Me Versus Me

Exercise and I have never been close bedfellows. I spent most of my P.E. lessons at school sneaking off with to loiter on benches in the woods during cross country, making fart noises from the sidelines as the other girls scissored over the high jump bar, or – on one occasion – getting sent home for sort-of-inadvertently throwing a javelin in the general direction of our Mrs. Trunchbull-esque, obese, teacher, after she failed to respond to my requests to demonstrate a suitable overarm technique.

And things didn't really improve from there. I think it's safe to say that sport at my school wasn't a particular priority; we were allowed to spend our GCSE year either doing sport or getting changed into jeans (a true thrill for a 16 year old girl trying to get attention from the local acne-covered talent) and heading to the bowling alley up the road to fling the balls down as quick as we could before congregating at the local McDonalds. Ah, the heady days before Jamie Oliver lisped himself into a frenzy, when it was perfectly acceptable that our school canteen stopped selling home cooked meals and turned swiftly into a (undoubtedly horsemeat-laden) burger bar.

At the time, I really didn't care that sport was such an inconvenience; something that had never interested me; a time to muck about or to try every excuse in the book to get out of wearing our lampshade-esque P.E. skirt. You know the ones – 22 inch waist standard that cut you in half as you struggled with crippling puppy-fat issues, royal blue pleat, with matching sports knickers that would give you thrush if you so much as looked at them.

But as a grown up (supposedly), I look back wistfully and wish that sport was something I'd really been able to get my teeth into, or just that I'd recognised that sport has a valuable part to play in your development and your physical and mental wellbeing. My adult relationship with sport has been one which in human terms would be a disaster; sport needs consistency, regular attention, and commitment. I'm flaky, unavailable, and a total commitmentphobe.

 

I tend to exercise when I hit the point of despair. When I've put on half a stone and decide to undertake a – usually short-lived and suitably pointless – diet. I get the old exercise DVDs out, or maybe go for a couple of runs. When I don't see instant results, I get bored and give up, convincing myself that my 20s are supposed to be a time for debauchery, and reminding myself of the endless quotes I've read from actresses in magazines who are 'just so much more confident' in their own skin their 30s.

It would be easy at this point to just give up on exercise. 'It's not you, it's me.' I could say, shrugging my shoulders and deciding to come to terms with a life of struggling up flights of stairs and bemoaning my muffin tops and bingo wings in the tone of someone who has already been defeated in the body battle. But balls to that.

I was thinking long and hard about exercise recently, and my own attitude to it. As with most uncomfortable topics, when people talk to me about exercise, I give a self-depricating, jokey response. I talk about how I make all these plans to get fit then sack them off for tri-weekly pub visits because I'm 'hopeless'. But then I realised that getting out there and doing something active isn't about your attitude to exercise; it's about your attitude – full stop.

In the other parts of my life, I'm determined, ambitious, strong, resourceful, and organised. I set myself professional goals that I know will be a stretch because – as I always say in job interviews – I relish a challenge. I generally work consistently hard to achieve – and ideally overachieve – because I want to prove that I can grow into my role, to gain gravitas, to constantly learn from my experiences and to use these lessons to reach my goals. I evaluate my progress, I think about new ways I can develop myself, I welcome constructive feedback, and I deal with the mistakes and the blows with maturity – because any other way is futile.

 

So I got to thinking; why would I let there be a discrepency between my atttitude to life and my attitude to being active? Setting out to get fit or achieve a fitness goal is no different to setting out to reach a career goal, and it uses all of the same skills – ones I incite regularly during office hours. And I decided, enough is enough. I have the great fortune of working with some of the most successful women in the country on a daily basis, and I'm damn well willing to bet that they didn't get to where they are today by giving up at the first hurdle – pun fully intended – but by pushing on through the uncomfortable parts, dusting themselves off after a fall and getting straight back out there for round two. Even when the doubts creep in.

So here I am; a big ball of determination and plain stubbornness, refusing to be defeated by my own self-doubt, shunning my commitment phobia, and giving laziness the finger. I have a place in the Royal Parks Half Marathon in October and a pretty big fundraising target for the incredible charity I have the great privilege of working for (insert cheeky Just Giving page plug here).

I also had the great pleasure of cheerleading at the London Marathon today; 6 hours of whooping, cheering, screaming, and blowing a whistle to help tens of thousands of people achieve the goal they'd spent a year of long, cold, nights and sweaty Saturday mornings training for. Giving up hundreds of hours in the process, and raising hundreds of thousands of pounds between them.

As I watched the raw emotion on the faces of those at mile 21, some crying in pain, some grinning as we called their name, others relieved as they spotted a loved one and stopped for a much-needed sweaty hug, I felt truly thrilled. Thrilled to be a part of something so special and awe-inspiring, but thrilled because I knew that if all of these ordinary people could achieve something amazing, I could too.

So in the words of Monica Gellar; 'Stay out of it; this is between me….and ME'.

BRING. IT. ON.

PS – all inspiration welcome; whether books, blogs, personal anecdotes or training tips. What gets (and keeps) you moving?!

 

Posted with Blogsy

That’s me in the corner, losing my connection

I find myself infuriatingly attached to my smartphone. I pay it more attention than I pay my health, spend longer looking at it every week than I probably do looking at a book (shameful I know), and enter a state of sheer panic in those few horrifying moments when I think it's somehow escaped my line of sight or grasp long enough to be stolen – only for it to turn up moments later in the depths of my permanently overloaded handbag.

————

I started writing this post just over a week ago. Ironically, the next night I managed to lose my iPhone somewhere in the gutter at Tottenham Court Road while juggling a McDonalds, playing the responsible adult for a somewhat wobbly colleague, and trying to navigate my way on to a night bus at 2am.

 

The next morning I woke up with not only a stinking headache, but a very expensive hangover.

 

And then the realisation struck that in losing this little black box, I'd entered the Bermuda Triangle of communication. My instant, all-knowing, city guide, navigator, workstation, timepiece and magical music box was no more. My initial feeling was a sort of multi-layered despair; despair at having been silly enough to lose it, despair at having to head out to work with no way of checking my day ahead or letting anyone know I was late, but, more than that, despair that I felt so useless without it in my hand.

 

It got me thinking even more about the unerring reliance on technology – and in particular, smart phones – that I and so many people in my life have. About how much the way we communicate has changed, and how I feel about it, my own frustrations at the way I've adapted to the change, and its impact on my relationships.

As I sit in a restaurant with friends, I look at a carefully laid table; plate, fork, knife, side plate, wine glass, iPhone. I find myself thinking about how rude it is to check facebook at the dinner table. And yet, as I await my starter, I scroll through titbits of life shared by people I care little about, barely know, or think of with disdain – titbits much less interesting than those being shared by those I'm sitting with; those I care about. Is the constipated baby of a girl I barely knew (or liked) at school more interesting than the career struggles of the friend I've been close to for six years?

 

At the pub, my colleagues and I wind down after a hard week, intermittently nudging and caressing our little black boxes to see what our online world has been getting up to while we've been indulging in actual facetime.

I sit on a bus and stare at a group of heavily-made up, noisy teenage girls. Their inane chatter irritates me at first, then I remember that my friends and I were exactly the same – though probably louder and decidedly more northern – and smile. Then I think about how glad I am that our chatter wasn't punctuated every three minutes by a domino-style drop of heads, swipe of fingers, lolling open of mouths, and instant dissection of a facebook status, tweet, or profile picture. I also think about how fortunate we were that our teenage lives weren't broadcast across the web; that our social standing, emotional welfare, or delicate hormonal balance couldn't be trashed at the nudge of a touch screen, the sharing of a photo, or an ill-timed tweet.

I started thinking even more about my online world as we were reunited after a week with a phone capable of little more than calls and texts. As I fell comfortably back into my routine of grasping for it at any moment of calm, boredom, or the few minutes between bus stops; expectant, hopeful, curious, or seeking an answer to a mundane question.

It turns out that losing my phone has made me realise what it was I really miss sometimes; unfiltered, unphotographed, undisturbed life. Proper, undiluted eye contact. The feeling of giving – and having – unwavering attention. Real focus and concentration on a task – any task. Learning and absorbing information in chunks that aren't bite-sized and backlit.

I can't remember the last time I made a meal or cake that looked remotely interesting or colourful that wasn't immediately instagrammed and shared with a bunch of people whose interest in my life spans all of 6 seconds. I can't remember the last time I saw something funny, had an interesting thought, or came up with a daft one-liner without thinking about how it would fit into 140 characters with maximum impact, to be shared with 600 people who will probably never read it as they flick mundanely through the last 200 tweets in their timeline.

Undoubtedly, my online world has brought me a wealth of good things. This blog has been an outlet for creativity and a saviour at times of frustration. Twitter has opened my eyes to what's happening in the wider world, what I can do to make an impact, and shown me the kindness of strangers on many occasions. Blogs and news pages are a source of new knowledge and inspiration. And online dating has, well, provided me with endless comic material. (see here for further reference).

 

But it strikes me that sometimes my little black box is stifling. That I climb into it to avoid doing things that take real effort, time or concentration. I find myself frustrated at feeling like there aren't enough hours in the day to do things I want to do; exercise, writing, cooking proper meals, or reading some of the dozens of books that are piled expectantly around my bedroom, corners tucked under after giving up a third of the way through. Yet I find the time to wander aimlessly around my little black box, sometimes for hours, most of the time wondering what on earth I'm doing there (much the same feeling as that of being in McDonalds at 2am on a Thursday night).

 

As I approach the celebration of a quarter of a century since I came kicking and and screaming into the world, I find myself thinking more about making each day count, and wondering about the person I'd be if I didn't waste so much time and energy. About the fact that I want to look back on each year and feel like I've achieved something important, done something good, reached a goal, helped someone, created memories that will endure. And it strikes me that if you continue to do the same thing, you will get the same results.

 

So I hope to use this jaded ramble as a springboard to action. As a kid, I once had a pet guinea pig that we kept temporarily in a large cardboard box. I thought he looked sad in such a dreary box, and that he must miss being able to see outside. So I decided to take action and cut him some lovely windows and doors (see diagram below). Needless to say, my architectural adjustments got me into a somewhat sticky situation – and resulted in lots of frustration for my poor mother as she tried to coax him out from behind our sideboard. But I don't doubt he had a lovely time enjoying his new found freedom and the fresh air.

So I'm doing the same for myself. My little black box feels in distinct need of some airholes; windows, even. To let in some fresh air and light; to give me a bit of clarity and focus. I hope to use it to make my twenty-fifth year one I will look back upon fondly through vivid memories, books read, fitness improved, prose written, and knowledge gained – rather than through my Facebook timeline.

 

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Berry burst muffins

Muffins are the busy lady’s best friend. After checking back on my blog for a recipe I’d posted a while back, I saw I hadn’t blogged since April; truly scandalous!

I’ve only baked a handful of times and have felt hard pushed for timea. I’d like to say it was result of working flat out and having a strenuous work out/hobby regime, but I’d been lying through my teeth. It’s mainly through socialising WAY too much with my new(ish) work colleagues (all in the name of ‘bonding’), and getting back into reading big time.

But these muffins truly are quick as a flash- AND they generate hardly any washing up. One big bowl, a small saucepan and a wooden spoon are all you need, and the whole process takes no more than 45 minutes from start to finish. What a dream. Now, this batch turned out a little flat for me, but that’s cause I only added the one egg and lazily didn’t defrost my berries first, but the taste is just lovely. Right my wrongs and you’ll get a lovely rise.

And not ONLY are they super speedy; they’re full of fruity goodness. Berries (frozen, in true speedy style) apple and banana? Surely, but surely one of your five a day..?

So here they are. Ideal for a lunchbox or to take on a last-minute picnic. Just remember to take at least two each..

Berry burst muffins

Ingredients

200g plain flour
75g light muscovado sugar
75g caster sugar
75g butter, melted
2 eggs
2 bananas- ideally very ripe!
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp bicarb
Two tbsp natural yoghurt
3 heaped tablespoons berries (I used frozen)
1 apple, peeled and coarsely grated

Method
1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees/gas mark 4. Line your muffin tin with cases.
2. Pop your butter in a saucepan and melt on a low heat. Meanwhile, mash your bananas in a large mixing bowl.
3. Mix in the eggs, yoghurt, sugar, grated apple and the melted butter, and combine.
4. Sift in the flour, bicarb and baking powder, and stir thoroughly.
5. Mix in your berries, and spoon into cases about 3/4 full.
6. Bake for around 18-20 minutes, until golden brown and a skewer comes out clean.

Earl Grey and Rose Water Bundt Cake

Just a few weeks ago, newspaper headlines declared we were in drought, and decried the start of a hose pipe ban. ‘But how will I clean my block paved drive way witouth my fully-loaded penis-esque Karscher pressure washer?!’ demanded middle-aged men with middle-aged spread.

Fear not, hose-wealders. As if by magic – or by the power of that lesser known phenomenon, Sod’s Law – at the very mention of a hose pipe ban, the mighty sky retaliated by rounding up a gang of the greyest, densest, meanest clouds around, and heartily encouraging them to piss down upon us all for the best part of ten days.

Now, I’m not particularly fond of pounding London’s uneven, puddle-laden pavements in (usually) porous shoes, wrestling with an umbrella determined to show off its jellyfish impression. But what I am fond of is having a perfect excuse to stay indoors, whack the heating up, and get in the kitchen – which is just what this rainy Sunday provided.

Now, don’t judge me, but I only tried Earl Grey tea for the first time a few months ago. (I KNOW). Now, I adore it; I have at least one every day at work and it always feels like a treat. It’s also perfect with a light and lovely piece of cake or a delicate biscuit (not that these are usually in abundance at work – for shame!).

Since my first taste, I’ve wanted to try Earl Grey in a cake, and since I had a bottle of rosewater that I was determined to bake with, too, I decided to bring them both together in a fancy floral experiment using my new bundt tin.

I am thrilled with the result; bundt tins make such a beautiful-looking cake- even before you do anything to the top! In my case, I decorated with my new favourite frosting (that’s a BIG deal, by the way): rose water glaze.

It’s just so gorgeous! I would describe the glaze as like a delicate, fancy version of a krispy kreme glaze – and since it was a bundt cake, I felt like I’d made myself a giant, classy krispy kreme. The best part about a bundt cake is that you use proportionally much less frosting because of the surface area, so it’s great if you don’t enjoy lots of sickly frosting – it’s probably less calories too..? A little like throwing deck chairs off the Titanic, I know, but god loves a trier…

Serves 12

Ingredients

• 225 butter
• 125 g caster sugar
• 100g light muscovado sugar
• 225g plain flour
• 2 large eggs
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 2 tbsp essence of rose water
• 3-4 earl grey tea bags, brewed with 100ml water to form a strong solution
• 2 tbsp lemon yoghurt (plain will do w/a few drops of lemon juice)
• pinch of salt

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees (fan)/gas mark 4. Grease a bundt tin with butter.
2. Cream the butter and sugar together. Whisk in the eggs one by one, then add the yoghurt, rosewater and most of tea solution – saving a tablespoon or so for the glaze.
3. Sift and fold in the flour, baking powder, and saly until thoroughly combined.
4. Distribute evenly into the bundt tin, and smooth around the top with a spatula.
5. Bake in the middle of the oven for 25 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. NB – the colour on the side you will see in the oven will be lighter of the colour of the ‘top’ when it’s flipped, so don’t worry if it’s not golden brown!

For the rose water glaze

• 120g icing sugar
• 2 tbsp rose water
• few drops of the earl grey solution

1. Sift the icing sugar into a bowl
2. Add a the rose water and tea, and mix together thoroughly with a fork until you have a reasonably thick glaze.
3. Once the cake has cooled, use a tablespoon to drizzle the glaze over the cake in lines or criss-crosses to finish.
4. Serve with a smug smile as you show-off an effortlessly pretty cake!

PS – Do you like my rather sweet table cloth?I I picked up two tea towels reduced to £1.50 in paperchase and thought they were too lovely to wipe the plates with, et voila!

PPS – What other recipes do you find work with with a bundt tin? I’d love to use it more!

Lemon and poppy seed yoghurt muffins

So here we are; spring has sprung! The cherry blossoms are out, the daffodils are saluting the sunshine, and we’ve had the few heady days of sunshine that will undoubtedly be reffered to fondly in hindsight as  ‘summer 2012′.

For me, the spring breeze blows away the cobwebs of winter and draws in the light; light clothing, light colours,  light food, and fluffy-like-a-cloud light cakes.

Gone are my darkest cravings for deep, dark, decadent chocolate cakes (we’ll see how long that lasts) and in comes the wish for something of a more delicate persuasion.

Now I don’t need much excuse to bring out the citrus fruits – in this case, an insanely cheap load of lemons from a local market, and a fancy for a breakfast treat. These muffins are just ideal with a morning tea or coffee; they’re light, yet moist, and not too naughty on the calories either. With yoghurt and lemon in them, I daresay they’re one of your five a day (ahem). At least.

The great thing about these is that they’re so easy you could practically do them while you’re asleep – which is what I usually am for the first two waking hours of every day. Perfect!

Makes 16

Ingredients

• 260g flour
• 150g caster sugar
• 25g poppy seeds
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp bicarb
• 2 eggs
• 300g low fat natural yoghurt (full fat is fine too!)
• 100ml vegetable oil
• juice of 2 lemons, zest of one

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees/gas mark 6. Line muffin tins with baking cases.
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, seeds, baking powder and bicarbonate of soda
3. In a separate bowl, combine the eggs, yoghurt, vegetable oil, zest and juice of the lemons.
4. Mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until thoroughly combined using an electric whisk or a wooden spoon (and a bit of elbow grease!)
5. Spoon into the muffin cases until only just over half full, and bake in the pre-heated oven for 18-20 minutes until golden and springy.

Triple-Layer Trilogy part 3: Brooklyn Blackout Cake

Well, well, well. It’s been almost three weeks since I posted the second part of this triology; probably the time it has taken me to finish the Steig Larsson trilogy in the two hours a day I merrily spend with my Kindle on my commute.

Time seems to move at a different speed in London to Bristol or Newcastle; time seems much more precious, and I seem to have become worse at making the most of it. I hope that will change (at least a little) when I get the iPad I pre-ordered last week.

This was a HUGE splurge for me; I can’t remember the last time I spent that much cash in one go, but as I got a little money from a relative recently, I felt like I deserved a treat . I’m particularly delighted that this treat one which means I can blog, read other wonderful blogs, and do all kinds of clever things from the comfort of my sofa. In short – hopefully we’ll be seeing more of each other!

Now – on to the most important part; the cake. This was made as a birthday cake for a joint let’s-all-crash-at-my-little-flat reunion and birthday celebration for two of my very good friends from university. For the first time in well over a year, we came together to drink too much booze, dance like we were 19 again to hopelessly cheesy music, and, importantly, eat.

I wanted to make an unashamedly calorific, insanely indulgent, enormous cake. Naturally, my first port of call was the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook, and a recipe I’d been eyeing up for a very long time – ever since I saw these two glorious words:

chocolate custard

Who can argue with chocolate custard used as frosting? Really, who?

The cake wasn’t the best chocolate cake I’ve made – I like my chocolate cakes to use real dark chocolate, rather than just cocoa powder, otherwise it just doesn’t pack the punch. But the chocolate custard. Oh, MAN.

It’s pretty much what I’d bathe in if I was Willy Wonka. Which is why it’s the only part of the recipe I’m blogging. It also sort of reminds me of a particular pudding I used to eat in primary school. Which I’m not sure is a good or bad thing. But either way, I loved it. I think it’d be amazing sandwiched between fluffy, thin chocolate biscuits, or macarons, piped into the centre of cupcakes, or, if you’re anything like me, eaten directly from the bowl. With a wooden spoon. Or your face.

Chocolate Custard

(Makes enough to cover two triple layer cakes. With plenty left for dinner.)

Ingredients

• 500g caster sugar
• 1 tbsp golden syrup
• 125g cocoa powder
• 200g cornflour
• 85g unsalted butter, cubed
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Method

1. Put the sugar, golden syrup, cocoa powder and 600ml water into a large saucepan and bring to the boil ovr a medium head, whisking as you go.
2. Mix the cornflour with 120-200ml water, whisking as you add it.
3. Whisk gradually nito the cocoa mixture in the pan over a medium high. Bring back to the boil, whisking constantly.
4. Cook, whisking all the time, for a few minutes until thick. Decant into a bowl, cover with clingfilm and chill until firm.

Triple-layer trilogy part 2: Coconut and Lime Cake

Following on from the Drizzled Lemon Curd Cake I made recently, the second installment in my triple-layer triology is this utterly charming, porcelain white beauty.

Coconut and lime are one of my most favourite combinations; whether in a cocktail, a thai curry, or these super-cute coconut and lime cupcakes, there’s something about the sharp zing of lime paired with the sweet, creamy flavour of coconut that makes it simply irresistible for me.

This cake is delicate (perhaps not in looks but in taste – my icing technique leaves a little to be desired and my tins are slightly different sizes!), yet it packs a punch; light and fluffy, sweet and smooth, yet sharp and tangy. It would be right at home at a tea party, or for little something different for a birthday party. Me? I made it to brighten up a freezing-cold Monday morning at work – and to introduce my new colleagues to my baking obsession. It certainly stepped up to the plate.

I smiled as my inbox pinged with compliments.

‘This cake is AMAZING!’

‘Our resident office bakers have some stiff competition!’

Those are the kind of e-mails I just LOVE to receive. Who wouldn’t? I love knowing I’ve brightened up someone’s Monday morning or made a perfect match for their afternoon cup of Earl Grey to help them beat the 3pm slump.

Yeah, yeah; so I should probably give them a handful of Brazil nuts, some acai berries and a generous helping of dust if we’re being health-conscious – but who wants to be that girl?!

Triple-Layer Coconut and Lime Cake

The cake itself is adapted from Dan Lepard’s wonderful Short & Sweet. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend you buy a copy.

Serves 10-12

Ingredients

• 300g caster sugar
• 275g plain flour
• 250g butter, softened
• 3 eggs
• 2 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 150ml coconut milk
• 50g dessicated coconut
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• Juice and zest of 3 limes

Method

1. Line 3 20cm round baking tins with baking paper and grease the sides.
2. Heat the coconut milk until almost boiling, then stir in the dessicated coconut
3. Add two thirds of the lime juice to the coconut mixture. Leave to soak in for 30 minutes to moisten the dried coconut.
4. Preheat the oven to 180c/160 fan/gas 4
5. Sift the flour and baking powder together.
6. Cream the butter and sugar in a bowl and beat until fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time until combined and add the vanilla extract.
7. Fold in the flour mixture and half of the lime zest, alternating with the coconut mixture until smooth.
8. Divide between the 3 tins and bake for 30-35 minutes.

For the coconut and lime cream cheese frosting

• 175g icing sugar, sifted
• 25g butter
• 125g cream cheese
• 30ml coconut milk
• Juice and zest of 1 lime (as above)

1. Beat the icing sugar and butter together with an electric whisk until combined. Add the cream cheese, coconut milk, the rest of the lime juice and zest and whisk on medium-high speed until smooth – at least 5 minutes.

Smooth the frosting between the layers and over the top, et voila! A totally tropical, totally tangy, and totally naughty triple-layer-tastic treat.

Enjoy with a caipirinha or mojito for a very grown-up treat.

Triple-layer Trilogy: Part one – Drizzled Lemon Curd Cake

This post showcases the first of three tantalising triple-layer cakes I’ve baked recently. Why have I baked so many of them, you ask? Especially when most people are on a new year, clean-eating-boot-camping-green-tea-swigging-booze-craving de-tox.

Well, there are two reasons; one, I prefer dirty eating – particularly in January and February, generally the coldest, most depressing months of the year.  Secondly, when it comes to cake, I feel there are few things more satisfying than watching a cake slice gently glide through three decadent, fluffy layers of sponge, and lifting up a resplendent, towering triangle to endless ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s.

A triple layer cake should be a perfect symphony of lusciously light layers, moist-making filling, and an irresistible topping that come together to woo anyone within a 2-mile radius. Cheeky.

The first in this series is something of a classic, created by a classic – Delia Smith. It’s a zesty, light, and simply sublime lemon drizzle cake, sandwiched with homemade lemon curd.

The only thing I’d change would be to make it bigger (with good reason, honest) by upping the quantities – Delia actually cooks this in two tins before slicing them both in two, but I found that I didn’t get as much rise as I’d like to get four good layers. And – obviously – bigger is always better when it comes to cake!

I’d probably also change the fact that I made it after getting around 3 hours’ sleep due to being stranded after a night-out when London’s transport system decided it didn’t want anyone in north London to get home. But that’s another story!

Triple-layer Drizzled Lemon Curd Cake

Serves 10-12 generously

For the cake

• 1 lemon, zest only, grated
• 1 tbsp lemon juice
• 175g/6oz self-raising flour sifted
• 1 level tsp baking powder
• 175g/6oz butter at room temperature
• 175g/6oz caster sugar
• 3 eggs

For the lemon curd

• 1 large juicy lemon, grated zest and juice only
• 75g/3oz caster sugar
• 2 eggs
• 50g/2oz unsalted butter

For the icing

• 1 large lemon- zest only
• 50g/2oz sifted icing sugar
• 2-3 tsp lemon juice

Preparation method

1. Preheat the oven to 170C/325F/Gas 3.
2. Measure all the cake ingredients into a mixing bowl and beat – ideally with an electric hand whisk – until you have a smooth, creamy consistency.
3. Divide the mixture evenly between the two tins and bake them on the centre shelf of the oven for about 35 minutes or until the centres feel springy when lightly touched with a little finger.
4. While the cakes are cooking, make the lemon curd.
5. Pop  the sugar and grated lemon zest in a bowl, whisk the lemon juice together with the eggs, then pour this over the sugar. Then add the butter cut into little pieces, and place the bowl over a pan of barely simmering water.
6. Stir frequently with a whisk until thickened – about 20 minutes.
7. Remove the cakes from the oven and after about 30 seconds turn them out on to a wire rack. When they are absolutely cold – and not before – carefully cut each one horizontally into two using a sharp serrated knife.
8. Spread the curd thickly to sandwich the sponges together.
9. For the icing, begin by removing the zest from the lemon – it’s best to use a zester to get long, curly strips. Then sift the icing sugar into a bowl and gradually stir in the lemon juice until you have a soft, runny consistency.
10. Allow the icing to stand for 5 minutes before spreading it on top of the cake with a knife, almost to the edges, and don’t worry if it runs a little down the sides of the cake. Then scatter the lemon zest over the top and leave it for half an hour for the icing to firm up before serving.

 

Chorizo and Sweet Pepper Winter Warmer with Cheddar Dumplings

With ear muffs, hats, gloves, scarves and several layers, Alex and I headed out to join the celebrations for Chinese New Year this Sunday in London’s Trafalgar Square and Chinatown.

After a couple of hours squeezing down colourful streets crammed with excited children bringing paper dragons to life and hungry grown-ups hunting out the best dim sum, we moved on to take in some of the dancing and music in Trafalgar Square.

By 4pm, we found ourselves faced with a dilemma; do we wait a couple of hours in the cold to see what seemed certain to be a fabulous fireworks display, or do we head home and potentially miss out? We decided to grab a (very large) hot chocolate, find ourselves a spot on some (very cold) stone steps and wait it out.

That turned out not to be such a great idea; firstly, the fireworks felt distinctly disappointing. There was something of a cumulative ‘is that it?!’ as they came to an end the huge crowds dispersed. Secondly, we were freezing – ear muffs and all.

So it’s safe to say that by the time we got home, getting warm was top of our list, and I had just the thing for it; stew. There’s nothing quite like a bowl full of steaming hot, flavoursome stew on a cold winter’s night to warm from within.

But after a day being wrapped up in divinely exotic smells from all corners of the world, I knew we needed something with a little zing to it. With a little experimentation, this was the fabulous, sweet, rich and spicy result.

These tiny, beautifully sweet and zingy peppers are a fantastic store cupboard ingredient, and will perk up any dish. I actually picked up a huge jar in our local 99p store, but you can grab them in most supermarkets, too.

The great thing about this one is that although it’s hearty and filling, it actually contains at least four of your five a day. Whack a little butternut squash in there if you fancy and there’s your five!

Chorizo and Sweet Pepper Winter Warmer

Serves 2-3 but is easily doubled.

 Ingredients

• One large onion, finely chopped
• Two cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 30g chorizo, diced
• 1 yellow, orange or red pepper, chunkily chopped
• 1 medium courgette, sliced/diced
• 6 small sweet red peppers (mine were pickled)
• 1 tin chopped tomatoes
• 4 medium tomatoes, chopped into chunks.
• ½  tsp cayenne pepper
• 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
• ½ tsp oregano

Method

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees/gas mark 4.
2.  In a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil and add the onions. Cook for 3-4 minutes until softened, before adding the garlic and chorizo. Cook for a further 5 minutes until the chorizo oil has nicely coloured the onions.
3. Add the pepper and courgette to the pan and cook for another couple of minutes.
4. Throw in the tomatoes (chopped and fresh), add the herbs and spices, and season generously with salt and black pepper. Fill up the tomato tin halfway with water and add that to the pan.
5. Simmer for a couple of minutes, before transferring to a casserole dish and popping in the oven for 30 minutes.
6. While the stew is bubbling away, get on with making your dumplings.

 

For the Cheddar Dumplings

 Makes 6 medium-sized

• 80g self-raising flour
• 25g suet (or grated butter if you prefer)
• 3-4 tbsp water
• 30g cheddar cheese, finely grated
• ½ tsp oregano
• ½ tsp dried rosemary

Method

1. Add the flour, grated suet and cheese to a bowl and rub together.
2. Gradually add the water until the mixture comes together easily.
3. Form the mixture into six balls by rolling in the palms of your hands.

When the stew has been in the oven for 30 minutes, take off the lid, pop in the dumplings, and return to the oven without the lid, turning the oven up to 200 degrees, for 20 minutes.

It’s hearty enough to serve on its own, but it’d be great with a hunk of fresh bread or spicy rice, too.

Glorious game pie

I won’t flatter myself enough to think that anyone’s noticed my lack of posting recently, but the reason for the slow-down has been pretty simple; I’m exhausted! Starting a new job is always tiring – there’s always so much to learn, and usually at breakneck speed. Thankfully the job is fantastic and I’m really enjoying it, but it’s safe to say that most evenings, I’ve been getting through the door and becoming at one with the sofa

Weekends are when I’d usually blog, but of course,  with a huge city like London just waiting to be explored, we haven’t felt much like staying indoors. We’ve been checking out some of the fabulous galleries, pubs, foodie haunts and markets – and I have to say, I’m loving it. I’ve been dying to share some of our finds.

A couple of weeks back we decided to check out a real London foodie favourite; Borough Market. And boy was I glad we did.

This bustling bazaar is packed to the rafters every weekend with locals, tourists and long-lenses snapping away at the tempting tables. It’s not hard to see why; from high-quality cuts of everything from Oxtail to Ostrich, to rich, moudly cheeses strong enough to wake the dead, and from huge, perfect loaves to stacks of pots filled with every condiment, preserve and pickle you could ever wish to lay your hands on – this place has it all.

We went in empty-handed, preparing to save our money to go out for a meal that night. Needless to say, that meal never happened; we pooled our cash into splurging on a host of luxurious treats we’d otherwise never dream of buying. It was endlessly thrilling to be able to waltz over to a stall of decadent delights and walk away clutching some to take home, rather than looking back wistfully.

Favourite buys were some wonderful freshly-made harissa from a Moroccan stall with chefs on-hand cooking up tempting take-away treats, some ‘wow wow’ mustard to knock your socks off, English muffins big enough for a small child to sleep on, and a gorgeous slice of cake with quite possibly the best frosting I’ve ever tasted. We also decided to go all out red meat – not something we eat too often – and bought a mixed pack of game; rabbit, venison, and pheasant, with a view to making a gloriously gluttonous pie.

We stumbled across a fantastic pastry recipe purely by the accident of running low on plain flour; by mixing plain flour and bread flour we ended up with a wonderfully crisp, yet still light, golden crust.

Makes 4 hearty servings fit for a winter’s day

Ingredients

For the filling

• 500g mixed game
• 1 medium sweet potato
• 1 large onion
• 2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 tbsp corn flour
• 1 glug of red wine (optional, but highly recommended)
• 1 tbsp harissa
• 1 beef stock cube
• 225ml water

For the pastry

• 150g plain flour
• 150g strong white bread flour
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 150g unsalted butter
• 70 ml cold water
• 1 egg (to egg wash the pie)

Method

For the filling

1. Chop up the onions into medium sized chunks,  and add them to a large saucepan with the olive oil. Brown the meat on a medium-high heat for around 2-3 minutes, before turning down the heat, adding the garlic and cooking for another couple of minutes.
2. Mix the stock cube with 225ml water (or use fresh stock if you’re lucky enough to have it) and add it to the pan with a good glug of red wine and the table spoon of harissa.
3. Continue to simmer for at least an hour and a half, preferably two hours, to ensure the meat is really tender and all of the flavours have blended beautifully. Check after an hour, and sprinkle in the corn flour if the mixture needs thickening, or add a little water if it looks dry. While it’s cooking, make your pastry.

For the pastry

1. Mix together the dry ingredients in a food processor (or a bowl if doing by hand).
2. Chop the butter into small pieces and whizz or rub together.
3. Add the water a little at a time until the mixture comes together into a ball.
4. Wrap in cling film and chill for 30 minutes before using.
5. Roll out just over a third of your pastry and line your pie tin (we used a loose-bottomed 20cm cake tin). Roll out another third to make the sides of your pie, and then the final third to make your lid.

For the pie

Season your mixture well and remove from the heat. Gently spoon the mixture into the pastry case, top with the lid (remembering to pop a couple of small holes in the top), and splosh over your egg wash to give a lovely golden bake.

If you like, you can get creative and make a little pie topper, use a fork to seal the edges, or even do some fancy twists or crimping. I just happened to have a reindeer cookie cutter that seemed very apt!

Finally, bake in the oven at 180 degrees/gas mark 4 for 40 minutes, or until the pastry is golden and crisp. Serve with a red wine gravy, mash, and some tasty greens for a luxurious treat that’ll warm up even the coldest of winter days.