As a child in the 50s, it was normal to pass by the butcher’s window and see the furry corpses of rabbits and indeed hares swinging on hooks. Continue reading “Where Has All The Rabbit Gone?”
Sardines (the canned variety) are a bit like Marmite – you either like them or you don’t. My father and his mother were fans and my mother and her mother weren’t. Tea with Granny ‘Kenzie (a meal that took place in the early evening), often involved sardines on toast, mashed up with butter and put under the gas grill. My mother’s mother, Granny Hughes, didn’t like the oily, fishy smell – her house smelt of bleach, Vim cleaning powder, and furniture polish – but the strong sardine odour clearly didn’t bother Granny ‘Kenzie. I suspect the fact that sardines were, and still are, so cheap, was another reason Granny ‘Kenzie liked them. Continue reading “Canned Sardines – A Family Affair”
Growing up it was hard not to learn to love all things French. My father’s family come from Guernsey, an island that is approximately forty-three miles from the French coast, and double that from the UK mainland. Continue reading “The Sage of a Francophile”
Back in 2012, I was asked to test this recipe for pea and courgette salad by my step-step-grand-daughter Niaomh, who was editing and publishing The Deptford Community Cookbook. Since then, the salad has become a spring-time favourite of mine. But before we get into peas and their pods, I suspect you’re trying to work out what is a ‘step-step-grand-daughter’? Let me explain… Continue reading “One Step, Two Steps – Peas In A Pod”
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Judi Chadaway and Fiona McKenzie
Do all little girls these days plan futures that are centred around walking down the aisle in a white gown with their Prince, then go on to produce multiple children? I hope not. I certainly didn’t. Continue reading “Families, Pecking Orders and Fruitfulness”
There’s something about being ill that completely changes your appetite, both in terms of quantity and desire. Today was the first time in four weeks that I ate a fresh green salad – normally a daily habit of mine. But then I’ve been ill with bronchitis and an awful laryngitis and, as a result, my appetite has become that of a child. I’ve been eating nursery food. Continue reading “A Simple Soup for Sore Throats”
I don’t think you ever forget your first trip to Venice. Mine was in March, a melancholy month at the best of times. Dark clouds were blanketing London and the plane trees lining my street dripped water from the tips of their, as yet, sticky buds. At work, I had been assigned to ‘special projects’ whilst seeing out a six month notice period for an American telecoms company. It was mind numbingly boring and I felt in need of a break if I was to embark on a new career with a spring in my step. Continue reading “An Italian Con-fucsion”
This is a guest post from fellow food writer Karen Eve Johnson, who lives in Amsterdam.
I have always adored asparagus. Even as a child I could eat any amount, picking up the delicious green spears, unadorned by anything but butter. I absorbed the correct mode of consumption — each delectable spear held at the base, grazing from top to the possibly too tough toe — along with the green vegetable itself. I still feel faintly shocked when I see someone attack the green stuff with a knife & fork! Old-fashioned, I know. Manners from a by-gone age, swept away along with outmoded worries about picking up the right item of cutlery.
But, autre temps, autre moeurs. My life took me to Amsterdam. And here, in its season, white asparagus is king. Continue reading “White Gold”
Like most parents, I can only look on with admiration and pride as I watch my children making their way into the world of work and remember with amusement my own foray into London and that important first job. Continue reading “A Chilling Teenage Addiction”