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Tag: egg

What the (house) doctor ordered: Sweet Potato Sformato

Lately, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the amount of “stuff” in my flat. If it’s not my teeny tiny closet, it’s our teeny tiny bookcase. If it’s not the teeny tiny bookcase (which is actually a good size; it just suffers from a plague of books), it’s my teeny tiny kitchen cupboards. While I’m normally pretty good about “editing” my life on a regular basis, sometimes it just all adds up, in what I can only assume is a concerted effort to drive me absolutely batty. Read more…

Morning breath: Sopa de Ajo

People are funny about garlic. It seems to be one of those love-it-or-lump-it ingredients, doesn’t it? Standing firmly on the “love” side you have me, my sister, Yotam Ottolenghi, and roughly 60 million Italians (or most of them, anyway). In the haters camp reside many close to me: my best friend, my boyfriend, and my mum. No matter how many cloves of garlic a recipe calls for, Mum will always use one. Sometimes half. Read more…

Breakfast or bust: Eggs in a Spicy Chickpea Purgatory

Eggs in a Spicy Chickpea Purgatory

I’m the kind of person who can eat anything for breakfast. While I love sweet treats like sticky buns, home-baked scones or granola, I’m just as inclined to reach for something savoury of a morning. I know people for whom this would be impossible; anything remotely salty passing their lips before noon results in stomach aches and dramatics. Oh well, more for the rest of us. Read more…

A fancy lunch: Asparagus with a Poached Egg and Vanilla-Mint Vinaigrette

asparagus with poached egg

This isn’t the kind of thing that I usually have for lunch, believe me. The above meal is akin to what I call “fancy” food, ie. food that, while delicious, is best left to French bistros and particularly ambitious food bloggers, rather than attempted by yourself, at home. Read more…

Sunday morning leftovers: Salmon, Asparagus and Dill Frittata

frittata on plate

To me, Sunday is the best day of the week to enjoy a leisurely brunch. Something about its lazy pace seems particularly suited to sitting down with good company, a mug of coffee and something delicious to eat. Back in my non-cooking university days, this ritual generally took the form of a meal at the pub around the corner from my apartment. My roommate and I would drag ourselves out of bed and make our way, boyfriends in tow, to where delicious homebaked muffins, unnaturally cheerful waiters and (on occasion) strong mimosas awaited us. Read more…