTHEGATE-IT’SALMOSTLIGHTYOUKNOW–DOOOOS!! PLUS, we’d like the odd egg.

After a couple of months it was plain–two of the three were definitely male and intent on never letting us forget it.

Claude and Mrs Tweedy (Brahmas) are the more conventional looking couple and Chickpea  “the odd man out”–being so much smaller (a sabelpoot or booted bantam).

On the whole he seems to believe there’s safety in numbers and that three’s a GOOD crowd.

Though he’s not averse to putting on a one man show and one might say–getting a little above himself:

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Claude is a cock of the old order.

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He clearly believes things were better in the old days when brahmas held sway and bantams like Chickpea knew their place and didn’t go around trying to make friends with “the keepers”.

That is Chickpea’s instinct. He likes to hob-nob.

He’ll sidle up and circle, mumbling bantam small talk hinting that he would’t object to being picked up.

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Naturally a certain animal lover is only too keen to oblige and Chickpea is in heaven.

On Christmas Day, FINALLY Mrs Tweedy started laying an egg a day–so every four days we have omelettes for lunch–small omelettes as the eggs are modest.

(And it turns out those in the know can be wrong–they doubted she’d lay before Easter!)

Together they make a pretty picture and seem to know it.

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Here they seem blissfully unaware of tempting fate and giving the keepers ideas!

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chicken in a pot!

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As the New Year comes in–next year’s garlic crop is being planted in the fields around us.

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The weather is perfect today for the long and painstaking task–no rain and little wind.

Sitting in threes behind a tractor all day dropping the garlic clove by clove into the holes made by the drill machine is no party! They make it a family and friends affair round us like they do when lifting it in six months time.

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They’ll plant as much as they can before the big night’s celebrations later this evening.

New Year is as important here as it is in Scotland.

New Year cards arrive from our neighbours rather than Christmas cards.

I said “Bonne Année!” to a stallholder in the market last Saturday and she was quick to put me right.

“Non, non, Monsieur–on ne dit pas ça jusqu’a la veille. Bonnes fêtes!”

[No, no, Sir, we don’t say that until the evening before. Enjoy the festivals!]

Maybe it’s considered bad luck to wish the year over betimes–makes sense.

De toutes façonsanywaybe that as it may and with no disrespect to our lovely neighbors:

A very Happy New Year to everyone and a big Thank You to you all for supporting this blog. Your responses make it worthwhile. This year with all its ups and downs is one I shan’t forget.

The folk here say when wishing you Bonne Année always add “mais surtout bon santé“–“but above all Good Health“.

Here’s a gentle way to segue into 2013 with the oddly named but charming Unthanks…

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/video/2012/dec/26/unthanks-tar-barrel-dale-other-voices-video

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Meredith asked me at supper what was the first Christmas present I remember.

I’m not as good at remembering my childhood as she is.

I do remember the joy of anticipation waking up Christmas morning and feeling the weight of the now brimming stocking resting at the end of the bed–my parents’ keep ’em busy while we wake up solution to kids’ five a.m. insomnia.

I also remember retrieving, with a full arm, the perennial orange at the stocking’s foot, with a double sense of disappointment. Too soft to be a cricket ball and the knowledge that that was it, for several hours to come.

We were not allowed into the drawing room until eleven o’clock, where the real stuff was piled ’round the tree.

“We” meaning my brother Peter (six years younger) and me.

The gap between finishing up our orange juice (the oranges didn’t go to waste), bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade–and eleven o’clock was interminable.

A watched clock always runs slow and the contents of the stocking had a limited interest span.

AT LAST the key was turned  and we pushed passed Dad into the coal-fire warmth of the drawing room–(central heating was only something my mother dreamed about)–assessing the size of the piles round the sweet pine-scented tree, willing the larger ones to be ours.

This was the early fiftiesRationing was still in operation for some things (including sweets!).

Dad worked for British Railways–our parents did us proud on a limited budget–and we went by train everywhere.

I loved trains.

I wanted an electric train set.

This is the present I remember: An electric train set by Trix–(not Hornby, which everyone had!)

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Dad set it up in the Dining room (very cold, but I didn’t mind) and we all spent the rest of the day on our stomachs!

I’m kidding–Ma went off to the kitchen!

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This is sad.

Grapefruit as villain. What a turn-up!

The evidence is strong–grapefruit juice may cause some prescribed drugs to malfunction– in some cases with life threatening effect.

This beautiful oversized “orange”–colored like a lemon.

So sweet–and comes with white or pink interiors.

My parents had half a one each for breakfast, carefully separated into segments with a serrated knife.

The serrated knife with the annoying curve at the end–annoying if you wanted to use it for any other purpose–but satisfying if you hit the joins just right and made a good job of segment separation.

These ’50’s grapefruit put me off! They were white and sour! Sugar required.

A long gap to the haven/heaven of pink grapefruit.

It makes a sweet and comforting wake-up drink.

For years we’d squeeze the juice–half a fruit each–into mugs in the morning and fill  up with boiling water.

But a trip to Florida opened my eyes to the authentic grapefruit experience.

We were in Orlando at Meredith’s parents home.

At the front of the house there were two grapefruit trees–one with white fruit, one pink.

The grapefruit hung from them like enormous coloured canonballs–how could the trees support the weight?!

I was doubtful of the white fruit until I cut one in half and squeezed a little juice into a glass and sipped.

My mouth is watering now with the memory.

That’s how it will have to stay–a glorious memory.

This benign giant of a fruit is no longer benign for some like me who take a daily dose of drugs–hard to accept!

A slice of lemon in hot water with have to suffice.

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