Britain is brilliant at tea-time recipes. Not surprising for a country that turns to the teapot at the slightest crisis. We are dab hands at cookies or, more accurately, biscuits. Brands like Jammy Dodgers, Custard Creams and Hob Nobs are close to the nation’s heart. Jammy Dodgers in particular – two rounds of shortbread sandwiched together with jam, a cut-out revealing the exciting contents -look beautiful on an afternoon tea table. You can make them yourself very easily. The recipe below is from Tana Ramsay in, appropriately, BBC Good Food magazine.

The Victoria/Elizabeth sponge cake is also having a moment. Britain’s bakers are bulk-buying flour and eggs in anticipation of a competitive bake-off for the nation’s Jubilee street parties this Sunday. I’ve seen all manner of Jubilee variations, including a three-tiered affair with each layer dyed red, white or blue. Mini bunting draped over the top is obligatory.

If you’ve been watching Downton Abbey, and are itching to get the cucumber sandwiches and best china teacups out, then now is the time. The bread must be soft and white, crusts must come off, cucumber peeled and sliced paper-thin. A dash of white wine vinegar and freshly ground black pepper will finish it all off nicely.

My Granny used to make lovely white-bread sandwiches with Shippam’s fish paste. These days, I would opt for the more elegant smoked salmon and dill. Egg and cress – made by combining chopped boiled eggs, mayonnaise, black pepper and cress – is another classic. And you can’t go wrong with Marmite sandwiches. Mix the Marmite with the butter before spreading it on the bread. Go easy on the Marmite if you don’t want to knock out your tastebuds.

If you’re making tea – course you are ‑ you must, ideally, have a kettle, a teapot, and some loose tea. Teabags are acceptable if brewed in the pot, but don’t do that thing where the teabag hangs over the edge of the cup. Too messy, not at all regal.

Twinings – purveyors of tea to Royalty, and William Wordsworth – recommend 1 tsp per person and one for the pot. They say, ‘always cut the kettle off as soon as it hits a rolling boil. If you continue to allow the water to boil you are boiling out all the dissolved oxygen in the water which impacts some of the flavour. Once your kettle has boiled pour it straight over the tea and ideally allow 3 ½ minutes to brew.’

Finally – milk first or second? Historically, the aristocracy added it second as, it’s supposed to show that your china is superior enough not to crack with the heat. I prefer it first, because it tastes better. The jury’s out.

So, I’m in the market for cold soup, as long as it’s well seasoned and contains liberal quantities of fresh herbs, preferably picked from pots in the garden. Gazpacho is the go-to recipe when you think of chilled soup ‑ or the seventies dinner party staple, vichyssoise, so let’s not go there.

The best cold soups at this time of year are green in colour, reflecting seasonal ingredients like fresh mint, peas, spinach, cucumber and avocado. The addition of a little cream or yoghurt tones the colour down to a softer shade, and the flavour to something soothing, gentle without being bland. Melons and watermelons have their place, adding a beautiful sweetness that rounds the whole thing off.

By exquisite contrast, British cook, Nigella Lawson, does a lovely, vibrantly pink soup with 3 roasted beetroot, blended with the juice of 1 lime, 1 tsp each of ground cumin and coriander, and 1.5 litres/6 cups chicken or vegetable stock, then seasoned and chilled with 2 split scallions. When you’re ready to serve, pick out the scallions and blend again, adding 250ml/1 cup sour cream.

To my mind, the great thing about chilled soups is that you can make them ahead of time and produce them with a flourish when the guests arrive, or when the family start lurking around the kitchen.

It’s more likely to be the former occasion, as my children would take some convincing, unfortunately. Simply garnish with a generous handful of fresh herbs.

Here’s a great recipe from Easy Entertaining (Kyle Cathie), by legendary Irish cook, Darina Allen. Make sure your melon is really ripe.

In case you’re unaware, the Jewish festival of Shavuot celebrates the spring harvest in Israel and the giving of the ten commandments to the Israelites at Mount Sinai. It’s become customary to eat dairy food at this time, possibly because during the Exodus from Egypt, the Promised Land was referred to as ‘a country flowing with milk and honey’.

Cheese lovers, this is your moment.  Cheesecakes, cheese-filled blintzes and all manner of creamy dishes using sour cream, milk and eggs can all take legitimate place on the menu. Dairy pairs beautifully with seasonal strawberries, raspberries and other red berries, so you can tick a few healthy boxes as you  indulge.

That said, it’s probably best not to kid yourself that this – or any other – cheesecake is good for you just because it’s got some fruit on top. Enjoy, with friends and family – then go back to the diet after the holidays.

One of my earliest memories from family holidays in France is the sight of café terraces packed with couples bent over bowls overflowing with blue-black shells. There were glass carafes of chilled white wine, beaded with condensation, and torn-off hunks of fresh bread splitting shards of crust onto laps and floor. People were eating with their fingers and the smell was of garlic and the salty sea. For a little girl used to a knife and fork and ‘proper’ table manners, it seemed mysterious and exciting.

Later, the Belgian restaurant chain, Belgo, introduced me to moules-frites as the perfect after-work dinner. Mussels were fiercely trendy for a while. They may still be, but they are also timeless. There’s something about that dark, prehistoric shell and the simplicity of preparing and eating mussels that sets them above food fashion.

If you’re picking them from the wild, make sure it’s from unpolluted waters. Reject any that are broken and choose only those with closed shells. As with all fish and shellfish, there should be no fishy smell. They don’t keep, so eat them the same day you buy or collect them.

To prepare mussels, tip them into a sink of cold water. Throw away any that don’t open once tapped. Pull off any beards and scrub away barnacles. Rinse in a couple of changes of water to get rid of any sand.

Place the mussels in a large pot with a little liquid – this could be water, wine, vermouth, cider or stock – and some herbs, shallots and garlic. You could also turn up the heat by adding chilli, or spice them up with ginger, lemongrass and coconut.

As soon as the shells start opening they are ready. Discard any that don’t open fully. Serve with lots of crusty bread.

It’s a specific kind of heaven, though. A heaven some way to the East, in a sunny courtyard decorated with cool blue-and-white mosaics, with trickling water from a fountain as the soundtrack. Rosewater gives a subtle sweetness that tastes of the residual heat trapped in a rose garden on a summer’s evening – a warmth that’s exquisitely perfumed and languid.

Enough flowery prose. The facts: rosewater comes mainly from Iran and Lebanon. It’s a by-product of rose oil, which is used to make perfume. Besides having religious significance – rosewater is added to the water used to clean Islam’s holiest shrine, the Kaaba – it has a long and distinguished history in Middle Eastern and Asian cooking. It’s used to flavour sweet drinks, such as the Indian milk drink, lassi, as well as teas, jams and sweets.

Rosewater is a wonderful way to add an exotic dimension to your cooking. A few drops in a marinade for lamb will bring out the tender sweetness of the meat. Sprinkle some in the cooking water for a fragrant rice pudding, together with a splash of orange flower water. The combination is divine.

Rosewater can take the place of vanilla extract in recipes for shortbread, plain sponge cake, or all manner of buttery baked goods. Break with tradition and add a splash to your apple pie filling, or sprinkle over pomegranate seeds or raspberries, before scattering the fruit over a large meringue topped with pillows of whipped cream.

You accept one ‘proper’ slice, on a plate, which you eat at the table, with all the attendant oohings and aahing and licking of fingers. Then, when the cake’s safely put away, the table wiped down, and normal activity resumed, each member of the family returns, alone, to the kitchen.

He or she surreptitiously shaves off a very small slice without removing the cake from its container. This is gobbled at top speed – without a plate! – before anyone else has a chance to see. The routine is repeated throughout the evening, often by the same family member more than once. The cake dwindles in size overnight.

Then, at the next formal sitting to ‘finish off the cake’ everyone is surprised at how little is left. Fingers are pointed. Tears sometimes flow, and they’re usually mine.

I have a solution. Make a chocolate cake for grown-ups, even if the occasion is a child’s birthday. Sounds mean, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Use the finest dark chocolate, with at least 70% cocoa solids. This will up your game and make the cake as rich, bittersweet and sophisticated as possible. Most of the little people will fall at the first fence (slice), and adults can tuck in unimpeded.

What, though, if you have a Bruce Bogtrotter among your family? Fans of Roald Dahl will remember that in Matilda, Bruce defied the terrifying Miss Trunchbull by eating an entire chocolate cake in front of the school. It’s hard to say whether the finest single-estate Ecuadorian chocolate would have deterred him.

Here is my favourite chocolate cake. Ironically, it’s from a children’s cookbook (Usborne Farmyard Tales, Fiona Watt), but if baked with the best cocoa and chocolate it’s incredibly dark and rich. I have a theory that the author secretly had the grown-ups best interests in mind. This said, children with very good taste may well succumb.

The cliché goes that all food tastes better outside. Not sure if that works for roll-mops (my pet hate) or corned beef (another no-go area), but I’m willing to give it a go.

We all need to spend more time outdoors, for the sake of our Vitamin D levels and general sanity. Sunny (or I’ll settle for dry) weekends should see us shaking out the picnic rug and heading for the nearest patch of green with a gang of friends to grab the chance to eat in the fresh air.

If you’ve got sporty kids (like me), you’ll have been outside patrolling the touchlines of soccer pitches all year anyway. At one winter soccer match where conversation had ceased due to the extreme cold, I had such a rapturous audience for my homemade brownies and coffee that I made quite a few new pals.

When the weather warms up, everyone is in the mood to linger longer. Instead of brownies and coffee – or, as well as! – it’s time to bring out the proper food. Alongside the cold meats, salamis, cheese and hunks of roast chicken – protein staples of any good picnic – pack some hearty salads that take no time to make, and are robust enough to make the journey from kitchen to soccer field/beach/park.

The salads below tick the healthy-eating box and with a homemade quiche, or some good shop-bought focaccia to tear and share, will have new friends flocking.

Italian beetroot salad. This lovely salad is great with cold duck or chicken. It’s from Jane Grigson’s Vegetable Book, and was picked up by Nigella Lawson in her brilliant book, Forever Summer. Slice 1 red onion into rings and pour over 2 tbsp red wine vinegar. Cover and steep for 15 min or up to 3 hours.  Slice 8 large or 16 small cooked beetroot. Layer the onions and beetroot in a container, pouring over the vinegar. Drizzle over 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil and 3 tbsp chopped fresh mint. Scatter with sea salt. Serves 4-6.

Rainbow rice salad. In boiling salted water, cook 3 ½ cups basmati rice, and 1 cup each of wild rice, and red rice. Place in a large bowl, add 1 cup sesame oil and ½ cup of olive oil. Season to taste. Leave to cool and stir in 2 finely minced large red bell peppers, 2 finely minced large yellow bell peppers, a handful of thinly sliced mangetout and 1 cup of cooked frozen peas. Stir in chopped fresh mint and parsley. Serves 6-8.

Lentil, bean and parsley salad. This is from Sydney’s king of laid-back cooking, Bill Grainger. Cook 1 cup Puy lentils until tender, then drain. In a large bowl, whisk 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil with 1 tbsp lemon juice and 2 tsp red wine vinegar, pinch superfine sugar, salt and pepper. Add the lentils and leave to cool. Blanch a large bunch of French beans until al dente, rinse in cold water and drain. Add to the lentils with finely sliced celery and a handful of minced flat-leaf parsley.

Five uses for saffron

*For a five-minute mussel dish, British cook Joanna Weinberg recommends adding saffron water and cider to a base of softened onion. Tip in cleaned, debearded mussels (make sure they are all closed) and cook for 2-3 min. Stir in some cream before eating, if you like, and serve with buttered bread (see Cooking for Real Life, Bloomsbury)

*For a classic risotto Milanese, stir risotto rice into shallots softened in butter. Stir over a gentle heat until each grain is coated, then add the saffron water, followed by hot chicken or veal stock, a ladleful at a time. Keep adding stock until the rice is creamy but al dente, about 18 min. Season with salt, but no pepper. Grate over some fresh Parmesan

* For a simple chicken dish, brown 8 chicken pieces in a skillet, then remove to warmed plate. Soften chopped onions and garlic in the pan, adding more oil if necessary. Add the saffron water, a dash of sherry or wine, and simmer briefly. Return the chicken legs to the skillet with chicken stock and fresh herbs. Simmer for 20-30 min. Add the breasts 10 min before the end. Serve with rice, and scatter with more fresh herbs.

*For an elegant dessert, poach some pears in white wine to which you’ve added caster sugar, the zest of 1 lemon and a vanilla pod. Delicious with oatcakes and parmesan cheese.

* Add saffron water to a rice pudding for an exquisitely delicate flavor and colour. Infuse the saffron in a few tbsp of warm milk. Add to the rice towards the end of cooking with some ground cardamom, to taste. Top with raisins and nuts heated through briefly in clarified butter and drizzle with honey.

Next week, five uses for rosewater

Ditch the pale, orange, watery specimens and welcome in velvet-skinned, sweet, musky tomatoes with ruby-red insides and bright yellow seeds. Tomatoes in season should be so full of flavour that you can grab and eat them on the go like a peach or pear. They’ll put an Italian-style spring in your step. You’ll be ready to jump sidesaddle on the nearest Vespa that passes you in the street.

When you’re not eating them out of your hand, sliced in a fragrant tricolore salad, or on crusty bread with a dash of black pepper and extra virgin olive oil, you can use them to make a top-class sauce.

A really great tomato sauce can be used in countless different ways. In my home, it comes to the rescue on crazy weeknights where no meal has been planned beyond breakfast. I always have one in my fridge or freezer. When I’ve no tomatoes in the house, or am simply in a hurry, I’ve no qualms about using a can of tomatoes, as long as there’s no added water, herbs or any other funny bits. (I’ll add the flavourings myself). 

Tomato sauce

By admin, May 10, 2012

I’ve adapted this recipe over the years and change it every time I make it. I might use a dash of balsamic vinegar in place of the lemon zest, and sometimes add herbs if I’ve some that need using up. Torn basil could be added at the end. Chilli flakes add a lovely tang, and can be added with the garlic. Sugar is essential, especially if you’re using canned tomatoes. If you want a less pronounced garlic flavour, use a whole, peeled clove and remove it to serve. You could return it to the pot if you have leftovers. If the tomatoes have thick skins, plunge in boiling water for 30 seconds, then peel.

Ingredients:

• olive oil -
• garlic - to taste, cut into slivers
• plum tomatoes - diced, or can(s) of chopped tomatoes
• sugar - pinch
• lemon zest - grated
• salt -
• black pepper - freshly ground

Instructions:

Put a glug of olive oil in a saucepan, add the garlic and sizzle briefly over a low heat. Add the tomatoes, sugar and lemon zest (if using). Simmer very gently for 30 minutes, depending on the consistency you want. Obviously, if you’re using it for a pizza base, you’ll need a thick sauce. Season to taste.

Breakfast is brought to the bedroom on a tray, carried jointly by small children at different heights, and therefore at an angle, so that the coffee slops over the eggs. Dishevelled husband still in boxers brings up the rear, loudly whispering stage directions, ‘Put it on her lap! Say HAPPY MOTHERS DAY! Don’t spill it on the sheets!!’

On the tray are my favourite treats: my once-daily cup of coffee, hot-hot-hot, brewed to strong perfection, without milk. You may be astonished to learn that my ultimate mother’s day breakfast would not involve George Clooney at my bedside with one of his little coloured capsules. I have other uses in mind for him, but that’s another story.

Alongside the coffee is a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice – sweet, tangy and bringing sunshine to the dark cave that is my bedroom. I forgot to mention that this little scene is probably taking place before 7am as the children do not do lie-ins.

Taking centre stage are two perfectly poached, organic eggs on lightly buttered and toasted sourdough, with a generous mound of chilli jelly on the side. If possible, it would be homemade.

To follow, cherries in a pretty bowl, or red fruits of some kind – and chocolate. There has to be chocolate. Now, as I’ve already had my carbs with the sourdough, I should really forgo the fresh, buttery pain au chocolat that is currently showing in glorious technicolour on the flatscreen inside my head. Instead, I’ll have a square of exquisite dark chocolate, at least 70%. I’ll take a bite of cherry, then a bite of chocolate, and continue this finely balanced cherry-choc routine as long as the children bouncing on the bed allow.

Of course the most important bits on the tray are the non-edibles. The card, handdrawn on my best printer paper – no matter! – and professing, in scrawling childish script, undying love for the Best Mom in the World. The posy of fresh flowers from the garden, dumped into a cracked mug, together with a few straggly weeds that came along for the ride – and maybe a few daisies.

And the kitchen, food-splattered and turned upside down by my loving family for my benefit – of this, I remain in blissful ignorance.