I am marginally obsessed with chai syrup. I put it in milk, on porridge, or just drink it neat (cue blush-faced emoji). There is a brand made by a company in Bath called Henny and Joe’s, which was pretty life-changing for me. I first discovered it at my local Sunday market, and, to add to the tantalising excitement of my love affair with this stuff, they weren’t always there every week, meaning that some weeks I was left bereft. So given the unreliability of access to my next fix, I decided that the only thing to do was have a bash at making some myself.
Recipes seem to include a vast variety of spices, some with star anise, some ginger, some cloves. However, I decided to just make it up as I go along (as per usual), which involved the prominence of the things I love – vanilla and ginger – and the omission of those I don’t – cloves and star anise. Cloves I have a particular aversion to, as they are apparently a home remedy for toothache, so since childhood I have associated the taste with acute dental pain. Recipes vary between using honey and sugar, I used both – some honey that my Mum bought back from Greece, along with muscovado sugar (my insatiable sweet tooth being the culprit that resulted in the aforementioned trips to the dentist).
This syrup is less aniseed-y than some would like, so feel free to add a few cloves or a star anise if that’s what floats your boat. I also used loose leaf tea flavoured with chocolate, as that was the only one I had, but any loose leaf tea (or a normal tea-bag) will work fine. Keep tasting it as you go along, and adjust the levels of spices to taste. For me it’s that magical balance between sweet from the honey and cinnamon, and spicy from the pepper or star anise that makes this syrup so addictive. I imagine the syrup would keep in a sealed jar in the fridge for a few weeks, but it’ll never lasts that long if I’ve got anything to do with it.
It has always baffled me why this is called banana bread, when it is so obviously a cake. I guess it’s an excuse to eat cake for breakfast – the fact that it’s called ‘bread’ (I’ve even seen it spread with butter) making this somehow ok. Loaf cakes always take a frustrating amount of time to bake (patience is not one of my strong points..) and its always a difficult balance between cooking it all the way through and not burning the top.
I used coconut oil instead of butter here, as I made it for a friend who is marginally obsessed with coconuts and not eating dairy at the moment. This makes the cake slightly lighter, and adds a pleasing coconut taste, which goes well with the date syrup.
I get annoyed by the amount of smoothie bowls and chia seed puddings on Instagram. There, I’ve said it. Every other account seems to promote ‘wellness’, clean eating’ and the like, often accompanied by nauseous hashtags (#goddess). Whilst I don’t doubt that eating healthy food is good for you, I feel that too many people take it too far, and ‘healthy’ has come to mean ‘lets ban everything apart from fruit’. Oh, and the famous chia seeds.
I have gone through phases in my eating past of being pretty much vegan, a decision which was undoubtedly a product of all of the media hype surrounding this being the most ‘healthy’ diet choice you can make. And whilst I know many people who adapt well to a vegan diet, for me it made me feel listless and depleted. But I ploughed on, assured that this was ‘healthy’ and ‘natural’, so pretty soon my body would adapt and I would feel great. But this didn’t happen. I went to a nutritionist, who recommended eating more protein, so I started eating meat again. Organic, free range meat from a local butcher, but yes, meat. More protein, coupled with lots of veg and small amounts of dairy, for me felt healthy.
I know that what feels heathy is different for everyone, and many people are vegan for ethical reasons which I entirely respect. But I think it’s work reexamining what healthy means for you on an individual basis, and for some of us that involves the odd steak, glass of wine or bar of sea salted caramel chocolate. With this in mind, the following recipe has meat, cheese, eggs, cream and butter in it. Hallelujah.
I recently went to a calligraphy workshop run by Imogen Owen. All red lipstick and sassy sense of humour, Imogen hand-letters profanities in the most beautiful way I have ever seen. Her down to earth ‘just get on with it’ attitude was so refreshing, and it’s lovely to be around someone so passionate about her craft.
The workshop was held in The Forge, a beautiful space in Bristol where I previously attended an Autumn Styling workshop. It was on a Friday evening, so having had a long week at work, I wasn’t sure how much patience I would have for writing out letter templates. But there was something so relaxing about practising the same shapes over and over, the scratching of the pointed calligraphy nib on the thick paper, and the gentle babble of chatter.
These cookies are adapted from Nigel Slater recipe for pistachio and lemon cookies – I replaced pistachios with almonds and added coconut and dried apricots, using up remnants in my store cupboard. And, if we’re being honest, I found the letter ‘A’ easier to write than ‘P’.
There’s something so satisfying about making food that is just for you, when you can indulge your idiosyncratic, even embarrassingly bizarre, tastes. Peanut butter and marmalade on toast, anyone?! I’m a big fan of slightly confusing combinations of sweet and savoury – particularly fruit and cheese. Ricotta is one of my all time favourite cheeses, and here its creamy, grainy texture is a welcome compliment to fragrant basil oil and musky plums.
This idea started in my head as the more conventional, savoury combination of tomatoes, ricotta and basil, but then morphed, thanks to some attractive purple-hued plums, into a more unusual one. I was stumped as to how to assemble and eat the resulting concoction, given that it’s neither savoury, or sweet. I ended up eating a good proportion of it straight out of the bowl. Then I made pesto out of the leftover basil leaves, and assembled the lot on some posh crackers.
The basil oil recipe comes from Oliver Pratt, a chef who can talk so enthusiastically about any recipe that you immediately want to make it. You only need a drizzle for this recipe, so store the rest in an airtight bottle or jar.
Around this time of year, my thoughts turn to chocolate. I’m usually pretty good at avoiding eating too much of it, but when the weather is damp and it gets dark in the early afternoon, all I seem to want to do is consume copious amounts of dark chocolate (along with copious amounts of red wine). Eating with the seasons, you might say.I’d bought some ludicrously expensive chocolate, some sugar and butter to use for a work related photo shoot, so the obvious next step seemed to be baking. I had a distracting craving for chocolate cookies, so voila.
This was my attempt to follow a recipe, which I’ve had to accept is something I’m not very good at. I’m not a naturally defiant person, but there’s something about a precise list of ingredients and a specific method that makes me want to veer rebelliously off course. So, this recipe was originally for chocolate chip cookies, which I decided wasn’t going to be chocolatey enough to satiate my craving, so added cocoa powder. I also threw in some fig jam, a random addition mostly due to the fact that it had been lurking in my cupboard for weeks.
Lo and behold, the cookies came out fine, reaffirming my belief that recipes are, in my eyes, for guideline purposes only. The first batch of cookies bled together when they baked, forming one large gooey sheet. Leave about 4cm of space around each one and you’ll be fine (unless making one large cookie the size of a baking tray is the aim). They cookies will look endearingly misshapen (mine certainly did), but thanks to the trend of ‘rustic’ baking, let’s not worry.
Last weekend, I went to a Christmas baking workshop taught my friend Marianne, a pastry chef who I met on the Makelight Retreat. The workshop was held at Bakesmiths, a lovely bakery and cafe on Whiteladies Road in Bristol.
Being not exactly the biggest fan of Christmas pudding, mostly because it’s inevitably forced on you after being crammed to the rafters with goose and roast potatoes, I’ve never made one before. So, I was looking forward to giving it a bash. I opted to make the ‘boozy chocolate’ version (because anything can be improved with booze and chocolate, right?!) complete with added cocoa powder, rum and chopped chocolate.
Marianne took us expertly through the recipe, pointing out helpful tips along the way. Given that I have a stunningly short attention span, when it came to us making the Christmas pudding recipe, I conveniently ‘forgot’ the right time to add the alcohol, meaning that I had to add more in at a later stage. Oh well. So with my (very) boozy Christmas pudding made, we then moved on to mince pies. We made the mincemeat with a combination of dried fruit, homemade candied peel, suet, nuts, and (yes) even more alcohol. Marianne took us through making a very delicate sweet pastry with icing sugar and ground almonds, which we then filled with the homemade mincemeat and baked. Then there was mulled wine. A wonderful day.
For full details about Marianne’s upcoming classes, head to mariannebakes.co.uk
Last weekend I went on an Autumn styling workshop, taught by food photographer and stylist Carole Poirot at The Forge in Bristol. One of my favourite things about the workshop was the space it was held in – The Forge is one of those spaces that is designed with such thought. Every detail has been aesthetically considered, from the shelving in the kitchen, to the artfully distressed brick wall, to the plant arrangement in the bathrooms. It was so inspiring to spend time there.
Another amazing thing about the workshop was all the incredible props Carole bought with her – items ranging from an old skittle from a skittle alley, to vintage medicine jars, to feathers, to intricate gold spoons were spread out on a table, ready for us to play with. My prop collection at home consists of a few chipped plates, some torn pieces of linen and a couple of spoons given to me by my Grandma, so this was another level of prop euphoria.
Carole has such an eye for arranging all manner of different things together, and encouraged us to think carefully about balance when we were making our arrangements. We all picked out different objects from the array, and set about creating vignettes and flat lays with them. It felt so wonderfully self-indulgent to spend the day faffing around – arranging worn gold cutlery, scratched from years of use, alongside purple-hued hydrangeas and wooden boards. It really made me think more about the deliberate aesthetic decisions we have the opportunity to make everyday – and the simple pleasure that can come from a well balanced arrangement of carefully chosen objects. I went home after the workshop and spent a good couple of hours rearranging the objects in my room…
I have been feeling guilty for a while about not having posted on this blog since, ahem, July. I was feeling in need of a bit of shaking up and inspiration, so last weekend, I went to a photography retreat in the Cotswolds. The retreat (yes, there was meditation in a teepee) was run by Emily Quinton, who has set up Makelight, a community of digital creatives and photographers.
The weekend was exactly what I needed on many levels, both personally and professionally, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the fact that it came right when I needed it. I was feeling a bit emotional when I arrived for several reasons, and the healing effect of being sequestered away in the countryside with a lovely bunch of women was incredible. There was mindfulness walking, arranging apples and linen on wooden boards in photography workshops (with the incredible Catherine Frawley), and beautiful flowers that almost moved me to tears (and I’m not usually one to get emotional over floristry) by Jody Page. There was laughing, and wine. I slept like a log for 10 hours a night.
One of the talks that had the most impact on me was given by Kate from A Playful Day, who spoke about the blogging process – giving stories the time they need to evolve, and allowing yourself time to develop them. When they’re ready, they happen. Some burst from you, something you need to write straightaway, others take more time. I felt so much relief to hear this, as I always have this kind of imaginary template in my head of when things need to happen. But no-one’s going to notice if a blog post takes a bit longer, are they? The story will come when it’s supposed to. And come it has.
Last month, I went to Malta to visit my friend Paris, who’s recently moved there. I didn’t really know what to expect from the tiny Mediterranean island, as I booked my flights last minute, so there was little time for any pre-holiday research. So I just had to turn up and let it unfold. From cliff-top parties to swimming in azure blue sea, to g&ts on the balcony, there were many memorable moments.
There was one particular café we frequented for lunch, so much so that the owner would inquire ‘you want some more hummus?!’ every time we entered. But perhaps the most memorable meal was at a Lebanese restaurant. We ordered hummus (of course) and the Syrian roasted red pepper dip and walnut dip, Muhammara. This was unlike anything I’ve had before, so I immediately looked up the recipe and had a bash at recreating it. Of course, this is nothing like the original (especially as I burnt my peppers slightly) but given food is so much about context, it never is.