WHEN IT HAPPENS TO YOU

 

I finished reading this late last night. I knew I would love it when I was one story in, after two I didn't want to put it down.    

A DAY OF PERFECT MEALS

In the evenings we stand in the kitchen. Me by the oven, at the hob, standing with one foot flat on the floor, the other crossed over it, on tip-toes. Chris at the worktop, making our sandwiches for the next day - salami, cheese, salad, cornichons, mustard, Dijon for me, English for him. The sun setting, the sky turning from blue to pink, then getting darker and darker. Last night we listened to Spilled Milk, as we often do, and, while I made pasta with bacon, peas, parsley and parmesan, Molly and Matthew talked about their day of perfect meals. When the episode finished we tried to decide what our perfect food day would be. It's tricky, you start with one thing and then you remember a sandwich you used to eat, the breakfast roll from an Edinburgh cafe long since closed, a plate of freshly caught scallops, rotisserie chicken and crisps on a roadside in France. So what would my day of perfect meals look like? It would be something like this.

Early Bird granola with milk and a New Orleans style iced coffee from Blue Bottle for breakfast.

Spicy squid and grilled pork bún from Song Que with a watermelon agua fresca from La Superior for lunch. 

A nata and an iced coffee from Fernandez & Wells as a snack.

A white pie from Delancey for dinner with a bottle of the Bandol rosé that we drank with lunch at Petersham Nurseries on my 29th birthday.  

And for pudding? A scoop of chocolate ice-cream that I ate in Paris in 2003. It was from a small place on the Left Bank, Rue de la Bucherie maybe? It's closed now but is still the best chocolate ice-cream I have ever tasted. And with it, because that perfect food day definitely needs two scoops of ice-cream, a scoop of the mint ice-cream that we ate at Marlow & Sons in 2011.

I considered custard doughnuts from St John, gozleme from Stoke Newington, and lobster rolls from Maine but I guess the thing about the perfect food day is that it is bound to change, reflecting the tastes you have right now, in this moment, influenced by where you are, what you want from a day. And this food day, rich with memories of meals eaten alone and with friends, sounds pretty much perfect to me.  

AUTUMN BECKONS

We haven't had much of a Summer this year, it seems wrong to wish it away, but I'm feeling the pull of Autumn as we reach the last week of August.

First there was the September issue of Vogue.

Then the first of the Toast Autumn catalogues.

A knee length cord skirt, silk long sleeved top, thick tights.

I started to think about a mustard scarf, a new leather bag, jumper dresses and navy blue moccasins.

I'll embrace Summer while it lasts, will gladly take any fleeting opportunity for bare arms or legs, for sandals, for painted toenails. I'll sit outside for as long as I can, I'll drink in the long days and hope for an Indian Summer with bright, warm September days but Autumn is reeling me in and I'm powerless to resist.

From top: Essie Stylenomics nail polish, Uniqlo dress, Uniqlo cardigan, Rib and Hull Heirloom Tote, Minnetonka moccasins.

STRAWBERRY SEASON

Before we left the strawberries were just appearing, not yet quite ready, picked too early.

In New York, Brian had tiny strawberries in his apartment. I would spoon maple yoghurt into a bowl, top it with grape nuts and a handful of those deep red berries and sit back with my iced coffee. In Maine, a day that started with strawberry muffins, continued with lighthouses, lobster rolls, and local strawberry soft serve. That night we ate burgers outside, coming in when the bugs started to bite to eat strawberry shortcake. We were well looked after.

When we got back I was keeping my fingers crossed for good Scottish berries not knowing how this wettest of Summers would affect them. Sylvie, Sylvain and Ellie came for lunch that first Sunday. We ate frittata and a salad of fennel, celeriac and pumpkin seeds, which we had eaten the Sunday before, sitting in Frankie's Spuntino, enjoying the AC and a meatball sandwich before heading back out into the heat. A week later, on a much cooler morning, I had baked a vanilla sponge. A softly simple cake that I would usually cover in vanilla buttercream, and sometimes, if it's a birthday and these things are called for, dolly mixture, they just seem to fit. This time I made buttercream but, instead of vanilla, I pressed a few strawberries through my smallest sieve, maybe six or seven in all. The icing turned pink, strawberries and cream against the vanilla of the cake. We watched the final of Wimbledon, balancing slices on our knees.

4 WEEKS AGO

4 weeks ago we were in New York.

4 weeks ago it was 37°C.

4 weeks ago it was the longest day of the year.

4 weeks ago we woke up, got ready, took a cab to city hall and got married.

4 weeks ago was the best.

All photos by Brian Ferry.

OATMEAL BISCUITS

I don't think it's ever going to stop raining.

That may be an exaggeration but I don't care.

I'm fed up of wearing a warm vest every day.

I'm fed up of wearing thick tights.

 I'm fed up of curling up at night in my sheepskin slippers and having a cold nose all the time.

I'm fed up of slightly damp feet.

Can you tell I'm over it?

But it's Friday. At 5pm Chris will come to meet me from work. We'll walk down the road, stopping to buy coffee on the way, maybe having a beer before heading home. Tonight we'll watch American Idol because I, without shame (well, without much shame) love it. I suspect Philip will win but think that Jacob should. Then, tomorrow, I'll try, sometimes I succeed, sometimes not, to get up in time for Saturday morning Zumba to jump and turn and shimmy (yes, shimmy) to some truly terrible music that makes me smile nonetheless and by the time I get home Chris will be up. I'll kick my trainers off and we'll sit down with coffee and the papers and I'll put the unbaked biscuits that are sitting in the freezer in the oven to eat with butter and a little of the end of last Summer's strawberry jam.

Oatmeal Biscuits
 From The Breakfast Book by Marion Cunningham

 ½ cup rolled oats
1 ¼ cups plain (all-purpose) flour
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)
1 tablespoons (½ stick) butter, chilled
¾ cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 215°C and grease a baking sheet.

Combine the oats, flour, salt, baking powder, and bicarb in a mixing bowl. Stir and toss to mix and blend all the dry ingredients.

Cut the cold butter into pieces and add to the flour mixture. Using your fingers or a pastry cutter, cut or rub the butter into the flour until the mixture is in coarse, irregular bits. Add the buttermilk and stir the mixture with a fork until the rough mass somewhat holds together.

Gather the dough up and place on a lightly floured board. Knead about 10 times, pushing some of the pieces into the ball of this rather dry dough. Pat or roll into a ½ inch thickness. Cut into 2 inch rounds and place 1 inch apart on the baking sheet.

Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, or until lightly browned. Serve hot.

 Makes 12.

SHAVED ASPARAGUS PIZZA

I was going to tell you about oatmeal biscuits today but they'll have to wait. Not because they weren't good but, because, last night, I made these.

It's my usual pizza base, sprinkled with parmesan, topped with mozzarella (a 125g ball between the two of us), dotted with ricotta and chopped wild garlic leaves, then topped with shaved asparagus that had been tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper, before being finished with a final grating of parmesan. The pizza idea (and most of the recipe) came from Smitten Kitchen. The addition of ricotta from memories of last Summer and Brandon's amazing white pie. The wild garlic just because it's abundant here growing along side the Water of Leith, long wide green leaves, small white flowers. When they were cooked we drizzled over a little olive oil and sat down with pizzas that tasted of Spring.