The marvellous Felix Cohen, all-round wizard, works his magic on words and booze in a double first for this blog: booze and a guest post. Featuring acid, Cuban cosmonauts, and violets.
Has there ever been a more middle class title than The Lazy Girl’s Hummus? I suspect not, but I’m too fond of it to change it: besides, I have herbs on the windowsill and am ordering a sofa from IKEA. I couldn’t deny the charges if I tried. I am both middle-class and lazy, and this hummus is good at both. (Bonus: secret recipe for absolute cheat’s hummus, and a picture of some flowers)
Outside it’s very dark, and this is the brightest, cleanest, newest supper. I’ve been reading a lot of Mary Poppins: I think she’d approve of how pink this dish is. Pink as lollipops, as Michael Banks would say- pink, purple, silver and gold. And very good for you, also.
This is a celebratory breakfast, a Christmas breakfast. I love Christmas, and I love toast, and butter, and fairy lights, and eggs, and smoked salmon, and this is all those things. Merry Christmas, lovely people.
It’s cold outside, and the evenings are drawing dark hard on the heels of four o’clock, and inside there are blankets, and fat warm candles, and a big bit of pig, and heart attack mash.
This risotto is sort of Nigel Slater, and sort of me, and sings absolute unfathomable comfort in every grain of soft and oozy rice. I found it in a book at my grandparents’ house, near the Peak District, and I folded myself up on their sofa and thought about making it, back in London. It is wonderful.
This crumble is either distressing because the idea of nectarines in a crumble is inherently wrong; or because it was written in a hospital waiting room. Really, though, like hospitals, nectarines in crumble are brilliant. This crumble has nectarines, and walnuts, and whiskey, and marzipan, and it may be the best thing I’ve ever invented.