On Cabbage, Leprechauns, and Unseemly Behaviour

'It is not ok to toot at church -- but it is ok to toot at the dinner table!', said the three-year-old.
'No, it's not ok.  It's disgusting, so knock it off'!', said her mama.
'But it is ok to toot at the ice-cream table, though.'  (As it happened, we were having ice-cream at the dining room table.)
'Stay classy, you nasty bugger.  And, no, it's not.'
'But I'm just a nasty cuss!  Governor is a nasty bugger!'
Well, I say!

We were sitting on a bench a few days later waiting for Emilia's swim lessons to start, when she nearly caused me to pass out on account of her new-found pride.  I was quite annoyed, and I had to decide if we should leave immediately in order to avoid further shame, or just ignore it and act like nothing happened.  And yet she just sat there smiling as brightly as she could, saying, 'I stink!  I tooted!'  Yes, to be sure. 

She has also become quite a fan of announcing the state of her gaseous health to all at Whole Foods, 'I stink!'  We've talked about it now and I've told her she cannot do such rude things in public, but she fails to understand why on earth not.  Apparently she does not find my argument all that compelling.

And so, why am I informing you of the gaseous state of our daughter, you ask?  Why, because today's lesson is on cabbage, beans, potatoes, and the like.  You know, leprechaun food.  Emilia has been operating under the pretence of becoming a leprechaun by morning if she stocks up on lots of cabbage (and other leprechaun foods) at night.  When she's feeling dangerous, she'll switch it over to Benjamin Bunny and Peter Rabbit, but since they also eat radishes (which she has decided are unfit for human consumption) this is not as attractive an option.  Anyway, she started picking out cabbage from the store a few months ago when I officially banned her from choosing parsnips (they aren't very springy, parsnips).  And cabbage, being ridiculously healthy, not to mention a nice cruciferous veg (always high on my list), I've been indulging the girl.  And I suppose I must now suffer the consequences.

As luck would have it, Heidi Swanson's new cookbook has the most gorgeous cabbage dish on the cover.  (I know what you are thinking, but yes, cabbage can look gorgeous.)  And I knew from the first moment I saw this recipe that we would be great friends.   Emilia resisted it the first time, but now eats it up on account of the leprechaun factor.  In fact, a few nights ago she ate her dinner and then demanded a hat and wellies so she could run around in the backyard in the manner of a leprechaun and 'do what I gotta do.'  What she had to do was simply run like a crazed lunatic, yelling 'I'm a leprechaun!' to her little heart's content.  'Twas a marvel to watch. 

And so, we've found a winner of a recipe.  Alas, I've already made it three times.  And alas, as good as it is, I now need to take a bit of a break from it.  Because as good as it is, it's rather unseemly having your little three-year-old standing at the swimming pool wearing her little red and white polka dot bikini, and laughing like nobody's business because she 'ripped' (to quote her).

White Beans & Cabbage (Parmesan, Potatoes, Shallots)
serves 4

1 tablespoons olive oil
4 ounces potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed, and cut into tiny cubes
Fine-grain sea salt
1 large shallot, thinly sliced
2 cups cooked and cooled white beans
3 cups very finely shredded cabbage
A bit of freshly grated parmesan cheese

Pour the olive oil into a large saute pan or skillet.  Heat over medium-high.  Add the potatoes and some salt.  Stir, cover, and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, until the potatoes are cooked through.  Be sure to toss them a few times in the pan so they can cook uniformly and get nicely colored on all sides.  Stir in the shallot and the beans.  Let the mixture cook in a single layer for a few so the beans can brown.  Scrape, toss again, and let the beans brown some more and get crispy-ish.  Stir in the cabbage and cook for a few more minutes, until the cabbage loses some of its structure.  Serve with parmesan.  Recipe from Super Natural Cooking Every Day by Heidi Swanson.  Ten Speed Press, 2011.

Broccoli and Bow-Tie Pasta

According to Emilia, 'the people' came over to our house.  And broccoli with bow-ties was one of the things that we cooked up for them, which was really quite a hit.  Impressive, really, as half of 'the people' consisted of small children.  You never can tell what a child will do with broccoli, but since the recipe comes from the children's section of my cookbook, and as most of the kids come from parents who are of a particularly-hippie-disposition, shall we say (and everyone knows that hippie-kids eat their green veggies, right?), I figured we'd be on the safe side.  And we were, and I was right, and that's all I have to say about that.

Sadly, some of our friends have just packed up a U-Haul and are heading to Northern California.  (Jealous!)  And so because of that, a pile of us decided to get together and see them off.  Emilia had a grand ol' time.  She spent her time divided between two things: holding Torin's hand and running him around the house; and then chasing after him, exclaiming, 'But I just want to give you a hug goodbye!'  It was marvelous to watch, particularly since Torin loved to play with the girl, but wanted absolutely nothing to do with her little affectionate ways.  (Ah!  To be so young and to scorn the love of such a beauty!) 

Anyway, we've made this pasta a few times now, and I am happy to report that it is officially part of the ever-rotating repertoire.  It is incredibly fast and easy to make, very good for you, and so good you have to force yourself to stop eating it.  Oh, and as a quick side-note on the recipe -- the actual recipe calls for only half a pound of pasta.  That seems insane since it calls for eight cups of broccoli.  Don't get me wrong, I am a believer when it comes to broccoli and I never need convincing to have it.  But, do be reasonable.  So, instead, I have been using a whole pound, which it is much more manageable, I say.        

Broccoli & Bow-Tie Pasta
serves 6-8

salt
8 cups broccoli florets (4 heads)
1 pound farfalle pasta
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
zest of 1 lemon

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
¼ cup toasted pine nuts (pignoli)
freshly grated parmesan cheese, optional

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Cook the broccoli for 3 minutes and then remove with a slotted spoon.  Place in a large bowl and set aside.

In the same water, cook the pasta according to the package's instructions, usually around 11-12 minutes.  Drain well and then add the pasta to the broccoli.

While the pasta is cooking, heat the butter and oil in a small pan.  Cook the garlic and lemon zest over medium-heat for a minute.  Turn off the heat and add 2 teaspoon salt, the pepper, and lemon juice.  Pour over the pasta-broccoli mixture.  Toss well.  Season to taste and then top with the toasted pine nuts and cheese, if using.  Serve.  (Recipe from: Barefoot Contessa Family Style by Ina Garten.  Clarkson and Potter Publishing, 2002.)

Swiss Chard & Saffron Omelettes

The two things I heard last night as we sat down to dinner: 'That a frittata.  I going to spit it out!'; and, 'This looks marvelous!'   Thank goodness for Michael and his exceptional taste, is all I have to say.  On the bright side, though, I did manage to get about five or six bites into Emilia's mouth before she drew the line.  (She knew we had a gorgeous carrot cake sitting on the counter -- just waiting for us to finish our dinner.) 

Emilia has mastered the trick of blocking my fork by hurrying to get her glass of milk up to her little mouth in lightening speed.  (The twerp.)  However, last night was much easier than the last two times I made these for dinner.  (Yes, I've tortured her with them three times now, alright?)  Anyway, she usually holds to her word, and literally spits out each bite I give to her.  She then proceeds to wail like a banshee in between.  Poor thing.  I know she loathes potatoes and parsley, and what do I do?  Give her (what she believes to be) an extra-large serving of both.

As for the rest of us in the house?  Well, we love the dish.  And, unfortunately for Miss Milia, the recipe has made it into my new dinner repertoire.  I'm sorry, but it really is delicious and quite good for us.  We've been serving it with just a green salad and a loaf of bread.  It is one of my favorite concepts in a recipe -- very simple ingredients put together in an interesting sort of way.  (I really must hand it to Ottolenghi -- he is never ever boring.)  It is nice to start with just a few fresh quality ingredients, and end up with an incredibly flavorful meal. 

Carrot Soup

Emilia and I stood outside this morning doing our stretches before we left to go on our 'quick run.'  She stood reaching up, up, up to the sky, and making quite a variety of groaning noises.  'I just like Bampa David!' she said, with a great big smile across her face.  I'm not sure if she actually remembers seeing (or hearing) Grandpa David stretch, but I tell her about it every time we are stretching together, before I (inevitably) plonk her into the jogger and we set off on our merry way.

It is one of my favorite things, and it always makes me smile just thinking about it -- David getting out of his chair in the morning to go and re-fill his coffee mug.  He pauses, lifts his arms up, and stretches, making all the appropriate sounds to go along with it.  Miss Milia loves doing this in exactly the same manner.  And even though Grandpa David doesn't know it, I've been telling her that she stretches just like him ever since she was a month or so old.  It warms my heart to no end.

Anyway, I'm just now easing my way back in to running.  I began with a short hiatus (on account of the fact that I just plain didn't feel like it) which quickly turned into four or five months in all.  Shameful, I know.  But I'm back in the game now -- new patella band and all!  In fact, Michael is even running with us on the weekends, and we've even pulled out all of our old yoga and pilates dvds.  It's been great fun doing them together.  Emilia calls it 'yogo' and has actually mastered the downward facing dog.  However, it seems to be best if we do our 'yogo' or pilates after she's gone down to bed.  She likes to jump on you and generally make a nuisance of her little self in our rather small study, where we've been trying to 'get fit.'  Aaaah, good times.  But it does help one to feel better, that's for sure.  I know I've said it before, but running is the best form of stress-management I've ever come across.  It works like a charm, too.  While the other stuff (namely the yoga) is just plain good for you.  And to top it off, it has been nice to spend time with Michael doing this stuff.  (Usually he goes to the gym by his office, where he gets hit on by all the men.)

Quinoa and Grilled Sourdough Salad

It has been a very difficult past couple of days around here.  Emilia seems to have discovered the fine art of throwing fits and testing her limits, and it has been making me absolutely crazy.  I admit that I am not the most patient person in the world, though, and I really ought to work on that.  But, really, I'm at my wits end over here!  And to top it off, my sister has been on a road-trip for the past while, so I've not been able to call her and give her an earful about it.  I already know what she'd say though: 'They all go through it.  It's only a phase, so stop bothering me.  Don't you know I'm busy -- and try dealing with seven of them!  Call me when you've got a real problem, lightweight!' Or something like that anyway.  Besides, I am well aware of the fact that having seven kids will hardly conjure any sympathy for one with a (usually) very easy two year old.** 

So, last night we sat down to a lovely dinner: salmon on the grill and this marvelous quinoa and grilled sourdough salad.  It was divine.  And we ended up eating so much of the salad that we were fit to burst.  That is, Michael and I ate it.  Emilia spent the whole of dinner declaring that she was finished and needed to get down.  It is the oddest thing, the girl loves vegetables, I swear.  But she has drawn the line with a few things: potatoes (even mashed potatoes), cucumbers, anything with parsley on it, lettuce, and anything resembling a salad, particularly if it has dressing on it.  But she will eat broccoli, asparagus, zucchini, green beans, tomatoes, and on and on, until the cows come home. 

Anyway, as I've mentioned before, I happen to take vegetables very seriously around here.  So I didn't take it too kindly when Emilia put one bite of this delicious salad into her mouth, and then started gagging like she was being tortured by some mean and nasty person.  I mean, really.  And I particularly didn't appreciate when she decided that the bread chunks were tofu and, therefore, not to be touched.  I suppose, in the poor girl's defense, this salad was loaded to the gills with items on her Do Not Eat list.  But even so, hmpf!

The Absolute Best Carrot Cake Ever -- No Jet Plane Required

'Do it again!  Do it again!' is what Emilia says every time we are out on the trampoline bouncing around.  She loves to hold my hands (or dada's hands) and bounce in a circle singing, at the top of her lungs, 'Let's go fly a kite!  Up to the highest height!  Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring...'**  And at the end of the song we fall back, landing in a heap and staring up at the sky.  On sunny days, Emilia thinks it is quite hilarious to try to quote something I said to her on a very sunny day not so long ago: 'I don't want the sun on my face!  It's going to make me look old enough to be your mother!'  Now, really, I find that a rather funny thing to say.  But for the life of me, I can't figure out why she does. 

Anyway, while we are lying on our backs looking up at the sky (preferably Michael is right along beside side us) Emilia will point out all the planes that go by.  She is very good at deciphering between a sea-plane and a jet-plane, and every time she hears the latter, she happily exclaims, 'It's going to the airport!  Maybe we should go to the airport, too!'  Talk about a little girl after my own heart.  (I think she was just over a year and a half when she told me one afternoon, completely deadpan, and while holding my purse, the keys, and a Neiman Marcus shopping bag, 'I be right back, mama.'  'Oh, where you are going?'  'I going to the airport!  I going to Georgetown!')

And so, one evening the three of us were lying on the trampoline and gazing up at the sky (Governor was off barking at a squirrel somewhere), and we saw a plane high up in the sky.  Immediately I started singing, 'I'm leaving on a jet plane, I don't know when I'll be back again...'***  Michael quickly joined in, and once Emilia picked up enough words, she started singing, too.  And there we were, the three of us on a lovely summer evening, looking up at the sky and belting out one of the best songs ever.  It was quite nice, if you must know.  Now Emilia calls it 'her song' and randomly sings, 'Oh babe, I hate to go.'

Now then, why am I going on about a trampoline and airplanes and John Denver, you ask?  Well, it's really quite simple.  One of the cheapest ways to travel somewhere is to cook.  Sounds silly, but it's true.  You want to get to know a place, then eat its food.  Of course it isn't the same as actually being there, but it is the best substitute I've ever found. 

Soba Noodles with Aubergine and Mango

A few of the things my husband said regarding Ottolenghi's Soba Noodles with Aubergine and Mango:

'This dish is preposterous ... but it's so good.'

'That eggplant one astonished me.  I had no hopes for it.'

And there you go, a truly bizarre dish that is a great success!  To be honest, the main reason I decided to make it was because we had a pile of fresh basil in the fridge, and I was needing to use it before it went bad.  (You know how sometimes you look for certain recipes just to use up a particular ingredient that you'd really rather not just stare at while it goes bad...)  Anyway, as I copied out the ingredients we needed to get from the store, and later as I began to cook it all up in the kitchen, I had a few twinges of guilt.  I knew this was not something that Michael would have picked for dinner ... ever ... in a million years.  But I thought it looked good. 

For starters, Michael claims to loathe mangoes (odd man), and he also doesn't typically go for any sort of noodley-dish that is not steaming hot.  Also, he does not harbor any fondness for tofu.  (Ottolenghi suggests adding fried tofu to the dish if serving it as a main course, which I did — and which Emilia, for one, would not touch.  Again, 'Mia don't like it!')

Anyway, this is what I love about the Ottolenghi cookbooks.  The recipe for Soba Noodles with Aubergine and Mango comes from the brand-spanking-new and hot off the presses Plenty.  Plenty is a completely innovative vegetarian cookbook with a strong emphasis on just that: vegetables.  The book is absolutely gorgeous — fresh, diverse, and never boring.   It is filled with the oddest (when combined) assortment of fresh ingredients that, even if you may have a few doubts going in, always turn out spectacularly well.  Michael's assessment is spot-on, if I do say so myself.

Lily's Stir-Fry with Tofu

It would seem that we are in a terrible rut when it comes to dinner these days.  Every night I appear to be doing some sort of variation on European peasant food.  Spain and Italy (and even France, every now and then) grace our dinner table, in one form or another, nearly every night of the week.

I am told that American peasant food would be a hamburger from McDonald's.  (Or, Burger Burger Burger, if you've seen that old episode of Frasier.)  And there is nothing wrong with that.  (As a sidenote, I highly recommend the book The Omnivore's Dilemma, because I'm actually lying when I say that.  There is something wrong with fast-food for dinner.)  Anyway, most of us eat what we can afford, and unfortunately healthy foods tend to cost a lot.    

Enter Euro-peasant-food.  I do (on a fearfully regular basis) Tortilla Espanola, Garbonzos con Espinacas, pasta (and then more pasta), roast chicken, quiche, frittatas, and soup after soup after soup.  And to be perfectly honest I'm bored to tears by it all.  Me thinks I need to expand the repertoire a bit.

I used to cook with tofu a lot back in the day.  However, I was told to stay away from the stuff during my erstwhile days as a fertility patient.  Not to mention the fact that, in large quantities, soy has been known to turn men gay (or so I hear).  Both my sister and I called our father (who happens to eat tons of the stuff) to tell him about this study after it came out, but he didn't care.  Instead we periodically ask him if he's 'gone gay', as it were.  And for some reason he never seems to think this is as funny as we do.  Anyway, I personally don't have a particular love for tofu, but I also don't loathe it.  I suppose I'm simply indifferent.  (See what I mean, I'm in a rut.  It is very odd for me to be indifferent about anything food related.)

This recipe for Lily's stir-fry with tofu comes from Sophie Dahl's new cookbook.  I made it for dinner last night and Michael and I polished it off in no time (thank goodness I doubled the recipe).  Emilia, on the other hand, put one bite of tofu in her mouth, promptly spit it out, and then declared, 'Don't like it!'  And that was that.  I tried to sneak a bite of the different veggies into her mouth when she wasn't looking, but I got the same results, 'Mia don't like it!'  She can really be a twerp sometimes.

Broccoli Lovers Unite!

I used to belong to the school of thought (and by 'school' I mean 'me', because no-one else would join up) that you could stay perfectly healthy, ward off diseases and random heebie-jeebies, and cure most things if you would only include a few particular things into your every-day-life. That is, you must drink lots of water, eat broccoli and yogurt, and run. Simple enough. And that way it doesn't matter much if you inadvertently sit down and eat damn-near a whole pie ... or yet another one of those blasted Trophy Cupcakes ... or even an enormous hamburger on one of those delicious brioche buns. Because you've already done what your body really needs and wants you to do. It's all about balance.

Now, if this sounds at all crazy to you, talk to my father. It's all his fault. He brought us up to be crazy people when it comes to food and what we put into our bodies. Seriously, the man was a loon (and still is, for that matter) when it came to food and exercise when we were growing up. However, these days he seems to think that we're the ones riding the crazy train. Hmmm. I say, it takes one to know one, but that's just me. The last time I told him about my 'new strict diet regiment', he said, and I quote, 'Give me a break.' But I ask you, does it not sound ingenious to have a cup of black tea, a cup of red tea, a cup of green tea, and a cup of white tea — every day? Just imagine the benefits! Anyway, it didn't last very long on account of the fact that it was a pain (and I don't really like green tea). However, I do still try to adhere to my broccoli et al regiment, for whatever reason.

As you may or may not know, I have become quite the fan of Ottolenghi: The Cookbook as of late. It is a gorgeous cookbook that is filled with fabulous recipes. And it seems that every time I thumb through it I stop on the recipe for Chargrilled Broccoli with Chilli and Garlic — for good reason too. 'If there is a dish that's become synonymous with Ottolenghi, second only to our meringues, it is this one.' And, shocking as it may be, many people go to their London-based shops purely for this broccoli dish. That's right, broccoli. Rather impressive, one might say.

Even if you are not a broccoli lover, you should try this recipe. It is marvelous — and it will undoubtedly cure whatever it is that ails you. Just make sure to throw in some yogurt, water, and running (just not at the same time), for good measure.

Chargrilled Broccoli with Chilli and Garlic

2 heads of broccoli (about 500g)

115ml olive oil

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

2 mild red chillies, thinly sliced

coarse sea salt and black pepper

toasted flaked almonds or thin slices of lemon (with skin), to garnish (optional)

Wash the broccoli and separate it into florets, being sure to leave the florets on their small individual stems. Bring a large pot of water to boil and blanch the broccoli for 2 minutes. Do not be tempted to go any longer. Transfer it immediately to a bowl of ice-cold water to stop the cooking process. You may want to do this in batches, depending on the size of your pot. Drain the broccoli in a colander and let it dry thoroughly. It is important to let the broccoli dry completely. (I laid mine out on a flour-sack cloth for a while, just to make sure.)

In a mixing bowl, add 45ml olive oil and a generous amount of salt and pepper to the broccoli. Mix well.

Place a ridged grill pan over high heat and let it sit for 5 minutes or so to ensure that it is very hot. Grill the broccoli in batches because '[t]he florets musn't be cramped.' (Yes, that is my all-time favorite line in a cookbook ever.) Turn them over a few times so that they get char marks on them. Transfer to a bowl and start on the next batch.

Meanwhile, place the rest of the olive oil in a saucepan with the sliced chillies and garlic. Simmer over medium heat until they just begin to brown. Do not let them burn! And remember that they will continue to cook once the heat is off.

Once all the broccoli is all ready, pour the olive oil mixture over it and toss. Taste for salt and pepper.

Serve warm or at room temperature (although, I daresay, it would even be good cold). Garnish with the almonds or lemon. (I used a lemon because the almonds sounded like a pain in the neck, even though I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be.) (Ottolenghi: The Cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi, Ebury Press, 2008.)

Zoonie-Nini-Zucchini

I have no idea why Emilia has decided that she loves zucchini, but she has. And I can promise you that I'll be the last person to ever complain about it. However, even if I was the last person, my complaining would be done with some reluctance. The funny thing though is that I don't particularly love zucchini myself. I think my favorite way to eat it is in minestrone, and that hardly counts.

At any rate, I love vegetables and always have. My Grandma Jo used to tell me that I was going to turn into a rabbit when I was little because I would eat so many of them. But, alas, it never happened. 'Spose that's for the best, really.

Trying to cook something that your 18-month-old will willingly eat can sometimes be a challenge. That is why Emilia typically gets zucchini a couple of nights a week (while it is in season). We are branching out like crazy these days though, since she has decided that (for now) she likes broccoli, edamame, and roasted carrots. Her 'nini', or more recently 'zoonie', never fails though. And another added bonus is that we happen to like it too.

I don't follow any particular recipe when I cook this dish. Instead, I think I have ended up with an amalgamation of Michelle Scicolone's and Ina Garten's recipes.

1 tablespoon olive oil (or so)

½ cup onion (give or take), in a small dice

2-3(-ish) zucchini

salt and pepper, to taste

freshly grated parmesan cheese

Heat oil in a sauté pan. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent and beginning to brown.

Cut zucchini in ½ length-wise and cut into bite size pieces — about ½ an inch thick. Add to the pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until nicely sautéed. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Grate lots of fresh parmesan over the top, give it a good stir, and serve.

**Quick note — You may want to do this in batches. When the pan gets over-crowded with zucchini it tends to steam rather than sauté. And once that happens, you have the reason it took me awhile to warm to the veg. However, if I'm in a rush and can't be bothered, then it all goes in the pan at the same time, and we must suffer through the consequences — mushy, slimy frogskins. Even then Emilia still loves it and shouts, 'Ah Bee! Zoonie!', which translates as, 'Oh Boy! Zucchini!'

Ottolenghi! Ottolenghi! Ottolenghi! (& a Fig Salad)

I love cookbooks. And I especially love a shiny, brand-new cookbook. The most recent one to grace my ever-growing collection is the marvelous, the stupendous, Ottolenghi.

Unbeknownst to me, Ottolenghi is apparently a food-shop/restaurant in London — and from what I can gather, they have a few different locations. The only reason I know this is because I am such a frequenter of the lovely Clotilde Dusoulier's website. She apparently got the cookbook to try a specific sticky dessert — the name of which escapes me at the moment — which sounded like a very valid reason as to why I, too, should buy the book. However, a couple of months later, I still have not gotten to the dessert section. (Very weird, indeed.) Instead, I have been lolling about in the salad and vegetable section, or as they call it, 'Vegetables, Pulses, & Grains'. I have subsequently read that Ottolenghi is known for their salads, so this is not such the unusual behaviour as it would seem.

I am someone who loves a good salad. That being said, I am usually not the type to make one. Instead, I plunk salad greens in a bowl, drizzle it with a little olive oil and balsamic, and say, 'Voila!' The reason for this is simple and goes beyond sheer laziness; salads are like sandwiches, always better when someone else makes them. I don't know why this is exactly, but there it is. However, thumbing through the pages of this cookbook, I am trying very hard to change my way of thinking.

The second recipe in the book is for a fresh fig salad. It is beautiful to look at and very easy to make. And I know I've said it before, but there is something very nice about eating in season — figs are currently in full-swing.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I did change the recipe a bit. The idea of nothing to balance the sweetness of the figs and honey makes me a bit nervous, even though that is what the greens and pecorino are, theoretically, meant to do. So instead of adding 2 tablespoons of honey to the dressing, as called for, I added 1 tablespoon honey and 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice. It was just enough to off-set the sweetness. And to be perfectly honest, the real stand-out for me in this recipe was the fresh basil. It hadn't occured to me that it was such a natural compliment to the rest of the ingredients.

2 tablespoons good quality-honey

3 tablespoons olive oil

600 grams ripe green or black figs

300 grams young pecorino or a similar cheese (I forgot to buy this, so I used the chevre that was already in the fridge. Not the same, in the least — but still very good and made life easier.)

80 grams rocket, preferably wild (that would be arugula, for those of you not hip to the British-speak)

10 grams basil leaves

course sea salt and black pepper

Whisk together the honey and olive oil, add salt and pepper to taste. (Or put it in a jam jar with the lid on and shake the daylights out of it.)

Arrange the rocket, basil, figs (which you have quartered), and cheese (which you have torn into pieces) on a platter, or individual serving plates. Drizzle the dressing over the top and finish with a bit of freshly ground black pepper. (Ottolenghi: The Cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi. Ebury Press, 2008.)

**A quick note on measurements. Because it takes a bit longer to order this cookbook from Amazon in the US, I opted for Amazon UK. That is why the ingredients are written in grams. If you would like my husband to do the maths for you — then he would be more than obliged, I'm sure. Otherwise, you can do as I did and guesstimate.