Ginger and orange crab salad

So the other night I wrote a deep and meaningful blog post about running, which was lovely and thoughtful and hopefully made some of you think about going for a jog.

After I wrote my deep and meaningful blog post, so many people were kind enough to sponsor me that I actually burst into hacking great sobs because lots of people out there seem to think I will be able to do this and, you know what? I’m kind of starting to believe them.

THANK YOU and I actually LOVE YOU ALL.

The flipside to this was that I started imagining my life was actually one of those montage moments from the end of an American TV drama, where I could change the world, one pink trainer at a time.

Mr P has been putting up with this running related madness and random sobbing, and jellybean chat for quite some time now, and I think this was perhaps the cherry on a very over-iced cake, so he sent me to the shop on an errand.

I think it may have been just so he didn’t have to listen to me.

While I was in the shop, I was so focussed on changing the world and raising lots of money for charity, that I accidentally bought 3 tins of tinned crabmeat.

They must have been on some kind of offer.

I don’t really know.

Then when I got home I realised that before I changed the world, I really better make Mr P some supper.

Crabmeat seemed like the obvious starting block.

This was the light, tasty, spring-like result.

I hope you enjoy, runner or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soak some noodles in boiling water as per the instructions on the packet.

Take a piece of ginger as long as your thumb.

Peel and grate it into a bowl.

Cut the two ends of an orange.

Peel and segment into the ginger, adding as much juice to the bowl as you can. repeat with another orange.

I used one regular orange, and one blood orange.

You don’t have to be this fancy, I promise.

Open and drain a tin of crabmeat.

Add to the bowl.

Thinly slice a pepper…

A carrot…

And a quarter of a white cabbage…

Then add to the bowl.

Drain the noodles…

Then add them to the crabmeat and vegetables with some soy sauce, tossing well.

Transfer to a serving dish.

Topping with some chopped coriander.

Serve.

Ginger and orange crab noodle salad
Serves 2. Cooking time 15 minutes.

2 nests egg noodles
4cm piece ginger
1 tin crabmeat
1 red pepper
2 carrots
1/4 white cabbage
2 oranges
2 tablespoons soy sauce
40g coriander

1. Peel and grate the ginger into a bowl.
2. Peel and segment the oranges into the ginger.
3. Cover the noodles with boiling water, soaking as per packet instructions.
4. Finely slice the pepper.
5. Peel and chop the carrot into matchsticks.
6. Finely shred the cabbage.
7. Add the vegetables to the ginger mix, along with the tin of drained crabmeat and soy sauce.
8. Drain the noodles and mix with the vegetables, transferring to a serving dish.
9. Chop the coriander and sprinkle over the top.
10. Serve.

The humble jelly bean

Since the start of 2013, I have run three hundred and thirty-seven miles.

And I know it would be the traditional pattern of the Little Pink Kitchen to start lightly mocking that right now, but I really can’t.

I, Sarah Patterson, of the Little Pink Kitchen, have run THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY SEVEN miles in four months.

Not all of those miles have been easy.

In fact, some of them have been downright hellish.

The first two I ran of this year were particularly crap.

I had high hopes for the first run of the year being all full of joy and new life and hope for 2013. Unfortunately I was sweating shots of run for the first half, and dreaming of a bacon sandwich for the second.

Then there was the casual Tuesday night I went out for a ‘short jog’.

No sweat, I figured.

I had run 10 miles just two days before, a few miles would be a CINCH.

From the first step, every single muscle in my body ached. My mind told me I couldn’t run even one more step, never mind all the way home. I felt so alone, so disappointed, so hideously unfit I sobbed like a baby on the slipway of the Titanic.

There was the long run recently, where, two miles from the end, somebody slowed down to let me cross the road and I had to pretend I was re-tying my shoe.

I wasn’t entirely sure I could make it even to the other side of the road. I couldn’t see how on earth I could put one foot in front of the other, never mind run for twenty more minutes.

There was the long run where I had to do laps of a really boring industrial estate, simply because it was the only place in Belfast that was not covered in a foot of snow.

There was the run where it was raining so hard, the dye from my hair trickled down my face.

There was the run where I forgot to bring water, bought a bottle of sports drink from a garage, and downed it so quickly I spent the second half of the run thinking I was going to be sick.

But yet, somehow, I managed to push through all these moments of misery, to the runs where I went out in a terrible mood, and came home happy.

To the runs the week my father had been taken into hospital to have his toe amputated, where I was feeding my mother her dinner and driving across to the Royal Victoria Hospital every evening. Those late night runs that week, when Mr P was away was on business, kept me sane. They removed me from the sadness of seeing my invincible father in pain and scared, of seeing my mother exhausted and lonely, of having to update family and friends and random strangers in the street. On those runs, all that mattered were the streets of East Belfast, my trusty trainers, and a good playlist.

To the runs where I have worried about the temporary nature of my job, and realised before getting home it will all be OK.

To the runs on crisp winter mornings, before everyone else had even gotten out of bed for the Sunday papers.

To the run where Glentoran football fans lined the Dee Street bridge as I ran home, cheering me all the way.

To the run where I managed to run for ten miles, each taking a whole minute less than the last time I had attempted that very same endeavour.

And, being totally honest, the good runs have absolutely outweighed the bad.

I have run through the streets of Belfast, improving my geography every single time.

I have run over the Comber Greenway, appreciating how lucky we are to have such tranquil spaces so close to our city.

I have run through a season of flag protests in East Belfast, police and protestors alike making sure I didn’t get hurt.

I have run past couples kissing, and teenagers drinking, and even the odd drug deal.

I have run past children learning how to ride a bike, and families out walking, and elderly people keeping themselves active.

I have run past countless dogs, and boat teams rowing, and cycle groups pedalling.

I have seen roadkill, and discarded bags of animal poo, and once an abandoned bottle of Buckfast I was seriously tempted to just stop and take a swig.

But I didn’t.

Because, through running, I have learnt that giving up just is not an option.

That telling yourself a sob story about how you were never picked in games simply does not matter 15 years down the line, all you need to do is keep running until you get home.

That I may not be the fastest, but I am certainly not the slowest.

That no matter how slowly I am running, I am running faster than I ever would lying on the sofa at home.

And I have forced myself to learn all these deep, philosophical lessons about running because, on Monday, i run the Belfast City Marathon.

I am running for Diabetes UK, because I am diabetic.

This godforsaken illness means that all of the eating and drinking I do in the name of the Little Pink Kitchen does not go unsupervised, but the work of this amazing charity means that, with caution, I can live my life whatever way I chose.

Including running 26.2 miles on Monday.

And this is where the jelly beans come in.

Because, since January, I have run 337 miles.

This means I have eaten at least 337 jelly beans.

I leave the house with the sweets stuffed into my sports bra to the point where it looks a bit like a Pic ‘n’ Mix in there.

And by eating a jelly bean every mile, I can keep on running.

The jelly beans don’t take away the pain.

They do not stop the hair dye running down my face.

They do not lessen the amount of laps of an industrial estate that need to be run.

But they do keep me, and my dodgy pancreas, and my unstable blood sugar going.

They keep me going through the streets of Belfast, past the roadkill, and the drinking teenagers, and the toddlers on bicycles.

They will keep me going until that glorious moment, after 26.3 miles of continuous running (which will take me AT LEAST five hours), when I get to stop.

And that is why, this week, in the Little Pink Kitchen, the humble jelly bean reigns supreme.

You can sponsor me and my jelly beans here.

Thank you x

Leek, ricotta and hazelnut tart

SPRING IS HERE.

Well, I’m not entirely sure about that. I still had to go out today wearing a coat.

AND a scarf.

The heating is on right now.

But still.

We no longer spend half our lives in darkness, and today, there was even a blink of SUN.

So i think it is safe to say that SPRING IS HERE, and I am delighted by this.

Mostly because I am sick to the back teeth of writing about stews and curry and winter warming food.

I want salad and roasted vegetables and limes and herbs.

(Please remind me of this when i get a courgette in my vegetable box for the 7th week running, mmkay?)

I celebrated the dawn of Spring by being so utterly knackered I had a nap on the sofa.

In my coat.

And a scarf.

With the heating on.

But then inspiration struck for this Spring tart, which is unbelievably easy to make, impressive looking and tasty.

leaving you all the time in the world to have a nap on the sofa.

Even if you do have to wear your coat.

And a scarf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take a trimmed leek and cut it into four pieces…

Then cut those pieces into quarters…

And wash well.

The leeks, that is.

Heat a little pil in a pan…

And add the leeks.

While the leeks are cooking, dust a block of puff pastry and the countertop with flour (I use shop-bought. Life is too short to fanny around making my own puff pastry of an evening. Mary Berry I am not.)

Then roll the pastry out so it’s about the thickness of a penny piece.

Lightly grease a baking tray with oil…

Then put the pastry on top of the baking sheet.

Fold in the edges of the pastry, so it is neatened up a bit (go on, channel that inner mary Berry for half a minute), and that there is a ‘crust’ all the way around the pastry.

Then crimp the edges with a fork (this is, actually, maybe a little bit Mary Berry.)

(Sorry about that.)

(But an uncrimped edge would upset me.)

Take a tub of ricotta cheese…

Dump into the centre of the pastry (as you can tell, the Mary berry thing stretches only as far as crimping.)

Then spread the ricotta to those beautoifully crimped edges.

And top with your now caramelised leeks.

Roughly chop some hazelnuts…

Then sprinkle these over the tart, pressing slightly so that they stick.

Grate some nutmeg over the top, as well as adding salt…

Then transfer to a hot oven for about 25 minutes.

Serve, with a ‘spring’ salad.

Pretend you aren’t still wearing your coat.

Leek, ricotta and hazelnut tart
Serves 4. Cooking time 40 minutes.

1 leek
250g ricotta cheese
50g hazelnuts
1/2 nutmeg
1/2 tsp salt
500g puff pastry
2 tablespoons olive oil

1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees.
2. Trim and slice the leek into four, then cut each piece into quarter. Wash the leeks.
3. Heat one tablespoon oil over a medium heat and add the leek.
4. Cook for five minutes, stirring well.
5. Roll the pasty until it is 1-2mm thick.
6. Grease a baking sheet using leftover oil.
7. Lay the pastry on the baking sheet, folding the edges inward and crimping to create a crust.
8. Spread the ricotta over the pastry and top with the leeks.
9. Chop the hazelnuts and sprinkle over the tart, pressing lightly.
10. Sprinkle tart with the salt and grate over the nutmeg, before transferring to the oven for 20-30 minutes, until golden brown.
11. Serve.

A little pink memory: Pepperoni pizza

Oh lordy, I just do not know what to say.

Which is quite unusual.

But, two-and-a-bit months after writing this post, I have gotten yet another email from another reader who ate their lunch in a loo.

Some of the people who responded to that post had different locations to the loo. There have been music classrooms and technology labs and the back of the tennis courts in the pissing rain and SO MANY TALES OF WOE I have literally sobbed at your responses.

But I wanted to tell you that it is OK.

And it is OK because the neon trend in fashion this season has reminded me of an amazing lime green shirt I once had.

Oh yes, you heard me.

Lime green.

On my thirteenth birthday, which, in case you had forgotten, is a MAJOR DEAL, I got to wear my lime green shirt.

I wore it over a spaghetti strap top and some combats, and thought I could stand in for one of All Saints should they ever fall ill.

I even had a necklace that was a big chunk of (fake) silver on a thin leather strap, worn at ‘choker’ length.

I had bought it in Tammy Girl.

Oh yes, I was cool.

On my thirteenth birthday (MAJOR DEAL), in my lime green shirt, my parents let me have a party at the Pizza Parlour.

It was like, the highlight of my life.

And I don’t know whether my crippling social anxiety simple had not kicked in yet, so whether I had more friends than I cared to remember, but eleven whole, real-life people came that night.

Ten of them were invited.

And one of them was Simon Hogg.

His surname was Hogg.

He was wearing an anorak.

he had done a 40 minute presentation on the local public transport provider in an English class just a few weeks before.

But he turned up, unannounced at my thirteenth birthday party.

Brandishing a box of ever-so-slightly soggy Roses and a necklace.

A necklace that was a big chunk of (fake) silver on a thin leather strap.

And on my thirteenth birthday (MAJOR DEAL), Simon Hogg stood in the Pizza parlour in Ballymena and declared his undying love for me.

I accepted his Roses, and his necklace that consisted of a big chunk of (fake) silver on a leather strap, and I (and my lime green shirt) walked him to the door.

We had on of those thirteen year old kisses, that was all clashing teeth and tongues swirling at a rate that is trying to replicate a short spin on a washing machine, and off went Simon Hogg, into the raniy Ballymena night.

And when I returned to my party, all eyes were on me.

And when I decided I wanted pepperoni on my pizza that night, pretty much everyone else did too.

The pizzas arrived, and I looked round the table.

The history toilets were forgotten about.

Ten people were sitting around a table because they wanted to help celebrate my thirteenth birthday (was is a MAJOR DEAL).

I ate my pizza, realising that I may have not bene the coolest kid in the school, but that I did have ten friends who cared about me or pitied me enough to show up that night.

There was at least one boy who was happy to bump teeth with me.

Even if he did wear an anorak.

I’m not entirely sure pepperoni pizza has tasted that good since.

Simple roast chicken

So last week I published a recipe for the fastest food on earth, the omelette.

This week’s effort is the opposite of the fastest food on earth, because it requires a whole hour and twenty minutes in the oven.

But I still classify it as ‘fast food’.

Not because I am some kind of crazy, smug, domestic goddess type who has cookie dough in her freezer in case of unexpected guests.

Instead I classify this as ‘fast food’ because you bung it in the oven, make a salad, slice a baguette and then you have an hour and 17 minutes to do whatever you please.

This might be domestic goddess-y things like de-scaling the shower head and cleaning the filter on the washing machine.

Or it might be discovering the secret to world peace.

Ir it might be, you know, sitting on the sofa drinking tea and clicking on WAY too many links on buzzfeed.

Your choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Locate a chicken. Try to remember if you have EVER cleaned the filter on the washing machine.

Sprinkle the chicken with salt and pepper. Decide that a filter sounds like the kind of thing Mr P should be dealing with.

Drizzle the chicken with some olive oil. Realise that if you are going to get Mr P to clean this filter, you might need to know where it is actually located.

Cut a lemon in half. Realise you have no clue what the filter on a washing machine might even look like.

Stick a half in each end of the chicken.

(Now is a good time to wash your hands. They have, after all, just been up a chicken’s arse.)

Put the chicken in the oven. Decide that, since you don’t know what the filter of the washing machine looks like or where it is located, there is no point trying to clean it tonight.

Look up buzzfeed instead.

After about an hour and twenty minutes (but check either the packaging or with the butcher that this is long enough/too long for your chicken), take the bird out of the oven.

Serve. With a side helping of 31 reasons why Beyoncé and Jay Z are the cutest couple ever.

Or whatever it was you looked up on buzzfeed.

Simple roast chicken
Serves 4 (or 2 for dinner with plenty of leftovers for lunches). Cooking time 90 minutes.

1.5 kg chicken
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 lemon
Salt and pepper

1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees.
2. Place the chicken on a baking tray and sprinkle over some salt & pepper and the olive oil.
3. Cut the lemon in half and place a half in each cavity.
4. Put the chicken in the oven for 80 minutes, or as directed by the packaging.
5. Serve.

An omelette

Sometimes I read this blog and my posts about Mr P and his shirts and my posts about Mr p and his lack of shirts and I worry that I sound smug and married and like we are the two peas in an actual pod and that you all are actually hating on me.

Hating on me?

I was clearly watching some kind of American romantic comedy designed for teenaged children at some point recently.

I do not know how else that phrase could have entered my vocabulary.

Please don’t hate on me.

But if you are concerned that life is smug and joyous and full of shirt-ripping moments in the Little Pink Kitchen, fear not.

Because motorsport season has begun once again.

And Mr P has left his pea, in her pod, to be with the other woman, a Peugeot 205.

I don’t, to be honest, know much about this other woman.

She seems to be a great ride

I mean, I once tested this out first hand and took her to Portaferry and back, and it was a joy to behold.

She makes ALL the right noises.

I mean, when we go through the Westlink underpass (you know the one. It flooded a few years back) I am now trained to roll down the windows so we can hear all those noises.

And she is blue.

But there is currently a problem with the starter motor and some gear change or other isn’t meshing properly and the motorsport season has begun again and Mr p has entered a hillclimb and he has borrowed a special suit and has bought some special gloves and these problems are Not Good and he is spending his life with this other woman in a barn in the Castlereagh hills with her noises and her good smooth ride and her massive…engine.

I had an omelette for supper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Melt a teeny tiny little knob of butter into a teeny tiny little pan.

Crack open three eggs…

And put them into a jug.

Or a bowl.

Or even a mug.

Put the eggs into some kind of receptacle, mmkay?

Add a pinch of salt…

And whisk up the eggs.

By now, the butter should look like this.

Tip the egg mixture into the pan…

And allow to cook for about 20 seconds.

Then use a fish slice to start dragging the edges of the omelette in, like so…

Then tilt the pan to get the uncooked egg to the edges.

Continue until the egg is mostly filled.

(If you want to add filling now is the time, i was too distracted by the thought of Mr P in his race overalls and was considering a drive to the Castlereagh hills myself at this point)

Flip half the omelette over to create a fold…

Then cook for a few minutes more so that your filling can warm through.

Slide the omelette on a plate.

Serve!

try not to think too hard about the other woman, or the noises she makes.

Omelette
Serves 1. Cooking time 5 minutes.

3 eggs
Pinch salt
Small knob butter

1. Melt the butter over a low heat.
2. Whisk the eggs with the salt.
3. Tip the egg mix into the warm pan, allowing to cook for 20 seconds.
4. Use a fish slice to drag the edges of the omelette to the centre, until there is no runny egg left.
5. Add filling if desired, then fold omelette in half.
6. Cook for 2 minutes, or until filling is warmed through.
7. Slide onto plate and serve.

Huevos Rancheros (mexican breakfast eggs)

So basically this morning I rocked up at a fancy pants hotel with some fellow food-types (HI Y’ALL) and we set about judging some restaurant awards.

It was harder work than you’d think but lots of fun and because it was in a fancy hotel there was lots of coffee and teeny tiny Danish pastries and everybody was nice and jolly and successful and I kind of wanted to BE each and every person there.

This particular fantasy (in case you haven’t noticed, I spent a LOT of time in a fantasy dreamworld where only good things happen) (except in work, obviously, where I am nothing but efficient and marvellous and deserving of some kind of medal) continued as I walked back to the office.

In that few minutes, the food people and I were the bestest of buds and I was getting paid to write about food and tell restaurants how to train their staff to not be morons and it was great.

Then, obviously, I set fantasy this dreamworld to one side and actually did some work and was efficient and marvellous and deserving of some kind of medal.

But, by the time I was walking home, I was still in the fantasy dreamworld.

I think by the end of that thirty-five minute walk, I had been offered nothing less than a book deal, a TV show, and a column a bit like Sarah-Jessica Parker in Sex and the City where I did hardly any work yet managed to own an Oscar De La Renta gown.

And was obviously so beautiful and so cool and so popular I actually had somewhere to WEAR the Oscar De La Renta gown.

After all that fantasy dreamworld stuff, I kind of needed a sit down.

Except that while I was out today, somebody secretly put our sofa under some kind of spell.

Some kind of spell where people who have done 4 hours work, 4 hours restaurant judging and, oh, nearly 29 years of fantasy daydreaming cannot get up.

I genuinely got stuck on that sofa this afternoon.

It was as if all that judging and all of that work that was marvellous and brilliant and deserving of some kind of medal and all that daydreaming about being a super TV chef had stolen my desire to, well, actually cook some dinner.

EVENTUALLY I managed to scrape myself into a vertical position (which may or may not have had something to do with Mr P pouring wine in the kitchen), have a rummage through the fridge and cook this.

Yes, I KNOW it is supposed to be for breakfast.

Yes, I KNOW you are supposed to use refried beans.

Yes, I KNOW the tortillas are supposed to be made from corn.

These are probably reasons I will never have a cookery book, or a TV show, or some kind of column in the paper that funds my Oscar de La Renta frock.

But I also know it is a tasty dinner.

I also know it is super quick.

And I also know it is very, very easy to make when you are simply too tired to actually cook some dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First make the salsa.

Take some cherry tomatoes…

…Then cut them into small chunks.

I forgot to take a photo of the chunks on the board because I was probably in some kind of fantasy dreamworld about I KNOW EVEN KNOW WHAT, but then you put the tomatoes in a bowl and they look like this.

They sort of looked the same on the board.

Except they were, you know, on a board.

I’m glad I cleared that up!

Chop some coriander and add to the tomatoes.

Then add salt, sugar and lime juice.

Look at this pretty picture!

Maybe my next fantasy dreamworld will be about being a food stylist.

Except I might have to learn how to be tidy.

Maybe not.

Mix well and leave to sit.

Then, prepare the beans.

Chop a chilli finely.

You can leave the seeds in if you are a big wuss you want it mild.

Heat a little oil over a low heat…

And add the chilli, along with some cumin and coriander.

You can use ground cumin if you want, but TBH I was so amazed I was actually cooking real food and not phoning for a pizza at this point, I just went the lazy route and bunged the whole seeds in.

Chop half an onion (be sure to take an out of focus photo!)…

And add to the spices.

After a few minutes of cooking, drain a tin of kidney beans…

And add to the onion…

Then squeeze in the juice of a lime.

Stir well until the beans are heated through.

Place a tortilla on a baking sheet.

I do not have two flat baking sheets so I used one baking sheet and one flan tin.

I’m all class, me.

Spread the half the beans over the tortilla, making sure there are two clear spots.

Crack the eggs into the ‘wells’…

Then bake for 7-10 minutes, until the eggs are cooked.

Transfer to a plate, then top with the salsa.

Feel free to add avocado, guacamole, cheese, whatever you want…

Then serve.

Before reverting back to a fantasy dreamworld where ANYTHING is a possibility.

After much thought on the matter, it is the best place to be.

Huevos Rancheros (mexican eggs)
Serves 2. Cooking time 25 minutes.

250g cherry tomatoes
80g coriander
2 limes
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp vegetable oil
1 chilli
1/2 onion
1 400g tin kidney beans
2 tortillas
4 eggs
Avocado (optional)

1. Preheat the oven to 160 degrees.
2. Make the salsa by cutting the tomatoes into small chunks and placing in a bowl.
3. Finely chop the coriander and add to the tomatoes.
4. Add the salt, sugar and juice of one of the limes to the tomatoes, stirring well.
5. Set salsa to one side.
6. Finely chop the chilli and onion.
7. Heat the oil over a low heat, adding the chilli, cumin and coriander.
8. Add the onion to the pan, cooking for 5 minutes.
9. Add the kidney beans and juice of the other lime to the onion mix, warming through.
10. Place the tortillas on two baking sheets, splitting the beans between both.
11. Creat a space in the beans for the eggs, then crack two eggs into each tortilla.
12. Put both trays in the oven for 7 to 10 minutes, until the eggs are cooked.
13. Transfer the cooked tortillas to a plate and top with salsa and avocado slices if you wish.
14. Serve.

#Belfeast

Mrs P was a guest of all three restaurants.

I absolutely love to eat.

And drink.

Ahem.

And, when people ask me for recommendations for restaurants and places to go, I tend to send them to places that make it very, very easy to eat.

And to drink.

Ahem.

This may sound exceptionally straightforward, but it is amazing how many places out there, supposedly purveyors of the greatest food and drink this land has to offer (and usually using that exact terminology in their faux-retro PR drivel) make it HARD to actually, well, eat and drink.

There are the terrible value places.

Not necessarily the same as expensive, these places charge well over a tenner for a burger that has spent a little bit too long in the old microwave.

That’s a quid a ‘ding’.

That’s a terrible value restaurant.

There are the places that give everything names so bizarre you are scared to order them because you only want a cup of tea.

There are the places where everything is on a board, or a bucket, or a hamster’s spinning wheel.

Including the ruddy cup of tea.

Then there are the places I’ve been to the opening of where they haven’t fed me.

There are the places where the food has been cold, the staff have been rude, and I’ve gone home a bit hungry.

Yes, there are definitely restaurants out there that make the art of eating and drinking and making merry so very, very difficult.

Which is why I harp on about my beloved Il Pirata and Coppi so much.

Even though I know not everyone digs small sharing plates.

That some people don’t like Italian.

That sometimes you want to eat dinner in a room that is actually bright enough to see your dining companion in.

But, those foibles aside, I harp on about them so much because they make eating and drinking so very, very easy.

On Sunday, they brought a few food-blog-types and a few competition winners together to show us how to eat and drink properly.

We rocked up at Coppi for course one: Aperol Spritzes (or prosecco! or a Bellini! or whatever the flip you wanted! you were there to eat and drink, they made sure we ate and drank)

We then got on an old routemaster bus where I thought Tony O’Neill, executive chef of all of these restaurants was going to launch into a sales pitch.

But no, he explained that he liked feeding and watering people.

That we were there to eat and to drink.

And that all he wanted was for us all to have a good time.

So the bus left us at Il Pirata for round two, some sharing roasts of pork and beef.

The stuffing! The crackling! The gravy! The wine!

I now understand why you might pay to eat a roast dinner here.

Then we got back on the bus for our third and final destination, the Barking Dog.

Dessert was a mirror, with 17 different versions of chocolate and passion fruit on.

And a chocolate martini, of course (hence the blurry photo).

The mirror was a stroke of genius.

At this point we were all so full if we had been handed a dessert menu we would probably have declined.

But the childish excitement of having all this food in front of us got the better of us, so we ate and drank some more.

Do you see a theme here?

The chefs, the barmen, the serving staff in all three restaurants just wanted us to eat, and to drink, and to have a ruddy good time.

I think its safe to say we did.

Which is why I have NO hesitation in recommending these places when I am spending my own hard-earned pennies.

Because when I hand over those pennies, these guys feed me.

And give me wine.

And make sure I have a good time.

Which is what running a restaurant is all about.

(I know they are planning similar events in future, follow them on Twitter at Il Pirata, Coppi or Barking Dog to be in with a chance of being there.)

Spiced vegetable couscous with butternut squash and brocolli

I have very clean kitchen cupboards right now.

My lentils are in kilner jars, my ever-so-slightly-out-of-date marmite has been binned and my plate collection has been properly stacked.

In a few months (weeks? DAYS?) those lentils will be rolling round the bottom of a drawer, the marmite I bought to replace the old stuff will be out of date again and the plate collection will be teetering dangerously every time I open that particular cupboard door.

Only very dull people have immaculate kitchen cupboards ALL the time, surely?

Because I know the calm, beautiful order of ground almonds in an old jam jar like a prop from a blog way more stylish than this one will only last so long, I am enjoying it.

And today, when I came home from work, I wanted to create a calm, beautiful, clean dinner to eat off one of my well-arranged plates and feel smug about my calm, beautiful life here in the little pink kitchen.

This salad was born, and I hope I can continue to cook it when the little pink kitchen has returned to its more natural state of being. That I can enjoy it when there are crumbs in the cutlery drawer, and a scary peeling in the sink, and a mountain of Tupperware in The Cupboard of Doom.

Because it is calm, and lovely, and a picture of healthy eating, but it is also tasty and super filling and great the next day in a packed lunch.

Even on the days when you have to reach into The Cupboard of Doom for a lunchbox to put it in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take half a butternut squash.

Remove the seeds and set to one side.

Peel and scoop out the fibrous stuff in the middle.

Wonder what the fibrous stuff is called.

Remember you still don’t know which bit is the pestle and which bit is the mortar and that there is only so much space in your wee head for thoughts like these so forget all about the fibrous stuff and peel and chop the squash into dice instead.

Put the squash and the seeds in a baking tray.

Beak a head of brocolli into florets.

Add to the tray.

Finely slice a red onion.

If you have a red onion.

If you don’t, a regular onion will be just dandy.

Promise.

Add the onion to the tray.

You don’t need to arrange yours all pretty, but I wanted to instagram my dinner (OBVIOUSLY) so wanted this part to look pretty.

It worked.

I know this because I didn’t even have to apply a filter or anything.

Sprinkle the vegetables with a couple of teaspoons of ras-el-honout…

Some salt…

And some olive oil.

Mix well.

Then bung into the oven for a while.

While the vegetables are roasting put some sultanas into a bowl.

Chop a few dried apricots…

And add them to the sultanas with a teaspoon of salt and some couscous…

Then top with bowling water and leave to stand until all the water is absorbed.

When the couscous is ready, fluff up with a fork.

Chop some cherry tomatoes in half…

Some feta into cubes…

And put into the bowl with the couscous.

Mix well, before adding the roasted vegetables.

Tip onto your prettiest serving plate from your immaculate kitchen cupboards.

Get so distracted by how organised your cupboards are forget to take a picture of chopping up some coriander and sprinkling over the top.

Serve.

Preferably in an immaculate kitchen.

Spiced vegetable salad
Serves 4. Cooking time 30 minutes.

1/2 butternut squash
1 head broccoli
1 red onion
2 teaspoons ras-el-hanout
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons light olive oil
150g couscous
50g sultanas
8 dried apricots
450ml boiling water
100g feta cheese
200g cherry tomatoes
80g coriander

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees.
2. Remove the seeds from the squash and put on a baking tray.
3. Remove the fibres from the middles of the squash and discard, before peeling and dicing the squash and adding to the tray.
4. Thinly slice the onion and add to the squash.
5. Break the broccoli into florets and add to the other vegetables.
6. Sprinkle the veg with one teaspoon of the salt, as well as the ras-el-hanout and olive oil, before mixing well.
7. Bake the vegetables for 20 minutes.
8. Prepare the couscous by placing in a bowl with the rest of the salt and the sultanas.
9. Finely chop the apricots and add these to the couscous, before topping with wtare and allowing to stand for 15 minutes.
10. When the vegatbles and couscous are ready, mix together.
11. Chop the feta into cubes and add to the couscous.
12. Chop the tomatoes in half and add to the bowl, mixing well.
13. Transfer to a serving sih.
14. Finely chop the coriander and sprinkjle over the saklad.
15. Serve.

Spiced butternut squash and prawn pasta with goats cheese

So sometimes I read loads of cookery magazines and convince myself I am never going to make a dinner that takes less than 3 hours and 27 ingredients to prepare ever again.

Sometimes I read pinterest and decide I am never going to make anything that isn’t served on vintage china ever again.

Sometimes I read yoga blogs and decide I am never going to eat anything that isn’t vegan and full of chia seeds ever again.

But most of the time, I get home from work really hungry to find and even hungrier Mr P and we both need to be out of the house by 7pm and we need to eat something that is vaguely nutrious and quick and all of my complicated-recipe, chia-seeded ideas go straight out the window and I make something like this.

I know harissa paste and pasta are not natural bedfellows but they are really, really tasty.

Which is the only decision I have made that I always, always stick too.

Life is too short to eat food that tastes bad.

Oh, and I do the vintage china thing sometimes too.

Because if you and your husband have only 20 rushed minutes in which to eat your dinner, I think it is all the more important to make them special.

And life is too short to keep pretty plates for some non-existent special occasion.

A recipe for a quick supper AND marriage advice all in one?

You are most welcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take a half a butternut squash.

Do not under any circumstance decide to taste a little bit of raw butternut squash.

It makes the inside of your mouth all weird and furry, you know like when you lick a banana skin?

You don’t know?

Oh.

Nothing to see here.

Peel the squash and scoop out the seeds.

If you have read a vegan chia seed blog, you can roast these for a snack but I only had a short while and lots of contemplation about the licking of banana skins to do, so I didn’t bother.

Cut into thin strips.

You might want to smaller slices than this, but at this point I was kind of hoping that this blog post would be about a really elegant simple supper and I though long strips of butternut squash would look SO PRETTY.

Except that the strips cook down to mush any, so that was a little pointless.

Keep them thin anyway!

Melt a little butter in a pan.

Add two teaspoons of harissa paste.

Do not decide to casually taste a bit of the harissa paste.

It may be a little spicier than you remember.

And after the butternut squash, there has already been a party of weird in your mouth while cooking dinner.

Oh, you didn’t eat raw butternut squash?

Oh, you remembered how spicy harissa paste was before licking the spoon?

Oh.

Nothing to see here.

Add the butternut squash.

Cook over a medium heat for a few minutes, stirring regularly.

Once the butternut squash is disintegrating from those beautiful strips you spent so long fretting about cooked, add the juice of half a lemon…

And some goats cheese.

Put some fresh pasta on to boil.

And add some prawns to the butternut squash, stirring well.

Once the pasta is cooked, take half a mugful of the cooking water from the pan…

Before draining the pasta…

And adding both to the squash and prawns.

Stir well….

And serve, with a wedge of lemon on top of each plate.

Enjoy!

Spiced butternut squash and prawn pasta with goat’s cheese
Serves 2. Cooking time 15 minutes.

1/2 butternut squash
30g butter
Juice half a lemon
100g prawns
2 teaspoons harissa paste
150g fresh pasta
Salt

1. Peel, de-seed and finely slice the butternut squash.
2. melt the butter over a medium heat and add the harissa and butternut squash.
3. Cook the squash for 5-10 minutes, until the strips break easily.
4. Put the pasta on to boil for 3-4 minutes.
5. Add the goats cheese, lemon juice and prawns to the squash, stirring well.
6. Remove about 100ml of the water from the cooked pasta and add to the squash with the drained pasta.
7. Ensure prawns are warned through and serve, with extra lemon for squeezing.