So I’ve had ups and downs with my first year of vegetable patch ownership.  For example, the sweet peas went completely mental but didn’t give me a single bloody flower, the pumpkins, coriander and basil all died (too cold? we didn’t really have any sunshine) and the cucumber covered the whole plot in huge leaves and spidery tentrils, but no cucumbers (well how was I to know it was a climber).  On the upside, there are two or three courgettes ready to go, the dwarf french beans have given us a sizeable crop; the fennel, parsley, mint and thyme are all huge and the carrots are surviving .  In the greenhouse, the tomatoes have been fruiting like wild things, but all the fruit is green and the weather is definitely on the turn here (our morning walk was both rainy AND cold - Bert was not impressed).  The aubergine has a tiny fruit but again it might all be too late.

The rhubarb absolutely excelled itself, growing to triffid-like proportions while I scoured local garden centres for one of those terracotta things to ‘force it’.  My kitchen gardening guru, Mr Titchmarsh, says that by the end of summer, the rhubarb will be too tough to eat, but ours has been amazing.  Sunday, then, saw us tucking into the biggest, juiciest steaks ever, complete with home grown french beans, garlic-roasted butternut squash and some very pleasant home made potato wedges  (four or five medium sized potatoes, cut in half, then into four wedges lengthways, blanched in boiling salted water for ten minutes, then tossed in olive oil, sprinkled with salt and pepper and baked in a 200 degree oven until golden brown and crispy), followed by a huge rhubarb crumble with cream.

For the crumble, then:

Four or five big fat stems of rhubarb

Big splosh of apple juice or water (say 100ml?)

Sugar for sprinkling

6 oz plain flour

Generous teaspoon ground ginger

4 oz butter

4 oz sugar

1 oz porridge oats

Handful of sliced almonds

So preheat the oven to 200 degrees.  I’ve been poaching my rhubarb first as I’ve been freezing some of it, so weigh out your ingredients, then, and wash the rhubarb, chopping into inch-long chunks.  Pop them in a saucepan with your splosh of apple juice and a generous amount of sugar (to taste, but remember it’s sour!).  Let the rhubarb poach gently with a lid on until it’s just tender but not mushy.  Mine took about ten minutes. 

Meanwhile, rub your butter and flour together (not too fine - a lumpy texture is better), then stir in your ginger, sugar and porridge oats.  Spoon the rhubarb into an oven-proof dish, cover it with the crumble mixture and finally, sprinkle over the sliced almonds.  All you’re doing is cooking the top so it should only take about 15 minutes to come out all golden and bubbling. 

There you have it, then: good, fresh food, quickly prepared and happily scoffed.  I had the leftovers with yoghurt for breakfast then next day too.  Mr Atkins wouldn’t like it but hey, them’s the breaks.

So I often get emails asking after Little C and Lou.  D battles cheerfully on, holding down a full time job as well as combining Mum/Dad duties at home.  It’s now, unbelievably, nearly two months since their Mum died and with the added childcare pressures of the summer holidays, it’s a wonder he doesn’t spontaneously combust.

Happily, Little C and Lou are cheerful, muck-in with everybody kind of chaps, so it’s no hardship to have an extra couple of smalls about during the hols.  There are obviously stumbling blocks (I for one feel very weird if I ever have to tell them off), but D also has a lot of support from his wonderful family, so nobody ever feels overwhelmed.  One problem I do have is with food.  Little C, like #2, is not a big eater, and finding something that everyone will eat can sometimes be a struggle.  I’d never be one to force kiddies to eat stuff they don’t like, but I’m not going to let them eat Nutella sandwiches, either.  Happily, with her usual forward planning and attention to detail, C left behind a folder of recipes; everything from how to make mashed potato to how to roast a joint is explained perfectly and, sitting in D’s kitchen the other day flicking through them, I noticed this little beauty.  And do you know what?  It was hoovered up by everyone - even the veg-phobic Little C.

1 tbsp olive oil

2 litres stock

1 onion

1 celery stalk

2 carrots

1/2 swede

1 parsnip

Handful frozen peas

Couple of handfuls red lentils

So heat your olive oil in a large heavy based pan, and chuck in your chopped onion and celery, sprinkle with salt, then fry gently until translucent.  Then add your stock (either defrosted chicken stock, or made with cubes - whatever), and finally chuck in all your chopped vegetables and the lentils.  Bring to the boil and let it bubble away for a good half hour or more until all the veggies are soft.

Whizz in the blender until completely smooth and serve with plenty of warm cheese bread. 

Good ol’ C, eh?

So last night we all sat down for a nice family meal to celebrate the end of term/prizes/the promise of good reports to come (#2 looked slightly green at the mention of those), etc.  I made little meatballs with my lamb kebab mixture, which I baked in the oven, along with some of #1’s famous tomato sauce.

Hubby, generally a stranger to the kitchen (unless there’s scrambling of eggs or anything to do with chillis) contributed this exceptionally good couscous recipe (well, come on, couscous is hardly cooking, to be fair).

8oz couscous

1/2 pint chicken stock

4 tbs olive oil

1 tbs sultanas (or very finely chopped dried apricots would be good, I think)

Couple of sliced spring onions

1 tbs chopped flat leaf parsley

2 tbs chopped mint

4 tbs good olive oil

2 small finger chillis, deseeded and finely chopped (Hubby used 6 and we’re still breathing fire)

Salt and pepper to season

So once your meatballs (or whatever you’re eating this with) are nearly cooked, put the couscous in a bowl along with the sultanas and pour over the hot stock.  Stir, then cover the bowl with cling film or a plate or somethng and leave for five minutes.  Meanwhile, heat your oil in a pan and bung in your very finely chopped chillis.  Swirl around so that the chillis release their oil, then you can turn it off.  After five minutes, when the couscous has absorbed the stock and the sultanas are all plump and lubly, fork the couscous through to fluff it up and pour over your chilli oil.  Add the chopped herbs and spring onions, season to taste and if you want to go mad, serve with a little sprinkling of chopped pistachios. 

Enjoy.  Oh, and an added bonus is that you get lovely minty burps afterwards.  See, not only do I provide you with lubly recipes, but you get fragrant indigestion into the bargain.

So yesterday, then.  I knew J and C were coming to lunch so I popped down to the nice butcher’s on Saturday to get an enormous leg of lamb (I appreciate I have plenty next door, but they’re all still attached and somewhat fluffy).  Oh dear.  The horror stories I read in the paper about lamb legs selling for 50 euro a pop due to Easter being so early were neither confirmed nor denied as they were totally sold out.  No amount of eyelash fluttering and shameless flirting could persuade him to produce any contraband, so I had to settle for a nice joint of beef.  I have to say it was a very nice joint of beef (so it should have been for 25 quid), so I went away mildly happy, already dreaming of rubbing it with olive oil and crushed pepper.

I know you probably already know how to cook roast beef, but here’s my version, which I obviously believe to be far superior:

For the beef:

1 enormous half a cow (mine was 4lb!)

Olive oil

Handful of peppercorns, crushed

Sea salt

So first weigh your monster and calculate your cooking time.  I prefer slow-roasting (at about 180 degrees) and none of my family are fond of pink meat, so I opt for well done.  I would say as a general rule that a boneless beef joint would take about 30 mins per pound plus another 30.  If you, unlike me, don’t sacrifice your likes for that of your family and would prefer your meat pink in the middle then omit the extra half hour I suppose.  To double check, stick something metal like a carving fork right into the centre of your beef while you count to ten.  If you can hold the end without giving yourself third degree burns, it’s pretty likely that your beef with have a pink middle. 

So drizzle your baking tray with a little oil, then plonk in your beef joint.  Drizzle over more oil and sprinkle generously with the salt and pepper.  Then just set the timer and forget it.  If, like me, you’ve a pain in the bum friend who’s not particularly keen on big slabs of meat (and cheats at Easter Egg hunting), you’d do well to try this butternut squash recipe, which is dead easy and tastes yum:

1 butternut squash

4 or 5 fat cloves garlic

Olive oil

Salt and pepper

Cut the squash in half lengthways, scoop out the seeds, pop the garlic into the little scooped out bits, and generously drizzle with oil.  Season well, then when your beef is cooked, remove it to rest covered in foil, whack up the oven to 230 degrees, and cook for about 45 minutes.  This is quite handy because it’s about the same time as your Yorkshire puddings and roasties will take (see batter recipe here).

So by this time Jen and C had arrived and Hubby and I had hidden all the eggs, sweeties and stuff around the garden.  C from next door made a guest appearance to start the proceedings off, but because Jen’s such a bloody cheat, she’s already been round the garden for a recce and knew where half the stuff was.  Cue Jen rushing around the garden like the pied piper, followed by a little line of children with rapidly expanding goody bags.  Tsk.  Some people just don’t play fair.  Anyway, after all this rushing around, we were ready for our roast dinner, and finished it off with a cinnamon apple crumble, the recipe for which I will divulge next time I can be arsed.

Oh, and I should also mention that while we were all zonked, groaning and full-up on the sofa, Bert nipped upstairs and helped himself to #2’s goody bag, wrappers and all.

 1 pack of new potatoes

1 white cabbage

1 good quality Irish black pudding

Frozen peas

Vegetable stock

Okay so I know some people are repulsed by it, but here in Ireland they do the best black pudding ever.  If you hate the idea of the stuff, do me a favour and just try it before you totally write it off.  It’s lovely stuff.  Otherwise replace it in this recipe with some fat good quality herby sausages, sliced thickly at an angle. 

So get some new potatoes on to boil in some salted water.  I cut them in quarters so they cook quickly.  In another pan, put just an inch or so of water in the bottom and add a slug of liquid stock or a vegetable stock cube (or use home made vegetable stock if you’re a real smarty pants), along with some salt and pepper.  Sling in a couple of handfuls of frozen peas and let it come up to the boil. 

When your potatoes are nearly done, slice your beautiful black pudding into big fat circles and lay them on a baking sheet under the grill.  They should only take four or five minutes to cook, depending on the size of the pud.  Shred your cabbage and add it to the boiling stock and peas with a big knob of butter, then put a lid on for five or ten minutes until it’s tender.

Serve the new potatoes, peas and cabbage in a big, gorgeous pile with the slices of pudding on top.  If you reserve the cabbagey stock, reduce it a bit and whisk in a bit of cream it makes quite a nice light sauce.  I’m not allowed to do this as Hubby doesn’t ‘do’ creamy sauces.  But if you’re in the mood, a nice runny poached egg on top definitely hits the spot.  Oh, and just an aside: this is such a surprisingly nice supper that even my picky eater, #2, woofed this down, cabbage and all.