My Last Rolo Cupcakes

Tuesday 21st April: version one

Sunday 26th April: version two


What have I learnt this week?

1) That Rolos do NOT keep their shape when baked in a cupcake. They melt into nothing. It may work with mini Creme Eggs (see Creme Egg Cupcakes post), it doesn’t with Rolos. 

I try twice to check. The first time I think it’s because I’ve only frozen the Rolos for half an hour, but after five days of frozen-ness the results are still the same. 

On the plus side, I’ve discovered a wonder product which makes the most heavenly caramel puddle in the middle of a cupcake, not unlike the centre of a Rolo; all is not lost. The product is a spin-off of one of my favourite childhood tinned products: condensed milk. They now do a caramel version.

In today’s recipe, it is in the centre of the cupcake and in the icing (somewhat unelegantly piped but I’ll work on that….)

2) This week I have also improved my knowledge on The English Civil War. (My father will be delighted, Cromwell is a hero of his). It comes from an unlikely source:

 Friday morning and Daisy chooses to see Ollie into pre-school instead of staying in the car. Normally she likes to have a moment to herself and I return to find ‘Paul Wellington’ pumping out of the stereo. 

Not today. Ollie has a new girlfriend (that makes three in total) and Daisy, like any other older sister, wants to give her the once over. I have regaled the family with tales of how girlfriend number 3 seems the keenest, rugby-tackling Ollie to the floor at pick-up, such is her desperation not to be parted from him. 

We shuffle in. Ollie is not the biggest fan of pre-school. He points out the girls, calling some of them over. Daisy is surprisingly quiet throughout. Ollie solemnly kisses us by the coat pegs. It’s a moment of tension as Daisy will only kiss him on the forehead nowadays, but Ollie has his arms round her waist, head tilted, lips pursed expectantly, and he won’t let go. There’s a minor kerfuffle before Daisy manages to extricate herself. 

As we walk out into the chilly April morning, I say,

“What’s Ollie like with all these girls?”

“I know!” says Daisy, rolling her eyes. “He’s as bad as Charles the Second.”

I laugh out loud but am worried that my daughter is making more erudite jokes than me; ones that I’m not sure I understand. I have a vague recollection of Charles II being a hedonist but that’s it.

Back at the car, I secretly google him. He had twelve illegitimate children. I’m not sure I want my son compared to him…..

Back to the cupcakes, these are eaten to mark two celebrations: firstly Alethea’s (family friend’s) eighth birthday. I feel emotional as she’s blowing out the candles; I remember getting the call in the Lakes that her mum, Jo, was expecting her.

The second is to celebrate great-great Auntie Pauline’s trip to Norfolk this week (AP to close family). A wonderful woman and amazing to have four generations of the same family sitting around our humble table.

Version two of the cupcakes is definitely better. The cupcake batter is thick enough to hold the caramel centre, and the chocolate and caramel icing is more delicious than the slightly sickly vanilla butter icing I used first time round.

Rolo cupcake




  • butter, 150g (at room temperature) 
  • caster sugar, 150g
  • eggs, 3
  • vanilla essence, 1tsp
  • self raising flour, 130g*
  • cocoa, 20g
  • caramel condensed milk
  • muffin cases, 12

Cupcake Method

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees/ gas mark 5. Place 12 muffin cases in a muffin tin.

Cream together the butter and sugar ( in a food processor if you have one). Add the eggs one at a time and beat into the mixture. Add the vanilla extract.

Fold in the flour and cocoa. *If you want it extra chocolatey, change the quantities to flour (120g), cocoa (30g).

Put a tbsp of the batter into each muffin case. Make a well using the end of a tsp (easier said than done). Put a heaped tsp of the caramel condensed milk into the well. Add another tbsp of batter on top. 

Cook for approximately twenty minutes until the sponge is springy to the touch. 

Cool on a wire rack. Do not start icing until completely cooled. 

Chocolate and Caramel Icing

I can take no credit for this. Please follow the link. I will definitely be making it again!

AND if you would like to know more about the colourful character of Charles II, please start with this clip. It is where Daisy gets all her historical knowledge from and look how much she knows:

Speedy Suppers #1: Omelettes


Monday 20th April  

Tom is away. For some reason this is a licence to live on toast and nursery food. 

It’s warm as we straggle home from school. I decide to do the first mow of the season when we get back. Ollie is distraught that all the forget-me-nots which have taken up residence in the lawn will be culled, so he laboriously picks each one out on hands and knees and presents them to me. 

Daisy is skulking around as a ‘spy’ with a rectangle of black paper stuck under her nose as a moustache; her hair tucked up into a trilby. She’s been reading too much Famous Five

They amuse themselves while I mow up and down. It’s quite therapeutic and feels almost like summer. The kids are talking in code and scuttling around. Daisy gets angry if Ollie doesn’t refer to her as ‘double 0 7 and a bit.’

I’m tempted to get out the shears and do a bit of hacking back, but there are cries of hunger as I’m finishing up with the lawn. Fortunately we’re having omelettes for tea which is possibly the quickest cooked dinner there is. 

I time it that evening and the meal takes twelve minutes to prepare from lighting the hob to serving up; less if you are organised and actually have the ingredients out at the start. 

Omelettes are a staple in our house, I’m amazed they’ve only just made it onto the blog. This page lists the many different omelette options out there: Unfortunately it falls to mention the classic Arnold Bennett omelette, a combination of eggs and smoked haddock. 

According to Wikipedia, the omelettes I cook are classic English ones because they are flipped and usually include cheese (I never knew!). Tonight the kids opt for cheese and ham; I have ham and feta. 

I don’t own an omelette pan (this is a massive oversight considering how often I eat them), so I use a standard frying pan and three eggs per omelette. The kids share and I have one to myself (well I have done a lot of gardening!).

Ingredients per omelette

  • eggs, three
  • olive oil, 1tbsp (or large knob of butter)

Filling – any of the following:

  • ham, slice of
  • grated Cheddar, small handful
  • Feta cheese, cubed
  • sundried tomatoes, 3 finely sliced 
  • Chorizo, small cubes


Heat the oil in the pan over a medium heat. Crack the eggs into a basin and whisk with a fork. Add a little salt and pepper. 

Pour the eggs into the pan and tip the pan around to spread the mixture. As it starts to set, loosen it around the edges with a spatula. 


When it is just set, flip it over with a fish slice. Place whatever filling you want on one half of the omelette. When the bottom has had time to go golden, fold the omelette in half, and slide out of the pan and onto a plate.


Watch this space for more speedy suppers in the future…..

Creme Egg Cup Cakes


Friday 17th April

Yes, Easter is over but my sister-in-law’s love of Cadbury’s Creme Eggs is all year round. We are seeing her this weekend and I have been stock-piling packets of mini Creme Eggs in anticipation of making something for this get-together. 

Now the Easter season is over, mini Creme Eggs are impossible to get hold of, but I’m safe and smug in the knowledge that mine are tucked away at the back of the cupboard (can you see where this is heading?!).

I have scoured the internet for recipes, but this one for cupcakes with mini eggs baked inside, is my favourite. 

Unfortunately it means a trip in to town to buy pretty gold cupcake cases and a cake box to carry them in. Ollie, as a hater of shopping in all its guises, can only be persuaded in to town on the following conditions: the trip must involve: (1) a bus ride (2) a hot chocolate or cone of chips off the market (3) some expensive Lego. It is difficult to work within these perimeters and not bankrupt yourself everytime you go into town.

We have the usual kerfuffle to get out of the door in the morning, and then I remember I need £3.50 to get the bus. Drat! The purse is empty but Daisy saves the day by lending me £8 she’s got squirrelled away. I kiss her in gratitude, then my heart sinks when she emerges from her room with a make-up bag full of coppers. She nearly buckles under the weight of it. The bus driver’s going to love me.

In town I nip the Lego issue in the bud by heading straight to Poundland (yes, they do do ‘Lego’; admittedly it doesn’t stick together properly, but it’s Lego-ish). When we enter the discount store (fortnightly), I never grow tired of saying to Ollie, (with a flourish of the arm), “You can have anything in here you want!”

 To which he always replies, 

“What? Anything?!”

Today he chooses a ‘Lego’ set and a goodie bag for the grand total of £2. He has leant his negotiation skills from his sister; I specifically said, ‘one thing’. 

The stress of getting here and having to hand over my own body weight in 2ps to the bus driver, means I need a cup of tea. We hit the nearest cafe. No sooner have I ordered than Ollie has the goodie bag open and is demanding I show him how to make a bracelet with the pack of a thousand white loombands that came in it.

Last time I made a loom band bracelet was in the summer with Daisy when we were on a train halfway up the Pyrenees. I was trying to look at the view; she was trying to teach me a complicated method of bracelet-making.

The only thing that comes back to me now is that you make them on your first two fingers. The waitress comes over as I’m binding Ollie’s fingers together with what looks like tiny elastic bands.

“Oww mummy! What are you doing? You’re hurting me!” he cries indignantly. 

I hurriedly put it onto my fingers to finish off while he assembles, or attempts to assemble the one pound Lego. 

The rest of the shopping trip goes well, so well that I decide to push my luck and add on a visit to the health food shop. Ollie’s mood darkens as soon as we walk in the door. He finds a random box of herbal tea and demands I buy it. When I politely decline, he says in a low, growly voice,

“You’re hurting my feelings,” 

It sounds more like a threat than a statement. I hurriedly pick up a few items but his demands to buy the tea are getting louder. When I turn to go, he refuses to leave until the tea has been purchased. 

For a second I consider buying it for an easy life but I know he’s bruising for a fight so we might as well get it over with now. I crouch down to talk to him using my firm, whispering voice especially reserved for dealing with tantrums in public. Ollie is clinging on to a shelf for dear life, loudly refusing to EVER. LEAVE. THE. SHOP!

I stand up and tell him I’ll wait for him outside. It looks like a tactic but actually I’m going to put down all my bags before I manhandle him off the premises.

“Having a hard time?”

I look up. It’s a man fixing the notice board opposite the shop. Oh dear. Maybe we were causing more of a scene than I realised.

By now Ollie has moved to the front of the shop to press his face against the glass; tongue out. I’m just negotiating him out of the door when the shop owner passes by.

“You deserve a medal, you really do,” she says. I laugh.

“I may be here for sometime,” I reply.

“Well we’ll get you a coffee if you need one,” chimes the workman, “we’ve all been there”. 

Wow. What a difference! I wish people were always this supportive in a tantrum situation. 

In the end, Ollie is so shocked by the workman’s offer to put him to work for the day, that he crys then accepts my offer of flapjack. I feed him tit-bits like a baby bird right there on the pavement. 

At home, very relieved to be back, I open the cupboard door to get out the mini Creme Eggs. THEY HAVE GONE!!! It’s enough to send a woman over the edge. I’ve been saving them for two months! I send Tom, who is in an important meeting  in London, a text. It begins: There is a crisis at home. Call immediately……

Turns out the eggs were melted down for ‘Daddy’s Delight’. If you are unaware of the phenomenon that is Daddy’s Delight , please read the post of the same name. 

In the event, I find eight rogue eggs at the back of the cupboard. It is a lottery which cupcakes contain them and which don’t.

The recipe (see below) works very well. I would highly recommend it. It may have been a painful process getting here, but I have been inspired and I’ll be experimenting with more chocolates-inside-cupcakes in the near future. Watch this space!

Lasagne (gluten & dairy-free)


Tuesday 13th April

Lasagne. (Not lasagna, for the record). One of my favourite dishes and yet it hasn’t touched my lips for half a decade since the avenues of pleasure which are dairy and gluten were shut down to me. 

Always up for a challenge, I tell Tom I’m going to attempt a dairy and gluten-free version. His response is a mixture of delight: yes! We finally get to eat it again, and incredulity: lasagne without lashings of dairy? Where’s the fun in that? 

I start by wanting to make the ultimate bolognese. According to Felicity Cloake (see Guardian article below) this means the inclusion of chicken livers: they add a depth of flavour, apparently. 

I’m new to cooking with offal but according to, chicken liver is the place to start your offal journey. I don’t plan to go very far on this journey but if it adds something to my lasagne, I’m willing to cross into unchartered territories. Added to which, the acupuncturist I see is always encouraging me to eat chicken liver because of its high iron content. So far I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, but hidden in a lasagne makes it sound almost palatable. 

The phone rings just as I’m finely slicing the first liver. It’s my father-in-law. I haven’t spoken to another adult all day, and I’m cutting up offal for the first time; it leads to a long conversation. 

He cheerfully reminds me that the liver processes all the toxins and junk from the body, and that he wouldn’t touch them with a barge pole; then he expects to end the call. Not likely. I want to justify why I’m using them and give him a blow-by-blow account of how disgusting it is to cut up an animal’s organ. 

The béchamel sauce I make using Oatley milk, Pure spread and gluten-free flour. It’s a gamble but it seems to work. I sprinkle each layer of it in the lasagne with Pecorino cheese. This is another new for me. My friend, Helen, uses it for her daughter who is dairy-intolerant but can cope with sheep and goat products. It’s very salty but certainly jazzes up the béchamel. 


Next step is the dish (or pan if you are American). Learn from my mistake and don’t even attempt to cook lasagne without the right dish. I nearly come a cropper at the final hour: the bolognese and béchamel are made, the pasta sheets are blanching and there I am on hands and knees looking for a dish I do not own. 

The ideal dish needs to be at least two inches deep, preferably three to fit all the layers of lasagne in. For two people a 5″ X 7″ rectangular pan, or for four a 9″ X 13″ is what recommends. 

Due to the dish issues (mine being too wide and too shallow) my lasagne lacks the structure I was hoping for. Still, I’ve come this far, (I can almost taste the lasagne!) I’m not going back now. I put it in the oven for half an hour. It’s got so late that the kids have had their bath and are in their pyjamas. They are nearly passing out with hunger on the kitchen floor.

I decide to make an occasion of this first-lasagne-in-five-years and we set the table for our first dinner of the year outside. I have one last check of Felicity Cloake’s article and am horrified to read that you should leave the lasagne to stand for twenty minutes once it comes out of the oven. You have to be kidding me?! I’d prefer a burnt mouth than having to look at a delicious cooked lasagne for twenty minutes!

As it is, the temperature in the garden has dropped so it cools as soon as it hits the plates: no burnt mouths necessary. Daisy and I fall upon the lasagne and demolish it. We have seconds and then thirds, then we remember we need to save some for Tom.  

 The gluten/dairy-freeness is not apparent at all. It may have failed on structure but it’s a BIG WIN on taste. What a joy to eat! 

And the chicken livers? I’m not completely ruling them out, (which is good as there’s half a bag to use up in the freezer), but they do need to be cut up VERY finely or the taste can be over-powering. Next time I will also add some chopped pancetta or streaky bacon to the bolognese too. 

For a first attempt though, I’m absolutely delighted. Welcome back, lasagne!


Ingredients: serves 6

Ragù alla bolognese:

  • onion, 1
  • carrot, 1, peeled
  • stick of celery, 1
  • garlic cloves, 2
  • olive oil, 3tbsp
  • minced beef, 500g
  • chicken’s liver, 50g (optional)
  • red wine, 100ml
  • passata, 500g
  • grated nutmeg
  • beef stock cube, one
  • dried oregano, half tsp
  • salt and pepper

Béchamel sauce

  • Pure spread, 50g
  • gluten-free plain flour, 50g
  • Oatley milk, 600ml
  • salt and pepper
  • Pecarino (ewe’s cheese) or soya cheese, a sprinkling for the top of each layer, approx 30g
  • 9 sheets of gluten-free dried pasta


Finely slice the onion, garlic, carrot and celery. 

Heat 2 tbsp of oil in a large frying pan or heavy based saucepan with lid. Fry the onion gently until softened. Add the carrot, celery and garlic and cook for five minutes. 

Turn up the heat to medium and add the minced beef. Cook until it has browned, stirring regularly. 

Finely chop the chicken liver (the finer the better!) and add to the frying pan, cooking it for three minutes. 

Add the wine, passata, crumbled stock cube, oregano and a pinch of nutmeg. 

Bring it to a simmer, then partially cover and continue to gently simmer for 30 minutes. Stir occasionally. 

Preheat the oven to gas mark 6 / 200 degrees. 

Make the béchamel sauce: in a heavy bottom pan, melt the Pure spread, then whisk in the flour. Stir and let it cook for a few minutes, then gradually add the Oatley milk, whisking it in. Bring to the boil, then allow to simmer and thicken for five minutes. Keep stirring throughout. Season. 

Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil. Blanch the lasagne sheets in batches for two minutes. Leave to dry on a tea towel or greased plate. 


Now layer it up in the dish: a third of the bolognese, followed by a quarter of the béchamel and a sprinkling of the Pecerino. Top with three sheets of lasagna. Repeat the process three times finishing with a layer of béchamel and a big sprinkle of Pecerino.

Cook for 30 minutes until golden. Enjoy!

Jerusalem Chicken & Cardamom Rice


Sunday 12th April


We arrive home from our travels oop North. So much changes in a week. The cherry tree outside our house is suddenly covered in white blossom; the rhubarb patch in the back garden has new leaves shooting up everywhere; and I am relieved to see that the raspberry canes have survived my severe pruning and new shoots are appearing. 


The children run from room to room, delighted to be home. The cat follows them, flopping down for a few minutes at the top of the stairs before trotting after them to the next location. 

Tom and I take advantage of them getting on and have a cup of tea in the garden down by the vegetable patch. As I have a captive audience, I take this opportunity to outline my ambitious plans for a walk-in chicken run. I’ve been taking the softly-softly approach vis-a-vis keeping chickens, but I’ve become more brazen recently. I told Daisy that I wanted chickens for my birthday (9th JUNE, PEOPLE!!), to which she replied:

“Not a chance, mum, not a chance.” 

I have a little more confidence than her. 

I go to bed that night alone (Tom is engrossed in The Vikings). It’s strange not to have my little side-kick next to me (Ollie), throwing his leg over me; nor to hear the loud honking of the geese over Rowntree Park as I fall asleep.

Monday 13th April

7.30am. It’s back to school. Daisy is standing by our bed in her school uniform (unheard of), trying to negotiate an early morning episode of Horrible Histories. She seems to have forgotten that the holidays are over.

The phone rings. It’s Tom making sure I’m up. I’m not. He’s almost at Swaffham; Ollie and I are snuggled up in bed. I’m not sure when he appeared. He can be stealthful when he wants to be. We’re going to be horribly under pressure, but getting up and starting the school routine again seems an awful proposition.

There’s a minor riot when I discover there’s only muesli for breakfast. The cupboards are bare from our week away. Poor Daisy has only one option for lunch: last night’s leftover takeaway pizza. In some weird role-reversal she asks for carrot sticks with it, or at least a banana, I do a big sigh and say:

“Can’t you just have a Twix instead?” 

Ollie is squawking because someone has dressed him in long shorts and he’s cold. 

“It’s spring-time!” I say, as if the shorts are an intentional choice rather than the only choice because all his other clothes are dirty. I put some long socks on him to compensate, but he’s not stupid, he knows this is not a good look. 

Somehow we all make it out of the door but Ollie cries all the way to preschool.

 For dinner I need to cobble together something from what we have in. I find some chicken drumsticks and thighs in the freezer, and we have rice and raisins in the cupboard. The only vegetables in are onions in the fridge; Ollie will be delighted. 

This one-pot chicken dish is easy to make and is perfect comfort food for that back-to-work/school kind of a day.    It is based on Yotam Ottolenghi’s recipe but I have added greater quantities of the spices, and have cooked it a bit quicker. We all reconvene at 6.30pm around the kitchen table, glad to have got through the first day back. 


  • olive oil, 4 tbsps
  • medium onions, 2, finely sliced
  • chicken thighs & drumsticks, 1kg
  • cardamom pods, 12
  • whole cloves, 1tsp
  • ground cinnamon, 2tsp
  • currants or raisins, 30g
  • basmati rice, 300g
  • boiling water, 550ml
  • parsley, coriander, dill, 5g of each chopped. 
  • salt and pepper
  • Greek yogurt, 100g (optional) 


Using your largest casserole dish (which has a lid), fry the onions in 2tbsps of the oil over a medium heat for 10-15 minutes. Stir occasionally, until the onions as golden and caramelised. 

In the meantime, put the chicken in a large bowl with the other 2 tbsps of oil plus the cinnamon, cardomom pods, cloves, 1 tsp of both salt and ground pepper. Rub it all in with your hands. 

Once the onions are cooked, remove them from the pan and put into a bowl. Wipe the pan clean, heat it again on high and sear the chicken for 5 minutes on each side. Remove the chicken from the pan. 

Pour away most of the oil leaving only a millimetre. Add the onion, rice, currants and 1tsp of salt. Stir it all around to coat it in the oil and spices on the bottom of the pan. Push the chicken pieces into the rice and pour over the boiling water.Cover and cook on low for 30 minutes. 

Check the chicken is cooked. If the meat doesn’t come off the bone easily, leave the casserole dish to stand for 10 minutes with the lid on, off the heat. 

Add the herbs and use a fork to fluff the rice and to stir them in. Serve with a drizzling of Greek yogurt if you wish.

St. Clements Pudding 


Saturday 11th April

It’s a race against time to leave York. Tom is outside trying to assemble and attach a very complicated bike rack to the car; I am inside trying to pack and decide what to do with the 17 million boxes which contain my past life: school books, photographs, letters, you name it.

I come down from the attic to find grandma and Tom stopping in the hall for a brief chat.

“Come on people! We’re under a lot of pressure! No time to chat!” I shout, making everyone jump.

Grandma scuttles back in the kitchen to make us fried eggs and fried potatoes; a last meal for the road.(Since writing this blog I realise I eat an inordinate amount of fried eggs…) 

As she serves up, I boom:

“Five minutes to eat, everyone! We need to get on the road!”

Grandma, who is not a fan of working under pressure, asks what the mad rush is about. She knows we are heading to Lincolnshire to see friends, but really, could we not take things a bit slower?

“We need to get to the Seal Surgery before it shuts!” informs Ollie, cheerfully. It’s actually a seal sanctuary but the idea of a waiting room full of ill seals makes me smile. 

“I thought Mablethorpe was only two hours away? You’ll easily make it,” says grandma. 

“Yes, well, it’s also The Grand National,” I whisper into my food. 

“The Grand National!” grandma develops very acute hearing all of a sudden. “Don’t tell me all of this stress is so that you can watch a horse race!” 

Well actually it is. We’ve placed our bets and I want to see the race, come hell or high water. 

We set off, the car groaning under the weight of a bike and all of our luggage. On the A64, just as we’re picking up speed, the bike rack starts to omit an ear-splitting squealing sound. 

“I know what that is,” says Tom, with an air of resignation. We pull over in a layby and he gets out with some gaffer tape. I have given up all hope of watching the race, so I start fiddling around madly with the radio to find Five Live. It’s the only time of the year I’d ever consider listening to it.

We’re just approaching the Humber Bridge as the race starts. We have the commentary on very loud and I’m gripping the dash-board. The kids think we’ve gone mad. It’s extremely exciting: from the off, Tom’s horse, Rebel Rebellion takes the lead and stays there. We’re shouting a lot. At one point, our four horses (we’ve all had a flutter) are the four out front. I can’t believe it!

With two furlongs to go, Many Clouds, Daisy’s horse takes the lead and stays there for the home straight. 

“Daisy! You’re winning!” shout Tom and I in unison. “You’re going to win The Grand National!” There’s silence from the back. I swing round. For goodness sake! The child has her head in a book! She shows no interest until she realises that she’s going to win £30, then she’s all ears. A chip off the old block, I think, judging by her ability to pick a winner.

We arrive in Mablethorpe at tea-time. The seal surgery will have to wait until tomorrow. I sit on a chair in the kitchen, feet up on the oven, drinking tea, while Lynsey makes us sausage and mash (amazing jalepeno sausages).

As soon as I’m revived from the tea, I work alongside her making the pudding. It was supposed to be eaten in York – St.Clements is the name of my mum’s street – but it goes down just as well here in the depths of Lincolnshire. 

The recipe appealed because it is gluten-free. I swapped the butter for Pure spread to make it dairy-free too. Next time I’d like to make a lemony sauce to go with it, but cream accompanied it beautifully too. 


  • soft butter/Pure spread, 250g
  • golden caster sugar, 180g
  • honey, 3 tsps
  • eggs, 4
  • large lemons, 2, zest & juice
  • large orange, 1, zest & juice
  • vanilla essence, 1tsp
  • polenta, 125g
  • ground almonds, 125g
  • salt, large pinch


Preheat the oven to 160C / 320F /gas mark 2.5. Grease a 20cm shallow cake tin or oven-proof dish.

Cream together the butter, sugar & honey. Beat in the eggs one at a time. It may curdle but don’t worry. 

Stir in the vanilla essence and lemon and orange zest and juice. Fold in the polenta, ground almonds and salt. 

Bake for 35-40 minutes until golden and just set. Allow to cool slightly before serving. 

Recipe from The Guardian mag last weekend:


Oven-baked Vegetable Rosti and Eggs


Thursday 9th April 

The prodigal daughter and grandmother return from Edinburgh. They’ve had a great time but two nights was enough. Grandma’s opening statement at the station is that she’s never playing another word game again. They’re bickering as they walk into the station car park. 

Ollie embraces Daisy solemnly. He has missed her a lot. I am hoping this means an armistice on the sibling-fighting for the rest of the holidays. 

We get back to the house. It’s lunch-time. I make a pot of tea, then start on the rostis. Grandma sits in the green wicker chair and tells me about their Scottish adventures. They went to the castle and the zoo, and on an open-top tour of the city (twice); but the highlight of Daisy’s trip was pretending to be blind, stumbling around the hotel corridors.

Grandma is surprised the police weren’t called: she went to the bathroom at one point, and came out to find Daisy behind the curtain, gesturing wildly to people at the bus stop below, acting as if she was being held against her will. There was a kerfuffle and grandma had to forcibly remove her from the window as she was starting to attract the attention of passersby.

 I feel partly to blame; I’ve been positively encouraging her to practise her miming skills outside of drama club. Not quite to this end though. 

The rostis are supposed be a quick lunch, it’s just some grating and shaping, but the whole thing seems to take hours. Partly because it’s hard to cook and talk at the same time, and partly because grandma has unearthed boxes of my childhood stuff which must be sorted. 

The first box I open contains a whole filing system. I’m shocked! I had more of a grip on life admin in my mid to late teens than I do now as a fully-fledged adult. I resolve to go home and be more organised. 


Perfectly preserved in my filing system is the Cascade form from when I was 15. It states the computed-generated best-fit career choices for me based on my interests and school subject choices. I scoffed at it at the time, but it’s proved to be fairly accurate regarding teaching, with a bit of drama thrown in. 


We sit down for lunch. It’s mid-afternoon and we are ravenous. Daisy is surprised at how tasty the rostis are. I like them but want to have a go at making them without egg. Ollie refuses the rocket, the feta, the sweet chilli, or the fried egg. His plate looks very empty with just one rosti in the middle. 

The kids need a run-around so as the sun is beginning to set, we drive up to Huntington churchyard to see the plot where my grandparents ashes were buried in September. As we leave the house, Ollie points out a huge hot air balloon at the end of the road. Halfway round the rinroad he spots it again; and as we come into Huntington village it looms so low, that we think it might land. 


The grave plot looks over the river – one of great-grandma’s favourite places to walk – and as we get closer, we see that someone has planted daffodil bulbs.


It’s a beautiful evening so we make the spontaneous decision to walk along the river to my grandparents old house. The children gallop ahead and I spot a water vole (or rat?) and the first catkins of the year. (I have to stop here  on the nature commentary as this blog is becoming less about food and more like SpringWatch).

We walk for an hour and when we get home, muddy and tired, the kids have a bath followed by Heniz tomato soup and tinned peaches for pudding. One home-cooked meal is quite enough for one day. 

Vegetable Rostis and Eggs


Ingredients (Serves 4)

  • baking potatoes, 2
  • carrots, 2
  • onion, 1, thinly sliced
  • olive oil, 3tbsp
  • medium eggs, 6
  • rocket, handful per plate 
  • feta cheese, 40g crumbled

To serve

  • smoked paprika, to sprinkle
  • chilli sauce, to drizzle


Preheat oven at 190 degrees / Gas mark 5. Grease a large baking sheet with a little oil ( you may need two sheets).

Grate the potato and carrot. Place in a large bowl. Add the onion and combine. Tip the vegetable mix onto a clean, dry tea-towel and squeeze gently to extract as much moisture as possible. 


Return to the bowl. Add one beaten egg, plus seasoning and mix well. Take a small handful of the mixture and press into patties between the palms of your hands. This is easier said than done. (I added half another beaten egg to the mixture to get it to adhere better). 

Place the patties on the baking sheet. Don’t make them too thick – you don’t want them raw in the middle. They will seem a bit fragile but they stick together during cooking. 

Cook for 10 minutes. Turn over and cook for another 10 minutes. When they are golden, put a frying pan on with 2 tbsp of oil to start frying an egg for each person. In theory you can crack eggs onto the baking sheet and oven-bake the eggs. I’ll try this next time. 

To serve: place the fried egg on top of a rosti or two. Sprinkle rocket around the plate and some cubes of feta. Sprinkle some smoked paprika and a large drizzle of sweet chilli sauce. 

Original idea from Sainsburys magazine, May 2015.

And if you’re serious about your rostis, you’ve got to read this:

(Ex-Easter Egg) Chocolate Fruit Baskets

Tuesday 7th April

It’s just me and the boy. We are in York (the Homeland) for the week and have delivered Daisy and grandma onto the 10.34 to Edinburgh for their two-night away jaunt. Daisy’s only reason for wanting to go to Edinburgh is that it’s in ANOTHER COUNTRY; one her father has never been to. It has become a race: who will get there first – father or daughter.

As soon as Daisy crosses the border she wants to phone Tom to give him her triumphant news. Grandma, as ever, has the Ordnance Survey out so can just about pin-point when they cross onto Scottish soil.

As for Ollie and I, we are heading down to Rowntree Park where I spent many of my formative years. Ollie comes to a standstill on his scooter by the pond; geese are blocking his way.

“There are swans, mum!” he says anxiously. He has a great fear of swans  after I foolishly quoted Adrian Mole to him once: ‘A swan can break a man’s arm, you know.’ Since then he’s been understandably petrified.

“They’re geese, not swans, come on.” I say, pushing him on, but he has his foot on the brake refusing to budge. We’re supposed to be meeting people at the playground and of course we’re running late.

“Look they’re getting cross now! Just keep moving and don’t stop!”

In hindsight this is not something you say to a child with a big-bird phobia. He lets out a scream and whizzes past the geese. He’s so frightened that he scoots non-stop to the playground making us not quite so late.

At the playground, the children we are meeting have already formed a pack. This is the problem with not arriving on time. Ollie goes off on his own for a bit, then trails around behind the boys wanting to be part of the crew. I keep an eye on him.

They are creating a den in some bushes up on a bank. Suddenly Ollie looks like he’s in the thick of it so I relax and get on with the main reason for being here: catching up with old friends.

We’re only just scratching the surface, chat-wise, when one of the other boys comes to report that Ollie has done something in the den that should only be done in a toilet. I’m horrified. Wild-weeing is one thing, but this? It cannot be true. I hurry up to the den. All the other boys are standing outside awaiting my arrival.

I go inside and have a look. Unfortunately the report is correct and I have to remove the offending article with wet wipes in case anyone stands in it. I give Ollie a dressing down but it’s difficult to discipline in front of an audience.

“Are you cross with him because he didn’t wipe his bottom?”

“Will he have to go home now?”

I have to take questions from a group of boys, arms folded, who want to know the exact ins and outs of the offence.

Ollie appears to think the telling off is worth it though because the misdemeanour has earned him serious kudos amongst the gang: I’m only just back at the picnic table, muttering to myself, when one of the other boys comes racing over to say he wants Ollie to come round to his house NOW.

By this point the adults are all in desperate need of a cup of tea, and the boys are so dirty from playing in the soil that they look like they’ve spent a day down the pit. Leaving seems like a good idea to everyone.

After a clean up with wet wipes.

On the way home, Polly, my friend, asks if I have any good ideas for using up a surplus of Easter eggs. She’s seen one where you melt down the chocolate and make ‘baskets’ out of it which you can then fill with healthier things like fruit.

Back at hers, we’re only halfway through the first cup of tea when a pillow fight gets out of hand and the boys need something to calm them down. We set about experimenting with the chocolate baskets idea and it works surprisingly quickly and easily. Afterwards the boys have something to eat which gives them the energy to carry on with the next round of fighting games.


  • chocolate, any you want to use up: Easter eggs, chocolate santas etc, in a variety of white, milk and dark
  • silicone muffin cases
  • paint or pastry brushes
  • fruit, chopped up (raspberries, pineapple, kiwi, grapes, satsumas)
  • Greek yogurt



Break up the chocolate and place in a bowl. Use a different bowl for each type of chocolate: milk, dark, white.

Melt the chocolate, either in the microwave or in a bain-marie.

Give each child a silicone muffin case and a paint brush. Get them to paint the inside of the case thickly in one type of the melted chocolate.

Place the silicone cases in the freezer for five minutes.

When the chocolate has solidified, paint on another layer of chocolate, preferably of a different type.

Pop back in the freezer for another five minutes. 

Take them out and carefully peel back the silicone case.


Now fill the chocolate case half full with Greek yogurt and top with fruit. Drizzle with any remaining melted chocolate. 

Either eat immediately or pop in the fridge for later.




Roasted Leg of Lamb


Easter Sunday

Tom’s Roast Lamb: 

Preheat the oven at 190 degrees/ Gas mark 5. Rub the leg of lamb with olive oil and sea salt. Place in a roasting tin on the hob.  Sear over a hot heat until browned on all sides. Make small slits all over and insert with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary. 

Add 150ml of water to the bottom of the roasting tin and put in the oven for approximately 1.5 hours, or until the core temperature gets to 60 degrees (if you have a fancy thermometer). Leave to rest for 15 minutes before carving. 


We sit down to eat at 3.30pm. I have contributed nothing to the meal, except to allow the kids to stay in my bath for over an hour, and so keeping them out of the kitchen. This is at great personal expense to me because it means that instead of being able to read the paper, I have to play Twenty Questions and The Colour Game, where you telepathically try and guess the colour that the other person is thinking of. There’s no skill involved in it at all.  Lovely kids as they are, it is a relief to get out and hide in my room.

We sit down to this delicious meal and it occurs to me that it is a miracle we are eating anything at all, after the disorganisation we began the weekend with. 

Yesterday afternoon: I am supposed to be having a rest on the sofa while Tom takes the kids out for a brisk walk, but I am gripped with such a panic regarding Easter, that I give up the peace and quiet of our lounge for the hell of a supermarket on one of the busiest days of the year. 

On the way I make a mental list of everything needed for a good Easter weekend. Top of the list: meat and chocolate. 

As I drive around the mini-roundabout into the vast supermarket car park, a huge sign cheerfully tells shoppers: We Are Closed on Easter Sunday. Have a Happy Weekend! 

Closed tomorrow! This is outrageous! (I seem to have forgotten that I’m opposed to Sunday-opening). What if I’ve forgotten the mint sauce or another vital ingredient? My panic deepens; foot on accelerator I speed around trying to find a space; nearly killing a few shoppers on the way. 

By the time I get to the entrance of the store, packed with panic-buyers, I’ve broken into a jog.

Chocolate or meat? Chocolate or meat? Which do I go for first? Of course chocolate wins and I career the trolley around towards the Easter egg aisle. I get there and the shelves are empty; the place looks ransacked. Daisy has requested a Lindt Easter egg since February, when we first saw them in Morrisons, why the heck didn’t I buy one then?! Why have I let it get to this? 

I’m hunched over scanning all the low shelves for any possible reject eggs returned by shoppers. Nothing. At this rate she’ll have to have a Darth Vader egg and they’ll be a lot of tears.

I look up and see a Tesco’s employee pushing his way through the throng. I go to ask him when they’re expecting their next delivery in. In his hand he has a cardboard box. It’s like a mirage. It has Lindt stamped on it. 

“Are those Lindt Easter eggs?” I say sounding much too desperate.

“I don’t know what’s in the box,” he replies gruffly.

“Look! It says Lindt there!” I say, then I stand over him, breathing down his neck, until he opens the box. I take two huge eggs from him and hug them to my chest. It makes pushing the trolley very difficult, but I don’t trust anyone in this place;  there’s an air of desperation. 

Next I head for the meat. People are going mad grabbing anything from the shelves. I can’t get beyond the pork section to where the lamb is. I consider ramming my trolley into people’s legs, I Need Lamb!  then I look down and see a leg of lamb that’s been cast aside on top of the pork joints. I can’t believe my eyes. I grab it but it’s becoming almost impossible to push the trolley whilst holding two £10 Lindt Dark Chocolate eggs and a lamb’s leg. 

I find a quiet corner near the FreeFrom foods and look over my spoils. I seem to have picked up EIGHT random Easter eggs in total. None of them very suitable. What is wrong with me?

I’m reminded of my favourite Adrian Mole excerpt where he’s in town at closing time on Christmas Eve and he goes mad panic-buying. When I get home I have to look it up:  

At 5.25 I had a panic attack and left the queue and rushed into Marks and Spencer’s to buy something. I was temporarily deranged. A voice inside my head kept saying: ‘Only five minutes left before the shops shut. But! Buy! Buy!’ 
(The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole by Sue Townsend). 

I arrive home ladened down with food; feeling wrung out. Tom looks up nervously when he sees all the bags of Easter eggs. 

“I didn’t think we were doing Easter this year?”

For a moment I’m bewildered. Does he think I’ve just been to Tesco’s for fun?! He’s on edge because he hasn’t bought me an egg. That’s lucky because I seem to have bought one for the whole street.

 We sit down with a cup of tea and crack into an over-priced Green and Black’s Egg. Easter has arrived!

Blog Gear Change

A huge heart-felt thanks for reading the blog this far. We are a quarter of the way into the year and I’ve decided to have a gear change. By this, I mean change down a gear. 

I have been writing at break-neck speed with no forward planning regarding recipes etc; and although this is the nature of a daily blog, I’d like to be able to approach it in a calmer, more measured way. 

So for the next quarter of the year I will be writing three or four times a week instead of every day. The content will be much the same, but it will just give me time to think (and breathe!)

Much love and Happy Easter xxx

Chocolate Chip Hot Cross Buns

Easter Saturday


The Easter Weekend: it has taken us all by surprise. We are utterly unprepared. No Easter eggs or leg of lamb purchased; no vases of daffodils or pretty branch covered in decorations; and certainly no homemade hot cross buns. 

I wake in a panic. The kids are already downstairs, limbering up in the kitchen. They received new trainers yesterday (a present) and are very taken with them. Cue lots of laps up and down the hall. They sound like a herd of wildebeests trampling through the savannah; Daisy claims she’s running on air. They overhear me muttering about Easter and Ollie diverts to do a few circuits of the garden in case the Easter bunny has been early.

We start the day with a big clean up. We play to our strengths: Tom does the kitchen, accompanied by loud music; I tackle the mounds of laundry upstairs; Ollie acts as errand-boy running items from one parent to the other; while Daisy sorts things in her bedroom. 

I unearth a bag in our bedroom that hasn’t been put away since Center Parcs. I check all the pockets before putting it away in the cupboard. Inside I find a little jewellery box. Oooo. What’s this? I think. 

I open it and it’s a gold plectrum keyring with thoughtful words engraved on it. How lovely! It must be a forgotten Valentine’s or Christmas present. Something Tom saw and bought for me then tucked it away and forgot about it. 

I call Daisy in as go-between, just in case it’s a surprise that I’m not supposed to know about. She’d like to get on with her room, but she reluctantly takes the box from me and wanders down to Tom, pretending  she’s found it herself.

I hover at the top of the stairs waiting to be called down: Darling! I have something for you! I saw it and thought of you! Instead there are low voices coming from the kitchen (or maybe it’s just hard to hear over the racket on the radio). 

As Daisy comes back up the stairs empty-handed, I begin to panic a bit.

“Awkward!” she says at the top of the stairs, eyebrows raised. “It’s not for you.”

I’m suddenly reminded of the scene from Love, Actually where Emma Thompson thinks she’s getting an expensive necklace from her husband, (Alan Rickman) on Christmas Day, but it’s a Joni Mitchell CD instead (because the necklace has gone to a girl at the office), and Thompson sobs in her bedroom to the tune of Both Sides Now. A heart-breaker of a scene. 

Fortunately we are not replaying our own version of it today, much to my relief. Daisy informs me that it was bought for Tom by a family member because he plays the guitar, and he’s been looking for it. He’s very pleased it’s been found. I return to the laundry with a mixture of relief tinged with disappointment. 

By late afternoon, we’re starting to get our act together. I find a suitable branch in the garden (harder than you think) and Daisy decorates it with eggs. We clear the table and put on a new table cloth; I begin making hot cross buns for the first time. 


Unusually the kids aren’t up for it, and I enjoy the process more than I thought I would(!) chatting to Tom while he washes up. I opt to put chocolate chips and mixed peel in mine, because everything tastes better with chocolate, and it gives them a subtle chocolate-orange flavour. I have every intention, and all the ingredients, to make a gluten-free version too, but two batches of hot crosses in one day? You must be joking! 

They finally come out of the oven at 9.30pm, all ready to be toasted in the morning. The tradition is to eat them on Good Friday, but we are a few days behind on everything this year…..