A Breaking Bad cake for Rachel Boot

Last weekend, my good friend, Rachel Boot, turned 30.  This whole 'turning 30' phenomena is picking off my friends one-by-one at the moment, and it's coming for me in the not too distant future.  But you know what? I'm down with it.  I can take it.  I've been prematurely middle-aged for the last ten years so I may as well have the digits to correspond. 

And if you do have to deal with the big Three Zero, then you deserve to make a big fucking fuss about it; see all the people you like, drink till you don't recognise them, and hope that one of your awesome friends makes you a cake. OH HELLO, OVER HERE, THAT WAS ME!  And by the time the candle on said cake was lit I had drunk so much that I spent the rest of the time shouting, "DO YOU GET WHAT IT IS, DO YOU GET IT, DO YOU GET ITTTT???".

Not that you care - you want me to get to the cake, I know - but as it happens I had a wonderful time at the party. I got to have a weekend back in civilised London, drank a lot of stuff that I don't even remember, and nattered and screeched in the faces of lots of people I love. AND I drove to London.  I know you're all terribly clever and probably do that every day or something, but I was quite impressed with myself.  I did some massive roundabouts and didn't cry and everything.

So, how does one choose a theme for someone's 30th birthday cake?  Well, during the course of our friendship I've come to learn that Rachel Boot regards all of the below very highly:

1. Pugs
2. The phrase, "I know, right?"
3. Zombie apocalypses
4. The all consuming hatred of Tim Lovejoy
5. Pork products
6. Breaking Bad

Well I've already done option 1, option 3 isn't particularly appetising, and I wouldn't even know where to start with 2, 4 or 5, so I went for option 6.  Rachel Boot loves Breaking Bad as much as I do.  In fact she loves it more than I do, as she caught onto it in good time, unlike me, who catches onto everything late (see also: denim shirts, twitter, top-knots, BLOGGING).  So it was an obvious cake theme, albeit one which I came to severely regret when I was boiling molten sugar at half past ten on a Thursday evening.

If you haven't ever seen Breaking Bad then a) you need to take a long, hard look at your life and b) I'm sorry, this cake will make absolutely no sense. But seriously, hop to it, it's great, and Jesse gets hotter in every series despite being an intermittent meth head.

The most important element of a Breaking Bad cake is that you need to get some blue crystal meth in there.  If you don't then you might as well make a My Little Pony cake. It's not easy, you'll probably burn yourself and ruin your saucepans, but you just need to do it.

What you need is a solution of one part water, one part caster sugar (I used 2 cups of each for this).  Put this in a high sided pan, add food colouring, and boil to buggery.  You want it to get to boiling point quite slowly, but then keep it going till it gets hotter and hotter and bubblier and bubblier, making sure it doesn't start to catch and go golden coloured. It'll take about 10-15 minutes to get it to the state you want, which is basically a pan of glossy, crazy bubbles. A thermometer helps - you want to get it to 300 degrees Fahrenheit - but I sort of melted mine and had to freestyle. Corn syrup also apparently helps, but I'm English and don't really know what that is or have a supply of it in my pantry, but if you do then google 'hard candy' to find a recipe which incorporates it.



This is what you want your 'meth' to look like. Glossy bubbles, see? If you're not sure if it's hot enough then drop a little on a plate and see if it hardens. 



Once it's there you need to pour out onto a greased sheet of baking paper (take a piece of kitchen towel, dab it with a bit of vegetable oil, then give the sheet a rub), set in a baking tray. 



Give it about an hour to set and cool, it should be like boiled sweets, then SMASH IT UP. If it is still sticky then I'm afraid you didn't get it hot enough and there's not much to be done about it.  The lack of the corn syrup means it might go sort of hazy, and lose it's glassiness, so use it right away. I added some blue edible glitter as well, to up the sparkle.



The lettering on the cake is based on the titles of the show, which in turn is based on the periodic table, duh.  The letters Ra, helpfully fit with Radon, but there is unfortunately no element for which the symbol is Bo.  In this case I favoured the aesthetics over the facts.  And obviously the atomic numbers for both are not thirty, but those are the current atomic numbers for Miss Rachel Boot. 

It's not so easy to tell you how to do the lettering, but basically it's all the work of firm icing, stencils and colouring.  I use (click for links) this flower paste, these gel colours and these letter presses.  So you press your letters, then simply cut out a rectangle of black and two squares of green.  Do them the night before, to give them time to firm-up. To stick the pieces together just dab a bit of water on the back and position.

Then the cake.  Well that's just a basic sponge with buttercream, which I firmly believe everyone can achieve.  To prove this I invited my colleague Emily, a self-confessed baking novice, round this week (on the basis of a work matter, of course) and showed her how.  And she pulled off a blinder.  Look at her proud face.



So your basic sponge recipe, which you can multiply as appropriate (this was an 8 egg sponge), is:
1 free-range egg
2oz plain flour
2oz stork
2oz golden caster sugar
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Mix all together well and bake in a greased tin, checking after the first 20 mins, then every ten minutes until it's done (at which point you should be able to insert and remove a skewer, without any mix sticking to it).  For a cake of this size you'll need a rectangular tin, about 12"x8" and it'll take about 40 minutes.

The rule for buttercream is one part unsalted butter, two parts icing sugar, then a tbsp at a time of milk until you've reached the desired consistency.  In this case, 500g icing sugar (sifted), 250g of very soft butter and 4 tbsp milk.  Put all your ingredients in your mixer until done.  Use a palette knife to apply to the cake - do it gently, so you don't end up with crumbs in the icing. If there are a lot of crumbs then just apply a thin layer, then put in the fridge till firmed, then apply another layer on top and the crumbs should be covered.

Once the cake is iced, add your lettering to the top, then scatter the 'meth' around the edge.  Then....slice, eat and get off your tits on E numbers.

So, happy 30th, Rachel Boot.  I'm sure you'll agree that by using a 2 year old photo I'm doing both of us a favour.

Chicken stew with thyme dumplings

Think of this dish as a culinary Shrek; what it lacks in looks it makes up for with other charms. Tasty, delicious charms.

Apologies that posts are a bit here and there at the moment. As I have previously mentioned we are moving house very soon and it's thrown things somewhat off kilter. Not that I've put a single thing in a cardboard box yet, but there is lots of reading of important paperwork (looking at home furnishings on Etsy) and phone calls to builders (looking at home furnishings on Etsy) and YAWWWWWWWN, I JUST WANT TO DECORATE AND BUY PRETTY THINGS.  Did you know that there are still places in the world where your local church can demand you pay for their roof repairs? Well apparently they chuffing well can and we're moving to one of those places. This little heathen can barely afford repairs to her own house, thank you very much, let alone The House of God. These are the sorts of treats your solicitor sends you when you're buying a house.

So cooking has reduced to basic sustenance and a dependence on all things stewy, carby and comforting around here.  In my opinion, Chicken stew is just the epitome of Autumn cosiness.  You may disagree with me, but I won't listen. For me it conjures the same feelings as tomato soup when you're feeling a bit poorly, or fish and chips at the seaside when it's started to rain and you're all hiding in the car. And dumplings, holy hell, they're the food of lardy Kings, I tell you.

This was also a splendid opportunity to use the last of my meagre balcony crop: round carrots! Yes, they are meant to be round. Heritage variety, innit.



Tune in later this week, when I will be showing you how to make your very own (sugar) blue crystal meth. You all watch Breaking Bad, right? Let's hope so, otherwise shit's gonna get weird for you.

Chicken stew with dumplings (for two)
Two pieces of chicken per person (leg or thigh)
Slosh of oil
8 shallots
4 med carrots
4 cloves garlic
Sprig of rosemary
1 bay leaf
Glass of white wine
Pint chicken stock

For dumplings
50g suet
100g self-raising flour
1tsp thyme leaves
Seasoning
Water

Brown your chicken off in the oil, in a heavy casserole dish. Once coloured, remove from the pan, then add in your shallots and garlic until softened. Return the chicken to the pan and add in the wine. Cook for a couple of minutes, then add the stock, rosemary and bay leaf. Bring to a simmer.

In the meantime, make your dumplings. Mix the flour, suet, seasoning and thyme and add water, a tablespoon at a time, until you have a sticky dough. Separate into dumplings and set to one side, on a floured surface.

Cook your stew for about an hour (check every 20 mins or so and add more stock if needed), till the stock has reduced to a nice gravy and the chicken is starting to come away from the bone. Add in your carrots and cook for another 10 mins, then dot the dumplings around the surface and cook for another 5 mins, until they have swelled up.

Serve with veg.

Slow-cooked balsamic lamb shanks

Man have I got a hunger on me at the moment.  I think it's the change of the seasons. I just want to scoff scoff scoff. A biscuit here, a chunk of cheese there, half a jar of peanut butter between emails. My body is obviously trying to get a bit of lard on to see me through the winter months, which isn't necessarily required.

As previously discussed, I think Autumn is bloody excellent, but I'm sure September was unusually cold this year.  October is going the same way.  We've got the central heating on already, which according to Twitter is a major faux pas. Apparently if you don't turn the central heating on till November it makes you a better person and harder than Chuck Norris.  I don't care, our tough Canadian neighbours - who are used to proper snow - have turned theirs on, so it's OK.

Mr Mangrove is getting totally down with the whole wrapping-up warm thing. Have you ever seen a more sarcastic looking feline? He fits in well around here.

When I get properly ravenous, I think the only thing which can satisfy me (does that sound rude? Never mind, if it gets me a few more google hits....) is mashed potato.  Bloody love the stuff - Bodger and Badger have nothing on me.  Preferably served with a hunk of meat.  Roast chicken, sausages, pork chops, they're are all adequate adversaries, but nothing can be described as a 'hunk' quite like a lamb shank. It's a cheap cut, it's as big as your fist (or bigger, if you have tiny Beadle hands like me) and, if it takes your fancy, you can grab it in-hand, gnaw from the bone and declare yourself Henry VIII.  Of course, I didn't do that....definitely not.....V childish. 

So this certainly sorted me out: slow-cooked balsamic lamb shanks, with a good old dollop (dollop isn't the most appealing adjective is it? oh well) of mash. The photo at the top of the page is my attempt at cookbook-ish, whilst the below is the real life scenario; plate in lap, pyjamas on, excessive gravy, portion of greens to balance things out. That's how autumn should be.

Slow-cooked balsamic lamb shanks

3 lambs shanks (ours just happened to come in a pack of three, so we had left-overs)

About 150g flour

Slug of olive oil

Salt and pepper

1 large red onion, sliced
4 cloves garlic
Half a bottle of red wine
120ml balsamic vinegar
1 tsp juniper berries (about 5 or 6 berries)
2 bay leafs
A couple of sprigs of rosemary

Mix a good few pinches of salt and pepper into the flour in a bowl.  Dip in your lamb shanks, until all the flesh has a light coating of the flour.  In a good sized casserole dish (which fits your shanks fairly  snugly) or heavy pan, heat your oil, then brown off the lamb shanks one by one. 

Fry your onions, until soft, then add in the garlic cloves and give it another minute.  Return the lamb to the pan, then add the remaining ingredients. The shanks should be about half covered by the liquid, so add a bit of water if needs be (or more wine, if you're feeling extravagant).

Put the casserole dish in the oven at gas mark 4. Then, sorry, but you've got three hours to wait. It'll give you time to peel ten tonnes of potatoes and make mashed potato mountain. Or you could read a book, or dick around on instagram, or annoy the cat. I'm pretty sure I did all of these things.

Every 30 mins or so, check how things are going. Baste and turn the meat, add more liquid if needed.  You'll know it's done when the meat is starting to fall off the bone and the juices have reduced/thickened.  Have a taste and see if it needs more seasoning, or watering down a bit. Then devour.

Chicken liver, parsley and walnut salad with warm mustard vinaigrette

Bit poncy sounding eh? Well I went to Waitrose this week, so I've gone up in the world.

I bloody love that place. I think I've got a serious problem (but they say the first step of addressing a problem is admitting it, so IN YOUR FACE, PROBLEM).  For the first year of living in Norfolk I'd managed to keep its location secret from myself - refusing to google the exact spot - but then, the other day, I came across it by accident.  UH OH.  Immediately I started itching for their fine selection of cured meats, jovial customer service and easy car parking. Turns out it's right on my way home from our Cambridge office - "Splendid", says my bank manager!

I fell off the Waitrose wagon and I fell off it hard.  In I turn, into a car parking space which doesn't make me embarrass myself.  I cruise through the door, smiling at all the pleasant, non-harassed looking people, and I thank the lords that I am wearing a lanyard and a Barbour, as apparently those are THE THINGS to wear in Waitrose at 6pm on a Thursday.  I grab a trolley (first mistake, ALWAYS just get a basket), off I speed, and then.....then I spend all of the fucking money. 

It was meant to be a post-work dash - looking for a simple dinner - but I came out sixty quid lighter and severely lacking in dinner.  What I did purchase was:
Edamame and wasabi dip
Vacuum packed chestnuts
Iberico ham
Very smelly cheese
Umami dust
Organic chicken livers

It's like Dr Jekyl and Mrs Hyde, but instead of turning into a murderous monster, I turn into a frivolous, gun-ho, food ponce. To bring things back to earth, my evening ended with me sat on the sofa with a bag of grated cheese (left-over from a work thing, I should add; I may be a lazy fat arse but I draw the line at pre-grated cheese), as I had neglected to buy actual dinner.

The thing is, if you just stuck to doing the regular shop, I don't think it'd cost you much more than Tesco - and you'd hate yourself less - it's just there's so much good stuff to tempt you, which you don't have to worry about in the lesser supermarkets.  The two big things in Waitrose's favour, however - when trying to justify my devastation of the joint account - are: 1. Their general more ethical approach (they stock decent quality, free-range meat/they treat their staff well/they sell more British produce) and 2. They really know how to reduce stuff; if it's approaching sell-by it comes down to about a quarter of the price. They also don't sell milk from badger culling farms, so me shopping there is basically solving all of the world's problems. 

The main crux of the issue is that I really can't afford to be going to Waitrose right now, as we happen to be buying a house.  I  realise when I said in my last post that we 'own' a pub, it might have sounded like we're terribly rich, but far from it, we only lease the building for that, don't own it.  This house will be the first stack of bricks that Ben and I have ever owned and the mortgage will probably outlive us both. I can't work out whether it's terribly exciting or absolutely terrifying, but the one thing it definitely is is expensive, so I really shouldn't be dicking about in Waitrose. 

The one meal worthy thing that I bought on this ill fated trip was the chicken livers. Now me and liver haven't always seen eye-to-eye.  Lamb's liver is still a definite no. But chicken livers, it comes and goes. When I was strolling through the aisles of Waitrose I thought, 'Hell yeah, I'm the sort of person who likes chicken livers!'.  When I got home and had to eat them I wasn't so sure. That's not to say that this dish isn't good, you just need to definitely like liver - there's no sitting on the fence with this one.

Chicken liver, walnut and parsley salad with warm mustard vinaigrette

Chicken livers (generally you'll get a pack which'll serve 4 for a starter, 2-3 for a main, but you can tell by looking how much you want)
1/2 a finely sliced red onion
Handful of walnuts
About 20g butter
4tbsp olive oil/rapeseed oil
2tbsp white wine vinegar
1tbsp dijon mustard
Small bunch of parsely
Salad leaves
Seasoning

Firstly, fry your walnuts in a dry pan for about a minute, until they are starting to brown, then put to one side.

Melt the butter in a pan and gently fry the livers, about 1-2 minutes each side, depending on how rare you want them. Put to the side to rest. In a seperate pan, heat your oil.  Now when I say heat, you just want to warm it up, as if you get it really hot (as I did), you'll have an oil explosion when you add the vinegar.  Once warm, add your vinegar, then dijon mustard and whisk until incorporated and you have a nice glossy dressing.  Add seasoning.

Make a bed of salad and parsley leaves, plonk the livers on top, scatter with walnuts and onion and drizzle over the dressing.

Banana and white chocolate blondies (and some stuff about pubs)

We'll get to the blondies in a minute, don't you worry.  But first I want to talk about pubs - we all like pubs don't we (No? Then be off with you, there is no place for you here)?  I tend to mention them in passing a lot, in regards to where we live and what we do, so I thought I'd take some time to explain - there is a tedious link to the cakes here too.

Despite neither Ben or I ever having done a shift behind a bar (don't get any ideas that we haven't had our fair share of shit jobs - I spent three summers working at the Dinosaur Adventure Park, serving turkey pterodactyls and cleaning up child sick off trampolines), pubs play a big part in our lives. We live above one, we own one (or technically B does, but what's yours is mine and all that, darling) and Ben works for a load of them.

To break it down; Ben works for a small chain of Norwich bars. Not pulling pints, but doing the finances. And all the planning stuff.  And the shouting at the council stuff.  And occasionally the BEING TAKEN ON A BOOZE MINI BREAK BY BACARDI stuff (Jealous? Me? Whatever).  Basically, the sobering and complicated jiggery pokery that goes on behind the scenes.

Through his position we managed to wangle ourselves a flat above one of said pubs.  Lovely flat, 2 floors, city centre.  Yes, we're a jammy pair of pricks, karma is coming for us.  If it makes you feel any better, we are subjected to Ed Sheeran cover acts through the floorboards at least once a week and the chap who does the cleaning at 8am on a Sunday morning listens to nothing but 80s power ballads, VERY LOUDLY.  Also - hordes of drunk people - they really suck when they're not you. 

So that's pub involvement parts one and two.  Then there's part 3: our pub, The Plasterers Arms.



Ben took it on last year, and we've been gradually doing it up and trying to get it back to its former glory (it had been let slip a bit by previous owners).  It's a lovely little pub and we're very proud of it.  Need a few more customers before I get a holiday to Barbados though, so perhaps pop by for a G&T sometime and help a sister out?  It's a traditional pubby pub. Cosy, lots of ales, pork pies, weekly quiz, that sort of thing. A microbrewery is currently being set-up in the back room, so the most local beer you could imagine will soon be on sale, and at some point I hope to get a supper club in there (oven dependent).  Any ideas are most welcome - what makes your favourite pub your favourite pub? Answers on a postcard (a.k.a. in the comments section).



Oh, and  the company Ben works for is also opening a brewery.  Just to keep things simple.

And me?  I don't technically have anything to do with pubs.  I work for a charity.

So...what was the poi...oh yes, cakes!  The other day, Stuart, the manager of the pub we reside above, very sweetly asked whether I might be interested in a little sideline of cake making for the pub.  I used to 'do' cakes (NO, BY 'DO' I DO NOT MEAN SEX THINGS, YOU SICK FREAK, I mean I had a cake making business), so this would be a simple and fairly obvious arrangement, yet I'd never really thought about, or actively pursued, doing them on the side (AGAIN, NOT CAKE SEXING).  So - partly through flattery - when asked, I thought 'why the hell not?', I like baking, I like cash, I'll do it.  Might as well make some for the Plasterers too. So, this weekend I set to, using up a haul of bananas which had been left over from a work event. 

And this is the result, banana and white chocolate blondies. Really fucking good. Shove them in the fridge overnight and all your diabetes inducing dreams will come true. Size zero dreams, not so much.  Rush on down to the Plasterers (like, now) and you might be able to pick one up and avoid the elbow grease.

Banana and white chocolate blondies



2 decent sized/3 small bananas (you can use ones which have started to go a bit brown and manky)
2 large eggs
280g caster sugar
280g plain flour
160g softened butter/stork
1tsp baking powder
300g white chocolate (chips or bars, cut up into chunks)
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 tsp cinnamon

Heat the oven at gas mark 5.  In a mixer (or with a spoon and powerful arm muscles) combine eggs, sugar, butter, flour, baking powder, extract and cinnamon until you have a smooth mix. Roughly mash your bananas and stir these in, along with 200g of the white chocolate chips/chunks. 

Line a roasting-sized baking tin with greaseproof paper, and spoon in the mix.  It should be about an inch thick. Bake for about 30 mins, checking after the first 20.  Do the old skewer trick, should come out without any mix on it.  You want it golden on top, still fairly soft but not raw/wet in the middle.  Leave to cool.

Once the blondies are cool, melt the remaining white chocolate in a bowl over a pan of simmering water. Once runny, trickle it over the top of blondies.  Slice and preferably refrigerate overnight in an airtight container, for maximum gngnrwmrrrrjf.

Dinner with friends: A slow-cooked pulled-beef chili and chocolate mousse with honeycomb

It's Autumn!  Hooray!  Away with you unsightly upper arms, begone sweaty fringe! Welcome, scarves and woolly tights, good day to you, casseroles and mashed potato!  I've missed you, my lardy friends.  Not that we actually had a Summer, but it's such a drawn out anticlimax of a season that I for one am rather glad it's over. If you remind me of this bon homie approach to these new temperatures in December - when our beautiful yet entirely ineffective old windows mean I'm constantly ensconced in a blanket, or I'm trying to get dressed under a duvet at 6am because our boiler is actually controlled by next door - I will deny all recollection of positivity. 

Anyhow, on with the show.  I might have needed an extra comma in the title.  You all understand that these are two separate dishes, yes? I've not gone all Heston on you and created a spicy beefy dessert mousse (although, adding dark chocolate to a chili IS a thing, one which works very well).  IT'S A CHILI AND THEN A CHOCOLATE MOUSSE. You with me?  Good.



Last Saturday people came over for dinner. I know, right, two posts in a row about people coming over and being sociable, ACTUAL FRIENDS - Norwich is warming up.  Ben's old school friend Robert was staying and we also invited our friends, Tom and the two Hollies (one with a Y ad one with an IE, for distinction).  The idea was that we'd have a big dinner, all casual like, then head into town for further drinking and merrymaking. 

One slight problem: I can't do casual dining. 

Casual in a sense that I don't give a crap about what fork anyone uses, and a good belch will get a round of applause - YES.  Casual in the sense of me just serving up a bowl of nachos or a pasta bake - NO.  I just have to faff to some degree.  I long to be one of those Italian mamas who can throw together a grilled fish, a couple of tomatoes and a good bottle of oil and it be pronounced the most glorious thing anyone's ever eaten, but alas, alack, this is not me. 



This propensity to go all out may seem to be a desire to show off, but in all honestly it's more an eagerness to make people happy; to feed, to fuss over, to make everyone so full that I don't have to go to some hideous nightclub.  I want people to enjoy themselves. I grew up with an excellent cook of a step-father and host of a mother, so my standards have been unreasonably set. Luckily everyone's catching on to this civilised shit now we're in our late twenties, but at 21 I think everyone found me a bit baffling. 

So this was my best attempt at being casual.  A chili and a chocolate mousse.  Pretty simple right? Well it would be if I just did a straightforward packet-of-mince chili, rather than one which takes 4 fucking hours to cook, with the meat having to be delicately shredded.  Or if I bought a packet of Gü puddings and a crunchie rather than whisking eggs to oblivion and making volcanoes of sugar.  But no sireeee, that would be far too easy to satisfy my sadomasochistic culinary habits. 



I must say, I don't often make chili, because I'm a terrible snob and I've come to view it as a bit ubiquitous.  I ate too much of it as a student and in house shares, and Ben eats it pretty much everyday when his band goes on tour, as this is what every promoter who puts them on/up seems to provide.  So I don't tend to bother.  Same applies to spag bol, Thai green curry, stir fry etc.  But really the joke's on me, because these are some of the best dishes out there, if made properly. And in this case, despite spending 6 years in the kitchen, shelling out our week's food bill on beef, and sending Ben back into town at least three times to buy forgotten ingredients, I would say it's worth the faff.

Same goes for the chocolate mousse.  Unfortunately I did something really bad in a past life and now chocolate gives me migraines, so I could only eat half, but it was a good half.  It's probably a blessing really, if I wasn't limited by such an ailment I'd almost certainly be the size of a rhino.  Warning - the mousse contains raw egg, so this is an excellent tool for discovering if any of your friends are pregnant. If they're suddenly not drinking and are too full for this pudding they're definitely up the duff. Additional warning - the honeycomb is seriously chewy, so if you've invested in expensive fillings rather than the standard NHS ones you might want to take it easy. 



Luckily, my cunning plan of making everyone too full to go out to a bar was perfectly executed  and within two hours we were all totally shitfaced and too busy trying to pull off 'the egg-separation trick' to realise that we weren't out being young and trendy. The aforementioned state of shitfacedness meant I thought I was doing an instructional video when I was apparently just pressing the camera button, so the only video is of my attempt with my horrible oh-god-is-that-really-what-i-sound-like recorded voice, once Robert had rescued the camera from me.






Slow-cooked, pulled-beef chili
Serves 6
About 1kg of beef  (braising steak, brisket or shoulder is probably best), cut into chunks of about 2" or so
2 large white onions, sliced
6 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 red chillies, finely chopped
2tbsp ground coriander
2tbsp ground cumin
2 tsp of cayenne pepper
2tsp smoked paprika
2 tsp cinnamon
4 tbsp tomato puree
3 bay leaves
2 glasses red wine
2 pints beef stock
2 x 400g tins tomatoes
1 x 400g tin kidney beans

To serve - fresh coriander leaves, wraps, tacos or rice, guacamole, sour cream, salsa

You're going to need a substantial casserole dish for this.  I actually used two, because I'm the sort of person that has two casserole dishes (*sheepish look* make that three), but you can probably get it all in one if you're careful.  Or make less for that matter. 

In your casserole dish brown-off your beef in small batches and put to one side.  Then fry your onions till soft, add the garlic and chilli for a moment or two then add the spices. Give a good stir around, so you can smell all the spices, then add tomato puree, then add your beef back in and the wine.  Give a couple of minutes for the alcohol to burn off, then toss in the tomatoes, bay leaves and about 2/3 of stock. 

Put in the oven at gas mark 3 for about 2 hours, checking after the first half hour then every twenty minutes or so.  What you want is for the sauce to be very thick and reduced and the beef to be falling apart.  This could take up to three hours, depending on your cut/size of beef pieces. If it seems to be drying out, add more of the stock.

Once you've got it to the desired state you basically need to take two forks to the beef and 'pull' it, so it's roughly shredded.  Taste to see if you need any further spice or seasoning. Then add in your kidney beans and warm through again on the hob.

Serve with all manner of accompaniments.


Chocolate mousse with honeycomb
Serves 6

For the honeycomb
5 tbsp caster sugar
2 tbsp golden syrup
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

In a sturdy saucepan heat the syrup and sugar until all the sugar has melted and it has turned to a good bubbly caramel (not too dark or it will taste bitter).  Add in your bicarbonate of soda and it will suddenly all foam up like one of those volcano experiments at primary school.  Have prepared a sheet of baking paper, on a tray or a cool counter, and pour the foaming mixture onto the sheet.  You want it to be quite thick, otherwise you with have flat honeycomb.  Leave to cool for at least half hour, until it is firm and brittle.  Break into shards.

For the mousse

100g dark chocolate
100g milk chocolate (you can use all dark if you like)
4 eggs
200ml double cream


You need several bowls for this one.  Four bowls to be exact.  In one bowl, whip your cream until it's nice and thick but not stiff.  In another you want your egg yolks, beaten.  In the third whisk the egg whites to soft peaks (again, not stiff).  The final bowl is for your chocolate, and it needs to be a good size to sit over a pan of water. 

So melt your chocolate in a bowl over a pan of water.  If your chocolate starts to play silly buggers and splits, take it off the heat and beat in a little sunflower or vegetable oil, this might rescue it.  Once melted, add gradually (you don't want to do it all at once and scramble them) to your beaten egg yolks, stirring vigorously to stop it from splitting.  Once this is nicely emulsified, stir in the whipped cream. Then fold in the egg whites.  All the while, stir stir stir, your arm should hurt.

Split into 6 ramekins/tumblers/small bowls and leave to set in the fridge for at least an hour.  Then adorn with honeycomb and serve. 

Dr Pepper BBQ Ribs

I challenge you to find a phrase more wanktastic than, "hang-on guys, don't tuck in yet, I've just got to take a photo for my blog!".  Sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it?  Well then please accept that as an excuse as to why this photo is so shoddy.  We had some friends over for a BBQ and I just couldn't bring myself to fart around with the SLR when everyone was sitting there, several beers down, waiting to rip apart a much anticipated pig carcass. More than anything else, I can't close one eye, so the sight of me trying to squint down the viewfinder is best avoided.



Obviously this was two whole weeks back - technically a different season to where we are now - and it was still appropriate to sit outside in a t-shirt at 10pm.  We ate, we drunk those tiny stubby bottles of lager, we got bitten to pieces by mosquitoes - it was quintessentially British (although no pimms - I have not had a single fucking glass of pimms this summer, what are you all playing at?).

I actually made these for the first time a few weeks ago; spent several hours preparing them, thinking, 'Everyone's gonna shit themselves for these badboys', then, when we sat down to eat, realised I'd left the camera in the car and I blew a gasket. I'm not just massively lazy, we live in the city centre so my car is parked quite a way from our flat and it would have meant everything was stone cold by the time I returned. So, the aforementioned BBQ was basically an excuse to scoff these again.  Yes, they are that awesome.



People will probably be split into two camps when looking at the ingredients for these: half will think 'eh?' and the other will see it as pretty normal.  The latter have probably made or eaten a lot of BBQ food.  Or are American.  When I started to make these for our gathering, two of our guests were already present. I laid the ribs in the baking tray - nothing untoward there - then covered them in a bottle of DR Pepper.  They looked at each other, looked at Ben, then did a nervous look at their shoes, as if to say, 'Is she OK? Should we call someone?'. With each extra ingredient I added they were squealing with disbelief, "KETCHUP? HONEY? NO, WAIT WAIT, WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE?".  Yes, all that stuff goes in there.  A bit later on, our Canadian neighbours came over, gave the above selection a glance and shrugged, "yeah, standard ribs procedure".  Basically this recipe is pork + sugar + everything else in the house that contains sugar.  Don't forget to clean your teeth after.

You can do these in the oven just as well as on the BBQ, so don't panic that you've missed your chance.  It'll just take a bit longer and probably come out less charred.  I served with slaw (grated/sliced carrot, red cabbage, red onion plus a mix of natural yoghurt and mayo to dress) and corn on the cob (marinated an hour before in lime juice, chilli flakes and seasoning).

As a helpful piece of advise - if you have a BBQ with a lid, don't shut it. It will set on fire (more so than it's mean to), you'll burn the first lot of ribs to a crisp and your girlfriend will yell at you.

DR Pepper BBQ ribs

I've done this based on a 1.5kg of ribs, which will serve about 4 people. Scale-up or down as required. 

1.5kg pork ribs (if they don't have pre-cut ribs just ask your butcher to slice some pork belly into ribs and remove the skin)
1 tsp sea salt
2 litres of Dr Pepper
2 star anise
2 cinnamon sticks (or a small handful of cassia, which is a lot cheaper)
150g soft brown sugar
4 tbsp honey or maple syrup
100g tomato ketchup
3 tbsp brown sauce
2 tbsp tomato puree
2tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce

Line two baking trays with tin foil, chuck in your ribs, and pour over 1.5litres of the Dr Pepper (split between the two trays).  Add the star anise, salt and cinnamon/cassia equally.  Cover with foil and roast for about 1.5-2 hours at gas mark 4, until cooked through.  If your oven is shit, like mine, you might want to swap the position of the trays half way through, so that both are equally done.  Once cooked, discard the liquid.

For your sauce, put all the remaining ingredients in a pan and simmer until it has reduced to a glossy, honey like consistency.  This should take about fifteen minutes.  If you find it doesn't thicken as much as you'd like, then mix a teaspoon of cornflour with some water until it's a runny paste, and add to the sauce as required. 

Now either dip your ribs in the sauce or paint it on with a pastry brush.  If you're continuing in the oven then place the ribs on a roasting rack, over a baking tray and up the temperature to gas mark 5.  Check and turn every ten minutes, basting with more sauce, for about an hour, or until they are as saucy (ooh err) and coloured as you want them. If you're doing them on the BBQ then you won't need to do them as long, as they'll catch pretty quickly, but try and get a couple of coatings and turn at least once.

Consume, with napkins to hand.