rice porridge for breakfast: congee, juk or babur

rice porridge for breakfast: congee, juk or babur

I'm up with the birds this morning, together with Mia, my elderly cat, who meows imperiously at me to be let out the back door and into the garden. (We don't have a cat flap; I act as the cat's personal concierge. It is a thankless but necessary task.) Seconds later the cat is meowing scratchily to be allowed back in. She sinuously scurries in through the small gap that I have opened up, skids to a halt and scolds me with a reproving look that says "Why did you let me outside when it is so cold?" "Hey, you're the one with a fur coat," I say. "I'm the one freezing in my jammies, waiting on you." "And your point?" says the cat haughtily. "Enough of this frivolous conversation. Feed me. Now."

burn baby burn (or heathcliffe's chilli burn odyssey: a cautionary tale)

dried chillies, used for illustrative purposes only!

What do you do when one of your dearest friends phones with a problem? Of course you listen, while trying to work out whether they are laughing or crying, and try to make sense of the stream-of-conscious excitable babble from the other end of the phone. You're a good friend, and a shoulder to cry on when necessary. Except, of course, this time you can't help and you are desperately trying not to guffaw with laughter.

Goat's cheese and blackberry salad with blackberry vinaigrette

Goat's cheese and blackberry salad with blackberry vinaigrette

I live a simpler life these days. Part of it is a case of cutting my coat according to my cloth. Part is wanting to live a more sustainable life. I suppose my priorities have changed and these days I just don't feel a sense of envy for the things I don't have (mainly my lack of designer shoes!).

celebrate national hotdog day with a chicago dog with the works

a chicago dog with the works

Much as I love and am curious about history, it seems that as far as family history goes that for the first twenty years of my life I wasn't asking the right questions. I only found out a few months before my Irish grandmother's death that she had actually been brought up in New York, only returning to Ireland at 15 just before the outbreak of World War 1, before running away to England to seek her fortune. "Why didn't you tell me?" I wailed. "I didn't think you'd be interested," she said somewhat bemused. Argh! I am so disappointed that I lost the opportunity to perhaps get a little closer to my grandmother and to learn what living in one of the most exciting cities at the beginning of the 20th century was like.

it's official! borough market demo on 25 July!

Borough Market tweet: it's official!

It's official! The tweet is out! Borough Market have just confirmed my appearance in their demo kitchen on Friday 25 July, from 12 noon until 2 pm.

an easy vegetarian curry (pea, egg and potato)

pea, egg and potato curry

I arrived at University several decades ago with a box of books, a suitcase of vintage clothing and a complete inability to cook. The days of me pouring over my copy of My Learn to Cook Book ended the moment I discovered boys, booze and thick black mascara.

celebrate chinese new year with dragon cookies (loong peng)

dragon cookies (loong peng)

When Malaysian Chinese people found out that I was born in the Year of the Dragon, they cooed and petted me. "Pantai" (clever) they said. You will be very lucky, they said. Very auspicious. Noble, they said. (Annoying, bossy, old big head, said my little brother).

a winter warmer: felicity cloake's perfect borscht

borscht soup

In a bizarre reversal of the Goldilocks story, a couple in Siberia, spending a night in their holiday cottage, were disturbed by the sounds of breaking glass and the pitter-patter of enormous clawed feet. A bear was breaking and entering, encouraged by the smell of a pan of borscht that had been left on the stove to cool.

yotam ottolenghi's iranian vegetable stew with dried lime

iranian vegetable stew with dried lime

If you were to look at an old-fashioned atlas, you would see Great Britain as a small island, surrounded by water (and probably the odd sea monster or mermaid, depending on the age of the map). Clearly that is by definition what being an island is all about .But kick it up a notch to something a little more 21st century and let's look at that island map in 3D. Right now I think it would be fair to say that the British Isles are surrounded by water from all directions, not just around our coastline, but all over the land mass too; as if we are being gobbed on by some monstrous Leviathan. If there was a land equivalent of a retractable stadium roof, we'd be begging for it to be closed; anything to get away from the damned rain and storms.

nasi goreng (malaysian fried rice)

nasi goreng

It's not often that I turn from mild-mannered cook by day into my foodie crime-fighting alter-ego; righting food wrongs with a wave of my magic feather boa. I am not saying that the feather boa actually works, but I prefer it to a cape and too-tight knickers; to each super hero(ine) their own fashion-sense. It seems to work for me.

a story of a Goth, a grandmother and baklava, with a sting in the tale!

honey nut baklava

I am thinking about Christmas baking and alternatives to the usual spiced cakes. I want to make some baklava, filo pastry stuffed with spiced nuts and drenched in a honey syryp, which reminded me of my first ever baklava experience and possibly the most disastrous "meet the family" episodes of my life.

a simple pleasure: tomatoes on toast (pan con tomate)

tomatoes on toast (pan con tomate)

Contrary to my family lore, my father Henry did not invent tomatoes-on-toast. But ask any member of the family and you will find that one of their all-abiding memories will be of my father eating tomatoes on toast, tomatoes on crackers, tomatoes on biscuits or sometimes, just on their own. This is a man who has no shame and will quite happily forage in other people's kitchens for a simple snack at all times of the day or night, evidenced by a smear of tomato pips, dried-up nubs of garlic and a trail of crumbs.

a sort of shaggy dog story - saint nigel bounds to the rescue again! braised neck of lamb with apricots and cinnamon

Nigel Slater's braised neck of lamb with apricots and cinnamon

If this blog post was a song title it would be stormy weather because yet again the capricious British climate strikes again. (Of course if this blog post was a "type" of literature, the less kind might describe it as a shaggy dog story!)

hallelujah! nigel slater's chicken pho soup and bit of a roast chicken revelation!

Nigel Slater's chicken pho soup

You may have been aware of my recent tribulations when my taste buds took a bit of an involuntary sabbatical. I was beside myself, they hadn't even left a forwarding address. I'm not entirely sure where they went nor what they did. Curses!

I can only hope that they had better have enjoyed themselves and that it was all worth it; (perhaps with the taste bud equivalent of louche living and dancing on the tables) because god knows I was miserable without them!

greek easter bread: tsoureki

Greek Easter Bread - Tsoureki

I find it hard to window shop or merely browse at Phoenicia, my local Turkish and middle eastern grocery in Kentish Town, north London. Inevitably I return home clutching a bag of interesting spices or a jar of preserved vegetables although without any clear idea of what I am going to do with it. The lime powder sat in my larder for over six months before it emerged dustily blinking into the light only to be lobbed into a cold drink for summer and my posh popcorn recipe (more of these another time).

a little bit of food philosophy and Indian potato kofta stuffed with dried fruit and nuts in a light curry sauce

ndian potato kofta stuffed with nuts and dried fruit i
n a light creamy curry sauce

I take my cues on food philosophy from one of the greatest of all food philosophers, Garfield, the cartoon cat, who with jazz hands held aloft, looks as if he is about to dive into a large dish of leftover lasagna and thinks "I eat, therefore I am." He is asked by his owner, Jim, whether he is rationalising another bout of gluttony. Garfield barely turns his head and thinks disdainfully "I don't discuss philosophy with pea brains"!

sticky demerara orange and almond loaf cake

sticky demerera orange
and almond cake

I seem to be obsessed with citrus fruit at the moment. It probably isn't that surprising since apart from stores of apples and pears, British fruit isn't in season. But I am more than happy to satisfy my need for fruit by eating some that is in season somewhere else. Which doesn't strictly adhere to my intention to only cook seasonally and locally. But I've always liked bending the rules, particularly when they are my own.

So in the past few weeks, apart from gloating over my haul of citron beldi (like a fat, scaly dragon covetously protecting her precious hoard), I seem to return home every day with yet more citrus fruit, from blood oranges to minneolas. The blood oranges have to be a given really because their magic is in the secret lurking under their skin - a beautiful deep pink flesh and juice. Truly glorious stuff.

when is a lemon a cartoon villain? when it's citron beldi!

citron beldi (Marakech lemons)

It's a given that I liked to potter around grocery shops, to find out what they've got, what's new or unfamiliar to me. It's my favourite type of shopping and browsing.

sweets for your sweet, sugar for your honey: valentine shortbread hearts!

Valentine shortbread hearts:
clementine and dark chocolate

Sweets for my sweet,
Sugar for my honey,
Your first sweet kiss thrilled me so.
Sweets for my sweet,
Sugar for my honey,
I'll never ever let you go.
(Doc Pomus and
Mort Shuman - 1961)

I am not sure whether it is worse to be single on Valentine's Day, or whether it is actually worse to be in a relationship, what with the neon-pink commercialisation that has vanquished all of the dewy-eyed innocence of earlier centuries. But hey ho, it's the thought that counts and this heart-shaped sweet treat works beautifully as a delicious gesture of love, whichever day it is.

i still haven't put off childish things . . . a bit of nostalgia and a few pancake tips!

Shrove Tuesday pancakes or
the home of The Clangers?

When I was a small child growing up in England, television viewing in the Kelly household was very strictly regulated. Admittedly in those far off days, all television was rather limited since there were only a few television channels and there was no such thing as all-day viewing. Pre-school children had their own programmes with Watch with Mother at lunchtime and again in the late afternoon.

Our television (and yes, in those days, most families only had one), was positioned high up on top of a large wooden cabinet in our living room, out of reach of little hands. (Well my hands in particular.)