To kick off my Italian-free month of eating, I wanted to share a dish that’s become a favourite of mine in recent months. I’ve promised this one before and not delivered, so I thought it was high time that I shared the love.

This simple salad of Israeli cous cous (sometimes called “toasted” cous cous) and roast fennel, red onion and carrots was inspired by one served at the traiteur-caterer where I worked until recently. (Yup, I’m back on the hunt for gainful employment- anyone know of a London-based company looking for an editorial assistant or web editor? I bake delicious things and am good at sharing…) Whenever this salad came out of the kitchen, I’d pray there was still some left by the time my lunch break rolled around. Of course, I soon realised that I could quit the praying altogether if I just learned to make it myself.

And it wasn’t hard at all. This is less of a recipe and more of a suggestion; there’s no secret ingredients or complicated techniques here. This dish relies solely on the quality of your ingredients, so as long as you have good vegetable stock (or – psst – good vegetable boullion), farm-fresh veggies and a quality olive oil, you’re laughing.

This salad is one of those that’s equally happy hot, at room temperature, or cold. It could be a side to some grilled meat or fish, but makes a wonderful lunch all on its own. It also travels particularly well, making this good picnic fodder for these summer months. So while I might be dreaming of slightly different food al fresco (focaccia, prosecco, gelato…), this will keep me happy in the meantime.

• Toasted Cous Cous with Roast Veg
• serves 4
• 1 fennel bulb
  2 red onions
  3 medium carrots
  5 Tbs. olive oil
  sea salt and black pepper
  1 cup Israeli cous cous (sometimes called toasted cous cous)
  1 1/2 cups vegetable stock (made with a good organic boullion is fine)
  2 tsp. lemon juice
  2-3 Tbs. finely chopped parsley
• 1. Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F while you prepare the vegetables. Remove the stems and bottom from the fennel bulb, and thinly peel away the outer layer with a vegetable peeler. Cut the bulb vertically into slices, about 3mm each. Peel the red onions and cut each into 8 wedges from top to bottom. With the carrots, simply peel and slice into 1″ chunks.
  
  2. Arrange the vegetables in a single layer in a roasting pan, and drizzle over 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper, toss well and roast for about 35 minutes, tossing once or twice to ensure even cooking.
  
  3. Meanwhile, cook the cous cous. Heat one tablespoon of olive oil in a nonstick saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the cous cous and stir until well coated, then add the stock. Bring to the boil, cover and lower the heat. Simmer for 15 minutes, then remove from heat and let sit, still covered, for another 15.
  
  4. When the cous cous and vegetables are both done, add the rest of the olive oil, the lemon juice and the parsley to the cous cous and fluff it up with a fork. It may be a bit clumpy to begin with but persevere until all the pearls are coated. Toss the cous cous with the roast vegetables and serve immediately, or wait until the salad cools.

I first had Pad Thai on a snowy day in New York City about seven years ago. Andrew and I were visiting my cousins Jeff and Natasha (they of the fab Brooklyn shops UVA Wines and Whisk- I come from good foodie stock, don’t ya know) for a bit of pre-Christmas shopping and sightseeing. One evening, they took us for dinner at a Thai restaurant in the East Village, where I had my first bite of those tangy noodles, tossed with tender shrimp, chewy tofu and crunchy peanuts.

It seems bizarre to me, now, that I could have lived to the age of 20 without trying Pad Thai. Loved the world over, it’s since become a favourite of mine, and particularly of Andrew’s. Often one of the only vegetarian options on a fusion-focused menu, I’ve spent many an evening chowing down on this delicious dish.

But when I make Pad Thai at home, I salad-ify it. I’m not worried about being inauthentic (there are so many Pad Thai recipes kicking around that I’m not convinced there is one proper way to make it), but am more concerned with versatility and snackability. Simply put, I don’t really care what temperature I eat this at. Served right away, the residual heat from the veggies and sauce will give it an authentic, rib-sticking warmth. Wait a while and the flavours mellow into a nice room-temperature dish that can be either main or side. Kept in the fridge and this becomes the stuff of snacking legend, refreshing and flavourful and ready at a moment’s notice.

Another reason I’m calling this a salad is its lack of protein. While I love the tofu, egg and prawn-laden versions served up in restaurants (NYC or elsewhere), I’m not so keen on those items when cold and two days old. Same reasoning behind the prudent amount of dressing; an overly “saucy” Pad Thai can get soggy in the fridge, while this version keeps for days.

Not that it does, of course. I did say it was snackable.

Note: For this recipe, peanut oil will give the most authentic flavour, but any neutral oil will do. I’m a lazy rebel, so I just use olive.

• Phad Thai Noodle Salad
• adapted from Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian
• serves 4
• For the noodle salad:
  200g rice noodles
  1 Tbs. + 1 tsp. neutral oil
  1/2  green cabbage, shredded
  1 red bell pepper, cored and finely sliced
  1 carrot, cut in half lengthwise then julienned
  1 red chili, finely chopped
  3 green onions, finely chopped
  1/4 cup chopped coriander
  1/4 cup chopped peanuts
  lime wedges, to serve
  
  For the dressing:
  2 Tbs. Thai fish sauce (or use soy sauce)
  2 Tbs. lime juice
  2 tsp. tamarind paste
  2 tsp. sugar
• 1. Put the noodles in a large pot or bowl and cover with boiling water from the kettle. Cover with a lid or plate and let soften according to package directions- anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes. When tender, drain and rinse the noodles with cold water. Place in a large bowl and toss with 1 tsp. of oil to keep from clumping.
  
  2. Heat the rest of the oil in a large non-stick pan over medium-high heat. Add the cabbage, red pepper and carrots and cook for 3-4 minutes; long enough to tenderize and get a bit of colour, but quickly enough to retain most of the crunch.
  
  3. While the vegetables cook, make the dressing. Simmer all ingredients in a small pot over a gentle heat, whisking frequently, until the tamarind paste dissolves and you have a uniform sauce. You will want to add several tablespoons of water to achieve a “sauce-like” consistency; it shouldn’t be too thick or gloppy.
  
  4. When the vegetables are wilted but still crunchy, remove from heat and toss with the noodles in the bowl. Pour over the dressing (using a sieve to strain out any tamarind bits, if need be) and also mix in half of the chili, green onions, coriander and peanuts. Toss everything well.
  
  5. Arrange the noodles over a large platter, or remove to individual bowls. Scatter the remaining chili, green onions, coriander and peanuts over the top and serve with lime wedges.

My Mum has a saying, one which should bring comfort to frustrated parents everywhere: “Picky eaters are just good cooks in the making”. Though this hasn’t been scientifically proven, it’s definitely proved accurate in the case of me and my sister, and indeed most of our cousins, too.

My family was rife with picky eaters, and I was the worst of the bunch. Christmas Eve dinner for me was often a roll with butter, and I would routinely get stomach aches before going to a certain aunt’s house for dinner, so frightened I was of whatever she was going to foist upon us. (I’ve since come to realise that said aunt is actually a wonderful cook, and love eating at her house.)

Though my picky-eater status is nowhere near where it used to me, and my good cook status much improved, there are still a few things that I’ve never been tempted to try, let alone cook. Dishes that, by their merest mention, make my stomach turn. Among the worst of these offenders is coleslaw. I know people who adore the stuff, waxing lyrical about the contrast of crunch and creaminess. But me? I only see cabbage, raw cabbage, smothered in that most revolting invention of humankind, mayonnaise. No, thank you.

It was somewhat of a surprise then, when I came across a coleslaw recipe that I immediately wanted to make- and eat. The Peanut Slaw from David Lebovitz‘s wonderful book The Sweet Life in Paris jumped out at me for its decidedly un-coleslaw-like vibe. A fresh and crunchy mixture of cabbage and carrots, it’s dressed not with gloopy mayo, but with a simple mixture of peanut butter, soy sauce and lime juice. Since there’s nothing (in my opinion) that can’t be made better by the addition of peanut butter, I figured if I was ever going to try coleslaw, this was going to be it.

And it was delicious. You know what my Mum also likes to say? There’s a first time for everything.

• Asian Peanut Slaw
• adapted from The Sweet Life in Paris by David Lebovitz
• serves 4 as a side
• For the slaw:
  4 cups finely shredded Savoy cabbage
  2 medium carrots, coarsely grated
  2 spring onions, chopped finely
  1/3 cup chopped coriander (stems and leaves)
  
  For the dressing:
  1/4 cup crunchy peanut butter
  1 garlic clove, minced
  juice of one lime
  2 Tbs. sesame oil
  1 Tbs. soy sauce
  1 Tbs. boiling water
  good pinch sea salt
• 1. Toss together all slaw ingredients in a large bowl and set aside.
  
  2. To make the dressing, I like to combine all ingredients in a watertight tupperware container (or glass jar, or anything with a reliable seal) and shake until smooth. If you’re possessed of infinite patience, you can also whisk them together in a small bowl.
  
  3. Pour the dressing over the slaw and toss until everything is well coated. Serve immediately.
• Note: This slaw doesn’t keep well, but can be made in advance up to the point where slaw and dressing are combined.

I want to start this post with a great big Thank You to everyone who left a comment on this post last week. On Wednesday I flew home to Canada for my grandmother’s funeral, and spent the past week visiting with family and friends. Though I’m feeling okay and trying to present an upbeat front, dealing with death is never easy, and your words of support helped more than I can say.

Almost since I wrote that post, I’ve been thinking about how best to tackle this one. How to pay tribute to a woman like my Granny? A woman born during a time of horses and carriages, who lived through two world wars to adapt effortlessly to an era of fast cars, email and international travel. A woman who immigrated twice; first to England to escape Nazi persecution in her native Germany, and then to the wilds of rural Canada, to put down roots for her growing family. A woman who loved art, reading, conversation and above all, a good party. Also, and somewhat unfortunately, a woman whose culinary contributions included dishes like Stuffed Cucumbers and Tuna Noodle Casserole with Potato Chips.

No, Granny wasn’t a great cook. This widely-acknowledged fact isn’t intended to be rude; she’d be the first to admit that the preparation of meals held little interest for her. I knew that whatever recipe I shared in this post, it wasn’t going to be one of hers. The only thing I ever looked forward to eating at her house was Lemon Meringue Pie or Jello, both of which came from a mix.

Still, mealtimes with Granny were special. When I was growing up, my family would travel five blocks east to my grandparents’ house, where whatever was served inevitably played second fiddle to conversation, love and laughter. In later years my parents would often have her to dinner at our house, usually on the first night I was home from university on a break. While those meals surely tasted better than the earlier ones, I can’t say I remember any of them, either. What I do recall of these evenings is Granny peppering me with questions about my classes, friends and hobbies- always interested in what I was up to, always happy to see me.

The dinner my Mum made on Wednesday evening was similar in spirit to those meals, at least. My sister and I had just stepped off a (delayed) transatlantic flight, and what we needed most was sustenance, with a side of catching up. This lentil gratin comes from a cookbook published by UK charity Christian Aid, one which my Mum has been pushing me to review on Kitchlit for months, and I (in my modern, agnostic snobbery) have been stubbornly resisting.

I may have to eat my words if this recipe is anything to go by; rich, hearty and comforting, this was just what I needed that evening. Nothing fancy, just a simple background meal to some much-needed family time. Because sometimes, it’s not really the food that matters.

• Lentil Gratin
• adapted from The Christian Aid Book of Simple Feasts by Sarah Stancliffe
• serves 4 (with a salad side)
• 150g Le Puy lentils
  1 Tbs. butter
  1 clove garlic, minced
  1 small yellow onion (or 1/2 a large one), finely chopped
  1 leek, chopped
  1 medium carrot, coarsely grated
  75ml single cream
  100g grated Gruyere cheese
  1 Tbs. finely chopped parsley
  sea salt and black pepper
  20g chopped walnuts
• 1. Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F. Lightly butter a medium-sized gratin dish and set aside.
  
  2. Bring a pot of water to the boil and add the lentils. Cook according to package instructions, about 35 minutes at a low boil.
  
  3. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan that has a lid. Add the garlic, onion, leek and carrot and stir to coat. Cover, turn the heat very low and allow the vegetables to sweat for 20-25 minutes, until soft and translucent but not browned. Set aside to cool slightly.
  
  4. When the lentils are cooked, drain and add to the vegetables. Stir in two tablespoons of cream, about half of the cheese and the parsley. Season to taste and spread the mixture into the prepared gratin dish.
  
  5. Mix the rest of the cream and cheese with the walnuts until you have a lumpy paste. Spread this over the top of the gratin and bake for 20 minutes, until golden brown on top.

Is there anyone reading this who doesn’t like dumplings? Is that even possible? I’m not trying to be obtuse, honest- I just can’t imagine that there’s a human on this earth who doesn’t grow weak at the knees at the thought of those bite-sized morsels of deliciousness. As you can probably deduce, I love dumplings. All kinds- Chinese, Thai, Polish, British. When I was growing up, I looked forward to my family’s Dim Sum Boxing Day tradition almost as much as I looked forward to Christmas (possibly more).

But this post isn’t about Dim Sum, or any kind of Chinese dumpling. Nope, it’s about a branch of this special family that I’d never met before- the Hungarian bread dumpling. I saw this recipe at The Kitchn last week and was immediately intrigued; a dumpling I had never tasted, nor heard of, jam-packed with winter root vegetables? Held together by a dough made from the bread that’s currently getting stale in my bread box? This was definitely an idea that needed closer inspection.

So I got myself a huge assortment of root veg at the farmer’s market and got to work. I’m not going to lie: this recipe was time-consuming, even downright fiddly. All that chopping and rolling and coating- it’s definitely not a weeknight meal. The good news is that you refrigerate the dough before forming the dumplings, and I see no reason why everything up to that point couldn’t be done a day or so beforehand.

The result was like nothing I’d tasted before. Hearty, yes- even heavy -but in a good way. This is perfect fodder for dark days and cold winter evenings; served drizzled with paprika butter and accompanied by a dollop of thick yogurt, it’s a case of familiar flavours in an exotic embodiment.

Note: I boiled these as the recipe dictated, but some of the leftover dough was just as good (possibly better) the next day, fried in olive oil as thick fritters.

• Root Vegetable Bread Dumplings
• adapted from this recipe from The Kitchn
• makes 20-25 dumplings (serving 4-5)
• Dumplings
  2 Tbs. butter
  1/2 a yellow onion, finely chopped
  2 garlic cloves, minced
  1 medium carrot, finely chopped
  1 medium parsnip, finely chopped
  1/2 a medium swede/rutabaga, finely chopped
  1/4 a medium winter squash (any type), finely chopped
  2 Tbs. finely chopped parsley
  sea salt and black pepper
  4 cups torn-up white bread pieces
  1 cup breadcrumbs
  2/3 cup of milk
  1 egg
  approx. 1/2 cup plain flour, plus extra for dusting

  To Serve
  unsalted butter
  salt and pepper
  paprika
  Greek yogurt or sour cream
  finely chopped parsley

• 1. Heat the butter in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. When it foams, add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about five minutes.

  2. Add the rest of the vegetables to the pot, and stir in about 1/2 a cup of water. Cover and simmer the mixture for 15 minutes, checking and stirring every so often. When the vegetables are cooked through, gently “mush” them with the back of a wooden spoon or a potato masher. You don’t want a purée, just a rough mixture. Make sure as much moisture as possible has cooked off, then remove the vegetables from the heat and allow to cool.

  3. Mix together the bread pieces, breadcrumbs and milk in a large bowl and mix until doughy. Stir in the parsley and season to taste, then stir in the egg.

  4. When the vegetables have cooled enough, add them to the bread mixture and stir to incorporate. If the mixture seems too wet, you can also add up to 1/2 cup of flour. Cover and refridgerate for at least 30 minutes until cool. (Dumpling mixture can be made to this point up to 2 days beforehand.)

  5. When you’re ready to make the dumplings, put a large pot of water on to boil. Cover a large plate or board with flour and drop golf ball-sized pieces of dough onto the surface. Roll these about to make 20-25 flour-dusted dumplings.

  6. When the water boils, salt it lightly. Working in batches of 5-6, drop the dumplings into the boiling water and cook for about 8 minutes, until they float. Remove with a slotted spoon and continue until all the dumplings are cooked.

  7. To serve, you have a few options. I like to add salt, pepper and a good dash of paprika to some melted butter, then drizzle this over the dumplings. Alternatively, you could fry the dumplings lightly in some butter or olive oil, and sprinkle the paprika over while they crisp up. Serve with a side of yogurt and some more chopped parsley, if you like.

Don’t you love rediscovering an old favourite? Whether a book, old movie or cherished item of clothing, it’s always nice to stumble across our long-forgotten loves. That’s what happened this week in my kitchen, with (predictably) a recipe for (perhaps unpredictably) a stir-fry.

Last Sunday, I told you that I was planning on making several Asian dishes over the week. What used to be a regular occurance in my flat had become rare: Chinese flavours had given way to Indian ones, Thai dishes had stepped aside for Italian. And although no one can say anything against curries or pastas (not to me, anyway- I wouldn’t let them), I admit I was getting a little bored.

It was Andrew who reminded me of this noodle stir-fry, which used to appear almost weekly on our table. It’s one of his favourite-ever dishes, so I felt a little guilty when I calculated that I hadn’t made it in, oh, six months or so. Realising that it was precisely the kind of thing I was craving too, I set about prepping what’s become known to us as “Peanut Thai Noodle”.

There’s a lot more than just peanuts and noodles going on here, of course. This dish is packed with vegetables and proteins, not to mention flavour. Broccoli, carrot and red bell pepper wrangle for room with tofu and shrimp. The sauce, a delicious blend of sesame oil, soy sauce, rice wine vinegar and peanut butter, has taken me several years to perfect, but it’s there now: tangy, sweet, salty and spicy.

Like many stir-fries, this isn’t exactly effortless to put together. There’s a lot of chopping, mincing and mixing to do, but you’ll forget all that, once you taste it. After polishing off a huge bowl of this, I turned to Andrew and happily announced “I could eat that again”. So if you’re listening, Peanut Thai Noodle- I’m so sorry. I’ll never abandon you again, I promise.

• Peanut Thai Noodle
• serves 2-3
• Sauce
  3 Tbs. sesame oil
  2 Tbs. rice wine vinegar
  2 Tbs. soy sauce
  2 Tbs. smooth peanut butter
  1 Tbs. lime juice (about half a lime’s worth)
  1 Tbs. sugar
  1/2 tsp. chili flakes
  
  Stir-Fry
  125g egg noodles (your favourite kind for stir-fries)
  2 Tbs.+1 tsp. vegetable oil
  140g firm tofu, cut into 1/2″ cubes
  1 very small head broccoli, cut into bite-sized florets
  1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced thinly
  1/2 red bell pepper, sliced thinly
  100g raw shrimp, shelled and de-veined
  2 garlic cloves, minced
  1″ piece of ginger, minced
  2 Tbs. chopped fresh coriander
  2 Tbs. chopped green onions
• 1. In a small bowl, combine all ingredients for the sauce and whisk until smooth- it will take a while because of the peanut butter, but keep at it. (Alternatively, you can always put everything into a watertight plastic container and shake it into submission.) Set aside sauce until later.
  
  2. Bring a large pot of water to the boil and salt it generously. Cook the noodles according to package instructions, then drain and set aside.
  
  3. Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large nonstick frying pan over medium-high heat. When hot, add the tofu and cook for about 8 minutes, until browned on all sides. Remove to a paper towel-lined plate to cool.
  
  4. Add the other tablespoon of oil to the pan and throw in the vegetables. Cook for 8-10 minutes until cooked through but still crisp. (To speed this up, I sometimes add a splash of water and partially cover the pan, allowing the veg to steam a bit before I remove the lid and crisp them up. It works well, but don’t use too much water- you don’t want the veg soggy.)
  
  5. Add the prawns and cook for 1-2 minutes until they become pink. Then return the tofu to the pan, and push everything to the perimeter. Into the space you’ve made in the middle of the pan, add the final teaspoon of oil then the minced garlic and ginger. Stir the garlic and ginger around in the oil for about a minute, until everything becomes fragrant.
  
  6. Pour the sauce into the pan, and add the noodles. As soon as the sauce begins to bubble, turn off the heat. Using a pair of spoons or some rubber tongs, toss pan contents together so everything is evenly coated. At the last minute, toss in the coriander. Serve garnished with the green onion.

I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon hemming a dress. You’d think that such a simple task wouldn’t take anywhere near that long, particularly when performed by someone who used to spend as much time sewing as I did. During university, I once sewed for approximately 48 hours straight without so much as a ten-minute nap, and I’m pretty sure I got more done than dress hems. (Possibly not, though; the lack of sleep means my memories of this time in my life are fuzzy at best.)

This dress, however, was one of those difficult jobs with a back vent, a lining, three separate fused sections and that horrible silk fabric that shows every single wayward stitch or press mark. Honestly, it made me realize why I left the fashion industry in the first place: my impatient nature probably makes me more suited to food, anyway.

Plus, I wasn’t just hemming a dress; I was making soup. Turns out sewing and cooking are surprisingly good partners. You sew a seam, add some seasoning. Fuse some panels, chop some greens. Do a little hand stitching while the broth simmers- you get the idea.

The soup and the dress are actually linked, and not just in the sense of yesterday’s activities. See, I’m wearing the dress to a friend’s wedding in two weeks. Myself being short of stature, it falls a bit long on me: hence the hemming. The dress being quite slim-fitting, I need too make sure it actually fits me on the day: hence the soup.

I’m definitely not one to “diet” in a traditional sense. The very idea of depravation sends me into uncontrollable cravings of said item. But I figured I will have to stand, sit, eat and dance in this thing for several hours (and long into the night, if we’re lucky), so it wouldn’t hurt to sub a few pastas with soups, right?

Luckily, Autumn is perfect soup season. It’s not quite cold enough to want the rib-sticking curries and roasted veg of winter, but chilly enough to crave something to keep your hands and belly warm. Enter the soup: steaming, filling and undeniably healthy. This one uses some of my favourite cold-weather flavours of beans, kale and fresh rosemary. All in all, a perfect fit for Fall.

• Cannellini Bean and Kale Soup
• serves 4-6
• 1 cup dried cannellini beans
  3 Tbs. olive oil
  1 large onion, finely chopped
  2 medium carrots, chopped
  2 sticks celery, chopped
  4 garlic cloves, minced
  1 tsp. fresh rosemary, minced
  1 cup passatta, or chopped canned tomatoes
  2 litres vegetable stock
  1 parmesan rind (optional)
  several large handfuls kale, stems discarded and leaves chopped roughly
  salt and pepper to taste
  parmesan, feta or other cheese, to serve
• 1. Put the beans in a large saucepan and cover with 2 inches of cold water. Bring to the boil and cook rapidly for 2 minutes; remove from heat, cover and let sit for 2 hours.
  
  2. Heat the olive oil over medium-low heat in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add the onion, carrots and celery, cover the pan, and cook over very low heat, stirring occasionally. After 10 minutes, add the garlic and rosemary, and continue cooking for another 5. The vegetables should soften but not colour.
  
  3. Drain the soaking beans and add them, with the passatta or chopped tomatoes, to the vegetables. Cover with the stock and leave to simmer for 1 hour. (If you have any parmesan rinds in your freezer, now is the time to throw one in.)
  
  4. Taste one of the beans; it should be just starting to become tender. If so, add the chopped kale, pushing it down beneath the surface of the soup. Simmer everything together for another 30 minutes until the beans and kale are both tender. Salt and pepper to taste, and serve with some crumbled or grated cheese on top.
  

It’s that time of year when I become completely uninspired in the cooking department. No matter how excited I am to first see the summer produce at the market, by mid-June I just don’t know what to do with it anymore. 

I think this might have to do with the fact that I’m Canadian, and summer food is (relatively) foreign to me. I mean, sure we have it, but the season is so comparatively short that my knowledge of warm-weather cooking is limited at best. When I was a kid summer meant barbecues in the backyard, but since I now a) don’t have a backyard and b) no longer eat meat, that’s hardly an option. I’m geographically wired to crave winter foods, and my stamina for summer is sorely lacking. Once I’ve made a few fresh salads and a pasta primavera or two, I’m lost. My winter standbys of curries, roasted veg and soups don’t seem so appealing when the sun is still shining at dinnertime.  

When I’m lacking inspiration like this, I tend to fall back on an old trick: using up things in the fridge. Strangely, nothing makes me feel so creative as boundaries. This was true back in fashion school, when designing for a painfully constrictive brief, and it’s true now on a Saturday evening, hungry but at loss for what to cook. 

Which brings me to the scene in my kitchen earlier this afternoon: me, opening my fridge in confusion and despair, searching for something that might bring back my will to cook. The carrots I bought last Sunday were begging to be used, going slightly soft in the vegetable crisper. At this point they were only suitable for soup, which for me has always had a slightly autumnal feeling. But then I spied some leftover coconut milk in the door of the fridge, and had an idea. Surely a Thai-style carrot soup was summery? 

A glance in my favourite go-to cookbook gave me the framework for a recipe, and slowly, I began to feel somewhat excited at the prospect of food again. I rustled up some garlic, ginger and chilis from around the kitchen, dashed out to the shops for some lemongrass, and began to improvise dinner. 

This soup ended up being delicious as well as economical- rich and creamy, but fresh-tasting at the same time. Most importantly, it cured my mental block, at least for one evening.

• Thai-style Carrot and Coconut Soup
• adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman
• serves 2
• 1 Tbs. neutral oil
  1/2 onion, finely chopped
  2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed lightly
  1 small red chili, de-seeded and finely chopped
  2 small stalks lemongrass, trimmed, bruised and cut into 2″ pieces
  200g carrots, washed and cut into 1″ chunks. 
  small bunch coriander, leaves and stems separated, leaves chopped
  1 cup coconut milk
  2 cups water
  salt, pepper, sugar to taste 
• 1. Heat the oil over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add the onions and cook until lightly golden, about 5 minutes. 
  
  2. Add the garlic, chili and lemongrass, and cook for two minutes more. Add the carrots and coriander stalks, and cook for a further minutes. 
  
  3. Add the coconut milk and water and turn the heat down to low. Cover and simmer gently for 15-20 minutes, until carrots are tender when pierced. 
  
  4. Remove from heat and let cool slightly. Carefully fish out the coriander stalks and lemongrass. Puree, either with an immersion blender, or a food processor.
  
  5. Stir in the chopped coriander leaves. Taste, adding salt, pepper, and/or a pinch of sugar as necessary. Re-heat if needed and serve. 
   

I was out running some errands today, and getting home rather later than I usually eat lunch, was in no mood to wait any longer. I wanted a lunch that was quick, flavourful, and at least gave the impression of being healthy. (I’m not so bothered about actual health- I’m the eat-your-veggies-smothered-in-cheese type.) Luckily, I had planned for such an eventuality, and set to work preparing a salad that I can already see becoming a staple for me.

Carrots and peanuts are one of my favourite flavour combinations. What seems unusual to some people (and certainly did to me at first) is actually a great combination: sweet, salty, crunchy, creamy- it’s all good. In fact, spicy carrot and peanut butter soup has replaced carrot and coriander as my favourite version. (There are many great recipes for this floating around- if you’re interested, and you really should be, just do a google search.)

Having said that, I have no idea why it’s taken me so long to make this. I’ve been wanting to try this recipe from Nigella Lawson since coming across it in her book Forever Summer some time ago. According to Nigella, the recipe originated at New York City’s famous Rainbow Room, and she grew up eating an adaption of it made by her mother. Chopped carrots and salted peanuts are joined by vinegar and sesame oil in a tasty combination. Of course, tasty is one thing, but absolutely freaking delicious is quite another, and with my own meddlesome tweaks, I believe this version is leaning firmly toward the latter. 

• Carrot and Peanut Salad
• Adapted from The Rainbow Room’s Carrot and Peanut Salad by Nigella Lawson
• serves 1
• 2 medium carrots, peeled
  40g salted peanuts
  1 Tbs. rice vinegar (or white wine vinegar)
  1 tsp. soy sauce
  1/2 tsp. sesame oil
  1 Tsp. chopped fresh coriander
  pepper
• 1. Chop the carrots into thin pieces, or else grate them coarsely.
  
  2. Place all ingredients into a bowl and mix well. Season with freshly ground pepper, to taste. 
• Note:  The dressing on this salad might be too acidic for some tastes. If you find it a bit sour, I bet a drizzle of honey would be a great addition.