Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding is a close relative of Clafoutis.  So close I wouldn’t be remotely surprised to learn it made it’s way to England via some invading Normans.

Clafoutis comes from the Limousin region of France and is made with griottes, or sour morello cherries.  Traditionally, it’s a stone-in dessert.  The cherry stone contains amygdalin which is an active chemical in almond extract and keeping them in adds a little something.  Annoying, though.  I haven’t got the hang of spitting out cherry stones elegantly … and I’ve reached an age and stage where I’m worried about my teeth.

(Incidentally, if you make it with a different fruit you should called it flaugnarde.)  I have absolutely no idea why I retain that kind of information so effortlessly when working out how to use pdf on this blog is so entirely beyond me.

Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding is made with dessert cherries – which are much easier for me to get hold of.  It’s ‘Kentish’ not so much because batter puddings are a Kent thing but because it’s the county where the cherries are grown.  That’s Henry VIII’s fault.  A gluttonous monarch, he instructed cherry trees to be planted in Tenyham, Kent, in 1533.  Before the second world war there was something like 40 000 acres of beautiful cherry orchards in Kent, but the 12 metre-plus high cherry trees became uncommercial to harvest and 90% of the orchards vanished.

There were twenty tough years for the British cherry but now things are looking brighter, if not quite as photogenic.  Cherries are grown on dwarf shrubs and the short season has been extended by using polytunnels.  You can now buy British cherries from June to September – which is a source of great delight to my nephew, Josiah.

With the exception of the cherries themselves, a Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding requires store cupboard ingredients.

And a cherry stoner.  Unlike it’s continental cousin, it’s stone out.  I love my Westmark Cherry Stoner.  It works.

One the advantages of removing the cherry stones is that the cherry is now receptive to receiving a spike of something.  I steep my cherries in home-made cherry brandy.  Kirsch would be good.  Vanilla extract, I guess, would also be lovely.

Put the flour in a bowl, add the sugar and a pinch of salt.

Whisk the dry ingredients together.  Add a splash of milk and one of the egg yolks.

When that’s lump free, add the second egg yolk and another splash of the milk.  Whisk until there are no visible lumps.

Into the smooth mixture, add the remaining milk and melted butter.  Drain the cherries and add any leftover brandy.

Batter done.

I use a 26cm pie dish (1.5 litres) to cook my batter pudding.  Into the greased pie dish I place half the steeped cherries and give them 5 minutes in a hot oven.

Whisk the reserved egg whites to stiff peaks.

It’s easiest if you whisk in one third of the billowy egg whites before gently folding in the remainder.

Remove the pie dish from the oven and pour the soufflé-like batter on top.

Then, plop in the remaining cherries.  Back into the oven.

Want a peak?

Exact cooking times will depend on your oven and you may have to fiddle a bit.  In my conventional oven I bake for 20 minutes at 200ºC, then I lower the temperature to 190ºC/375ºF/gas mark 5 and cook for a further 20 minutes.  (My oven is truly hopeless and I have to use an oven thermometer.)

In my Aga I cook for 10 minutes on the rack on the floor of the Roasting Oven and then place on the rack on the floor of the Baking Oven for 20 minutes.  The depth of your dish will make a difference.  You are looking for your batter pudding to be puffed up and golden with the custard just-set but still having a seductive wobble.

Dust with icing sugar.

Serve warm or room temperature.  I like it warm best.  With a vanilla custard or with cold pouring cream.

Eat.

Kentish Cherry Batter Pudding

Serves 6

• 500g/1lb ripe dessert cherries
• 1 tablespoon cherry brandy (or kirsch/almond extract)
• 50g/1½oz plain flour
• pinch of salt
• 50g/1½oz caster sugar
• 25g/1oz unsalted butter, melted
• 300ml/½pint full-fat milk or single cream
• 2 eggs, separated

Stone the cherries.  Spoon over 1 tablespoon of cherry brandy and give the cherries a stir.  Set aside to allow the cherries time to absorb the alcohol.  (This can even be done the night before.)

Place the flour, salt and caster sugar in a bowl and whisk together with a balloon whisk.

Make a well in the centre and add one of the egg yolks, together with a splash of the milk/cream.  Using the balloon whisk, start to incorporate the flour and whisk until there are no lumps.  Add the second egg yolk and another splash of milk and continue whisking until you have a smooth thick batter.

Add the remaining milk, the melted butter and whisk together.  (If you wish to get-ahead with the batter, it will sit in the fridge perfectly happily.)

Grease a 1.5 litre pie dish and drop half the soaked cherries in the bottom.  Cook for 5 minutes in a 200ºC/400ºF/Gas Mark 6.  (Aga:  On a rack on the floor of the Roasting Oven.)  Drain the remaining cherries and add the brandy to the batter.

Whisk the egg whites until the stiff peak stage.  Whisk in one third into the batter and then, gently fold in the remaining two-thirds.

Take the hot dish from the oven and pour over the batter.  Drop the second half of cherries over the top.

Back into the oven for a initial 20 minutes.  (Aga:  I find 10 minutes is enough for the batter pudding to be golden and puffed up.)  Reduce the temperature to 190ºC/375ºF/Gas Mark 5 for a further 20 minutes.  (Aga:  Baking Oven for a further 20 minutes.)

Dust with icing sugar.

Eat.

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This academic year has been exam heavy and, in actual fact, by the official end of term the only person going to school was my husband.  Friday was the official finish – and this was supper.  I’d been to the supermarket to pick up milk (Seb drinks it by the pint – and I have no idea why we still buy milk in pints when we are supposed to be metric.  I’m disregarding the 2.272 litres labelling, as that’s just daft.) and they were reducing the seafood.

50p for this lot.

For all mussels are reckoned to be best eaten between November and April (aka when there’s an ‘r’ in the month), I can’t walk away from them at that price.  The only reason for the ‘season’ is that winter is when they are at their ‘meatiest’.  Personally, I tend to avoid mussels in the spring because that’s their traditional spawning time but I gather climate change is making it all more complicated.

Anyway, I swung my trolley round and picked up some cider and a crusty loaf.

Mine are rope grown in classified water – so I know they’ve not been affected by any toxic algae.  They come in net bags and should smell like the ‘seaside’.  Mine did.  When you get them home you need to cut open the bags and put them in a dish to collect any juices.  Don’t clean them until shortly before you plan on cooking them.  And, plan on cooking them quickly.  Mussels don’t have a long shelf life.  At 50p, my guess was mine needed using the day I bought them.

Don’t cover them with a lid – or put them in a bowl of water.  If you store them in freshwater they’ll die (being sea creatures) and if you use salted water they’ll use up all the oxygen .. and die.  I covered mine with a piece of damp kitchen towel and popped it all in the bottom of my fridge.

I have a number of issues with mussels.  The first being they are alive .. and I am of a squeamish disposition.  The second is the smelling ‘like the seaside’.  Intellectually, I know that’s a good thing but it’s not a smell I like when I open the fridge door.

My final issue is the cleaning of them.  I understand it’s better to buy them uncleaned because they have a longer shelf life if the ‘beard’ is still attached, but it’s a horrible job prepping mussels.  I do not consider them a ‘wonderfully quick and convenient thing to cook’.

My grandparents used to briefly soak their mussels in water and flour/oatmeal to ‘purge’ them.  In the UK you don’t need to do that any more as all commercially sold mussels have to be purified before they are sold.  So, that’s something in their favour.

My first job was to discard any with broken shells.  Even the slightest crack and it’s not worth risking the mussel being dead inside.  Chuck it away.

Next – and this is my top tip – delegate.  Always.  These are not my hands.

Scrape off any barnacles.  Give them a brush over.  Mussels grown on rope are not that bad.  If the shell is open, give it a sharp tap with your knife and it will slowly close shut.  If it doesn’t, chuck it away.

Now’s the time to pull off the ‘beard’ which are protein membranes the mussel uses to attach itself to a stable something rather than float off into the deep.  In my case, my mussels attached themselves to rope.  The other end is attached to them – which is why you pull this off shortly before cooking rather than prematurely traumatise it.  (Yes, I know I’m about to put it in a steaming pot, but this isn’t really for the benefit of the mussel.)

Meanwhile, I return to the clean end of the business.  Finely chop an onion.

My Grandad would never have done such a thing – but I add a chopped clove of garlic.  A little sugar.

Soften in rapeseed oil.  He used butter.

Again, I’m wilfully deviating.  A little kick of something is really tasty.  Cayenne pepper.

Stir.

I’m using one of my favourite ciders.  Go for something dry.

Add a tin of tomatoes and the cider.

This is something of a moral dilemma.  The rest of the cider could be considered ‘cook’s perks’ .. or you could motivate the person/perspons cleaning the darn things.

There they are – ready for the pot.  Give them a rinse under cold running water.

Give the sauce a little taste to check for seasoning.  A little pepper, maybe.  Don’t add any salt now as the juices the mussels release are naturally salty.  Get everything boiling.

Tip the mussels in the pot and cover with a lid.  Give everything an occasional shake – but the steam will cook the mussels on the top without too much worry.  Through the misty haze of my see-through lid I watched the mussels open.

There they are.

A little chopped parsley, as much for colour as anything else.  Curly was what my grandparents used and it makes me smile.

Give everything a stir and transfer to a big, warm serving dish.  If you spot any mussels which stubbornly remain closed, discard.  Don’t try prizing them open, it’s not worth it.

You’ll need some crusty bread to soak up all the juices and some bowls for the empty shells.  Use an empty shell as a pincer.  It’s all gloriously communal.  Eat.

Mussels in Tomatoes and Cider

Serves 4-7  (1lb of mussels is usually reckoned to be a portion, but I serve it with lots of crusty bread ..)

• 4lb/1.8kg mussels
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
• 1 teaspoon of sugar
• 2 tablespoons of rapeseed oil
• A shake of cayenne pepper
• ¼ pint/150ml dry cider
• 400g/14oz tin of tomatoes, chopped
• Fresh parsley
• Black pepper
• Lots of crusty bread to serve

Prepare the fresh mussels.  Discard any with cracked shells or any which do not shut when tapped with the back of a knife.  Scrape off any barnacles and pull of the ‘beards’.  Rinse under cold water.

Heat the rapeseed oil in a large pan and soften the onion, garlic and sugar.   Cook until the onion is soft and beginning to take on a little colour.  Add the cayenne pepper and stir.

Add the tomatoes, cider and a little black pepper.  Bring to a boil.

Add the mussels.  Cover with a lid and cook, shaking the pan occasionally.  3-5 minutes later the mussel shells will have opened.

Sprinkle with parsley.  Stir.  Transfer to a large, warmed serving dish and discard any mussels which remain shut.

Eat.

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It was Nigel’s birthday earlier this month – and that always involves strawberries.  Despite the fact we’d been picking them from the garden for most of June, when Nigel was a child his birthday always signalled the first strawberries of the summer and some things should be respected.

Le Fraisier is a french strawberry gateaux, fraise being the french word for strawberry.  I don’t think it can be a creation of too much antiquity because strawberries in this plump form, as opposed to the wild variety, are a fairly recent arrival.  Amédée-François Frézier (1682-1773) gets the credit for introducing them to Europe, having brought some specimens back from Chile.

Whoever the culinary genius was who created this celebration of the strawberry I can’t say.  I do know where I came across it.  Baking a Frasier Cake was a Mary Berry technical challenge on series 3 of ‘The Great British Bake Off’.

I’m fairly confident my children, with the exception of Liddy who can be trusted not to tell her brothers, will not be reading this .. so I will make a confession.  All those technical challenges … well, they’re a whole lot easier if you are not cooking in a tent, have a complete set of instructions, no interruptions, no tv camera pointed at you watching for mistakes and as much time as you like to cook.

This is fun to make.  Okay, so it’s not something I’d whip up on an average week night, but no stage is complicated – and then it’s an assembly job.  It tastes amazing.

Making a Genoise Sponge is so much easier with a stand mixer.  If that’s not what you have, you need to do it the classic way which is in a bowl set over a pan of simmering water.

Melt 50g/1¾oz of unsalted butter, and allow it to cool slightly.  Heat your oven – 180ºC/Gas Mark 4/350ºF.  Prepare a round 23cm/9″ cake tin – I melt more butter to grease my tin really thoroughly and line the base with bake o’glide.

Then, with the four eggs, finely grated zest of two lemons and 125g/4½oz caster sugar in the bowl – whisk.  I use my kitchen aid  with the  whisk attachment on maximum.

It’s done when you can lift the whisk out and draw a figure of eight with the mixture.  It’ll rest on the surface for a few moments.

If you’ve been whisking over a bowl of simmering water, now is the time to remove from the heat.  Whichever method, sift over half the flour.

Gently – fold in.  The aim is to keep as much air in the mixture as possible.  Use the edge of the spatula (or metal spoon) and use a cutting motion.  Once you’ve incorporated the first half, sift over the remaining flour and fold that in as well.  Then, add the melted butter.  Gently – fold that in, too.

Pour into the prepared cake tin and bake for 25-30 minutes.  In my 4-oven aga, I use the Baking Oven and bake for 20-25 minutes on the rack placed on the floor.

It’s done when the sides of the cake shrink away from the sides of the tin.  Leave it to cool for five minutes, then loosen the side clip and transfer the cake to a cooling rack.

Crème pâtissière is a fancy custard.  In a clean bowl, whisk together 4 eggs, 2 extra egg yolks, the sugar, cornflour and kirsch.

Cut 150g/5½oz butter into cubes.

The best vanilla pods are the nice, fat, bendy ones.

Scrape out the seeds with the back of a knife.

Pour the milk into a saucepan and add the vanilla seeds and pod.  I chopped mine to get maximum flavour into the milk.  Bring to a boil and take it off the heat.

Place a sieve over the bowl holding the eggs and sugar and pour the hot milk on top.  Whisk everything together.

Pour the whole lot back into a clean saucepan.  Over a medium heat, stir until it thickens.

It happens suddenly.  It’ll look like it’s got cellulite.  Whisk out the lumps.  You’re looking for a thick, smooth custard which will pipe.

It’s about to get richer.  You’re allowed to eat this guilt-free because you’ve made it and not bought it.

Cube by cube, drop in the butter.  Stir and let the butter melt.

Once all the butter has been incorporated, it needs to cool.  Pour it into a shallow dish so there’s a big surface area to speed up the time it takes to cool.

Cover with cling wrap to stop a skin forming.  Put into the fridge.  It’ll take about an hour.

This is a lemon sugar syrup.  A warm lemon yields more juice so I pop mine in the Simmering Oven for a couple of minutes, but even rolling a lemon on the work surface does the trick.  Place the lemon juice in a saucepan, holding back a dessertspoon’s worth if you are making home-made marzipan.

Add the caster sugar and a splash of water.  Stir over a low to medium heat until the sugar has dissolved.  Then bring to the boil and let it boil for 2 minutes.  Pour it into a heatproof jug or jar and leave to cool.

The marzipan.  There is no such thing as bad marzipan and you can, of course, buy it.  Home-made is a different texture than the standard commercial product because I don’t have big rollers to pass everything through.  I make it when the marzipan is a ‘feature’.  So, not when I’m covering a cake before I ice it but .. yes, when I’m making Simnel Cake at Easter, or covering marzipan balls in chocolate.

And, this.

So, so easy.  It’s ground almonds.  If you’re really in the zone you can grind your own.  I wasn’t.  I didn’t.  Icing sugar.  Caster sugar.

A dash of vanilla extract.  Another of orange flower water.  Another of sherry or rum.  A splash of lemon juice.

Lightly beat one egg.  You may not need all of it.  You want to end up with a stiff paste.  Lightly dust your work surface with icing sugar, rather than flour (!).

And, knead until it’s all smooth.  This is more than you’ll need but it’ll keep in the fridge for a couple of weeks.  Wrap in cling wrap and then foil.

 

Roll out 200g/7oz of marzipan.  It needs to fit the baking tin – I cut around the bake o’glide I use to line it with.

Slide it on to the base of a big quiche tin and put in the fridge to chill.

Back to the baking tin.  You’re on the final stretch.  Stay with me.  I bought a roll of acetate plastic in John Lewis in the wrapping paper/birthday card department.  It’s great for wrapping plants and bottles of wine (when combined with tissue paper) .. and this.

Cut a strip which is the height of your tin and a bit more.

A clean tin!  Line the sides with the acetate.

The Genoise sponge should now be cold.  You could even bake this the day before, if you’re really organised, and it will slice more easily.

If you slice the cake unevenly it will show so this is my preferred method for getting it even.  My cake measured 5cm/2″- ish.  Four cocktail sticks mark the half way point and I use them as a guide, slicing with a bread knife.

Place one half in the bottom of the cake tin, top side bottomwards.

Now for the lemon sugar syrup.  Brush on half the syrup.

With the back of a spoon press the edges down really firmly.  Coax the sponge up tight to acetate.  It gives a much sharper finish.

The strawberries.  For a ‘wow’ finish you need to have strawberries with a similar height.  How many .. will depend on their overall size.

Hull and slice in half.

The cut side needs to face the acetate.  Push them in really snuggly.  It would be a tight fit.

I use an easy-grip piping bag from Lakeland and a 1cm/½” nozzle.  Fill the bag with two thirds of the cold crème pâtissière into the bag.

Pipe over the base and up between the gaps between the strawberries.  Make sure the crème pâtissière reaches the top of the strawberries.

Aesthetically, I think this would probably look better if you filled the centre with whole strawberries but in the real world of a home kitchen that would be very wasteful.  Save 3 strawberries for decoration and cut the rest into pieces.  Pile them in the centre.

Pop the final third of the crème pâtissière into the piping bag and pipe over the top of the strawberries.

Smooth out the crème pâtissière with an offset spatula.

Top with the second half of sponge.  Cut side uppermost.

Brush over the rest of the lemon sugar syrup.

Push down.  Get the edge of the sponge pushed up snuggly against the acetate.

Slide the chilled marzipan disc on the top and put the cake into the fridge to chill.

Now’s the time to make any chocolate decorations …  but a dusting of icing sugar and the reserved strawberries would be pretty, too.

When you’re ready to serve.  Unclip the baking tin.

Peel away the acetate.

Transfer to a serving plate – the quiche tin base I used to chill the marzipan disc makes it easier than you would think.

Decorate.  Don’t place any cut strawberries on the marzipan too far ahead as they will eventually bleed.

Eat.

Fraisier Cake

Makes one 23cm/9″ cake.

For the cake:

• 4 free-range eggs
• 125g/4½oz caster sugar
• zest of 2 lemons, microplaned or very finely grated
• 125g/4½oz self-raising flour
• 50g/1¾oz unsalted butter, melted and cooled

For the crème pâtissière:

• 4 free-range eggs
• 2 free-range egg yolks
• 500ml/20fl oz full-fat milk
• vanilla pod
• 180g/6¼oz caster sugar
• 1 tablespoon kirsch
• 100g/3½oz cornflour
• 150g/5½oz butter, cut into cubes

For the lemon syrup:

• 75g/2¾oz caster sugar
• juice of 2 lemons
• 70ml/4½ tablespoons cold water

For the marzipan (makes 500g/1lb 2oz):

• 125g/4½oz icing sugar
• 125g/4½oz caster sugar
• 250g/ ground almonds
• 1 dessertspoon of sherry (or rum)
• 1 dessertspoon of orange flower water (brands vary – check the strength)
• 1 dessertspoon of lemon juice
• a couple of drops of vanilla extract
• 1 free-range egg

To assemble:

• 200g/7oz of marzipan, bought or home-made
• 600g/1lb 5oz strawberries

Preheat the oven to 180ºC/350ºF/Gas Mark 4.

Grease and line the base of a 23cm/9″ loose-bottom cake tin.  It really does make life easier if you use a spring-form tin.

Place the eggs, sugar and lemon zest in the bowl of a powerful stand mixer or in a bowl placed over simmering water.  In a stand mixer, whisk on full speed until you reach ‘ribbon’ stage’.  With an electric hand whisk, whisk over simmering water on medium speed until you reach the same stage.  Remove from the heat, if applicable.  The egg mixture will be pale, have doubled in volume and leave a trail when you draw a figure of eight over the top.

Sift over half the flour and gently fold in.  Add the remaining flour and fold again.  Finally, the melted, but cooled, butter.  Fold in.

Pour the mixture into the prepared cake tin and bake for 25-30 minutes or until the edges are pulling away from the sides.  Aga:  grid on the floor of the Baking Oven for 20-25 minutes.

Leave to cool for 5 minutes, before removing to a cooling rack until cold.

To make the crème pâtissière, place the eggs, sugar, kirsch and cornflour in a bowl and blend everything together.

Remove the seeds from a vanilla pod and place them and the pod into a saucepan.  Add the milk.  Bring to a boil, remove from the heat.

Place a sieve over the bowl holding the eggs, sugar and cornflour and pour the hot milk on top.  Whisk together.  Pour everything back into a clean saucepan and stir over a medium heat.  It will thicken suddenly.  Stir until thick enough to pipe easily.  Remove from the heat.  Stir in the cubed butter.

Pour into a shallow dish, cover with cling wrap and chill for an hour until firm and cold.

Make the lemon sugar syrup by placing the water, lemon juice and sugar in a small saucepan.  Heat over a gentle heat until the sugar has dissolved.  Bring to a boil and boil rapidly for 2 minutes.  Transfer to a jug or jam jar and cool.

Make the marzipan by mixing the dry ingredients in a bowl.  Add the sherry, orange flower water, lemon juice and vanilla extract.  Gradually add enough beaten egg to form a stiff paste.  Lightly dust the work surface with icing sugar and knead until smooth.

Roll 200g/7oz of there marzipan into a circle and cut a circle which will fit the cake tin.  Place on a flat surface to chill.

Place a strip of acetate around the inside of your clean cake tin.  There is no need to grease it.

Slice the sponge in half horizontally.

Place one layer of sponge in the bottom of the tin with the cut surface facing upwards.  Brush with half the cold lemon sugar syrup.  Press the edges against the acetate with the back of a spoon.

Select 12-14 strawberries of a similar height.  Hull and cut in half.  Press the strawberries, cut surface against the acetate, around the edge.

Place the two-thirds of the chilled crème pâtissière in a large piping bag fitted with a 1cm/½” piping nozzle.  Pipe over the sponge and between the strawberries.  Make sure you pipe the full height of the strawberries and fill in all the gaps.

Reserve a few strawberries for decoration.  Hull and chop up the remaining strawberries and place them on top of the crème pâtissière.

Pipe the remaining crème pâtissière over the chopped strawberries.  Smooth out with an offset spatula.

Lay over the second sponge half.  Brush over the remaining lemon sugar syrup and press down firmly against the acetate.

Place the marzipan disc on the top and put the tin back into the fridge to set.

When you want to serve, remove the cake from the tin.  Peel back the acetate and transfer to a serving plate.  Dust with icing sugar and cut strawberries.  Serve chilled.

Eat.

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Or Tortilla de Patatas.  Or Spanish Omelette.  It’s the same thing.  With or without onion, warm or cold – it’s delicious.

In my house it’s less of a tapas event and more of a family supper when we’re all rushing in and out and unlikely to be in the kitchen at the same time.  It’s very well-behaved.  Packs up well for a picnic, too.

 

That’s what happened this Friday.  Not a picnic – but the kind of crazy evening where something left on the side was the only way to go.

I’m going to stick my head above the parapet and say I like onion.  I don’t include parsley – but that’s because I think the green flecks spoil the paleness of it all.  I prefer a floury potato and I don’t soak away the starch.

I peel my potatoes.  You can cube or slice them – I slice.  You wouldn’t believe how so few ingredients could divide so many people …

Even the choice of oil is contentious.  Mine is a really unpretentious sunflower oil, but I also use a good but not extra virgin olive oil.  I think olive oil has the edge, but you’d need to be eating examples side-by-side to tell.  I use a large frying pan/skillet (it really is a ‘skillet’ as I’ve embraced the cast iron Lodge import having discovered them in a brilliant shop near Seb’s university) and put in about 2cm/¾” (ish) of oil.  What you want is for the oil to just cover the potato, whether you’ve cubed or sliced it.  I fry in batches, so as not to reduce the temperature of the oil too dramatically.

It’s similar to how I cook my chips.  And, when you stop to think about it, this really isn’t a million miles away from ‘egg and chips’.  No wonder I like it.

Take your time.  Fry gently.  You want the potato to be completely cooked through but with no colour.  Don’t rush it.

When the first batch is done, lift out with a slotted spoon and transfer to a sieve set over a bowl.  Then, on with the second.  I fry my potatoes in three batches.  When my third and final batch of potatoes is almost done, I add the finely chopped onion.  Like the potato, it needs to be soft but uncoloured.

Scooping out finely chopped onion is difficult-to-annoying so pour the final batch of potatoes, onion and the hot oil into the sieve.  Be careful!  Really.  Leave to cool in the sieve.  (The longer you leave the potatoes and onions to cool, the stronger the taste of onion you’ll end up with.)

Break the eggs into a large bowl and add a little salt.  I like ½tsp of malden sea salt, but you’ll have to adjust to your salt (because they are not equally ‘salty’) and palate.

When the potatoes are cold enough to touch they can be added to the egg.  Empty the sieve contents into the large bowl of beaten eggs.

Stir together – gently.  The cooked potato slices are at risk of breaking up if you’re too heavy handed.

Use a small frying pan.  Mine is 20cm, which is a little under 8 inches.  Don’t go larger than 24cm or you’ll have trouble ‘flipping’ and a traditional Spanish Tortilla is deeper than an Italian frittata.  Aim for the potato/egg mix to reach the lip of the frying pan.  Press down.  The potato should be tucked beneath the egg.

When the edges of the tortilla have started to ‘set’, cover loosely.  My milk saucepan has a lid which does the job nicely, plus it has a see-through lid.  That’s useful.  Cook over a gentle heat until the top of the tortilla has set.  As in, very little runny egg left.  How long is a bit difficult to say as it will depend on how high a heat you’re cooking over.  Don’t rush it.  Keep the heat low as that will stop the bottom catching before the top is set.

Getting ready to flip.  Just loosen the edges with a spatula.

Then place a clean plate over the top.  It’s easier if it’s significantly larger than the frying pan.  Until you’re confident it might make sense if you do it over the sink, but it’s really not difficult.  Just do it.

The flipped tortilla has a little bit of juice.  Try and save that.  Put a little bit of the oil in the frying pan and tip in the juices.  Then ease the tortilla back into the frying pan.

Now what was the top is the bottom and the bottom is the top.  Again a low low heat.  Over cooked egg has the texture of leather.  Keep the whole thing moist.

When the underside is set, it’s time to tip it back out.  Even if you’re serving your Tortilla Española warm, give it 10 minutes to settle before you cut it.

If you’re channelling a Spanish vibe you might want to cut into cubes, pierce each one with a cocktail stick and serve with chilled sherry.  But, for a busy Friday night supper, I made three tortillas, served them cold and cut into slices.  I love this with a simple Spanish tomato sauce (Sofrito) and a green salad.

Eat.

Tortilla Española

Makes 20cm tortilla.

• 4 medium potatoes (between 700g-750g), peeled.
• olive oil for frying
• 1 small spanish onion, finely chopped
• 4 large eggs
• ½ teaspoon of malden sea salt

Slice or cube the potatoes.  In a large frying pan, heat enough oil to fry the potatoes.  Fry in batches, over a low heat, until the potato is completely soft and showing no colour.  As each batch is cooked,  lift out the potatoes with a slotted spoon and transfer to a sieve placed over a bowl.  When the final batch of potatoes is almost soft, add the finely chopped onions.  When everything is soft, carefully tip the entire contents of the frying pan into the sieve.  (The oil can be re-used.)  Leave the potatoes to cool.

Break the eggs into a bowl and add the salt.  Lightly beat together.  Add the potatoes and onion and gently stir.

Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a 20cm frying pan and tip in the potato and egg mixture.  Use the back of a spatula to make sure all the potato is covered with egg.  Fry over a low heat.  When the edges start to set, loosely cover with a a lid.   Fry until the top has almost set.

Cover with a large clean plate – and flip.

Add another tablespoon of oil to the frying pan.  Tip the ‘juices’ from the plate into frying pan and gently ease the tortilla back into the skillet.  Fry gently until the underside is coloured.  Keep everything moist.

Tip out onto a plate.  Leave to cool for 10 minutes before cutting.  Serve warm or cold.

Eat.

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We’re in the second week of tennis at Wimbledon.  I can’t in all honesty say it’s something I really get involved with other than I notice it’s all that’s on the BBC.  I suspect it’s the scars of my childhood – my mum, sporty to the core, followed avidly from Queens onwards and I found it very annoying.

On the other hand, I’m very fond of strawberries which seems to be inextricably linked with the event.  And cream.  And love a glass of Pimms.  Or two.

I read the other day that Pimms is now hopelessly uncool.  Since I turned fifty on Tuesday I’m mentally preparing myself, as Jenny Joseph’s poem suggests, for the wearing of purple and the spending of my pension on brandy.  I’m starting with drinking Pimm’s without shame and reclaiming the ice lolly.  It was a short step to my putting the two together.

Why should the children have all the fun?  Grown-ups need ice lollies, too.

These three strawberry specimens are mine.  Mine, in that I grew them.  I would like you to know I treat all my strawberries with an equal lack of attention and have absolutely no idea why they show such individuality.  When they’re particularly small they are very ‘seedy’ and this is a brilliant way of making sure they don’t go to waste.

Chop the strawberries into pieces and let the lemonade go flat.

Put the chopped strawberries in a blender and some mint leaves.  For some reason I’m growing micro mint and I used a couple of sprigs.  If you have a usual sized mint leaf – about 8.

Give it a whiz.

Pass the purée through a fine sieve to remove the pips.

Then add the flat lemonade.

Pimm’s!  Don’t go overboard.  Too much alcohol will stop the lolly freezing well.

The sugar …

Reduce that at your peril.  Sugar is a lubricant between the ice crystals.  Not sure I entirely understand what’s going on, but it’s how you get a smooth lolly.  Stir until all graininess has disappeared and then transfer to a jug.

Pour into your ice lolly moulds.  Mine don’t have a top, so I freeze for an hour before I try and insert the lolly stick.

(You can use any freezable container – paper cups, yoghurt pots …  The only thing you should watch out for is that the top is wider than the base or you’ll meet with disaster when you try and unmould it.)

After that initial freeze, I cover the mould with tin foil and push the lolly stick in.  The foil just gives the stick a little more support.

When it comes to unmoulding my lollies, I wrap a warm tea-towel around the mould to loosen the lolly.  Being as mine are silicone, I then push up from the bottom.

Eat.

Pimm’s and Strawberry Ice Lollies

10 x 80ml lollies

• 500g/1lb 2oz strawberries, hulled and cut into pieces
• 8 large mint leaves
• 50ml/2fl oz Pimm’s
• 250ml/9fl oz lemonade
• 100g/4oz caster sugar

Measure out the lemonade and allow to go flat.

Put the strawberries and the mint leaves in a blender and whiz to a purée.  Sieve to remove all the pips.

Add the lemonade, the Pimm’s and the sugar to the smooth strawberry purée.  Stir until the sugar has dissolved, then transfer to a jug.

Pour the mixture into the ice lolly moulds and freeze overnight.

If using a lolly mould without a lid, freeze for an initial hour before inserting a stick.  Foil placed over the top will give the lolly sticks more support.

To serve, wrap the mould in a warm tea-towel until the lolly has loosened.

Eat.

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