“Yes!” I say. “Thaw it in a bowl of cold water and ring me about 45 minutes before dinner time.”

Because I’ve got a lot on this week and can’t make it to your place (as much as I’d like to), here’s how to turn a lump of lamb mince into something delicious in two shakes of a, um, lamb’s tail.

Spiced lamb with kūmara, spring onions and feta

This is something I’ve been wanting to make since the days of Homecooked. Just after it came out I had what I considered to be a genius idea for posh lamb mince on toast (specifically, toast made from the Kūmara Bread on page 281). Last Sunday night I finally made it happen (minus the kūmara bread toast, but that’s still the plan). This recipe is my Matariki gift to you. Make it for people you love (preferably ones who love savoury mince).

• 1 Tbsp olive oil

• 1 red onion, peeled and diced

• 1 medium carrot, peeled and diced

• 2 ribs of celery, ends trimmed and discarded, diced

• A fat pinch of salt and some freshly ground black pepper

• 500g lamb mince

• 1 medium kūmara, peeled and grated (about 150g peeled weight)

• 1 bunch coriander, washed, roots discards, stems finely chopped, leaves picked and reserved *

• 2 tsp ground cumin

• 1 tsp ground coriander

• 1 tsp smoked paprika

• 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

• 1 Tbsp worcestershire sauce

• 1 Tbsp soy sauce

• 1 cup (250ml) chicken or vegetable stock

• 3 handfuls spinach, shredded if leaves are mature

• 4 spring onions, finely sliced

• 150g feta, crumbled, drizzled with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil

• Pita breads (or delicious toast), to serve

Set a large, heavy pan over medium heat. Add the oil, followed by the onion, carrot, celery and salt and pepper. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened and coloured - about 7 minutes. Remove the lid. Push the vegetables to the edges of the pan and add the lamb mince, flattening it out like a giant patty. When it’s sufficiently browned on one side, flip it over and squish it with a fork so there are no lumps (this method means the meat doesn’t stew and turn into grey sludge). When the meat has browned all over, stir in the spices and fry for another minute or two. Add the kūmara and coriander stems and mix well, then add the worcestershire and soy sauces, and the stock. Stir well, then cover and lower the heat. Simmer gently for 10 minutes, then stir in the spinach. Cook for two minutes, then cover the pan and remove from the heat.

While the lamb is cooking, prep the spring onions and coriander leaves. Crumble the feta and toast the pita.

Now, showtime. Transfer the pan to a wooden board. Scatter the spring onions, coriander leaves and feta over the top. Carry to the table and get someone else to whip the pita breads out of the toaster (mind your fingers, they’ll be hot!). Let people help themselves, scooping up the lamb with the hot, pillowy bread. Or, for a slightly more formal approach, arrange the toasted bread on warmed plates and heap the mince on top, followed by the green bits and feta. Some chilli crisp is a handy accompaniment here too (especially this one).

This serves four people generously. If there are fewer of you, leftovers are excellent in a toasted sandwich the next day.

*If you’re a coriander hater, just leave it out - or scatter mint and parsley on top at the end.

Good Things

A better way with feta

Lots of people got in touch after I wrote about how I store feta in DIY brine so it doesn’t turn into a stinky waste in the packet in the fridge (in case you missed it, those instructions are here). If brine feels like too much hassle or you don’t have a huge slab to deal with, the next best thing to do is stick it in a bowl, pour over a generous slosh of olive oil and cover it. For extra bonus points and flavour, scatter over some toasted cumin and coriander seeds, some freshly ground black pepper and some chilli flakes. Cover tightly and stick in the fridge. I guarantee this feta won’t go off, because you’ll find it is so delicious you’ll eat it very quickly.

You Have A Friend in 10A

Have you read Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead? You really must. It’s probably one of the best books I’ve read in the last two years - a soaring and cleverly structured tale about love, life and aviation. You Have A Friend in 10A is her first collection of short stories. If you’re like my mother-in-law and think that short stories are unsatisfyingly short, rest assured that each of these ones feels like a full meal. (But go and read Great Circle first.)

Madonna, again

This won’t be to everyone’s taste - but I am completely obsessed with Madonna’s (latest) comeback, from the 13-minute short film masquerading as a music video (as I texted a friend, “it’s got Benedict Cumberbatch, Kate Moss, and vagina lasers!”) to the newly dropped album, which seems to reference all the moments of her career to date. Also, she turns 68 next month and she’s still killing it on the dancefloor. Respect.

Thank you for reading - and please remember to click on the heart below - that helps the machine help more readers to find Fancy Butter.

Mānawatia a Matariki!

Lucy

I smiled at him as benignly as I could, pivoting away from his outstretched hand. What I really wanted to do was turn back and say, ‘actually, friend, I am a peas-ful person’. (Yes, the thought of delivering this line made me smile to myself for the rest of the afternoon - it’s the little things that bring me joy.)

The humble-yet-mighty frozen pea has come to the rescue on many occasions recently and I am extremely grateful. Whenever our household greens intake looks in doubt, frozen peas are there to save the day.

The frozen pea was invented just over a century ago by Mr Clarence Birdseye and it’s been delivering cheap, nutrient-rich vegetable goodness to the masses ever since. Peas are the jeans of the vegetable wardrobe: democratic, serviceable, go-with-everything. When I was at boarding school, peas were a regular, comforting meal component that couldn’t be stuffed up. Peas were a staple in every flat I ever lived in for much the same reasons. When I was cooking for one or working shifts, a favourite desperate dinner was buttered basmati rice, puy lentils and peas, topped with chilli and coriander-laced Greek yoghurt. Luxury! And then much later, when I was feeding a small person in a highchair, a little dish of frozen peas was an excellent distraction (she still prefers them this way).

Searching my file recently for something I came across this recipe, which we’ve enjoyed in many different iterations over the years. A bit of energetic crushing transforms boring old peas into something more novel and tasty.

Smashed peas (+ variations)

I using prefer baby peas (sweeter and cuter) to big grown-up ones (bigger peas can be mealy), but use whatever you have.

The basics

• 1 Tbsp butter or olive oil

• 1 large clove garlic, peeled and sliced

• 2-3 finely chopped spring onions (reserve some finely sliced green parts for garnishing)

• Finely chopped red chilli, to taste (optional)

• 2 cups frozen peas

• 2 Tbsp water

• A handful of fresh parsley and mint, finely chopped

Melt the butter or olive oil in a small pot set over medium heat. Add the garlic and spring onions and chilli, followed by the peas and the water. Crush the peas with a potato masher or a fork as they cook, until you have a rough puree (this will take about three minutes). Stir in the chopped herbs.

The next steps

While the peas are cooking, you can:

1. Toast four slices of hearty bread and spread generously with butter (or drizzle with olive oil). Arrange the toast on a plate and pile the crushed peas on top, allowing for a bit of artistic scattering. Season well with salt and pepper and serve to two people for lunch.

2. Or, follow the above instructions and top the peas with poached eggs.

3. Or, follow the above instructions and top the peas AND the poached eggs with some rashers of crisp bacon.

4. Or, remove the peas from the heat and mash in half an avocado and a squeeze of lemon juice. Season well, then scoop this into a bowl and serve with posh crackers (or spread on toasted baguette slices for a canape vibe). Season well with lots of freshly ground black pepper and some salt flakes.

5. Or, stir the smashed peas through some just-cooked pasta (choose a shape that will let the peas fall into its nooks and cranks). Loosen with a splash of pasta water and then shower the whole mixture with freshly grated grana padano or parmesan. This trick works with rice too (add green lentils and the yoghurt sauce described above instead of cheese).

Good Things

Baking with Lois

Lois Daish has been helping me make biscuits this week. Not in person (a girl can dream) but via some extremely detailed and solid advice. I had a sudden, inexplicable craving for peanut brownies and found a recipe in her 2005 book, A Good Year. The trick, she says, is to roast and skin the peanuts first1, then to cream the butter and sugar thoroughly and then mix in the dry ingredients with as much care as if you were making a cake. “This makes biscuits with a light, crisp, friable texture,” she says. Having followed her instructions to the letter, I can confirm she’s right. Peanut brownies are an extremely underrated biscuit; if you haven’t had them for a while then I urge to you rediscover them.

Abundance

I’m quite late joining the fan club, but I’m trying to make up for lost time by gorging myself on as much of his work as possible. This lovely book, which he wrote in newsletter instalments, is a joy to read. It’s a bit upside down if you’re in the southern hemisphere (which will be a familiar frustration if you’ve read a lot of Nigel Slater) but no less charming for it. He also runs a writers’ retreat with Diana Henry, which is the first thing my no-doubt imminent Lotto win will be spent on.

‘What is your worst fear?’

I read a story this week that explained the trend for female cannibal fiction (!) as a response to trying times. “Horror thrives in times of anxiety,” it said. Perhaps that’s why I’m so in thrall to the latest iteration of Cape Fear, where pardoned murderer Max Cady (Javier Bardem) turns up to make life hell for the lawyers (Amy Adams and Patrick Wilson) who put him away. Sure, the story takes a few leaps here and there, but Bardem chews up the screen (and Amy Adams is good in everything). Don’t watch if you’re home alone.

Welcome to new subscribers, it’s lovely to have you join us. I don’t want to be needy, but if you enjoy what you’ve read today, please remember to click on the heart below - that helps the machine help more readers to find Fancy Butter.

Stay warm out there and thank you for reading,

Lucy

Kim mentioned this drink in her farewell interview with Jim Mora in November 2023 and it made me see her in a whole new light1. If only I’d known that she was an ordinary person who occasionally needed a sustaining mug of chocolatey goodness when I bumped into her on my first day at RNZ I might have had something useful to say. Alas.

While I missed the chance to give Kim my chapter and verse on hot chocolate making, let me deliver it to you. No Milo involved!

Spanish Hot Chocolate

Spanish hot chocolate is thick, rich and chocolate-y enough to keep you going until tapas hour. Making it at home isn’t quite as much fun as drinking it in a little Spanish cafe, but it’s infinitely more achievable.

For best results, use the best cocoa powder and chocolate you can find. This makes enough for a good-sized jar – instructions follow on how to take it from powder to liquid heaven.

• 1 cup cocoa powder

• 1/3 cup caster sugar (sweet tooths: icrease this to 1/2 a cup)

• 6 Tbsp cornflour

• 200g dark chocolate, smashed into little bits

Put all ingredients into a food processor and whiz until it forms a fine powder. Alternatively, sift the cocoa, caster sugar and cornflour into a small bowl, then stir in the finely chopped chocolate. Transfer to a screw top jar.

To make two elegantly sized servings: Mix 1/3 cup (6 Tbsp) of the chocolate mixture with 1/2 cup milk of your choice in a small saucepan. Heat, stirring all the time, until it thickens, then add 1 1/2 cups milk and stir frantically. Keep cooking over low heat, stirring all the time, until the mixture is thick and velvety. Pour into cups and drink it as soon as you can. Churros optional.

Alternatively, try this spiced version, which is more of a mugful.

Spiced Hot Chocolate

For two servings, you’ll need:

• 400ml milk or milk-adjacent product

• 2 tsp cocoa

• 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

• A fat pinch of chilli flakes or powder (or a pinch of ground ginger)

• 100g dark chocolate, finely chopped

Put the milk, cocoa and spices in a small pot set over medium heat. When it comes to a simmer, add the chocolate. Turn off the heat and stir VERY vigorously until the mixture is thick and smooth. Pour into your favourite cup and drink immediately.

Please note: Do NOT wander away or start doomscrolling when the milk is heating up, it will invariably boil over and you’ll have to start again (and clean up).

To make it fluffier, use a milk frother or pour the hot milk into a coffee plunger and froth it up before pouring it over the chocolate.

Desperation Hot Chocolate

The third method - which I only use in desperate times, such as when I’m working from home and need a quick hit of something chocolatey to warm me up - is to drop a couple of squares of dark chocolate into a mug, top with boiling water, then stir like mad until it’s dissolved. The results are surprisingly good. You can also do the same with coffee, but that requires making the coffee first.

Good Things

Vote for Aotearoa’s favourite song

Speaking of RNZ… we’re currently asking people to vote for their favourite New Zealand song and waiata Māori from the last 100 years (yes, John Hore Grenell features on the longlist, but I promise there are plenty of more modern options). Check out the long list and find out how to vote.

Sketches from the Trenches

Should you find yourself in Upper Hutt in the next month, I recommend whizzing into Whirinaki Whare Taonga to see this exhibition of Nugent Welch watercolours. Welch, who is considered to be New Zealand’s first war artist, spent two years in the trenches capturing the devastation of World War One. After the war, he came home and continued painting, focusing this time on the gentler landscapes of the lower North Island. (There are other shows on at WWT too, but I was busy discharging my duties as a dance mom… and eating great chips and kasundi at the attached cafe.)

‘There are naturally many chances to meet persons of distinction’

‘Marguerite’, the narrator of The English Understand Wool receives many useful life lessons from her mother about how to meet persons of distinction, dress with elegance and, above all, avoid anything that might be construed as ‘mauvais ton’. It’s very hard to talk about this delightful novella without giving the game away, but I loved it. And just look at that cover!

Have a wonderful week x

“Mmmm, something out of my head.”

This was never the answer I was after. “Something out of my head” was code for something brown, probably cooked in the Crockpot. The actual result wouldn’t be bad, but it wasn’t something you could reliably anticipate, like chao fan (my ultimate favourite) or corned beef or chops.

Still, nostalgia is a potent sauce. A few years ago I found an exact replica of Mum’s Monier Crockpot on TradeMe and couldn’t buy it fast enough. Since then I’ve used it exactly once, with average results. It takes up a spot designed for a microwave in my kitchen and I stack egg cartons on top of it before I take them back to the cheerful egg men at the market. I should really give it a proper workout or give it away; this middle ground isn’t good for either of us. Maybe you’re either a slow cooker person or not. Or, more likely, the missing ingredient is probably my mother, shouting out ‘don’t lift the lid off the Crockpot’ as me or my brothers prowl around the kitchen looking for something to eat.

Anyway, now it’s June I think we are officially in brown food season. This slightly out-of-focus shot is a very messed-about with version of Nagi Maehashi’s Southern Pork and Beans from her book Dinner, which is still one of the best-selling cookbooks in Aotearoa several years after its release. Basically, you sear some chunks of pork shoulder, then cook them in a rich sauce of tomatoes, beans, onions. I deviated hugely from Nagi’s recipe, leaving out the bacon, adding carrots, using black beans instead of kidney beans, using some quince chutney and chopped tomatoes instead of passata and throwing in some chipotle peppers. By the time I was done with these on the fly substitutions it pretty much qualified as ‘something out of my head’ - but it was still delicious and there was lots of it (feeding three of us for dinner, then for five hearty lunches).

As well as brown things, we’ve been eating lots of cabbage and kale. That might sound like a punishment, but treated right it’s exactly the right counterpoint to meaty stuff. I’ve been heavily inspired by ’s herby cabbage salad, which we’ve had various interpretations of in the last week or so. It works with any kind of cabbage, but it’s hard to go past the crinkly Savoy as pictured above.

I’ve long admired and read the work of Guardian journalist (a name destined for a byline), but didn’t realise she did so much foodwriting until recently. I’ve been greedily hoovering it up ever since. So far I’ve made her oat and raisin cookies, which I meant to photograph but accidentally ate the last one this morning. Her breadsticks and brioches are next on the list.

Other notable brown things I have gobbled down this week: Annabel Langbein’s lemony lamb shoulder, which uses my favourite slow cooker, aka the oven; a cocktail called a White Cow at the Capital of Kai opening (I think made in homage to the legendary Carmen), which contained tequila, some kind of coffee liqueur and cream; KC homemade tofu with pork mince (the most gorgeous, etheral tofu, smothered in garlic - apologies to everyone who I breathed on in the following 48 hours) and fat pikelets smothered in cream cheese and marmalade to accompany coffee in my favourite brown cup.

I’d love to know what you’ve been eating this week - and whether or not you embrace the slow cooker life.

Lucy

I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself by saying that we’d had ‘King of the mountain’ soup, a clear broth with giant meatballs and vegetables in it, because this would be considered very weird. I knew that describing it as ‘like cazuela’ (a Chilean dish of chicken or beef and vegetables poached in broth), wasn’t the right answer either. So instead of just saying ‘soup’, I told him I couldn’t remember. For some reason, Mr Saunders wouldn’t let this go and it turned into a weird battle of wills that bizarrely culminated in my mother inviting him to lunch so she could make it for him.

Why am I telling you this story? It’s because I’ve been in a decluttering frame of mind that’s included examining my mother’s recipe clippings. Alas, ‘King of the mountain’ soup has not been among them. Maybe she tore it up to excise the trauma. Or maybe it wasn’t actually that good. Anyway, in the process, while thinking about broth-y soups, I remembered making this cheeky number for Frankie magazine a wee while back. There are no kings or mountains, just chicken, leeks, prunes and beef stock. It’s really good! But heaven help the kid who has to explain this to their teacher.

Cockaleekie

The ingredients for this may sound unlikely - prunes? - but together they make magic. This cheeky little number dates back to the 16th century, when it was apparently quite the thing in bonnie Scotland. It was also known as Auld Reekie, but I think you can see why that name hasn’t stood the test of time. Use really good quality beef stock and a happy chicken for best results.

2 litres (8 cups) best quality beef stock

1 whole chicken

3 large leeks

2 cups prunes

Put the stock in a very large pot and set over medium heat. Bring to a simmer.

While you’re waiting for it to heat up, prepare the leeks. Slice off the root ends and green tops, then slice each one lengthways. Wash under cold running water to remove any grit. Cut one leek into 1cm slices and set aside. Cut the other two into thirds and tie together with kitchen string (cotton, not blue plastic in the style of Bridget Jones).

When the stock is simmering, carefully put the chicken, breast-side up, and tied-up leeks into the pot. Cover and simmer gently for 40 minutes, then add the prunes. Cover and continue to simmer for another 30 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through.

Take the pot off the heat and remove the chicken to a large plate. Discard the leek bundles. Skim as much fat from the stock as you can (use a fat separator jug or skim it with a large spoon). Alternatively, chill the stock, then scrape the solid fat from the surface (this is the easiest way and the most satisfying). Remove the skin from the chicken, then shred the flesh and discard the bones.

When you are ready to serve, return the defatted stock to the heat. Add the chicken and the sliced leeks and cook for five minutes, until piping hot.

Good Things

What’s yours Dad? ‘Beef’

Speaking of childhood trauma, I still remember the horror of biting into a beef stock cube that I’d mistaken for a chocolate treat (it was square, covered in foil and on the top shelf of the pantry - I thought I’d hit the jackpot). Now most stock cubes give me the horrors for a host of other reasons. This widely available Gault’s stock concentrate is a far better option, not least because you’re unlikely to knock it back by the spoonful.

Capital of Kai

Warning: if you’re my age or older, the new Capital of Kai exhibition at Wellington Museum may be confronting. It’s a very charming look at how the city’s culinary scene has evolved over the last 100+ years, but I was surprised that scenes from (what feels like) the recent past are deemed historic enough to be in a museum. Lots of great photos (especially a lovely one of Lois Daish), paraphenalia and thoughtful storytelling.

‘Why are you the mayor of this town if you hate everyone so much?’

All Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) wants is for the island community of Widow’s Bay to get a little love from tourists to boost its economy and morale. Alas, a half-buried history of cannibalism, killer clowns, sea hags and other things that go bump in the night are in his way. Widow’s Bay (on Apple) is a clever mix of awkward interactions, jump scares and oddball characters that will make your neighbours seem really normal.

Hope you can make the most of the long weekend,

Lucy

What does this anecdote have to do with mushrooms? Nothing, really, except it’s one of several memories that bounce back into my head every time I pile mushrooms into a paper bag at the shops. We’ve been eating a lot of mushrooms lately, so I’ve been thinking about them quite a lot. The more glamorous story involves a cooking lesson at The Ritz in Paris, where a fellow participant (a polished Parisian) got told off by the chef-teacher for peeling the mushrooms we were preparing for stock. But there’s something earthy about the Kinleith memory that always makes me smile.

I’d love to be one of those people who goes fungi foraging in the Town Belt and comes back with a bag of fairytale porcini, but I don’t seem to have the knack. Luckily, ordinary old buttons from the supermarket are still pretty good when you treat ‘em right.

Roasted ‘shroom spaghetti with lemon and spring onions

This is great for those times when you can’t really be bothered with a big production and want to eat something fast and fabulous. I buy cheap ‘use now’ bunches of spring onions at the Sunday vegetable market, but if they elude you then you could use a finely chopped brown onion, or a leek. Similarly, I use ordinary button mushrooms but if you have fancy or foraged ones they’ll work too.

Lastly, if you don’t like pasta, these mushrooms are great over rice, or on toast, or eaten by themselves straight off the oven tray.

This is enough for four people - I’m sure you can work out the maths to increase or decrease amounts if you need more or less.

600g button mushrooms, wiped and halved

1 bunch (6-ish) spring onions, ends trimmed, finely sliced

1/2 cup (125ml) extra virgin olive oil

400-450g spaghetti

Salt and pepper

1 lemon, finely zested and juiced

A handful of parsley, finely chopped

Parmesan or Grana Padano, to serve (optional)

Turn the oven to 180C fan bake. Put the mushrooms, spring onions and two-thirds of the olive oil into a large bowl (top tip: use the one you’ll be serving from to save on the dishes). Mix well, then tip onto a large baking tray. Season well with salt and pepper and put in the oven. Bake for 15-20 minutes, stirring halfway through.

Prepare the pasta while the mushrooms are roasting. Bring a large pot of water to the boil. When it’s bubbling merrily, add a generous spoonful of salt and the spaghetti. Cook for 8-10 minutes, until al dente. Scoop out a small cupful of the pasta water, then drain the pasta.

Show time: put the pasta and mushrooms in the large bowl you used earlier, making sure you get all the juices from the baking tray. Add the lemon juice and zest, and the remaining olive oil. Slosh in a splash or two of the pasta water and toss energetically so all the ingredients can get acquainted. Add the parsley and toss again. Take to the table and serve.

Good Things

Nigella’s Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake

I photocopied the recipe for this lush loaf out of Nigella Lawson’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess in 2001 and tucked it into a bulging notebook of ‘things to make one day’. After finally making it for the first time last weekend, I think it could be the best chocolate cake I’ve ever made. If you’ve never made it and don’t have the book, you can find the recipe here. Note the measurements on this version of the recipe are US - for metric measurements I can advise you that it’s 225g butter, 375g sugar, 100g chocolate, 200g plain flour and 250ml boiling water.

‘Life’s short, we’re never going to be this hot again!’

I don’t think I could love any TV show more than season two of Rivals, based on the Jilly Cooper novel of the same name. It’s so deliciously bonkers (not to mention full of bonking) that it’s the perfect antidote to doom and gloom. The dinner party scene in episode two is particularly brilliant, but there are plenty of other gems. Watching it is a participatory experience - a bit like panto - as it’s hard not to shout, scream and groan as the action progresses.

Heart the Lover

I adored Lily King’s ‘Writers and Lovers’ so much that when I finished it I read it all over again just to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. I feel exactly the same about Heart the Lover, which exists as a sort of prequel (but makes sense as a standalone book). I cried copiously through the last third and could just about cry now just thinking about it. Highly recommended.

Happy last week of May to you and yours,

Lucy

I thought of lots of smart replies for her afterwards, but usually the answer depended on what or who I was writing the recipes for - and often on what we had in the fridge at the time. Sometimes I’d tell people that I came up with ideas while I was running and they’d look at me like I was mad, but it was true. More than once I had an idea while jogging in the early dawn hours, and I’d have to hope that I could remember it when I got home.

Anyway, my point is that inspiration comes from unlikely places. Last week I stumbled upon this shopping list at the supermarket and it sparked all sorts of ideas.

Apart from marvelling at this person’s lovely handwriting, I was intrigued by what they might have been making. An Ottolenghi-esque salad, I guessed (the herbs, cauliflower, pomegranate seeds, pistachios give it away). The rest of the list feels quite everyday until you get to the cashews, which I seldom personally buy for recipe use because they mysteriously disappear before I can put them in anything.

The next day, still thinking about that shopping list, I bought a beautiful (and cheap!) cauliflower at the market, among other things like cabbage and spring onions. Mid-way through the week, I saw Anna Frazer’s recipe for miso cod and pickled ginger salad. I made the salad (delicious!), which has rice mixed through it. The cauliflower continued to occupy considerable real estate in the fridge while I made a lacklustre lasagne. (“Lack-sagne,” as my witty colleague called it.)

Then, walking the dog on Thursday morning I remembered a cauliflower salad I used to make and wrote about in 2015 (the inspo for that had come a few years earlier, because I was obsessed with the caramelised cauliflower in Molly Wizenburg’s A Homemade Life). About a month after we moved into this house six years ago, one of my neighbours appeared over the fence waving a tattered newspaper clipping with this salad in it. “I’ve just realised this is you,” she said. “I LOVE this salad!”

Anyway, my point is inspiration comes from all sources, all of the time. Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes the execution doesn’t match the dream. But it’s always fun to keep trying. Here’s the latest version of this salad, inspired by all of the above.

Roasted cauliflower with brown rice, coriander, cashews and lemon-yoghurt dressing

Don’t be daunted by the long list of ingredients, everything more or less happens at once without too much hassle. This is pretty customisable - I’ve used brown rice and quinoa, because I had some kicking around, but you could use another kind, or another grain, or leave it out entirely. Same for the nuts and greens. If you come up with something new and great, let me know! This serves 4-6 depending on whether it’s a main character or a side part in the story of your dinner.

• 1 cup brown rice

For the cauliflower:

• 1 tsp cumin seeds (or ground cumin)

• 1 tsp coriander seeds (or ground coriander)

• A fat pinch of chilli flakes

• 1/2 tsp turmeric

• 1/2 tsp garam masala

• 1/4 cup olive oil

• 1 cauliflower, leaves and excess stem removed

• 1 bunch (4-6) spring onions, ends trimmed, roughly chopped

For the dressing:

• 1/2 cup plain yoghurt

• 1 tsp wholegrain mustard

• Zest of 1 lemon and 3 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

• 2 Tbsp olive oil

For the salad:

• 4 large handfuls baby spinach or silverbeet leaves

• 1/2 cup roasted and salted cashew nuts (plus a few more for the cook to snack on)

• A handful of fresh coriander leaves (sub with mint or parsley if required)

Get the rice on the go first - rinse it, then cook as per packet directions or your favourite method. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Put all the spices in a large bowl and mix well.

Wash and dry the cauliflower, then sit it on a chopping board, stem end down. I find the easiest way to cut a cauliflower without it shooting all over the floor is to cut it into quarters (like you’re cutting a cake into four), then slicing each of those bits into 1cm-ish slices (some will break into little bits, others will stay whole. This is OK, really). Cut out and discard any big bits of stem.

Put all the spices and the olive oil in a large bowl and stir to combine. Add the cauliflower and spring onions. Mix everything together, then tip out onto a large baking tray. Season well with salt and black pepper and bake for 25-30 minutes or until the cauliflower is tender and crispy. Set it aside to cool slightly.

To make the dressing, put the oil, yoghurt, mustard and lemon zest and juice in a small bowl and whisk to combine.

To assemble the salad, put the rice in a serving bowl. Plop the spinach or silverbeet leaves on top, followed by the cauliflower. Drizzle over half the dressing, then scatter over the nuts and herbs. Toss gently and serve, with the extra dressing on the side for people to help themselves.

Good Things

This week’s Good Things are all in the newsletter realm. Here are three very different ones I’ve been delighted to discover in recent-ish times:

Do you know Karen Nimmo? I’m luckily enough to know her in real life but you can get to know her, or at least benefit from her excellent, wry and wise life advice, via her newsletter, A Good Enough Life.

Dan Keane is also a source of wry and wise stories, though I’m not sure he’d describe them as advice. Dan has a foot in two worlds; as an expat in Aotearoa making sense of the New Zealand-ness around him every day, and as an American looking towards home. His writing is well-observed and thoughtful. And funny!

american.nz

Letters from an American in Aotearoa.

By Dan Keane

Lastly - a shameless work plug. There’s now a newsletter in my day job, which curates the best of RNZ’s lifestyle, entertainment, music, arts and culture content. If you want a little burst of that every Saturday (it’s free!), sign up here.

Have an excellent week and thank you for reading, always,

Lucy

What they wanted, she said, was to be able to call out ‘Muuuuuum’ and to know that a voice would answer from somewhere within shouting distance. I guess that actually depends on the child (not to mention the parent), but since she had plenty of parenting experience I always took this statement as the gospel truth.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot this week during the annual bombardment of Mother’s Day advertising. It’s 14 years since my mum died and so her absence is less brutal than it was. That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss her, but more like it’s an old injury that flares up in certain circumstances rather than an acute condition that stops me from getting out of bed in the mornings. Maybe that feeling, of being able to call for your mother and know she’ll be there, never leaves us.

My mother must have made hundreds of cakes in her lifetime, but I only really associate her with two of them. One is a Peta Mathias’ recipe for a chocolate and fig-studded number, a great big exclamation mark of a cake that weighs a ton. The other is this one, which uses a whole lemon and lots of dates (we always had lemons, for G&T purposes, and my dad loved dates). It’s rather more unassuming, but no less delicious.

When we were clearing out my parents’ house I was desperate to find this recipe, which eventually turned up in one of her folders of recipes clipped from newspapers and magazines, along with notes in her loopy cursive handwriting. I remember the first time Mum made this (and many subsequent times, including the one when she realised as the cake went in the oven that she’d forgotten the baking soda. The cake was mostly unharmed.) During my ‘between food processors’ phase I developed a terrible craving for this cake, because it’s really hard to make without one. It’s not impossible, but it’s much easier with Mr Magimix or whoever doing the heavy lifting.

There’s a chance this could be an Elisabeth Pedersen recipe, based on the newspaper font and age of the clipping, but in Mum’s book it’s just called ‘Mary’s Date and Lemon Cake’. Mary, wherever you are, I salute you. I’ve made a few small changes to your recipe, mostly streamlining the method to make it easier to follow. Please note that you can substitute Greek yoghurt for sour cream.

Mary’s Date and Lemon Cake

Makes 1 x 24cm round cake, serves 2-10

1 lemon, quartered, pips removed
1 cup dates, roughly chopped
100g soft butter
100g caster sugar
75g brown sugar
2 eggs
200g plain flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 cup full fat Greek yoghurt (or sour cream)

Heat the oven to 180C and grease and line a 24cm tin.
Put the dates and lemon in a food processor and whizz until they form a finely chopped mushy mass. Warning: this will be noisy. Scrape into a bowl and set aside.

Put the butter and sugars into the processor and whizz until light and fluffy. With the motor running, crack an egg through the feed tube and whizz until well combined. Stop the machine, scrape down the sides, and repeat the procedure with the second egg.

Add the yoghurt/sour cream and the date mixture. Whiz briefly to combine. Lastly, add the sifted flour and baking soda and pulse until mixed.

Scrape the batter into the prepared tin and bake for about 35 minutes, until a skewer plunged into the middle comes out clean. Let it sit in the tin for 10 minutes, then turn it out on a rack to cool.

Lemon Icing
This is enough for a generous coating (which is to say, you can eat a few spoonfuls and the cake won’t suffer). I’ve topped the cake in the photo with a handful of chopped pistachios (hey, it’s nearly Mother’s Day!) and some lemon zest.

2 Tbsp soft butter
1 2/3 cups icing sugar
2 Tbsp Greek yoghurt/sour cream
pinch of salt
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp lemon juice (or more, according to taste)

Put all icing ingredients in the (rinsed out) processor and whizz until smooth and fluffy. Slather over the cake when it’s completely cold.

Good Things

A winner chickpea dinner

I don’t think I’ll ever be one of those people who spends all day Sunday batch-cooking for the week, but I have stumbled upon this brilliant Anna Jones recipe that you can make while prepping something else. The key ingredients are pretty basic - kale, chickpeas, tinned tomatoes (I actually found it by googling those three ingredients) but they’re enlivened by turmeric and preserved lemon, plus a dollop of yoghurt and harissa to finish. It’s relatively cheap to make and you can get creative with substitutions. It was a hit in my household, feeding three of us for dinner and then two lunches.

Margot’s Got Money Troubles

Michelle Pfeiffer! Nick Offerman! Elle Fanning! Greg Kinnear! Some critics have been unkind about this charming Apple series, but I’m completely in love with it. Margot (Elle Fanning) turns to OnlyFans to pay the bills after having a baby with her (truly awful) English professor. Chaos ensues, etc, but it is the very best kind of chaos featuring Nick Offerman as her former pro-wrestler and addict dad, and Michelle Pfeiffer as her former Hooter waitress mom. Plus, Nicole Kidman turns up as a pro-wrestler-turned-lawyer. Suspend critical thought while watching and just enjoy the ride.

Sift

Not for one minute am I suggesting that you rush out and buy this for your mother for Mother’s Day… but if she’s legitimately keen on baking then this is a brilliant gift. Nicola Lamb (of fame) expertly dissects the science of baking and then shows how to use this knowledge in real-life scenarios. I was transfixed to the point that I read a paragraph aloud to my husband one night about various sorts of pastry cream. (Admittedly, he was less interested in the difference between creme mousseline and creme chiboust, but I still think it’s fascinating.)

Hope you have a happy Mother’s Day or ordinary old Sunday, whichever you choose to celebrate,

Lucy x

Last month, Woolworths New Zealand announced they’d be trialling closing their in-house butchery departments in the South Island, saying it was too difficult to find trained staff. I found it hard not to be cynical about this news, considering that they’ve already shut the door on in-store butchers in their North Island shops. If you want to buy meat at Woolworths, you have to buy it pre-packaged. In my experience, this is never a good thing.

I’m not the first person to grieve the end of the neighbourhood butcher, nor is this a new trend. It is depressing though. In the last two decades of writing about food I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve written about butchers - whether they were freezing workers or proprietors of posh shops. My absolute favourite thing is asking for a cut of meat and having the butcher quiz me about what I’m planning to do with it, then dispensing their own advice. I once stood in a butcher’s shop in a fancy part of London, eavesdropping with delight as the aproned butcher conducted a passionate discussion with a customer about what kind of standing rib roast they should serve for Christmas dinner, but I’ve had similar experiences in less salubrious parts of Hamilton or Wellington. When we lived in rural southwest France in 2019, all the local supermarkets had scores of butchers and each meat counter boasted information about the provenance of its wares. (Admittedly, it was a very meat-tastic region.) Sure, pre-packaged supermarket meat might be convenient, but is that convenience designed to serve the store owner or their customers? Increasingly, I feel like food knowledge is being eroded by the prevalence of pre-packaged things that make people less and less connected to what they’re eating. But that’s a diatribe for another day.

I feel no guilt at not buying meat from my local supermarket (lord knows it extracts enough of my earnings as it is). Instead, I buy it online from a farm-to-table butcher, where the prices are no more expensive than supermarket meat (sometimes cheaper), the quality is a million times better, and if I send them an email asking about a certain cut, they’ll respond at speed. They also have lots of different and useful cuts that go beyond steak, sausages and ‘stewing steak’. It’s not quite the same as standing in a butcher’s shop, but it’s the very next best thing.

Coconut, chilli and tamarind beef cheeks

This is a slightly tweaked version of a recipe in Homecooked (which is where the above photo comes from). Tamarind adds a delicous hint of sourness, which lifts the richness of the meat and coconut gravy. I buy solid tamarind pulp by the block and keep it in the fridge, but depending on where you live, tamarind paste might be more accessible. I’ve also added some more vegetables in this version for two reasons; one, so it feels a bit less ‘meaty’, and two, to make it go further).

If you like to do things in advance, this is even better the next day (and also freezes well). I got eight meals out of this last week - four of us ate it the first night, then the next night I topped the remainder with a sheet of puff pastry unearthed from the freezer. The next day, my husband took the last bit of ‘pie’ and stuck it in a bagel. We are nothing if not resourceful when it comes to extracting every bit of juice from the orange in this house.

Serves 6 (and leftovers can be repurposed in several ways, see below)

Prep time: 25 minutes

Cooking time: 2 hours 15 minutes

• 1.2kg beef cheeks, cut into 5cm chunks

• 3 Tbsp plain flour (use cornflour or rice flour for GF eaters)

• 2-3 neutral-tasting oil

• 2 red onions, roughly chopped

• 4 cloves garlic, finely sliced

• 4cm piece fresh ginger, roughly chopped

• 1 small red chilli, finely chopped

• Zest and juice of 3 limes (save the juice for the end)

• 3cm x 3cm chunk of tamarind pulp, diced, or 2 Tbsp tamarind paste

• Vegetables: 1 large eggplant, cut into chunks, or a couple of handfuls of mushrooms, halved or 1 large peeled and diced kumara, or 2 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

• 1 Tbsp soy sauce

• 650ml coconut milk (about 1 ½ cans)

Heat the oven to 150C.

Put the beef on a large plate. Sprinkle over the flour and season well with salt and pepper. Toss the meat in the flour until it is well coated. Set aside.

Put the onions, garlic, ginger, chilli and lime zest in a food processor or blender and whiz until smooth. Set aside.

Heat two tablespoons of the oil in a large, heavy ovenproof pot with a lid. Brown the flour-dusted beef in batches over high heat, turning so it colours on all sides. Remove to a plate and set aside.

When the meat is all browned, add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the pot. Lower the heat slightly and add the onion and garlic mixture. Fry gently for two minutes, then tip in the beef (and any collected juices), plus the vegetables, if using. Stir well to coat the meat in the paste, then add the tamarind, soy sauce and coconut milk. Season well, then cover tightly and cook in the preheated oven for two hours, or until the meat is very tender.

Remove from the oven and uncover. Cook over medium-low heat on the stove top, stirring often, for another five to 10 minutes, to reduce the sauce. Squeeze in the lime juice (from the zested limes) and taste for seasoning before serving with steamed rice and something green on the side.

Good Things

Honey: Recipes from a Beekeeper’s Kitchen

There are so many delectable things in this gorgeous book, which my sister told me about in January (and cooked something from it from memory). Amy Newsome is a beekeeper, gardener and cook - and a very charming writer. Lots of info here for gardeners and aspiring beekeepers, as well as cooks and people who love to eat.

Licked Spoon

Thinking about French butchers reminds me of Debora Robertson’s wonderful dispatches from Marseillan, a little port town about 50km from Montpellier. Debora mostly writes about food (though she can also make choosing paint colours sound exciting) and I enjoy her weekly market haul photos. (She inspired me to take this sunny baguette shot this morning.)

Sovereign hobbies

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this remarkable essay, in which the author dissects ‘sovereign habits’ - and what restricts us from having control over how we spend our leisure.

Here’s hoping we can all carve out some time to pursue some sovereignty this week. Thank you for reading x

Smelling rosemary is like playing a word association game; roast lamb, foccaccia, crunchy roast potatoes. Or the conditioning rinse my flatmate Anna used to make for her hair, steeping sprigs in apple cider vinegar for a couple of weeks, then diluting this potent tincture with water (she had great hair).

Rosemary is a friend to gardeners - in my experience it grows in terrible soil and inclement conditions - and to bees, since those blue flowers, each like a miniature orchid, are rich sources of pollen and nectar.

And, of course, it’s a friend to cooks. Those pine-y notes stand up to flavours big and small, meat and vegetables, sweet and savoury. In The Flavour Thesaurus, Niki Segnit describes how to make a rosemary-scented chocolate custard. If you’re wondering what that might be like, try eating a square or two of Mr Whittaker’s finest garnished with a rosemary bloom.

Bonus tip: any leftovers are excellent on toast or in a toasted sandwich.

Good Things

Cookbooks for a Doomsday library

News that entrepreneurial couple Eva and Toni Piëch are looking for someone to curate a collection of books to help them see out the end of days has sparked many a speculative story this week. I’m glad someone suggested Kath Irvine’s excellent The Edible Backyard, but I was surprised food books didn’t get more attention. I'd definitely include Niki Segnit’s The Flavour Thesaurus (so clever, interesting, funny and light enough to read in bed) and probably Stephanie Alexander’s The Cook’s Companion, which has just turned 30 (and been updated with 90 new recipes), both of which I’ve consulted this week. And maybe a chunky Jane Grigson or Elizabeth David (lots of reading, no pictures). What would you put in?

Life is short, eat the extremely expensive spread

I am in two minds about recommending this, because it is eye-wateringly pricey and probably not what Michael Pollan was thinking of when he uttered his famous dictum, ‘Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants’. BUT… it tastes like what I imagine angels have on their toast. It’s heavenly in or on all sorts of things. If you buy it for yourself, don’t let any little (or large) angels in your household see you eat it on toast or a jar will vanish before your eyes.

Can you dig it?

It’s had rave reviews, but I’m not convinced by US actor/comedian Zac Galifianakis’ new Netflix show, This Is A Gardening Show. Each 15-minute bite is too much about his awkward jokes and not enough about gardening for my tastes, though perhaps I’m not the intended audience. Far better, more relevant, AND free-to-air (not to mention hosted by my colleague Kara Rickard) is the homegrown show Once Were Gardeners, which explores traditional Māori gardening (māra kai) with a gorgeous array of real-life experts.

Hope you have a blooming good week ahead,

Lucy

At least, that’s been my experience over the last 36 hours in Napier south. Yesterday morning I got up to run along Marine Parade and up Napier Hill to various sites of my youth, but got sidetracked by feijoas carpeting the streets. Before long I’d found myself at the temporarily relocated Urban Farmers’ Market (by the museum, opposite the Masonic Hotel). An outrageously jolly man sold me an armload of gorgeous dahlias and then I felt compelled to buy a bundle of pastries. As I walked back to my sister’s place, everyone I came across - tourists, delivery drivers, street cleaners, even a slightly suspicious looking guy on a child’s bike - smiled at me benevolently. Leah McFall says everyones’ faces soften when they talk about babies, but maybe a bunch of absurdly cheerful flowers has a similar effect.

I have lots of feelings about Napier. My great-grandfather decamped here from Wellington after the 1855 earthquake, eventually building a series of houses on the hill. My parents lived here briefly in the 1950s. One of my earliest memories involves feeding the seagulls on Marine Parade with my grandfather, who lived where Farmers’ is now. My mother told me I had to hold her hand and be careful crossing the road, because “you’re from the country and you don’t know how to cross the road in the city”. Seven years later I came to live here with my beloved big sister and brother-in-law while my parents went overseas. A few years later, I returned to Napier for boarding school, which is another story in itself. All these years later it feels somehow right to be here.

Anyway, I digress. Apart from wandering down various memory lanes, buying this stuff at the market meant I had a bag in which to put the foraged feijoas, which felt slightly more seemly than stuffing them into my running shorts. Obviously feijoas are available everywhere now, but I do think the homegrown variety taste better than bought ones (even, or especially, if you gather them from the pavement).

Here’s a good way to use up a small harvest.

Feijoa, Ginger and Banana Loaf

Makes1 standard-size loaf, about 10 generous slices

This is a very sweet, sticky, pudding-y loaf. It freezes well (and it also tastes good frozen, but don’t ask me how I know). If you don’t have any suitably ripe bananas, add a beaten egg instead (this will make it less sticky and a bit more loaf-y). If you feel so inclined I think you could substitute some of the flour for ground almonds… but I haven’t yet had time to test that theory. Walnuts (also forageable at this time of year) are a good substitute for crystallised ginger in this instance.

125g butter

1 cup caster sugar

1 medium-sized overripe banana

1 1/4 cups plain flour

1 tsp mixed spice

1 tsp ground ginger

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1 1/2 cups diced feijoas (about 4-6, depending on size)

3/4 cup crystallised ginger, chopped

Heat the oven to 160C. Grease and line a standard size loaf tin (about 23 x 12 cm).

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over low heat. Remove from the heat and add the sugar and banana. Beat well, then add the flour, spices and baking powder. Finally, fold in the feijoas and ginger.

Scrape this mixture into the prepared tin and bake for 50-60 minutes, until golden and crusty on top (and cooked in the middle – give it the skewer test to be sure).

Leave in the tin to cool for 10 minutes, then carefully turn out to a rack. Serve warm as a pudding or allow to cool completely and store in an airtight container.

NOTE: I have a boring admin question: Substack offers a recipe template that I have been experimenting with using - but haven’t used today. Can you tell?

Good Things

Let’s go to L’Opera

I was digging around in my sister’s pantry looking for vinegar last night when I came across this: a homegrown Hawkes’ Bay aperitif first created to toast the restoration of Hastings Opera House. It’s the sort of thing I can only drink a teaspoon of without having to lie down with a cold cloth on my forehead (#lightweight) but the flavour will delight anyone who fancies Campari or Aperol. Plus, it’s organic and that vibrant orange tone all-natural. Bonus fun fact: my sister’s friend referred to Hastings as ‘The ‘Stings’, which brought me great delight, even before I sipped my thimbleful.

The Newsreader

I’ve come late to this brilliant Australian show, set in a TV newsroom in the mid-1980s. It cleverly mixes real-life news events (the Challenger space shuttle disaster, Halley’s comet, Lindy Chamberlain’s release from prison, Chernobyl) with fictional (and highly believeable) drama. The characterisation is excellent (particularly with the lesser characters, like the all-knowing secretary, the always-irritable news editor, the video editor) and the 80s costuming is magnificent. After watching lots of US TV set in the now, it’s also refreshing to see real, untweaked faces and ordinary bodies.

Knives out

Upskilling at knife sharpening is one of my goals for 2026 (got to have a practical skill for when the revolution comes) and my brother-in-law has just shown me a short-cut. This tool (about $35 from most hardware stores) can be used to sharpen all manner of blades, including scissors. Having used a collection of impressively sharp knives at his house all weekend, I reckon he’s on to something.

Hope you have a happy week ahead. Thanks for reading, as always.

Instead, here are some things that have brought me joy recently, starting with the Easter Bunny at my local supermarket:

Admittedly, he looks a bit like he’s had a few Easter eggnogs, but I do admire the skill that’s gone into his creation. Not pictured but in the same location: a bunch of Spanish-speaking shoppers cracking up and dancing when the Macarena started playing over the sound system.

Whoever said imitation was the finest form of flattery probably wasn’t thinking of pretend brandy, or at least of pretend brandy many decades past its use-by date. After bravely giving this a sniff I’d say it now does a very good job of being Imitation Vinegar.

Crown Lynn devotees will recognise this as Vintage Pat. 982 - praise and thanks to the Westport Salvation Army Store where I got four of these lovely, never used bowls for $8. (Should you have a casserole dish in this pattern that you’re willing to part with, my former workmate Kimberley is on a life-long search for one.)

Here’s a wild apple tree at Cape Foulwind, with the very best fruit tantalisingly out of reach, or at least hard to pick when you’re also holding a dog lead (there’s a metaphor in that somewhere). I think the second-best fruit had been snaffled by passing mountain bikers or (more likely) passing weka, who will apparently eat anything that’s not nailed down. There were more of these random apple trees on the road between Murchison and Nelson. I’d like to think they’ve grown from cores chucked out car windows, but can that really be true?

Speaking of apples, here’s the sum total of our courtyard apple harvest. Pesky wind knocked lots of baby apples off the tree in December, so this was all we were left with. Worse still, cheeky blackbirds snacked on them while we were away. Still, the salvageable ones do taste good - and they did remind me of a soup I used to make years ago when a flat I was in got an organic fruit and veg delivery and we couldn’t keep up with the apples.

Good Things

Gardening with passion

More gardening good news: Two years ago I planted a $3 passionfruit seedling between two struggling feijoa trees in our small city garden. Against all odds - wind, drought, poor soil, neglect - the vine has grown vigorously through the trees and along a fenceline. Last week, we ate our first ripe one, with many more on the way. Given that passionfruit are about $2.50 each in the shops, this one has already earned its keep. (I wish I could say the same for the feijoas.)

The Safekeep

Speaking of passion… I COULD NOT stop reading this last week - the absolutely gripping debut by a Dutch author that scored a Booker Nomination and won various other prizes. Intriguing characters, sharp writing, and a gut-wrenching story.

Malcolm in the Middle 2.0

I really, really didn’t want to watch this reboot of the 2000s hit show Malcolm in the Middle. It would be inane humour made for adolescent boys, I raged. Why can’t we watch The Other Bennett Sister? Then I sat down and watched three episodes in a row and had to be forcibly stopped from bingeing more. It’s silly, big-hearted and a wonderful antidote to everything else happening in the world right now. Plus, it has Bryan Cranston!

Hope you can find some moments of joy this week. Thank you for reading x

Ironically, their head-to-toe camouflage renders them extra visible among the comfortably attired other shoppers at an inner-city supermarket on a Saturday morning. I briefly consider tailing them to see what they’re buying (peering into other people’s trolleys is one of life’s underrated pleasures) but worry I might come to a sticky end in aisle four. They remind me of a wild-haired guy I saw in a Westport supermarket just before Christmas, standing over a trolley packed with margarine, beer and cheap cleaning products. “I only come in once a month,” he was telling his mates. “There’s no need to come in for anything else.”

This pair is easy to mock (my husband clocks them and raises an eyebrow at me), but it’s likely we’re hunting the same prey. We’re making a rare joint supermarket visit to update our emergency supplies, which has the potential for high levels of marital discord. Thanks to ’s suggestion, we now compromise on a minimum stocks kind of situation, which has greatly reduced the risk of divorce. In this economy, as we often joke, setting up two households would just be unaffordable.

As well as the survivalists, there are other joys to observe. At the supermarket exit, a guy in his 20s crouches down beside a sleek, dolphin-grey whippet. He pours water in the lid of a drink bottle and the dog laps at it tentatively with a pale pink tongue. This seems such a tender moment that I feel almost teary, though maybe that’s the after-effect of going through the checkout.

Later, at home, after telling my husband we should get a pig and some chickens, I chop quinces and apples for chutney, feed the sourdough starter and make a mental note to check the kefir grains I got from a fermenting group. I know these things will not save us from imminent doom, but they are important to me all the same. At the very least, it’s hard to doomscroll while doing them.

Good Things

Darling dahlias

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to gardening guru Lynda Hallinan about dahlias and how they’ve become extremely ‘cool’ and sought-after. Lynda laughed cheerfully, then said sympathetically that maybe I was slow to catch on. “It’s different in Auckland,” she said kindly.

Whether you’re bothered by trends or not, you’ll probably adore these gorgeous dahlia tea towels made by my pal Nicola Edmonds (using one of her photographs of her own homegrown dahlias). These are available as postcards and prints too - you can see more here or drop her a line: nicola@nicolaedmonds.com

Kereru Ginger Beer Soda

Here’s a properly grown-up fizzy drink - spicy, not too sweet and alcohol-free. It’s brewed up the road in Upper Hutt, which immediately means it leaves a better taste in your mouth than anything made by any multi-national conglomerate. Great with lots of ice, especially when sipped in early evening sunshine.

It’s a Wonder, Man

This new-ish series is a superhero story for people who aren’t really into superhero stories (like me). There’s no ‘bringing your whole self to work’ for actor Simon Williams (played by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), who is actually blessed/cursed with super powers that make him dangerous to be around. Enter Trevor Slattery (a brilliant Ben Kingsley), an acting mentor who isn’t all he seems. Chaos ensues, etc, in a really quite charming and wonderful way. There’s a second season to look forward to, but season 1 is now on Disney+.

Here’s a whopper to start us off:

Phwooar. Cop an eyeful of that one! It’s a monster! Weighing in at just over 500g, it’s roughly three times the recommended single serving size for one person, depending on who that person is.

As long time readers will know, we get through a lot of potatoes in this house. A LOT a lot. We eat a lot of bread and pasta and rice too, but potatoes are the dominant carb of choice for the other two eaters and so I just go with the flow (this is actually strategic on my part, because my husband loves to cook them as much as he loves to eat them, so it’s one less job for me to do). Recently he’s returned to making an old favourite potato salad from Nigella Lawson’s Forever Summer that mixes crushed baked potatoes with cumin and spring onions. (I know it sounds weird, but it works.) This week’s recipe is a mash-up (!) of that idea with a loose interpretation of a potato foccacia recipe that my sister Marion got from an American friend many moons ago. I think it’s the best of both worlds - potatoes AND bread, anointed liberally with olive oil.

Double Happiness Potato Foccacia

Don’t look at this recipe and think, ‘argh, it’s bread, it will be messy and take too long, I just can’t!’ Trust me, you can. Think of this as warming up your muscles for making hot cross buns in a few weeks. Speaking of muscles, I’ve gone for what I call Pilates-style kneading here - a few movements every now and then that look like nothing but deliver results (I mean, apparently, I’ve been to Pilates once in my life so I’m no expert). If you have leftover cooked potatoes, use them here - making sure they are at room temperature when you start.

This makes one large foccacia - ideal for weekend grazing, with lots of lovely leftovers for Monday’s lunchboxes. Or take to your next pot-luck dinner and be adored by your friends.

• 450 (3-4 medium size) Agria potatoes, scrubbed

• 2 tsp dried yeast

• 1 ¼ cups warm water

• 2 1/2 - 3 cups high grade flour

• 1 tsp ground cumin

• 1 tsp salt

• 5-6 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (plus a little extra for greasing/drizzling)

• 4 spring onions, finely sliced

• 1 tsp cumin seeds

• Flaky sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Put the potatoes in a pot set over medium heat. Cover with water and bring to a gentle boil. Cook until the potatoes are just soft enough to plunge a skewer into. Remove from the heat and drain, then set aside until cool enough to handle.

While you’re waiting for them to cool down, put the water, yeast and one cup of the flour into a large bowl. Stir well.

Grate two-thirds of the potatoes into the bowl (set the remaining ungrated potato aside for later). Add another cup of flour, plus the cumin and salt, followed by 1 Tbsp olive oil. Stir well. Add the remaining 1/2 - 1 cup of flour to form a sticky dough. Cover with a teatowel and have a rest for 10 minutes.

Lightly oil a section of bench top, then tip the dough out onto it. Pick up one side of the dough, stretch it up, then bring it down again on top of itself. Repeat from the opposite corner. Do this for the other two corners, then leave the dough to rest under a teatowel for 10 minutes. Repeat the pick-up-and-stretch process, then leave it again for 10 minutes. Do this process once more, then scoop the dough back into the bowl. Cover with a cloth and leave in a warm place for about 45 minutes, until nearly doubled.

Liberally grease a large, heavy pan (a cast iron ovenproof frying pan is perfect) with olive oil. Tip the dough on top and gently pat or stretch it out until it reaches the edges of the pan. Cover with that handy teatowel and let it rest again for another 30-45 minutes until the dough looks light and puffy.

During this resting time, heat the oven to 220C. Grate the remaining potato (or just crumble it with your fingers) into a small bowl. Add the finely chopped spring onions and cumin seeds. Drizzle over another tablespoon of oil and stir to combine.

When the dough is nice and jiggly, dimple it lightly with your fingertips. Press the potato mixture on top. Season generously with salt and pepper and drizzle some more oil on top.

Transfer to the oven and bake for 25 minutes, until golden and risen. Resist eating it for at least 20 minutes (if you can).

Good Things

The potato accessory you didn’t know you needed

Yes, it says ‘potato’ on this glove. Why? Because it’s a potato glove! We have a pair of these and they are life-changing if you eat a lot of potatoes and find all that scrubbing and peeling unbearably tedious. Just pull on your special potato gloves, rinse the potatoes under the cold tap and rub them all over to remove any dirt or scaly bits. My sister bought these for my husband from a fancy kitchen shop but I think you could probably get the same result with those exfoliating gloves that are supposed to eliminate cellulite. Just don’t get them mixed up in the shower.

A helpful halloumi tip

Here’s something handy I learned while doomscrolling this week: if you give halloumi a bath in boiling water before cooking, it becomes softier, stretchier and altogether more delicious. Just slice it up and place in a bowl, pour over some boiling water and let sit for 5-10 minutes, then drain and pat dry before frying.

Library love

Wellington’s new old library reopened yesterday and THOUSANDS of people queued to get in. Thousands! A cynic might say this was proof that Wellington really is on its last legs, but I prefer to think it’s because people really are invested in the library as a focal point for the CBD, community and learning. Oh, and the books too. Can’t wait to stroll around and especially to check out the cookbook section. Stay tuned for a full report.

Have a lovely week x

A friend of ours is one of the custodians of these beautiful calves (and their older kin) and last weekend we went to help him feed them. In a very Wellington-esque twist, they’re fed spent grains from a local brewery (which is helping them thrive into big, bonny creatures). As far as wholesome activities that take your mind off global affairs go, this was a solid 10/10.

Because you can’t play at farming without a solid breakfast, we had pikelets before we set off. I have a particular nostalgia for pikelets, particularly the ones made by my great aunt Makiri (queen of the cat pikelet, not to mention the choux pastry swan). Once, when I was about five or six and on a class trip to visit a woolshed (peak rural New Zealand), I was delighted to discover my lunchbox was full of pikelets. I diligently set about eating them all, not realising that Mum had divided the shared morning tea and lunch fixings between several lunchboxes meant to feed me and my brothers. They were less impressed to be left with the sandwiches.

Anyway, pikelets used to be a regular fixture for us in the pre-school and primary years and I always aspired to make the perfect cat pikelet in Makiri’s memory. I think I’ve still got the knack. It seems a bit silly to give you a pikelet recipe but in case you’re looking for a taste of a simpler, gentler time, here it is.

Chocolate pikelets with spiced honey butter

A note on substitutions: use any sugar (white, caster, brown) – but don’t pack brown sugar into the cup. Use any milk and any flour – omit the baking powder if you’ve only got self-raising, use a little less if you’re using wholemeal (and be aware the pikelets will be a bit sturdier). Omit the cocoa if you’re a pikelet purist (replace it with more flour). If you don’t have honey, use golden syrup or molasses in the butter (brown sugar will do the trick, more or less, too).

Makes about 12 pikelets, serves 2-4 depending on greed, hunger, boredom etc

• 1 Tbsp melted butter

• 1 Tbsp sugar

• 1 large egg

• ½ tsp vanilla extract

• ¾ cup milk

• 3 Tbsp cocoa

• 1 ½ tsp baking powder

• ¼ tsp salt

• 1 cup plain flour

For the spiced butter:

• ½ cup (125g) soft butter

• 2-3 generous Tbsp honey

• 1-2 tsp cinnamon

• a pinch of salt

Whisk together the butter, sugar, egg, vanilla and most of the milk. Sift over the dry ingredients and stir together until just combined (don’t over-mix or the pikelets will be tough). Add the rest of the milk until the mixture is the consistency of pouring custard.

Set a large heavy frying pan over medium heat. Grease with a little butter or oil.

Drop dessertspoons full of the mixture into the pan (hold the spoon vertically to make the pikelets round). Cook until bubbles appear and pop on the top, then gently flip over and cook for another couple of minutes. Remove to a plate lined with a teatowel or a cooling rack. Remember the first one may be a dud - as the cook, you can decide to eat it (or discreetly get rid of it by other means).

To make the spiced butter, beat the butter, honey, cinnamon and salt together until smooth and fluffy.

To serve, pile the pikelets on a serving plate and accompany with the butter. Any leftover pikelets can be frozen and reheated in a toaster. Any leftover butter is great on toast.

Good Things

Song Sung Blue

Remember when the Sunday night TV movie was always some family melodrama? That’s the vibe of Song Sung Blue, which is based on the true story of Neil Diamond ‘interpreter’ Mike Sardina (Hugh Jackman) and wife Claire (Kate Hudson), who triumph over extreme adversity to become a much beloved tribute act. It’s obviously designed to push all your emotional buttons, and yet it’s hard to resist. You’ll need tissues.

Nice rice

Purists might be appalled by this, but should you find yourself in a situation where you don’t have quite enough of one kind of rice, I’m here to tell you that it’s perfectly possible to cook two varieties in one pot and be pleased with the results. Or so it proved when I mixed half a cup of sushi rice with some brown medium grain rice the other night. This, topped with eggs fried in butter and garnished liberally with chilli and sliced spring onions, is a very fast and comforting dinner.

Art imitating life?

I know this is ridiculous, but this Lego dog makes me laugh to myself every time I walk past the shop (which is to say, at least once a day).

Do tell me the things that are keeping you cheerful this week, small joys need to be shared.

That doesn’t mean I’m not all about the strategic pivot though. A year or so ago, for example, I very strategically gave my friend Charlotte a copy of Kath Irvine’s Edible Backyard book. Let me tell you, this move has paid off in actual spades. Last autumn we benefited with buckets of quinces and last spring she split a massive rhubarb crown and sent me home with it. Last weekend, after we ate cauliflower from her garden and she showed off their potato plot, she sent me home with a big bundle of rhubarb. Talk about enabling the change you want to see in the world. The only thing better than having your own large and lovely garden is having a friend with one. Such a life hack, right? Maybe I’ll conjure up a post for LinkedIn.

In the meantime, I’m going to eat Rhubarb Fool. A fool is a late-16th century English invention that’s basically a blend of cooked sour-sweet fruit and whipped cream or custard. Elizabeth David called it “soft, pale, creamy, untroubled’, which sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered. While it feels like the sort of thing that the Bennett sisters would eat in Pride and Prejudice, there’s something quite elegant and modern about it too. I can imagine influencers making a 2026 version involving whipped cottage cheese and protein powder, but we’re not going to go there.

Rhubarb Fool + some variations

You don’t really need a recipe for fool - it really can be as simple as fruit + cream (or yoghurt, or a mix thereof) = loveliness, but here are some instructions for rule-followers. This amount serves four.

500g (5-6 stalks) rhubarb, washed and trimmed, cut into 4cm lengths

2 Tbsp caster sugar

200ml cream

1 tsp rosewater (optional)

1 cup natural yoghurt

Put the rhubarb and sugar in a pot with a splash of water. Cover and cook over low heat until very soft (about 10 minutes). Scrape into a bowl and let cool completely.

Whip the cream to soft peaks, then fold in the yoghurt and rosewater, if using. Stir through the cold rhubarb - it should be pleasingly streaky. Cover and chill for at least an hour to let everything meld together.

To serve, scoop into little glass bowls and serve with your fanciest little spoons.

Variations

• For dairy-free eaters: replace the cream and yoghurt with 1 1/2 cups coconut yoghurt. It will be VERY rich, so you’ll only need a small amount.

• For lovers of rhubarb and custard: replace the yoghurt with the same amount of cold custard (so you’re effectively making rhubarb-ish creme diplomat).

• For fans of crunch: crumble some meringues through the fool before chilling (this is what I’ve done in the photo above).

• For enthusiastic eaters who think that this isn’t enough for pudding: use the fool mixture to fill a split sponge cake, or to dollop alongside a slice of lemon drizzle loaf.

• For people who haven’t strategically gotten their friends to grow rhubarb: any tart fruit is good here - gooseberries, red currants, blackberries, raspberries, even very tart pureed apple…

Good Things

The Heart-Shaped Tin

After I read Bee Wilson’s brilliant The Way We Eat Now in 2019, I ran around telling everyone I knew with an interest in food to read it too. Now I feel the same about this book, which came out late last year. It’s a book about love and loss (not long after her husband of two decades gave her the ‘it’s not me, it’s you’ speech, the heart-shaped tin in which she baked their wedding cake falls out of a cupboard and landed at her feet) - and the unexpected things our kitchenalia reveals about us. Bee also has a newish newsletter, Until Golden.

Paradise (regained)

Season one of this post-apocalyptic thriller was one of my favourite TV experiences in 2025, so I’m beyond thrilled to see it back. It’s desperately dark, so not for people who want cheerful, silly TV (that’s what TaskMaster UK is for, right?) but otherwise I highly recommend it.

Bic is back!

If you’re of similar vintage to me you’ll recall when Bic Runga hit the big-time in the late 90s/early 2000s, in the peak time of dresses-over-jeans and choker necklaces. After a bit of a hiatus she’s back with a new album. This Music 101 interview is a great listen for fans old (who are you calling old?) and new.

Thank you for reading. Have an excellent week x

Anyway, I remember wistfully talking to the then-editor of Cuisine magazine in that era about how I wanted to write a book, and she said, in a brutally realistic but also soul-crushing way, that the 4 Ingredients books were the best-selling food titles in Australasia. In other words, she was saying ‘give up, Lucy, you haven’t got a chance’.

All these many years later, it turns out there might be hope for me yet, because last Sunday night I inadvertently cooked something that had just four ingredients. It was so good (she says, modestly), that I think you might like it too.

Old Godmother’s Chicken

Serves 4-6

Strictly speaking, you could make this with just two ingredients, but for the sake of argument I’m using four here. The two key ones are obviously the chicken (the clue is in the name) and the chili crisp. There are lots of these around now, including lots of New Zealand-made ones, but for this purpose I think the OG Lao Gan Ma variety is best (Lao Gan Ma means ‘old godmother’, in case you’re wondering). The fancy-pants local ones tend to be filled with things like sesame or cumin seeds, which will burn horribly in the oven. Note when you’re buying the Lao Gan Ma that there is the peanut one, which I’m using here, and a black bean one. I think the peanut one is far superior (and I haven’t tested making this with the other one so I’m not confident to recommend it).

I used butternut squash because I had one in the cupboard, but you could substitute this with courgettes, or capsicums, or carrots, or pretty much anything.

Cooking time will depend on the size of the chicken. Aim for 45-60 minutes as a rough rule of thumb. While it’s easy to buy a spatchcocked chook now, it’s not that much harder to DIY at home. Use a sharp knife or kitchen scissors and proceed with confidence. Here’s a video showing it’s done.

3 onions, peeled and thickly sliced

1 small butternut squash, peeled, deseeded and sliced (or alternative vegetable as suggested above)

1 x spatchcocked chicken, any flappy fat removed, skin patted dry with paper towels

3 Tbsp Lao Gan Ma chili crisp

Heat the oven to 200C. Scatter the onions and squash in a small roasting dish big enough to fit the chicken.

Put the flattened chicken on top, skin side up. Rub the chili crisp all over the chicken, including underneath. (Unless you’ve worn gloves to do this, now’s when you can have a Lady Macbeth moment washing the chili crisp residue off your hands.)

Roast the chicken for 45-60 minutes, until cooked through. Remove chicken and vegetables to a plate, cover with foil and let rest for 10 minutes before carving.

Serve with crusty bread or rice (stir the onions and squash through the rice before serving) and a crunchy green salad.

Good Things

Little Bird

I’m no beer expert, but that’s not going to stop me from recommending this low-alcohol IPA from Emerson’s, which tastes more like beer and less like soapy dishwater than many others. Plus, it goes well with the chicken described above.

The Homemade God

I wouldn’t recommend this if you’re recently bereaved or amidst a family fall-out, but I was gripped by this tale of what happens to four siblings when their larger-than-life artist father marries a mysterious younger woman and then drops dead. Strong start, emotionally tortuous middle, excellent ending.

The moon watchers

Everything I know about Ramadan I have learned from my very talented and generous colleague Isra’a. This carefully researched and told story explains the role of the moon-sighting ceremony in divining when Ramadan begins.

Thanks for joining me here. Hope you have an excellent week ahead x

The situation was never reversed, at least not as far as I know. Mum getting up to take Dad a cup of tea was as unthinkable as her smoking a cigar or mowing the lawns. Sometimes, as the spoiled baby of the family, I was allowed to get into bed with Mum on a Saturday morning and receive a cup of tea too, in a miniature Crown Lynn cup and saucer. I still have this precious relic of that time; the cup is teal blue, the saucer is cream with a teal pattern radiating out from the centre. The tea was made in a pot and very occasionally there would be a thin slice of white bread and butter to go with it.

When my parents travelled overseas they took a portable tea-making kit with them, a sort of element prong that could be plugged into a hotel bathroom shaver’s plug. Thus fortified (and miraculously, never electrocuted), they would set about exploring the world.

From what my mother said, the tea making was learned behaviour. My father’s father had always started the day by taking his wife a cup of tea, so Dad assumed that this was what happened in all households. On reflection, I thought it did too. Sometimes, even now, when I’m half-asleep in the morning I hear the faint, far-off rumble of a boiling kettle, the tink-tink clink of cup on saucer. Some days it’s a dreamstate aural memory, but on some lucky days, a mug of tea will materialise on my bedside table.

Despite what Hallmark cards may tell us, roses and boxes of chocolates are not the glue that bonds us. It’s the small acts of love – the early morning cup of tea, the remembering to buy a certain sort of biscuit or putting an emergency beer in the freezer – that keep us together. Flowers and chocolates and grand gestures may be expected on Valentine’s Day, but there are 364 other days in the year in which boiling the kettle is just as lovable.

All that said, sometimes the way to someone’s heart is through cake. Specifically, chocolate cake. Here’s a hot and spicy little number to warm the cockles of the recipient’s heart (even if that recipient is you. Especially if that recipient is you.)

Good Things

‘It’s time to put on makeup, it’s time to light the lights…’

Nothing has made me happier in recent weeks than the reboot episode of The Muppet Show, in which all our friends are back to tread the boards at the Muppet Theatre. The voices may have changed a little, but the show’s cosy and gently subversive humour is still there in spades. This ‘pilot episode’ stars Sabrina Carpenter, who was born to go toe-to-trotter with Miss Piggy. A five-star delight, don’t miss it.

Sandwich

I finished this book early this morning, tears leaking onto the pillow in the half-dark. I’m a bit weary/wary of ‘midlife woman experiences trauma’ novels (unpopular opinion alert: I am possibly the only person in the world who admits to LOATHING Miranda July’s much-feted All Fours), but this is just magnificent. I can’t wait to read her new book, Wreck, but I might just go and re-read Sandwich again first. Sam Baker talks to Catherine Newman here - and Catherine herself has a brilliantly named newsletter here.

A very pretty cake tin

I bought a NordicWare Bundt tin from a charity shop in Finsbury Park, London, nearly 21 years ago. It felt like a rash way to spend £3 at the time, since we had no jobs and were sleeping in the living room of our friends’ tiny one-bedroom flat. While in a fancy kitchen shop recently I saw some very gorgeous tins like the one pictured above that now cost upwards of $100, so it was a very good investment. The moral of this story: the next time you see a good cake tin at an op shop, buy it!

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours. I hope there is a cup of tea in bed in your future.

Thank goodness then for the vegetable growers of Horowhenua, who are managing to coax late-summer bounty from the soil despite inclement conditions. I mean, it’s impossible to look at this beautiful specimen without feeling a little joy, don’t you think?

While my own tomato crop is still MIA and my expected courgette harvest has fallen well short of expectations (current yield: two miserable specimens barely bigger than my thumb), last weekend I bought a tote bag full of photogenic summer vegetables at the market and set about creating the taste of a hot summer’s night. Here’s how.

Not-quite Caponata

This is somewhere between caponata and ratatouille - but made easier and requiring less oil. Once upon a time any recipe involving courgettes or eggplants would involve instructions about salting them to draw out any bitterness, but in most cases this isn’t considered necessary. I do it when I have the time and want to feel like I’m respecting kitchen tradition. It’s pretty easy - in this case, just chop the eggplants and courgettes into chunks and throw them into a colander set over a plate. Toss through a teaspoon of salt and let sit while you’re getting everything else ready or doing a bit of doomscrolling.

This dish, like caponata or ratatouille, benefits from a good rest before you eat it so the flavours can meld and deepen. While the following instructions pre-suppose that you are doing everything at speed, it is perfectly possible to make this in a more leisurely fashion - you can give the vegetables their first hot burst in the ofven, then turn it off while you go and do something else (note: this may mean fretting all the while that you have in fact left the oven on, to the point that you drop a note in your street WhatsApp chat and asking your neighbours to go and check that you have actually turned it off). Then you can come home and finish it off later.

Whichever way you cook it, leftovers are good for al desko lunches, or in a toasted sandwich, or you could whiz them up into a dippy kind of thing to have with your next Nibbly Tea.

Good Things

Lugma

I want to cook absolutely everything from this beautiful book. Noor Murad (whose name you may recognise from the Ottolenghi stable) grew up in Bahrain with an Arab dad and English mum. In Lugma (which means bite or mouthful in Arabic), she tells that story through gorgeous recipes and evocative vignettes.

PYO coriander seeds

You know how coriander has a reputation for bolting at the first opportunity? Here’s how to make the most of that. Let it merrily go to seed, then dry out. Hey presto, homegrown coriander seeds. Full disclosure: these ones came from the community garden plot next to the compost bins at Innermost Gardens in Mt Victoria (there are HEAPS left, if you’re in the vicinity). The green seeds are peppery and crunchy, but they develop more of an aromatic orangey-ness as they dry.

‘Empathy’s like mud. You lose your boots in that stuff.’

It took me a long time to appreciate the post-apocalyptic thriller show Fallout, but season two got me well and truly hooked. There’s still a bunch of things I really don’t understand (and some scenes I need to shut my eyes to), but great dialogue and performances from the likes of Kyle McLachlan, Ella Purnell, man-of-the-moment Walton Goggins and even Macaulay Culkin, make it compelling viewing. Plus, the reluctant heroine is called Lucy.

Have a great week!

The internet may have moved on to calling biscuits in yoghurt a ‘cheesecake’, but I’m still a fan. That’s why we had a fishy dip for dinner the other night, and no one turned a hair.

This little guy is part of a Shorter & Sons Staffordshire Pottery set that belonged to my great aunt Makiri. I’m ashamed that just six medium-sized plates and this little sprat remain after the giant platter failed to survive our house move five years ago. I’m sure Makiri would understand.

Once upon a time I would have suggested something like this as a pre-dinner warm-up, with crackers, crudites and the like, but now I think there’s absolutely nothing wrong with having this as the main component. A bit of bread, some pickles, maybe a salad on the side - on a (finally!) hot summer night it’s just the thing. Here’s some unstyled real-life evidence:

This kind of dinner is very much part of our ‘Nibbly Tea’ repertoire, which a very wise woman called Joan Browning introduced me to many years ago (yes, Joan invented #girldinner, you heard it here first). A Nibbly Tea can be as elaborate or plain as you like, depending on levels of energy and rations. Ours usually involve some sort of protein (most often cheese, posh tuna, smoked fish), potatoes or bread in some form or another, some vegetables and then various fridge fixings. I admit the Nibbly Tea requires some level of prep and resources (it annoys me deeply when food writers say ‘use what you have’ airily, as if everyone has a fridge and pantry prepped for a recipe shoot at all times), but unless the cupboards are really bare, it’s possible to surprise yourself and your household by what you can rustle up. It’s also a good way to repurpose leftovers. But I digress. Here’s how to make this fishy in a little dishy.

Smoked Fish Rillettes

These aren’t rillettes like traditional French rillettes, in which meat (usually pork) is submerged in fat and slowly cooked at a low temperature for hours, before being shredded and stored in the fat. Instead, the smoked fish is mixed with a high-fat dairy product and the mixture spiked with various seasonings. The key principle, I think, is to make sure there’s a fairly even ratio of fish to other ingredients. It takes probably 10 minutes to make and will happily sit in the fridge for up to three days, unless you eat it faster. Here’s how.

• 250g cream cheese

• 1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (or, use the oil from a tin of anchovies, if you have that lying about)

• 4 fat spring onions, trimmed and very finely chopped

• 2 Tbsp capers, finely chopped

• 200-250g smoked fish, such as mackerel or warehou (I use these ones), skinned and flaked

• Finely grated zest and the juice of 1 lemon

• Salt and pepper, to taste

• Finely chopped fresh herbs - parsley, coriander, fennel fronds - as available

• Plop the cream cheese into a bowl. Add the olive oil, spring onions and capers. Mix well. Fold in the flaked fish, followed by the lemon zest. Taste, then add lemon juice, salt and pepper to balance the flavours. If you have some fresh herbs to hand, now’s the time to add them.

Depending on how fancy you want to be, scoop into another bowl or serving dish, or mound onto a plate (an egg ring is helpful here - more about that below). Alternatively, cover and let sit in the fridge until you’re ready to serve. This makes about 2 cups, ample for four people for a Nibbly Tea set-up - or up to double that number as a pre-dinner snack.

Plenty more where this come from

Good Things

Damn good damsons

One of my colleagues gave me a huge sack of homegrown damsons earlier this week, along with crucial instructions about how to treat them. The damson is a member of the prune family, with amber flesh and purple skin. They’re best known as a cooking plum, but I ate a few on the way home (in the interests of making the bag easier to carry) and they’re pleasantly mouth-puckeringly tart. This lot is destined for damson gin, which I’ve just realised will be ready in time for my birthday in winter. If you have a winning damson jam recipe that doesn’t require stoning them first, do let me know.

Put a ring on it

Someone in my house got a pair of egg rings in their Christmas stocking and they’ve been a huge success. They might seem a bit pointless, but that’s until you realise how especially pleasing it is to fry a perfectly round egg (when everything around you is uncontrollable, it’s good to control what you can). They’re also good for making crumpets and pancakes, or plating up fish rillettes, should those be in your future. Most kitchen shops and big box retailers have them - and they’re cheap as chips.

Really good flour

This isn’t as cheap as chips, but it’s worth every cent. I bought some recently to help coax my neglected sourdough starter back to life after a month of neglect and can report that it’s already working its magic. At $16 for 2kg, it works out at just under $4 a loaf, which is not a bad result (obviously it also requires my time and electricity, but not that much of it, and the DIY glow makes the ledger balance out). In other flour news, you can also now buy pasta made from Wairarapa-grown durum wheat. More about that here.

Thanks for reading. Happy February!