A vegetable that is the star of the show

Borough Market, tucked away behind London Bridge, is a world-famous food market but I still find it a fascinating and appetite-inducing place, despite the hordes of people who make their way there.

The wide selection of produce available at Borough Market

We went in May, smack bang in the middle of asparagus season. The selection of UK asparagus was wonderful and immediately made me want to take a handful of the thick green stalks and dunk them into boiling water.

Succulent asparagus spears at Borough Market

These days asparagus is available all year round, but to eat English asparagus, in season, is to get as close to veggie heaven as possible. The succulence, the texture, the wonderful colour and the taste - all add up to a vegetable that does not need to be a side show to the main act.






My favourite way of eating asparagus at this time of year is to steam it, to sprinkle a little sea salt on it and then dip it into butter - no sauce, no fancy cooking methods - the food really does do the talking.

Out of season, asparagus is a great friend to peas and parmesan cheese in a risotto and of course it goes well with hollandaise sauce, or with poached egg. I put asparagus into pasta dishes and also use it with garlic and butter as a tapas dish.


It does well in tartlets and is a healthy and tasty soup ingredient, but when it is May and the stalks are freshly plucked from the soil, then there is only one way to eat asparagus - the simple way.

A day at the races

This weekend we went to Kingston Blunt, near Prince's Riseborough in Berkshire, for the annual point-to-point. For someone used to the glitz and glamour of race courses such as Newmarket, Epsom or Ascot, this was a real eye-opener; it was as far from these champagne fuelled, high-spending race-tracks as was possible.

The commentator, announcer and land-owner, as well as the father of the lead jockey, was one and the same. He also spent his time between races ensuring that the hog roast was turning nicely and that the fences were repaired between events.

The tipsters and betting agents were all mates and seemed to spend most of the time trying to craftily stitch each other up by sending false gossip up and down the line of betting stations.

There were a real assortment of characters, and a doggie soap opera

A team of three women, all sporting t-shirts with the logo 'moody mare' on the front, made copious cups of tea and sold home made cakes by the box-full.

And the race-goers themselves were a real assortment. Dubarry boots, tweed jackets, pashminas and trilby hats gathered around the tail-gates of their 4x4 vehicles as they enjoyed picnics and glasses of bubbly. Local lads and lasses pushed their way from parade ring to bookies, clutching their handfuls of cash for bets that were going to either make their fortunes through the success of a rank outsider or leave them penniless until the next payday.

And the races were no picnic. Each race was two circuits of a track that began on the flat but soon turned into a long and exhausting climb up the foothills of the Chilterns. The jumps weren't Becher's Brook, but then the horses were exactly Kauto Star or Denman. In fact some looked as if they were more used to trotting round the lanes of Berkshire.

Not quite Kauto Star, but thrills and spills all the same

But, it didn't matter what standard the horses were. The races were entertaining, with many close finishes. There were spillages as the jockeys were thrown from horses that didn't approach the jump right, there were dangers as the loose horses veered precariously in front of the other racers, and there was intrigue, as the odds-on favourite was withdrawn at the start of the race - meaning the bookies avoided a big pay-out.

It helped that the weather was great. It was perfect that dogs were allowed, so there was the added side-show entertainment of a doggie soap opera as canine frolicking turned fruity. (And the woman with the small, hairless dog in a handbag designed especially for dogs brought a touch of Hollywood to the Chiltern landscape).

It was a fun day out. There was no point in spending large amounts of money on the horses as the odds were so low, but I did learn that the thrill of winning, no matter what the amount, is the thing that brings the frisson to racing.

Besides the horse races, there was a hound race, where 30 hounds raced/sniffed their way round the track; and a pony race in which the youngsters raced their ponies around the track, looking less Thelwell than we expected.

There was an 'Archer-esque' feel to the whole experience, and a reminder of the huge gap that still exists between rural and town life in this country.

Success on a plate

This might not be a conventional travel article but making these hot cross buns was certainly a journey. My only previous attempt, a number of years ago, had produced something fit for use in armed warfare. So for me this was a huge step - which can only be classified as travel.
These are not the New Zealand buns I raved about in my previous blog, but they come pretty close.





After a couple of attempts using quick yeast (mistake) I resorted to a Delia Smith recipehttp://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/cuisine/european/english/hot-cross-buns.html for my hot cross buns. And lo and behold, the recipe was up to its usual Delia high standards. Everything was clear, the measurements were spot on and the result was 12 light, fluffy buns with succulent currants, a crunchy cross, a sticky glaze on top and a beautifully subtle spicey smell and taste.

Some top tips include:
Don't cut corners – use proper dried yeast not quick yeast;
Make sure the milk and water that you use is hand hot, not too hot or too cold;
Make sure the melted butter has cooled to warm - too hot and it will affect the yeast;
Lose yourself in the kneading - once you get into it, it is relaxing and leads to perfect buns.

The photos below show some of the processes involved:

Make sure the yeast reacts with the tepid water to create a 'beer-like' froth

Knead the dough until it is smooth and pliable

Once the dough has risen, separate into 12 small rolls, and cut a deep cross in the top. Leave them to rise for another 25 minutes.

Enjoy!

A year ago I experienced one of the best hot cross buns ever...

Island Thyme - Waheke Island

Last Easter I tasted the best hot cross buns that I have ever eaten. And I must emphasise that I have eaten a LOT of hot cross buns in my time. In an attempt to recreate that doughy heaven I have unearthed a number of recipes and I am planning a cookery-fest this weekend to see if I can get anywhere near that taste.

What was the big deal about these hot cross buns? Well, it might have been the setting - I was staying in a bach (beach house) on Waheke Island in New Zealand - but I think I could have been standing in the middle of a bog and I would have enjoyed my first bite into that hot cross bun.

Local knowledge
The buns were on sale at a coffee shop on Waheke Island called Island Thyme www.islandthyme.co.nz. This little cafe was in itself a beauty and we had already enjoyed some of the finest coffee and best pastries there but I knew something was afoot when the locals began ordering their hot cross buns two days before Good Friday.

Observing this, I thought I had better get in on the act and put an order in. My Australian travelling companion thought I was mad - 'mate, they are just little buns!' but my partner understood completely - I just love eating the right thing in the right place and this cafe was the perfect place to eat a hot cross bun on Good Friday.

Burning off the cals
I ran to the cafe on Good Friday morning to collect my order - might as well burn some calories! But when I got there the news was bad. The baker had suffered a blow out on his van. The buns would be late!! There were a few disgruntled people but on the whole the cafe was just doing a good trade in people deciding to have a coffee while they waited. I just went for a slightly longer run.

Four miles later and the van had arrived. People were patiently waiting as the shop assistants called out names and held out brown paper bags that were already looking slightly transluscent as the hot cross buns gently released their spicy heat from within.

My turn came and I took the bag with a barely suppressed excitement. I was hungry anyway but the two mile run back to the bach was torturous. I could smell the hot cross buns, I could feel the heat and my legs wouldn't go fast enough.

But, I got back and to humour me my travelling companions had set the table and their was hot coffee and a dish of butter waiting for me. We sat down and prepared our buns. Aussie Kate, plain with no butter. Jet, buttered and cut into quarters. Me, cut in half and big slices of butter (no melting allowed).

Possibly the best hot cross buns in the world

Taste of perfection
It is difficult to encapsulate the first taste. The bread was light; the currants and raisins were sweet and juicy; the spices were perfectly balanced and on the top was a lovely sticky glaze that contrasted with the cosiness of the dough. The decorative cross was crunchy and had a nice yeasty taste. Pure heaven and one of my enduring memories of that trip.




I have a number of recipes, including one from New Zealand. If any of these come close to the Isle Thyme offering I will post here in triumph.

Taking a peek at the Staffordshire Hills

The Staffordshire White Peaks is a lesser known area of the Peak District and, in the bleak winter months, one of the least populated areas of the UK. The towns of Macclesfield, Stoke-on-Trent, Buxton, Bakewell and Ashbourne are the main hubs of urban activities and the rest of the county is limited to a farm or homestead with no neighbours as far as the eye can see.

Beauty as far as the eye can see

So it was with some trepidation that a group of us decided to hire a house in the White Peaks, with the nearest pub three miles away and the closest source of shops in Leek - comprising a wine warehouse and a well-known food store.The gathered assortment ranged from Londonites, used to Michelin-starred restaurants and 24-hour shopping, Cambridge residents with no concept of driving on gradients of more than one percent and a yummy mummy from Stamford.

There was also a token Scot and two Welsh people. It began badly. Within half an hour of the first three people arriving a car ran into an electricity pylon and knocked all the electricity out in the area. True to the instructions left by the owner there were no candles in the house but luckily one of the party had ignored the mockery and brought a head torch. And there we sat - three of us with some wine, some champagne, some port and some... orange marmalade vodka. Needless to say the next day involved some sore heads and a general lethargy.However, the lights came on and as we saw the light the rains started.For the next five days the rains continued but that did not stop the household of intrepid explorers. Over the next few days the group explored: Buxton – quaint, contained and wet; Bakewell – great farm shop, nice pubs, pretty but with over-rated tarts; the banks of the River Dove – pretty and... wet; and the Roaches – spectacular, intriguing and… wet.

Every meal was a banquet

There were 11 of us, plus two dogs and the weather was atrocious. But we had one of the best 'night before New Year's Eve' nights and the actual night itself was memorable for many reasons. The party didn't start until 10pm when everyone had finished playing board games; the music was awesome (thanks to Jet's itunes) and to top it all the Londonites were able to see their city in all its glory at midnight as fireworks lit up the screen.We went to bed at 5am and, although every day was spent drying clothes, and the sun never shone, our New Year at Chelsworth Barn was one of the happiest.

Having a ball on New Year's Eve

Homage to Freddie (Scaramouche, scaramouche)

A walk in the countryside

Just a half hour's drive away and the flat lands of Cambridgeshire give way to the gently rolling hills and shrubby woodland of Suffolk. We spent a day walking the area around Moulton, Gazeley and Dalham and this blog is a little account of that walk.We parked at the village green at Moulton, where the outstanding landmark is an old pack horse bridge, preserved by the local community so that it looks just as it did in the 14th century. To add to the sense of timelessness, there were some chickens pecking quite contentedly around the foot of the bridge, just as they might have done for centuries.The walk is a circular one, of around seven miles. It is an undulating landscape but nothing too taxing. It takes in woodlands, grassy pathways and farm tracks. It also traverses the lovely Dalham Hall estate, where we were able to witness the rump end of a hunt crossing the fields.

Dalham Hall through the trees

Apart from being a beautiful 18th century building, Dalham Hall is now home to the Darley Stud, which over the years has produced great race horses such as See the Stars, Authorised and the most recent successful stud stallion Dubawi.








Mysterious landscape

The picture here is of a field that sat in the middle of woodlands. It is an odd thing to pick out - usually the scenes that strike me as beautiful are the more classic shots of trees, plants, flowers, skylines - but this one hit me because of the symmetry of the plough lines, the contrast of a manicured field with the local, fairly unmaintained woods and the immense sense of peace and tranquility that the whole scene evoked. I also loved the way that the camera woman has captured the outline of the trees against the unusual sky colours.The walk took in two pubs, so it is a walk that can be done with ample refreshment.

The 'booty' of Norfolk

Big skies, long, wide-open beaches, flint and carrstone houses in unspoilt villages. Yes, Norfolk is still like that... so long as you visit at the right time and go to the right places.

Rock up in the ultra trendy village/town of Burnham Market or Holt and you may be entranced for a minute or two, but as you are barged past by a buxom lady wearing the essential country kit of tweed jacket and unblemished Hunter wellies or Duberry boots, the charm will rescind. The problem with these places is that everyone wants to be a part of it, and they don't realise what 'it' is. To truly love Norfolk, and particularly this north-west corner of the county, is to want to keep it hidden from everyone else. A walk on the beach, across the marshes, over the breckland or through the woods should be done in solitary splendour, with only a dog (or at a push one friend/partner/spouse). It should never, ever involve a heap of friends who want to enjoy a 'weekend in the country - dahling'.

Enjoy the wilds of Norfolk



I'm not going to give away from my favourite haunts here for two reasons: on the one hand there is no point in advertising to the world and then bemoaning a sudden influx of people; and secondly, what is my favourite does not make it everyone's favourite. Enough to just share a couple of pictures and encourage you to visit, leave a footprint on the beach... and nothing else.