Sunday 3rd August 2008

So much for getting into the garden yesterday – it rained ALL day!

Today I managed it for an hour, and in the afternoon went to the allotment. I share it with my neighbours, Robyn and Simon.

Oh, we were so excited when we got it three years ago. Drew plans, imagined spending afternoons in a little shed boiling up the sweet corn and new potatoes grown by our increasingly green fingers. We contemplated the tinkering about among the cabbages and beans, whilst indulging ourselves in a little weeding - all helping to nurture the bounty we would bring home.

Yeah, right.

First year: Dug over hideous mare’s tale and couch grass. Rotavated it and sliced roots of said mares tale and couch grass into thousands of pieces, making thousands of new plants, which thrived in hot gorgeous summer.

Trimmed around the old raspberry canes lovingly, planted some sweet corn and leeks. Looked at our enormous allotment and said we would dig a few feet at a time, (well actually, Simon did most of the digging. I had better mention that otherwise I might find a spade through my window) as we had all the time in the world. We watered our allotment with pride and affection and scattered the seeds of carrots and beetroot in the freshly tilled earth.

We went away for a couple of week’s holiday.
We came back to our allotment covered in mare’s tale and couch grass and no sign of our beautiful baby plants.

Second Year: Dug over hideous mare’s tale and couch grass. Rotavated it and sliced roots of said mare’s tale and couch grass into thousands of pieces. Didn’t care.

Couldn’t understand why none of the other allotments had these weeds. Maybe (only slight paranoia here) they shoved it all onto ours.

Simon dug half way down our allotment. We had all the time in the world.

Actually, no we didn’t. We were all working full time, (I was filming in Devon for Country file) Robyn was about to have some twins, it was raining ALL the time, our leeks bolted, the cabbage white caterpillars had eaten our cabbages, the beetroot, just wasn’t beetroot and – this is the real killer – the lovingly tendered, yet old raspberry canes had all been blown over and uprooted.

But we did have a fabulous year for parsnips. And, no one else on any of the other allotments, had as many as us! Hah!

Our runner beans were exceptional too – all that rain, and I made about twenty jars of bean pickle.

However, Robyn and Simon and I decided that we didn’t want to do it the next year. But none of us was brave enough to tell the other. So, we kept quiet and consequently we had the allotment for another bloody year!

Third Year: Actually, I think we may finally be getting things right now. Simon bought a very romantic Christmas prezzie for Robyn – some black sheeting to prevent weeds. So it’s been laid down and the plants, carefully planted in cut out holes, by Robyn.

I’ve planted and brought on a lot of seeds – although the purple sprouting broccoli has gone down the neglected route – and we are finally reaping what we have sown.

Today, we picked beans, peas, enormous patty pan squashes, carrots and potatoes. Our sweetcorn, always an embarrassing failure is looking completely fabulous, our leeks haven’t bolted as we planted them later.

My back prevents me from too much digging (honest!), so I stood by while Robyn dug the potatoes. It’s like digging for gold, and you can risk over exciting yourself when you find one, today was no exception. We had a little potato dance every time one popped out of the soil. A few were the subject of decapitation (can you decapitate a potato?) as the spade went through them – but as I said to Robyn, they come ready chipped!

Honestly, there is so much wonderful food on the allotment; I think we must be doing something right. It doesn’t feel quite as much of a chore - and it’s always nice to go to the pub on the way back.

But,I’m giving up my share this year – I think Robyn and Simon are going to carry on – now they have the sexy black sheeting!

I shall extend my vegetable patch instead. Much easier!

Recipe for Allotment soup.
Anything you can find – shove it in! - Available soon.

Friday 1st August 2008

Have spent the day with Keith – my super duper website chap. We’ve been setting up my blog, which you are all now reading.

I get a little stir crazy in front of a computer all day.
I am a practical person and I need to be on the move and busy. If I’m not cooking I’m writing recipes, if I’m not doing that, I’m in meetings, if I’m not in meetings I am in my garden. If I’m not in my garden, I’m usually tussling with the M40 and M25.

I indulge in a hammock moment when I can in the summer. Usually it’s not my fault. I may be working in the garden, dead heading, planting or hanging the washing out, and the hammock is there, mocking me, taunting me, beckoning me to have a moment with it.
I’ll think, okay, just a ten minute swing. I’m incapable of resisting.

Invariably, I wake up an hour later, with my mouth open and a little (un-lady like) dribble attached to my chin.
What can a girl do? The hammock has magical powers, especially when it’s covered in a cosy blanket and cushions.

Today at six 0’clock I had a moment. I woke up just in time for Gardener’s World.

I am so glad I did because I saw my friend Toby Buckland on it. I knew he had been doing some filming with them, and he was as I thought he would be – brilliant.
Toby comes over as such a nice, natural bloke. Approachable, incredibly knowledgeable and, I think, perfect for GW. He won a gold medal for Best Show Garden at GW Live this year with his Eco Garden.

For the last couple of years, Toby has joined me on a Kitchen/Garden Demonstration Day here. I demo a light lunch in the morning – this year the main course was salmon, pea and mint fishcakes with home-made tartar sauce. Toby joins us for lunch and then takes over in the afternoon. He takes people around my garden (hopefully avoiding the weeds and ground elder), and tells them all they need to know, to garden successfully.

He brings plants to give away and willow to teach us to make plant supports. Making them is rather like the Generation Game, but it is a brilliant idea for natural planting stakes. Toby gave me a chilli plant this year, which is apparently the hottest chilli ever. I haven’t managed to kill it yet.

I did get a mild chastisement from him over the grass around my rose hedge (still haven’t got rid of it from last year!) and some advice on what to grow up my climbing rose which only flowers in June – a clematis.

I’m going into the garden tomorrow. I shall plant the roses I bought the other day (small harmless addiction, can’t get enough of them, running out of placing to plant them). I have been so busy of late that my garden has been slightly neglected. There is one bed in particular which is looking very sorry for itself.

Watching GW is enthusing. I really hope we see more of Toby on the show. It spurs my love of gardening and removes the lethargy which bad weather can bring. My garden is my sanctuary. I do it all myself and am never happier than when I am pottering around in it.

Tomorrow, I shall don my gardening gloves (as much as I love the feeling of mud, I have to keep my nails clean for cooking) and do my best to ignore the temptation of the hammock. For a while at least.
Recipe – Salmon, Pea and Mint Fishcakes with Tartar Sauce - Available Soon.

Wednesday 30th July 2008

Yesterday I had a delivery of pies to taste for my QVC range.
Imagine my anguish when I ate one of them and realised how completely scrumptious they were.
I had a big problem.

Eat them all myself and risk bottom enlargement or send out a call to the Husseys for help.
Call I did. And they came. Caroline, Sue, Robyn and Daisy (not an official hussey - but actually a good tapestry girl - although she’d hate to admit it!) and me. Phoebe and Doddie are away on holiday (More on Phoebe soon).

Eight pies went into the Aga. Eight pies came out. Eight pies sat on a huge plate and were cut into slices. The Husseys dived in with forks in hand.

There was nothing left. Not a crumb. We couldn’t stop. We had no self-control.

It was desperate.

It was a hot day, what were we thinking?

We had no choice.

We didn’t care as we wiped crumbs from our faces, brushed back our hair, straightened our napkins and sat up and surveyed what was left from our feeding frenzy.

We behaved badly. It was liberating.

They were good pies.

Monday 28th July 2008

Got up really early to tweak the recipes from last Friday’s shoot before Celia and Liz arrived for a day’s teaching.
The sky was doing a marvellous impression of a Turner painting, the flowers in the garden were being charitable and behaving like a perfect Monet. Honey did a small pirouette in middle of the lawn trying to catch a fly; I’m sure she was doing her best to imitate one of Degas’ famous ballerinas. However, I thought it looked more like one of the tutu clad hippos out of Fantasia. I didn’t say a word as I didn’t want to upset her too early in the day!
It had the appearance of the perfect summer’s morning... hot, a little sultry but quite dazzling. Until, I glanced in the mirror. The reflection looking back at me was a doppelganger of the infamous painting – The Scream.

That’s what a bad night’s sleep does to you. It had been very humid, and for some reason I was dreaming about buying measuring jugs. I just couldn’t get enough of them – lots of different sizes, makes and colours. I was unable fit them all into my shopping bag. They kept falling out.

Not sure what this means, not sure I want to know.

So, after my recipe fine-tuning, a non-surgical cream induced face lift and general panic over how many measuring jugs I actually had and, where the hell I had put them anyway, Celia and Liz arrived.

We had a lovely day cooking, Celia and Liz were stars because the temperature in the kitchen must have topped 100F and the pastry was playing up! I made us a big salad for lunch, full of goat’s cheese, bacon, soya beans, patty pans from the allotment and herbs and flowers from my garden.

I love being able to make a salad from herbs and vegetables that I have grown. A green salad can be terribly boring – but gather fennel herb, mint, lemon balm, chives, sorrel, roses, calendula, borage, chive flower, nasturtiums and lavender - and a green salad becomes a dish which is a riot of colour, and every mouthful of herbs and leaves tastes unique.

I’ve only discovered frozen soya beans in the last couple of years. They can usually be found by the spinach and the peas. Blanch them in boiling water for three minutes, refresh under cold water and then add to the salad. I also use them in risotto and casseroles.
Apparently – soya is really good for alleviating the symptoms of menopause. By all accounts, a natural form of HRT. Of course, not something I need at the moment- but...

Oh, Lord, you don’t think my sleepless night and nutty measuring jug dreams are the onset of - tum tum tuuuum - the change?!
Nah, I’m far too young and silly.

Recipe for and English Salad of Goat’s Cheese, Flowers and Herbs – and half a ton of soya beans....just in case. - Available Soon.

Sunday 27th July 2008

Stunningly warm weather at the moment. I can’t believe a month ago when I was in Ireland; it was freezing and pouring with rain.
I adore Ireland. I have had some of the best times of my life there. Everyone has a great capacity for fun and the most generous natures of any other nation that I have met. And, even though I have since found out my great grandfather was a Cork man, I only went there for the first time five years ago to film with UKTV Food.

I travelled back then with Martin the producer/director/camera/sound (there is a lot of multi-tasking in TV nowadays!) and Fanny. Our first port of call was Margaret and Michael Browne’s house. Margaret, or The Duchess of Cork, as I like to call her is now one of my dearest friends and my collaborator in various silly evenings. In fact the first night there, I discovered Poteen in the middle of filming, their wine cellar by eight o’clock and their infamous warm whiskeys by twelve.

‘Just one more small one Lotte?’

Yeah, that would be lovely.

‘Just one more small one Lotte? Go on, it’s good for you, it will help you sleep.’

Ok, just one more then I really have to go to bed.

‘Just one more small one Lotte?’

One more, then that is it.

‘Just one more small one Lotte?’

Slurring – I have to bed the stairs and up sleep teeth paste.

I left them all, including ninety-three year old Kitty (mother of Duchess) downstairs as I stumbled to bed. Kitty was still at it til four in the morning.
If you are ever in Ireland, and offered ‘just one more small one’ may I offer a free piece of advice. Say yes – they are delicious!
However, be prepared to do nothing the next day.

Since then, Duchess and I have stayed at each other’s houses a lot. Recently we went to Calcutta together for The Hope Foundation, to organise an Irish Food Festival. Bonkers idea, bonkers time. It worked, and together we also saw the amazing work Hope does for the street children there. I am now a director on the board of Hope UK – this was the reason for my trip to Cork in June.

Maureen, Michael’s sister, is the lady who founded Hope. She had invited me to their Midsummer BBQ. Apparently Hope’s patron, Jonathan Rhys Meyers was also attending...would I like to come? It took three seconds to say yes and a further thirty to book my flight.

I was hoping Jonathan would take one look at my aristocratic features and offer me the part of his last wife (the one that didn’t die) in The Tudors. Ms Parr was after all a little older and I fancy myself in a bodice.

Unfortunately the lovely Johnnie didn’t make it in the end but we still had a fabulous night, I entertained everyone on the bus home with a rendition of Molly Malone – in my best pleasing soprano! Oh, how lucky they were.

The next day, Margaret had to work, so Maureen was given the task of looking after me. Which she did with great aplomb.

‘Lotte, just one small one at the pub? Dickie (her husband) is there with my son and some friends.’ (Oh, Lord, I knew where this was going)

Would love to Maureen, sounds a fabulous idea, but just one small gin and tonic.

I love Irish pubs – all the men talk to you. Maureen’s son was there with some friends, including Kieran who took a bit of a shine to me. I’m not sure whether it was my glowing personality or the fact that his friends had told him that I owned a twelve million euro house in Dublin, but he fell hard and proceeded to sing Irish love songs to me.

‘Just one more small one Lotte? I’ll pop home quickly and put the chicken in the oven, we’ll have a small one and then go back and eat it.’

Ok, one more.

Twelve small ones later, when the live music started I got up and under the hazy influence of good Irish humour thought I could do a jig.

Apparently I can’t.

My achilles tendon strapped up with a large tubi-grip and two aspirins told me I really, really can’t.

Still, I had Kieran at my feet, so it wasn’t that bad. His name is Kieran Leachy (pronounced Leakey). I did have to break it to him gently that I couldn’t possibly marry him. If I did, my name would be Lotte Leachy - and that is what I do when I sneeze or laugh too much.

No recipe here. The chicken was burnt to a cinder by the time we left the pub.

Saturday 26th July 2008

Phew, what a scorcher!
Needed a lazy day after long, hot one yesterday in London.

Ahem! I was on a photo shoot.

All the recipes I tested on Daisy’s friends worked (yippee) and they were brilliantly shot for the magazine.

Tonight, I had a delicious BBQ in the evening at Robyn and Simon’s house – my next door neighbours. I cooked a wobbly rose wine, sloe gin, blueberry and strawberry jelly for pudding.

Later we all wobbled home and luckily I didn’t wobble into my peonies. My path is old, bumpy and rickety and you always run the chance of destroying a perennial or two when arriving home in the dark and full of wine.

And just when you think you are safely up the path, you are subsequently attacked by suicidal moths hurtling themselves at the outside light as you fumble for the key. Much arm waving, dodging and general panic ensues as you drop the keys, pierce your head with the climbing rose on the wall and eventually stumble through the door skidding straight into a dead mouse the bloody cat has brought home.

Recipe for Rose wine, Sloe Gin and Fruit Jelly without dead mouse. - Available Soon.

Thursday 24th July 2008

In my office all day writing recipes and working my way through at least a million emails. Or was it two? Actually it was three.

I popped my head above the computer and realised that I had missed a fabulous sunny day, so Daisy and I decided to find a pub by a river for supper. We found one - a beautiful place for a pub, but unfortunately I have just discovered, run by a bunch of despots.
We want your money, but don’t expect service with a smile and whatever you do, don’t even think about enjoying your food in our lovely garden by the babbling brook.

I ordered scampi and chips for two with a side of onion rings. Obviously from the diet menu! When the order arrived it was just the scampi and chips.

Where are our onion rings? I enquired with a smile on my face.

What onion rings? They’re not on the ticket. (Slight accusatory tone) Do you have your receipt?

Yes, but just the card receipt. I promise you I did order them. Maybe the chap behind the bar forgot to press the button. He was busy. I definitely said Onion rings.

Ok, I have to speak to my boss. (chubby man with attitude)

Boss comes over.

You ordered onion rings?

Yes.

Well, they are not on the ticket. Let me see your itemised receipt.

I only have the credit card one.

Oh, well you should have the other one. We always read the order back when you give it.

He did, and he said onion rings.

Do you want them now? It wasn’t on the order, so you obviously didn’t say it.

Ok, at this stage I am afraid I may have slightly lost my good mood. Needless to say I mentioned to the chubby boss man with attitude that I wasn’t trying to steal an order of onion rings and dupe them enormously. I was just enquiring where mine were.

He, I am afraid has forgotten (if he ever had it in the beginning) that he is in a business that is there to make people happy. I’ve worked in this industry since I was sixteen and it has given me a fairly clear insight into what I and other paying customers expect, require and most of the time deserve.

So Daisy and I, suitably chastened ate our soggy scampi and awaited the arrival of Hussy Sue.

Sue got onion rings.

But her son made the mistake of picking up the tomato sauce bottle from inside the pub, (you are only allowed sachets outside) and had it snatched away from him. It was then replaced by twenty sachets of tomato sauce.

He is awaiting his ASBO for being so naughty.

Recipe for Oven Baked Fish, Chips and CIDER BATTERED ONION RINGS with as much home-made tomato ketchup as you could possibly want. Ever. - Available Soon.