A Taste of the Limelight...

It’s a fact. A star-spangled truth that is written in our destiny from the moment we are offered free-reign of the dressing up box or let loose with the glitter glue; some people were simply born to be on the stage. I mean take Lady Gaga. Stood on a platform elevated a few feet above a crowd, she is a bonafide Superstar. Picking up a microwavable Spag-bol for one in Tesco covered head-to toe in neon green Kermit the Frogs on the other hand; stark raving mental. Katy Perry has fireworks that shoot sporadically from her diamante covered ball gown as teenagers in blue wigs faint at her feet, Jacko had the glove, Madonna the fishnets and Popeye-esque guns, Kim Kardashian has that face (and that arse...). Yes, for some, being in the spotlight is as natural as the contents of Gweneth Paltrow’s fridge. For a large proportion of the rest of us (including yours truly), however, the very thought of getting up and interacting with a goggle-eyed audience with a flesh coloured microphone glued to our face, is more akin to Gweneth slurping a Slush Puppy outside Primark. Not. Gonna. Happen.

Don’t get me wrong, I have had my fair share of moments in the (questionable) limelight. The first, a one line part in a local production of Jack and the Beanstalk in which I was given the confusing task of snubbing out an electric candle in Jack’s bedroom wearing a rather fetching night gown and cap combo, was more Victorian ghost than Gaga glamour. The next, unfortunately, involved a foam knife costume, tap shoes, a particularly awkward dance routine (looking graceful is difficult when stuffed inside a piece of cutlery...) and absolutely no lines. Not my finest moment, but somewhat ironically, the sheer delight my boyfriend gleans from that story alone is one of the main reasons he is still going out with me.

So, based on previous experience, and an annoying inclination to get extraordinarily blinky if even slightly nervous; it would not be completely honest to say that I was excited after being asked to get up on the stage and do a couple of cookery demonstrations at Flavours of Suffolk Festival this weekend. My reaction after I was also asked to host the Children’s Cookery Den for the entirety of the Festival? Well, the feeling was more, how should I put it, blind panic with a touch of mortal dread? Yeah, that just about sums it up...

Now we are not talking the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury here; more a (generously) pint-sized foodie fest in a field in deepest Suffolk, brimming with wonderful local producers dishing out tasters by the barrow-load, live music and street food galore. So not exactly O2, but for a girl who can’t even listen to recordings of her own whining voice (always a few octaves higher on tape than heard through your own ears??) and gets shaky fingers just thinking about a speech made in Year 7 about why London should host the 2012 Olympics (you can thank me later, Sir Seb); this field and that microphone was a pretty big deal.

But, as it turns out, although I was most certainly not born to be on the stage, I may be in danger of growing up just a little bit in love with it after this weekend. Working with the county’s best chefs who championed amazing local produce and awesome, accessible cooking at every turn, mulling over the joys of plump, ruby-red Suffolk strawberries and learning about the incredible work the North Suffolk Skills Academy are doing to give young people the chance to kick start a career in the kitchen (learn more here); proved that, yeah, being in the (sorta) limelight is not quite as scary as it might seem. Maybe Gwennie should nip down to Westfield after all...

The third outing for this wonderful festival, it was a weekend of sun, bustling marquees, miniature fingers stuck firmly in to pizza dough and burger patties, all topped off with more local foodies than you can shake a parmesan and rosemary bread stick at. There was manic wiping of white chocolate mousse from little faces, sun-drenched live music, hours spent vehemently tasting awesome local produce, many more spent glaring enviously at those sipping cold beers on bright blue deck chairs outside the Adnams mobile bar, but more than anything, it was about inspiring the chefs of the future to get in the kitchen. And it was the best. Stage or no stage, I loved it.

Even when it came to the dreaded cookery demonstrations, the part of the weekend that gave me nightmares in which all my clothes evaporated in public on more than one occasion; I found myself, strangely, in my absolute element. Whether it was bread tossing blackened corn salsa with lime and coriander and flipping homemade tortillas in the Kid’s Cookery Tent, or slathering amazing Pump Street sourdough in Hillfarm rapeseed oil and caramelised peaches in the Main Tent; I absolutely loved everything about my first time at Flavours of Summer Festival. Let’s hope it’s not the last time I cook with a microphone attached to my face. I’m sure Britney does it every night.

But enough of that, I think you probably get the picture, and seeing as this is (and I most certainly am) all about the food; I imagine you probably want to know exactly what I cooked?

 Well for the kiddies, it was time to get well and truly messy. Homemade fish fingers were teamed with smoky rainbow corn salsa, lime rich guacamole and freshly rolled tortillas; a healthy, simple creation that was an absolute hit with the little people. Over in the main Cookery Theatre, it was more of a civilised affair- think Pump Street Bakery bruschetta topped with chorizo, heritage tomato & cannellini bean stew, lemony fennel slaw and rapeseed oil aioli, or decked out with Suffolk Blue, honey and thyme roasted peaches and salted hazelnut brittle. All washed down with a miniature tasting cup of rosé sangria with peaches, Suffolk strawberries, thyme flowers and lemon balm. And, despite the third degree burn I sustained on the grill, it all went without a hitch.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

Check it out- www.flavoursfoodfestivals.co.uk

Chorizo & cannellini bean Bruschetta with lemony fennel and aioli

A few slices of stale Pump Street sourdough (or other thickly sliced, good quality bread)

Rapeseed or olive oil

50g chorizo, sliced

1 tin cannellini beans

1 lemon

A handful of ripe tomatoes, any size shape and colour you like!

1 tsp fennel seeds

½ tsp sweet paprika

½ bulb fennel, very thinly sliced (including the lovely leafy tops)

A few tbsp garlic mayonnaise or aioli (I used Hillfarm’s amazing rapeseed version)

Fresh marjoram (or oregano), to serve

First, make the chorizo and chickpea stew. In a large frying pan, fry the chorizo until starting to turn crispy and the beautiful smoky oil has been released. Add the fennel seeds, paprika and tomatoes (cut into medium sized chunks) and cook for a few more minutes.

Add the cannellini beans (juice and all), season well and leave bubbling away to reduce on a medium heat, stirring occasionally while you get cracking with the fennel.

In a bowl, combine the fennel, a glug of oil and a squeeze of lemon. Season well with salt and pepper and leave to one side. Easy squeezy.

Just before assembling, toast the sliced bread in a hot griddle pan or grill/toast until golden. Drizzle generously with oil and season well.

Spread with the garlic mayonnaise, top with the thickened bean and chorizo stew, a spoonful of the gorgeous fennel and scatter with freshly picked marjoram leaves. Dust with paprika, drizzle over another splash of oil and serve.

Blue Cheese Brushetta with Honey & Thyme Sticky Peaches and Salted Caramel Brittle

A few slices of stale Pump Street sourdough (or other thickly sliced, good quality bread)

Rapeseed or olive oil

100g Suffolk Blue, or other blue cheese

4 peaches or nectarines, sliced

2 tbsp honey

5 sprigs thyme, with flowers if you can!

50g hazelnuts

100g sugar

Firstly make the hazelnut brittle. Add the nuts and sugar to a small saucepan and leave on a medium heat, swirling the pan occasionally until the sugar has completely caramelised. Coat the nuts in the caramel using a fork and transfer to a plate covered in greaseproof paper. Sprinkle with sea salt and leave to cool and harden.

In a small bowl, combine the peaches with the honey, a splash of oil and the leaves from a few sprigs of fresh thyme. Season well.

In a small saucepan, cook the peaches on a medium heat until sticky and caramelised. When the brittle has totally cooled, chop roughly.

Just before assembling, toast the sliced bread in a hot griddle pan or grill/toast until golden. Drizzle generously with oil and season well. When the brittle has cooled, chop roughly.

Crumble the blue cheese over the bruschetta and top with the cooked peaches and a scattering of the chopped hazelnut brittle. Scatter over some thyme flowers and a drizzle of oil, et voila, bruschetta numero 2. complete!

Trattoria Treats...

I have a few bones to pick with Jamie Oliver. For one, why is it that I have cupboards full of pointless tins and jars bought simply for the kitsch packaging? What led me to become the owner endless mismatching serving bowls that I like to liberally drizzle with olive oil and artfully chuck torn leaves of coriander at? Why do I own more copies of his multicoloured titles and  matte-paged magazines than I do  pairs of matching socks? And to be quite frank, I would rather like to sue for the seemingly welded-on gratings of parmesan that looked proper rustic when scattered in the general direction of that bowl of spicy sausage rigatoni on Saturday night.

But, the truth is, although I spend more time elbow deep in washing up liquid for a Wednesday dinner for one than I usually endure for a party for six with canapés and petit fours; I can make no bones about it, I love that Jamie Oliver. Is it the palpable passion for food that seems to drip from his fingertips and pulse through every vein in his body? Or maybe the unrivalled way he takes beautiful ingredients and never fails to create a plate of food that is packed full of amazing, vibrant flavour and an irresistible, but never over-the-top twist? Is it because all his breakfast, lunches and dinners somehow manage to be simple, inspirational and accessible all at the same time? Is it because he taught me how ‘pukka’ was actually pronounced (thus making ‘Pukka Pies’ a much more appealing chippie option...)? Perhaps the amazing photos that make me want to search through every skip I come across for a piece of distressed wood to use as a background (much to my boyfriends despair)? The perfectly chipped enamel cups? The endless amounts of Sriraca chilli sauce and extra virgin olive oil?

Well yes, all of those things have some kind of weight upon my affinity with old (sorry, I mean super hip & trendy) J.O- But, most of all, it is because the way he so clearly feels about food is a near perfect reflection of how the same thoughts bubble and boil in my mind, non-stop. Like Jamie, food is my life. If you cut me in two, I would probably bleed homemade Arrabbiata sauce or foraged elderflower and lemon balm cordial. I think about food more than is probably healthy. OR conducive to doing anything else...

I mean, for goodness sake, I dream-cooked an entire wild mushroom and mascarpone lasagne in my sleep a few nights ago (don’t worry Mum, my head didn’t leave the pillow- fortunately the kitchen was still in one piece in the morning. Unfortunately, there was no lasagne...) But more than my bleary-eyed wonderings, I truly believe in the power of food. Not only to make your dreams that little bit more tasty, but, with the least cheesy intentions, to add true value to your life and that of those around you. To make our bodies healthier, out pockets heavier and our hearts that little bit lighter. Food is life. And I think Jamie believes in its magnitude almost as much as I do...

But enough of my fan mail; what I really meant to talk about before I got so ridiculously carried away, was my visit to yet another offshoot of Jamie’s unfathomable empire that really got my love of all things Oliver boiling over once more.

Jamie’s Trattoria, the distressed wood heavy, Bresola and Pecorino laden foodie heaven in leafy Richmond; is the next generation on Jamie’s bid to conquer the restaurant world. Based loosely around the Jamie’s Italian model (drawing on many of the fresh, authentic dishes prepared with the same amazing, flavour-packed ingredients used in Italian branches up and down the country, but with a very distinctive Trattoria twist), it takes inspiration upon the Italian love of gathering a big group of chattering family and friends around a scrubbed steel table decked out with delightfully mismatching chairs (Ok, that might be more Jamie’s style..) and feeding them up with beautiful, lovingly prepared grub. Digging in is the name of the game here; leave your food-sharing hatred at the door with your umbrella please...

With small-plate, sharing style starters including shaved courgettes with lemon, mint and ricotta rubbing shoulders with beautiful, almost plasticine-like matte green skinned Cerignola olives served on a bed of eerily smoking dry ice and platters of the most gorgeous fennel flecked salami; this is a joint where it is frighteningly easy to over order. After much deliberation, and one extremely drinkable coral hued negroni; we decided on the freshest pea, mint and baby mozzarella crostini, chorizo roasted with octopus, clams and butterbeans, and delightfully rich baked goats cheese with crispy pancetta and sticky green tomato chutney. All were divine; the freshness of the peas and mint cut with a little lemon contrasting perfectly with the creamy mozzarella, and the rich smokiness of the chorizo proving the perfect partner to the soft, perfectly cooked octopus and meaty butterbeans. I have not one complaint- It even managed to make my infamously plate-protective boyfriend share, which is nothing short of a miracle, to be honest.

 And the mouth watering food-fest did not stop there. Next up on my side of the table was the most delicious risotto marinara; crowned with soft, sweet crabmeat and the iridescent purple shells of the plumpest, meatiest mussels and finished perfectly with lemony strands of salty, vibrant green samphire. It was, and I am not just saying this, hands down the best risotto I have ever had in a restaurant. Which might be something to do with the fact that the only place I have ever previously ordered one was at the plastic table covered table of a Premier Inn restaurant (horrid, shockingly...), but I knew I could count on Jamie. Not a single stodgy, overcooked grain of rice in sight, it was an absolute winner.

My dinner date chose the special, a parmesan rich, creamy spaghetti carbonara, flecked with slivers of yellow and green courgette and salty, crustily fried bits of cured ham and salami from the display adorning the open-style kitchen. Again delicious, but I think my jump of faith with the risotto was the choice of the night. Particularly when washed down with a large goblet of zingy Trebbiano. Yes please.

By the time the paddle of puddings made it round to the table, I was happily too stuffed to eat any more. Although looking a blackberry fangipane tart and hazelnut chocolate torte in the eye does rather test a girl’s willpower. But resist I did, rounding off my incredibly satisfying dinner with a Trattoria coffee; a rich, syrupy concoction of espresso, hazelnut liqueur and lightly whipped cream. Just YUM.

 I think it’s safe to say that I was a fan...

Photo-ready Tea at The Biscuiteers, Notting Hill...

One of my favourite, and yet equally, most frustration-inducing parts of living in London, is without a doubt how essential the camera of my much dropped, truly battered phone is to my daily life. And most of all, a fundamental part of almost every meal time...

Much to my boyfriend's despair (he doesn’t even know how to pronounce instagram, let alone use it...) said phone is whipped out before anything passes my lips; breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, cake, midnight snack- Whatever the food stuff, it must be greeted with a filter, blur and hashtag before it vanishes into my hungry, not so patiently waiting mouth. It is just so damn tempting. And, it is not just me. Irresistible to many a foodie that is spied rearranging candles, artfully ruffling napkins and standing on chairs to get the perfect aerial view of their rapidly cooling food before they can even contemplate building that first forkful. In our world, a flat battery before the food arrives is what disasters are made of.

Yup, this is an obsession that has the capacity to become a serious problem; we halt conversation midway to snap our partners panacotta, grabbing their menu to get the perfect table shot before they have even read through the bread and olives section, all with a slighty crazed look in our eye and an evil glare just waiting for anyone who even dares to knock our elbow mid-photo. Yes, our obsession with instagramming our plates is not only pushing the boundaries of acceptable dinner-time behaviour, but a sure-fire way to wind up dining partners until you have to start asking for a table for one. No wonder some restaurants across the Atlantic have started banning this phone-foolery for ‘ruining the ambience’. But stop I will not, this is an addiction from which I don't want to be freed...

A couple of weeks ago, resisting all temptation to keep my phone in my handbag and see things with my eyes rather than the lens; I had one of the most photogenic days in a long time (since the speckled eggs and glistening hot cross buns of Easter, as you can read here). The phone was in more demand than ever; snapping bacon and cheese smothered burgers and strawberry shortcake concretes at Shakeshack, stormy skies and billboards in Covent Garden and a pop-art hued Miley swinging from a wrecking ball on a wall in Hammersmith; it just seemed to be that every which way I turned offered another photo opportunity.

But one of the most coveted photos of the day had to be the red and white stripped cake stand that graced the shiny glass table-top in the overwhelmingly cute, cartoon-kitch Biscuiteers shop and tea-room in Notting Hill. Adorned with perfect, razor sharp triangles of smoked salmon sandwich with lemon and dill cream cheese, the brightest raspberry and blueberry macarons and topped off with the amazingly decorated, intricate biscuits for which this place is famous; I would challenge anyone not to whip out their camera. Even if only for the fact that Adele (yup, the actual one) was sat on the table next to us icing a gingerbread man.

But enough about that (and yes, I did resist the snap-happy temptation on this occasion...) what I am really interested in is, of course the food. The super-cute tea has a decidedly British theme, with crisp, black pepper specked cucumber sandwiches cosying up to perfect squares of Battenburg and delicious, lemon scented angel cakes. Brownies crowned with iced underground biscuits, a bright red phone-box gingerbread and those crisp, fruity macarons; all washed down with as much English breakfast tea as you can handle, this was one sugar-rush I could most definitely justify.

Usually going for £40 for two, the tea was included in the Emerald Street Afternoon Tea deal; an absolute snip for half the standard price. Perfect, and with enough to spare for a little black and white box illustrated with the super-cute shop front full of leftover treats, it is well worth a trip, even just to ogle at the iced bacon rashers and yellow yolked sunny-side up eggs in the English breakfast biscuit selection, or to wait out for Adele... 

The Devil in Pastel Clothing...

Crisp, shiny shells, cracking as you bite to reveal a mallow soft, chewy centre and a rich, tooth-numbingly sweet hit of the richest buttercream- Macarons may look innocent as they line up like pastel hued polka dots jumped off a Mini Boden party dress, but don’t be fooled- They are the devil.

A little while ago, during the first few nervy weeks of foraying into the world of product development, I was given the unenviable task of rustling up a big old batch of these little horrors for a (rather important) customer presentation. No pressure then...

No exaggeration, a batch of about 6 macarons took me around 8 hours. As my frustration reached fever pitch, many of the cracked, burnt and unrisen met their fate in the deep dark hollows of the bin, many more were hovered up by my less fussy colleagues as they prowled through the kitchen looking for an afternoon sugar boost (a daily occurrence, and this was a very good day for the more human-hover inclined of the office...) My life started to pass in a blur of food colouring stained fingers, bowls of stiff-peaked egg whites held over my head, and, high on sugar, wondering if I had finally, spectacularly, gone mad.

Overmixed, undermixed, enough to make you want to never look at a bag of ground almonds again; I finally and quite triumphantly, cracked the recipe at about 5.15pm. And here ensued an obsession. Determined to get these little buggers looking like they have jumped from across the channel from a candy striped boulangerie in Paris, I spent the next few weeks churning out perfectly round macarons like a sugar obsessed geometrician (real word, I promise).

Spiced rum and caramelised pineapple, Clementine and dark chocolate, coffee bean, white chocolate and vanilla, sour cherry and pistachio; the flavours were the easy part. The downfall was almost always the mixing. Macarons are without a doubt one of the most sensitive, needy delights to ever grace a cake stand. The key is to finding the optimum moment, where the almonds are folded into to the fluffy pillows of whisked egg just enough, but most definitely not too much. As Mary Berry says, the mixture should be the consistency of ‘shaving foam’. And it would be madness not to listen to her...

But really, the most important thing is practice. And a very large portion of patience. Keep having a  go; any that go wrong can just be put down as flavour testing, and you are sure to find many a willing helper to assist you on that front. Just keep thinking of that wondrous moment when you take a tray of perfect, crisp, shiny disks of delicate almond treats out of the oven. I imagine it is very much like lifting the winning an Olympic gold. Or maybe having your first child...

But the most exciting part, once you have mastered the mixing, are the endless flavour combinations you can conjure up with macarons as your canvas. Orange zest, vanilla, coffee, dark chocolate; filled with passionfruit curd, white chocolate ganache or bitter Seville marmalade- There are no limits to what you can create. Maybe just leave the bacon and egg combo at the kitchen door...

On this occasion, after many un-photogenic attempts, I went for delicately fragranced pistachio and rose water combination, and a zingy lemon number, bursting with lemon zest and curd. Sweet, soft, crisp, creamy and drop-dead delicious all at once; don’t let what I have made sound like an unnerving difficulty level put you off. Follow this recipe, remember Queen Berry’s word of wisdom (just chant shaving foam, shaving foam, shaving foam as you fold) and you will be on to a winner. Smug smiles at the ready...

Macarons, makes about 12

For the Macarons

135g ground almonds (or 75g almonds and 50g ground pistachios/hazelnuts)

175g icing sugar

3 egg whites

2 tbsp caster sugar

Pinch of salt

Your preffered flavouring (lemon zest, orange zest, almond essence, vanilla extract etc.)

A pinch of your chosen powdered food colouring

-

For the butter cream

150g butter, softened

300g icing  sugar

Your preferred flavouring (lemon zest, rose water, vanilla extract, cocoa powder, crushed raspberries or strawberries..Go mad!)

-

Preheat the oven to 180^oc

Blend the ground almonds and icing sugar briefly in a food processor until fine and well combined

In a large, clean bowl, whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt until stiff peaks form. Add the caster sugar and whisk again until the mixture forms stiff peaks

Gently fold in the almonds, icing sugar, colour and your chosen flavouring, until the mixture is the texture of shaving foam- Be careful not to over-mix, but make sure everything is properly blended!

Pipe evenly sized rounds of the macaron mixture onto lined baking sheets and leave the macarons to form a skin (essential for a shiny top!) for at least an hour.

Bake in the preheated oven for 10-15 minutes, or until the top of the macarons are crisp and dry.

Leave to cool while you make the buttercream. In a large bowl whisk together the softened butter and sugar until light and fluffy, before beating in your chosen flavour and colour.

When the macarons are cool, sandwich with the buttercream and any other extras you fancy- Think lemon curd, jam, chocolate ganache!

Brixton Bites...

Now, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (most nights, when a big plate of the smelly stuff appears to snuggle up next to a nice glass/bottle of wine); there is nothing better than cheese. Yup, the smellier the better, blue, yellow, the creamiest of whites, soft, crumbly, flecked with salty delicious crunchy bits; I just can’t get enough.

So when a recent outing took me past the charcuterie strewn front of Champagne + Fromage in Brixton Village; the fine, stinky, drop-dead delicious Reblechons and perfect, milky skinned rounds of Camembert were well and truly calling my name. Well, Charlotte is très français as prénoms go- what did I really expect?!

Beckoned by the rickety folding chairs, dotted with tartan cushions and clustered invitingly around brushed steel tables, several already boasting slender flutes of softly bubbling champers; this place is straight from the pages of my holiday album circa ’04 (without the dodgy tie die tankini, or even more dodgy henna tattoos). With most glasses of bubbles on the menu obligingly offering you change for a tenner, and the selection of cheeses and saucissons giving many a deli across the channel a run for their Euro, Champagne + Fromage is the perfect place to commence a night exploring the never-ending delights of the bustling, achingly-cool, foodie-destination into which Brixton Village transforms after the last of the daytime fish, meat and random cookware vendors pack away their wares and close up their shutters.

Now, be warned; the menu is not one for the lactose intolerant/vegetarian/- Plates of peppercorn specked, fat rippled charcuterie cosying up next to big wooden boards of fruity Brie de Meaux and blue veined Roquefort, and an extensive list of meat and cheese draped, olive oil drizzled tartines on the crustiest artisanal baguette, this is French food at its finest.

But, for 3 girls giddy on a couple of glasses of reasonably-expensive pop, on this occasion the only way to go was hunks of bread dipped into the ooziest of baked camembert. With options ranging from garlic and herb, to rounds flecked liberally with crunchy nuts, we opted for our wheel to be spiked with figs and thyme.  With just enough sweetness from the fig to cut the richness of the cheese, and fragranced perfectly with earthy thyme, the speed at which the whole cheese was demolished pays absolute testament to just how perfect this place is, whether it is for a quick aperitif or to take full advantage of the amazing French fare on offer. They even do afternoon tea complete with homemade macarons. C’est un triomphe.

Snuggled in blankets, the tables bordering the crowd of hungry revellers filling their faces with delicacies ranging from Japenese Okonomiyaki and crepes bursting with caramelised bananas and homemade butterscotch, to buns dripping with pulled pork; Champagne + Fromage well and truly cemented Brixton Village as my favourite foodie destination in London. Top the evening off with a legendary sour-dough pizza at Franco Manca and several lemon cheesecake martinis in Seven at Brixton and you have pretty much my perfect evening.

Food, friends et fromage. What more could you want?

Snappy Easter...

I am going to say something controversial. Not quite Miley gyrating her flesh coloured granny pants on Robin Thickes crotch at the MTV awards. Not even as shocking as Susanna Reid flashing her pants AGAIN on BBC breakfast (Yeah, yeah I need to stop reading the Daily Mail on the tube...), but pretty damn risque.  

 So here it goes, don't say I didn't warn you. Here goes the revelation that made my mother gasp last weekend...I reckon, hand on heart, that Easter is the most photogenic festival of them all. Yup even beating Christmas. Hands down, with a giant foil wrapped bunny and a six pack of Creme Eggs...

Now, I know the last weekend is about a lot more than pastel flecked chocolate eggs and glistening hot cross buns on a gingham table cloth, but I'm afraid that's just how it is. So, having lived the weekend through the lens of my instagram app, stopping sporadically to gobble down a few (bags of) mini eggs and butter a hot cross bun, I thought I would share a few snaps to back up my slightly strange argument.

Sure, Christmas has fairy lights and flaming Christmas puddings, but, really, nothing quite matches up to big jugs of Daffodils basking in the Spring sunshine, or an embroidered table cloth adorned with summer pudding, lemon cheesecake and my Granny's totally retro (but even more delicious) coffee pudding. Stuffed with layers of rich butter-cream and sponge soaked in coffee liquor, this devilish regular on our dining table is covered in the whitest of cream and a scattering of toasted almonds. Just perfect, and one of the many reasons I love this time of year so bloody much.

But, in all of this chocolate and Easter bunny induced madness, I must not forget the star of my Springtime show. The glorious, one and only Hot Cross Bun. Yup, becoming a baking obsession almost as soon as the Creme Eggs appear on the shelves, this year I finally (and totally) cracked it. Frangranced with cardamom, rich with the almost toffee like flavour of muscavado sugar and flecked with caramelised orange, this recipe is an absolute winner. Glistening, perfectly risen, light buns of joy; just leave off the crosses and hey presto, Easter-time happiness all year round. Instagram won't know what's hit it...

(Recipie to follow, I promise!)

X

Choc-o-Block

I can’t help thinking that Easter might just be the only time when being a chocoholic is not a burden but a much-envied blessing, when being able to handle more than a miniature tube of mini eggs becomes an achievement of Olympic proportions.

But, there comes a point when all this fun has to stop. When avoiding a sugar-rush of epic proportions becomes number one priority, just after finding a pair of elasticated trousers to fit your rapidly expanding waist-line. Yup, unfortunately, after too many evenings spent in a cocoa induced daze, there becomes a point when it all has to stop. In my house, it is usually when I notice my bedside table slowly beginning to transform into an exact replica of the supermarket confectionery aisle, or maybe when my handbag begins to resemble that of an overweight shoplifter with a serious sweet tooth. But, most sadly of all, is when I realise my ability to even look at a crème egg without feeling queasy has finally begun to dwindle; then I know that it really is time for all this chocolate to find another home...

But what to do with your glut of foil wrapped goodies when your sweet-tooth has finally given up the ghost? Hide it in your sock drawer for an emotional crisis or nuclear disaster? Experiment with chocolate facials? Nah, I reckon the only use for all those neglected eggs and bunnies is to smash them up, melt them down and bake the whole lot into something entirely delicious.

And look no further than this devilishly moreish throwback to my favourite way to use up all those goodies who somehow escaped your Easter bonneted rampage over the long weekend. There is simply no better way to start your chocolate spring clean than with these wickedly delicious Turkish Delight and Pistachio Rocky Road bars; delicately flavoured with neon pink chunks of Turkish delight and flecked with desiccated coconut. The crunch of pistachio nuts is the perfect contrast to the pillowy softness of pure white marshmallow, but throw in a bit of whatever you have lurking in the cupboard; raisins, honeycomb (inspired by a bloody delicious Jamie O creation I munched on in the departure lounge of Heathrow recently- immense), almonds, dried cranberries, sour cherries. Get stuck in to the ingredients cupboard and then tuck in with a vengance- They won’t hang around for long...

Pistachio and Turkish Delight Rocky Road, (makes 12, feeds 2...If you're lucky)

100g milk chocolate, chopped

100g dark chocolate, chopped

100g butter

150g golden syrup

250g rich tea biscuits

50g desiccated coconut

50g glace cherries

40g mini marshmallows

100g raisins

50g pistachio nuts

3 Frys Turkish delight bars, chopped

A pinch of sea salt

-

Line a medium sized baking tray (about 24cm square or equivalent) with greaseproof paper.

In a heatproof bowl set over simmering water; melt the butter, golden syrup and chocolate until smooth and glossy.

Put the biscuits in a freezer bag and break with a rolling pin, until you have medium sized pieces.

Mix all the dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture and stir until full combined. Tip into the lined tray and refrigerate for about 2 hours or overnight.

When completely set, cut into squares and get stuck in!