It seems that I’m a bit of a foul-weather friend to the world of soups. Perusing my recipes page the other day, I realised that I haven’t made a soup, let alone posted one here, in months. The last one I made was this Celeriac and Apple number, way back when in February. It’s not too surprising, since soups are generally thought of as hearty, tummy-warming fare for the cooler months.

Of course, that’s not always the case. Plenty of Spring and even Summer veg work fantastically well in soups, and the lighter feel of a liquid meal is often just what the doctor (and the swimsuit designer) ordered at this time of year. From Minestrone Primaveras to fresh and spicy Thai options, recipes for warmer weather soups are a lot more numerous than you might think. When warm turns to hot, gazpachho or other chilled soups are options, though I have yet to really get on board that train.

This warm weather soup comes from Jamie Oliver and makes use of that staple of springtime, English asparagus. It might seem strange to take something as delicious, fleeting and yes, expensive, as asparagus and purée it, but that’s a risk I’ll take. This bright, lemony soup has reminded me that there’s a whole world of fair weather soups out there, and I want to befriend them all.

Well, maybe not all. Still working on the gazpacho.

• Springtime Asparagus Soup
• adapted from Jamie Oliver
• serves 4
• 400g asparagus
  2 Tbs. olive oil
  1 small yellow onion, chopped
  2 leeks, chopped (white and light green parts only)
  1 litre vegetable stock
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
  juice of half a lemon, to taste
  baguette, to serve
  parmesan cheese, to serve
• 1. Rinse the asparagus well and snap off the woody ends. Chop off the tips, and cut the remaining stalks into 1″ chunks.
  
  2. Heat most of the olive oil (about 1 1/2 Tbs.) in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over very low heat. Add the onion and leeks, cover and cook for 10-15 minutes until very soft but not coloured.
  
  3. Add the asparagus stalks (save the tips for now) and the stock and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes. Then remove the soup from the heat and purée until smooth using an immersion blender. Add salt, pepper and lemon juice to taste, then return the soup to a low heat.
  
  4. Add most of the asparagus tips to the pot of soup, reserving a few for garnishing each bowl. While the soup tips cook (it will take about 4 minutes), pan-fry the garnish tips over a very high heat in the remaining olive oil, until crisp and bright green. Drain on a paper towel until needed.
  
  5. Serve the soup in individual bowls topped with toasted baguette slices, the asparagus tips, shavings of parmesan cheese and a drizzle of olive oil.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you’ll know that I’m a fan of the one-dish meal. Fussing about with multiple pots and pans is just not for me, and nor is doing multiple sets of dishes afterward. The way I see it, if something needs a side dish to complete it, how good can it be?

Yet there are certain dishes (and yes, good ones) that do require a little something else, aren’t there? I can think of several: fishcakes, tarts, certain soups. In those cases, I’ll often reach for one of my beloved salads, but sometimes I’m in the mood for something simpler. So occasionally, yes- I’ll have a side dish. And very occasionally, if I’m feeling particularly virtuous (or if I plan to bake something particularly sinful later on), I’ll have just a side.

As was the case last weekend, when I roasted up some broccoli for my lunch. This dish is adapted from an Amateur Gourmet recipe, but it’s hardly something any one person can take credit for. Broccoli, lemon, cheese: that’s pretty much it.

This time, I used Tenderstem broccoli, which I believe goes by the moniker “Broccolini” outside of the UK. The long, tender stalks and asparagus-like flavour is perfect here, but any broccoli will do. I’ve used regular calabrese, purple sprouting and even Romanescu before, all with slightly unique but equally delicious results. You can also change up the cheese here; feta is great in the summer, and parmesan or gorgonzola work well in the cooler months.

So, make this, and I’m sure you’ll forgive me my little side-dish aside. It probably won’t happen again for months, anyway.

• Roast Broccoli with Lemon and Cheese
• serves 4 as a side
• 400g Tenderstem (or other) broccoli
  2 Tbs. olive oil
  zest of one lemon
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
  juice of one lemon
  50g feta cheese, crumbled (could also use: parmesan, gorgonzola, buffalo mozzarella)
• 1. Preheat the oven to 200C/400F. Lay the broccoli in a single layer in a shallow roasting tin, and drizzle with the olive oil. Sprinkle over the lemon zest, a pinch of sea salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper.
  
  2. Roast broccoli for approximately 20 minutes, until turning brown and crisp in places (there is no need to toss with the Tenderstem, though you may want to with a chunkier variety). Remove from the oven and sprinkle with the lemon juice and cheese. Serve immediately.

My friends, it’s been too long. Nearly ten days with no recipes for you, and no farmer’s market visit for me. Frankly, I don’t have a great excuse for my absence. A dash of illness, a sprinkle of work, a smattering of melancholy and a good dose of culinary disinterest affected both my time and inclination to blog.

What’s worse, I can’t even promise that posting will be that prolific in the days to come, either. My Mum and Grandma are in London over the next week, and along with some other potential changes on the horizen, free time is likely to be hard to come by.

All I have to offer in way of an apology are these Citrus and Almond Breakfast Buns. Adapted from this popular recipe from The Kitchn, they put a fresh spin on traditional caramel- and cinnamon-flavoured breakfast rolls. And for now, they’re all I’ve got.

But honestly? I think you’re getting a pretty good deal.

• Citrus and Almond Breakfast Buns
• adapted from The Kitchn
• makes 6 buns (easily doubled)
• For the dough:
  2 cups plain flour
  2 Tbs. sugar
  1 heaped tsp. instant yeast
  1/4 tsp. salt
  1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg
  zest of one lemon
  1/4 cup (56g) unsalted butter
  1/3 cup milk
  1 egg
  1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
  1/4 tsp. almond extract
  
  For the filling:
  1/4 cup sugar
  1/4 cup ground almonds
  1/4 tsp. ground ginger
  zest of one lemon
  zest of half an orange
  juice of half a lemon
  2 Tbs. unsalted butter, very soft
  
  For the toppings:
  2 oz (56g) cream cheese, at room temperature
  juice of half a lemon
  1/4 cup icing sugar
  2 Tbs. flaked almonds, lightly toasted
  zest of half an orange
• 1. Whisk together the flour, sugar, yeast, salt, nutmeg and lemon zest in a large bowl. Melt the butter in a small saucepan, then set aside to cool slightly before whisking in the milk, egg and extracts.
  
  2. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ones and mix to combine. Turn out onto a generously floured surface and knead for 5-8 minutes, until dough is smooth and elastic. (You’ll likely use an extra 1/4 cup of flour at this point; the dough should be soft and smooth but not sticky.) Form dough into a ball, lightly oil or butter it, then place in a covered bowl to rise for one hour.
  
  3. While the dough is rising, make the filling. Mix together the sugar, almonds, ginger and citrus zests in a small bowl. Add the lemon juice and softened butter and whisk well to combine, then set aside. Also prepare a smallish cake pan (8 x 8″ square or 9″ round both work) by buttering it lightly.
  
  4. When the dough has doubled in size, punch down and turn out onto a floured surface. Roll into a horizontal rectangle roughly 8 x 10″, then spread the filling over the surface of the dough, leaving a 1″ border all around. Starting with the long edge furthest from you, roll up the dough and cut into 6 equal sections. Place these cut-side-up in the prepared pan, then cover loosely with clingfilm and allow buns to rise for 45 minutes. (As this point, you can also refrigerate the buns for baking up to 24 hours later. In this case, remove from the fridge at least one hour before you want to bake them.)
  
  5. When you want to bake the buns, preheat the oven to 175°C/350°F. Bake for 25-35 minutes, until buns are big, puffy and browned on top. Allow to cool for 5-10 minutes, but not completely, before icing.
  
  6. While the buns are baking, make the icing. Whisk together the cream cheese and lemon juice until smooth, then sift in the icing sugar and whisk to incorporate. When the buns are done and have cooled a little, spread the icing messily over the top, allowing it to melt and ooze where it likes. Sprinkle over the toasted almonds and orange zest, and enjoy.

You know, it’s funny. For most of my life thus far, I’ve professed to be a hater of salads. I know, it’s difficult to imagine hating something as innocuous and unassuming as a salad. It wasn’t a passionate hatred; I’ve always happily munched of lettuce and veg (no dressing, please) after dinner with the rest of my family. But as something to spend time making? As something to get excited about? As something to actually pay for in a restaurant? Please, I had better things to eat.

Which makes it all the more surprising that over the last few years, I’ve become obsessed with salads. My Mum might say that this is evidence of me “growing up”, but I know better. What really sparked this change of heart was discovering that salads don’t have to have lettuce. They can have vegetables. Or legumes, or cheese, or even pasta! Suddenly, a whole new world of dishes opens up when you realise that “salad” just means “dish served cold or at room temperature”.

This particular salad is an adaption of one in Falling Cloudberries by Tessa Kiros. I reviewed this book last summer and at the time gave it three stars, though I’m beginning to think it deserves more. Lately, I want to eat everything I see in this multi-cultural gem of a book. Tessa’s Greek-inspired Chickpea and Feta Salad takes chickpeas, feta cheese, red onion, green onion, fresh herbs, lemon juice and olive oil and somehow turns it into more than the sum of its parts.

It’s not the simplest salad you’ll come across. There’s rather a lot of simmering, chopping, sautéeing and marinating to do, but it’s worth it. This is by far the best chickpea salad I’ve ever had. Even if you’re a salad hater, a chickpea hater or a feta hater, I think you should try this. I know I’ll be eating it all summer (though I might munch on the odd bit of naked lettuce, too).

• Chickpea and Feta Salad
• adapted from Falling Cloudberries by Tessa Kiros
• serves 6 as a side; 3 as a main
• 1/3 cup + 2 Tbs. olive oil
  1 leek, sliced lengthwise and chopped (white and light green parts only)
  1 small red onion, finely chopped
  1-2 red chilies, de-seeded and finely chopped
  3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
  approx. 500g chickpeas, either from a can or cooked from dried
  200g feta, crumbled
  4 green onions, finely chopped (dark and light green parts only)
  1/3 cup finely chopped coriander
  2 Tbs. finely chopped mint
  zest and juice of 1 lemon
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
• 1. Heat 2 Tbs. of the olive oil in a nonstick pan over medium-low heat. Gently cook the leek and red onion for 8-10 minutes, until very soft and beginning to turn golden. Add the chili and garlic and cook for another minute or two until very fragrant- be careful not to brown the garlic. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.
  
  2. Place the chickpeas, feta, green onions, coriander, mint, lemon zest, lemon juice and remaining olive oil in a large bowl. When it’s cool enough not to melt the feta, add the mixture from the frying pan and gently stir everything to combine. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Leave salad for at least one hour (or as many as 24) in the fridge; the flavours will meld and improve.

Are you a fiddler? Because I definitely am. No, I’m not coming clean about my ADD or professing some kind of musical gift, rather I’m talking about recipe fiddling. That insatiable urge to tamper, alter or tweak a new recipe into submission, before you’ve even got a chance to know each other. I hear that there are people out there who don’t do this. Have read that some cooks like to make a dish as written, particularly on a first attempt. Are you one of these people? If so, please speak up, because I’m longing to know how on earth you do it.

The other day I mentioned that I was dying to try Orangette‘s Cream-Braised Brussels Sprouts, and it’s true. This recipe has been on my mental to-make list for months, if not years. However it seems like Brussels sprouts and cream are opposing forces in my house; fate seems to ensure that I never have both in the fridge at the same time. But lo and behold, I recently found myself possessed of both sprouts and cream, as well as a desire to eat. So what did I do?

Why, I fiddled of course. I decided that instead of listening to fate, instead of heeding Molly’s advice or the advice of the 60+ positive comments on her post, I was going to make this dish different. Better, even. Instead of cream, I’d use coconut milk! Instead of butter, olive oil and toasted cumin seeds. While we’re at it, why not throw some cannellini beans in there, as well? (Regular readers know this is a favourite meal-maker of mine.)

And yes, it was delicious. And yes, more filling (with a side of brown rice) than the original would have been. But now I still haven’t made the Cream-Braised Brussels Sprouts, and I’ve got another recipe with which to distract me from them. See where fiddling gets you?

• Coconut-braised Sprouts with Cannellini Beans
• adapted from Cream-Braised Brussels Sprouts from Orangette
• serves 2 as a main
• 3/4 tsp. cumin seeds
  1 Tbs. olive oil
  200g washed, trimmed and halved Brussels sprouts
  1 1/2 cups coconut milk
  1 x 400g can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
  1 Tbs. lemon juice
  dash soy sauce
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
  2 Tbs. finely chopped cashews (optional)
  2 Tbs. desiccated unsweetened coconut
• 1. Heat a heavy-bottomed pan over high heat and add the cumin seeds. Shake and toast the seeds for about 30 seconds until very fragrant. Add olive oil and allow to coat the bottom of the pan.
  
  2. Add the sprouts to the pan and cook for 4-5 minutes, tossing a couple times to ensure some nice browning. Pour in the coconut milk, turn the heat to low and cover. Cook for 15 minutes before adding the cannellini beans, then continue to cook for another 10 to 15 minutes.
  
  3. Remove the pan from the heat and stir; the coconut milk will have reduced to a thick, golden sauce by now. Stir in the lemon juice and soy sauce, and season to taste. Serve, with the cashew/coconut topping, if using.
  
  4. To make the topping, heat a small pan over very high heat and add the chopped cashews. As soon as they start to brown, add the coconut and toast everything together, keeping the pan moving, for another 30 seconds or so.

Recently, I started a new part-time job. From now on I’ll be working 3-4 days a week at a local traiteur/caterer’s just around the corner from me. After nearly three years of shopping at this place and getting inspiration from their food, it only makes sense that I’m now working there. I think it’s likely that this blog set me apart from other applicants, too. You asked for foodies? I can give you that.

Of course now I’m the “blogging girl”. My new co-workers keep introducing themselves alongside such lines as “Oh, I’ve seen your blog” or “So you’re the girl with the food blog!”. It’s getting a bit embarrassing, to be honest. Still, at least I don’t have to be worried about getting dooced, right?

This salad is a riff on one of the specials offered my first day. I didn’t actually try it, but believe me- I was eyeing this concoction all day, and ran home to make my own ASAP. Beetroot, orange, walnuts and thyme make for a surprising and delicious combination. For my version, I threw in some jerusalem artichokes I had lying around, and replaced the oranges with my preferred clementines. A squeeze of lemon to add that extra zing and there it was: a working lunch in less than 10 minutes.

• Beet, J-Choke and Clementine Salad
• serves 4 as a side
• 1 large beet, scrubbed well
  2 jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed well
  2 clementines, peeled and segmented
  juice of 1 clementine
  1 Tbs. lemon juice
  1 tsp. thyme leaves
  tiny pinch salt
  1/3 cup roughly chopped walnuts
• 1. Grate the beet and jerusalem artichokes into a large bowl, using a grater with relatively thick holes.
  
  2. Add the clementine segments, clementine juice, lemon juice, most of the thyme leaves, the salt and most of the walnuts. Mix well and transfer to serving platter, if using. Sprinkle with the rest of the thyme and walnuts and serve.

When you bake, who are you really baking for? You, your partner, kids, friends or co-workers? It has to go beyond your own enjoyment- unless you’re the type who can polish off a triple-layer cake in one sitting (and if you are, my respect and condolences).

I bake about once a week, primarily to keep Andrew and myself in teatime treats. While my repertoire includes everything from cupcakes to cookies and brownies to pie, Andrew and I have slightly different views on what constitutes a treat. For him, there must be one constant: chocolate. While I love 70%+ as much as the next girl, I can’t help but cast my treat net a little wider. Oats, toffee, citrus and fruit all sound great to me, too.

Lately, I’ve been especially loving anything almond-flavoured, and these almond, lemon and semolina cakes (adapted from my sister’s recipe) perfectly fit the bill. The crumbly texture comes from almonds and semolina (no flour at all!), and the insane citrus taste from a good dose of zest and juice. I might be the only one around here who likes them, but I’ll deal with the guilt since they’re so darn delicious.

Luckily for Andrew (and my conscience), they’re also almost gone by now. Oh, and I’ve got a pan of brownies chilling in the fridge.

• Mini Almond, Lemon and Semolina Cakes
• adapted from Citrus, polenta and almond drizzle cake from Let Her Bake Cake
• makes 12 mini cakes
• For the cakes
  150g unsalted butter
  150g sugar
  150g ground almonds
  3/4 tsp. baking powder
  1/4 tsp. salt
  2 eggs
  1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
  1/2 tsp. almond extract
  zest and juice of 2 lemons
  100g semolina (or use cornmeal; both will work, but texture will vary)
  For the icing
  75g icing sugar
  2-3 tsp. lemon juice
  To top
  2 Tbs. flaked almonds, toasted lightly
• 1. Preheat the oven to 150°C/300°F and prepare 12 muffin cups with paper liners (not necessary if using silicone).
  
  2. Using a stand mixer or a hand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add the ground almonds, baking powder and salt and mix until just incorporated. Beat in the eggs one at a time, and follow with the extracts, zest and juice. Finally, gently fold in the semolina.
  
  3. Divide the mixture between the muffin cases and bake for about an hour, until the cake tops are springy and just beginning to turn golden. Remove and let cool completely before icing.
  
  4. To make the icing, whisk together the icing sugar with as much lemon juice as necessary (add drop by drop) to make a thick but spreadable icing. When cakes are completely cool, spread about 1 tsp. of icing over each one with the back of a spoon, and sprinkle with a few toasted almonds.

When I first moved to the UK, I went through something of an adjustment period. Understandable for anyone in a new country, but what affected me probably isn’t what you’d expect. It wasn’t the culture, the food, or the people that threw me, it was the language. 

I know, you’d think moving from one English-speaking place to another would be the least of my problems, but those funny little Britishisms had a way of plaguing me. I was forever using “line” when I meant “queue”, “garbage” when I meant “rubbish”, and drawing blank stares when asking where the “washroom” was (they simply say “toilet” here). Oh, and don’t get me started on the hilarity I routinely caused at work by referring to “trousers” as “pants” (it was, after all, a fashion company, so this wasn’t as infrequent as you’d think).  

The only word that ever caused any real consternation, however, was “lemonade”. To me, lemonade is a cloudy, refreshing, old-fashioned summer drink; to the British, it’s Sprite. Given that I’ve never really liked soft drinks (they’re too sweet, and the bubbles hurt my nose), it was inevitably disappointing to be presented with a glass of violently fizzing sugar when I’d been looking forward to my drink of choice. I eventually cottoned on, and began to order lemonade only if prefaced by “old-fashioned” or “homemade” on the menu. Still, those few mistakes have made me slightly bitter toward this British lemonade pretender. 

It’s probably surprising then, that I made this recipe at all. Found while browsing one of my favourite design blogs, Design*Sponge (an anomaly in itself; normally my interests don’t mix as well), these scones only contain three ingredients: flour, cream, and lemonade. The sceptic in me immediately thought “Yeah right, we’ll see about this”, while the experiment-loving geek thought “Ooh, cool!”, and together, they conspired that I make these scones.

I did my best not to tamper with the recipe too much, adding only a pinch of salt for balance and some fresh lemon zest to amp the flavour. I assumed that the lemonade would make these very sweet, but not so. They’re quite neutral in flavour, so if you prefer a sweeter scone, you might want to add some sugar. 

In terms of texture, these scones aren’t really my thing. While I like mine rich, crumbly and buttery, these are light and bread-like. Not necessarily a bad thing; this type of scone goes wonderfully with jam and clotted cream, as it “holds” toppings well. The lack of butter also makes these absurdly easy to make, so if I’m ever called upon to make scones for a Cream Tea en masse, this recipe is where I’ll turn.

I served these with some lemon honey (bought during last summer’s holiday in Cinque Terre), which set off the flavour perfectly. Not the best scones I’ve ever tasted, but definitely the first time I’ve enjoyed this so-called British “lemonade”. 

• “Lemonade” Scones
• adapted from Chris Chun’s Lemonade Scones
• makes 10 2″ scones
• 1 1/2 cups self-raising flour
  pinch of salt
  zest of one lemon
  1/2 cup heavy or double cream
  1/2 cup fizzy lemonade (Sprite, 7Up or similar)
  cream or milk (for tops) 
• 1. Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment and set aside. 
  
  2. Sift the flour into a large bowl and mix in the salt and lemon zest. In a jug or smaller bowl, mix the cream and lemonade.
  
  3. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry, and mix quickly and lightly with a fork or dough whisk, until just combined.
  
  4. Turn out onto a generously floured surface (this is quite a wet dough) and knead once or twice, until the mixture comes together. Press dough down to a thickness of 3/4″, and cut out rounds with a pastry cutter. 
  
  5. Place the scones on the baking parchment and brush tops with a little more cream (or milk). Bake for 18-25 minutes, until tops are lightly browned. Cool slightly before serving.

I noted on the weekend that I haven’t been posting many desserts lately, and vowed to step up my game. True to my word, I got right to it yesterday; I was in a cake-baking mood and had some berries from the market, so a strawberry-topped cake seemed just the thing.

I can’t claim that this cake was entirely spontaneous though, being inspired by one I sampled a few weeks ago at the Books for Cooks test kitchen in Notting Hill. Simply called “Buttermilk Cake”, it was a tender, single-layered dream of a thing, piled high with fresh strawberries atop a thick layer of what I assume was crème patisserie.

The addition of semolina may or may not have been my own idea. With such a vague moniker as “Buttermilk Cake” I couldn’t be sure that the Books for Cooks cake contained any, but there was a pleasing gritty texture to it, which my spidey sense (ok, my mouth) attributed to the Italian grain. Whether or not there was any is completely irrelevent, of course: I knew I was onto something with the thought.  

As the idea ruminated further in my mind, I decided to throw some lemon zest in the mix, too. Growing up, my favourite cake was a lemon and buttermilk bundt, and I love the classic flavour combination. (Unfortunately, my mum never makes this cake anymore, being obsessed with cooked fruit desserts.) To stand up to these additions, I was after a specific kind of recipe. A light, fluffy buttermilk cake wouldn’t do; I needed something a bit stronger. Several Google searches later I settled on Rose Levy Berenbaum‘s Country Buttermilk Cake. Made with four egg yolks, it’s similar to a pound cake, but (thankfully) more light-handed with the butter.  

The cake baked up perfectly, and the strawberries did their job nicely, too. The only disappointment here was in the middle. I’d never made crème patisserie before, so was perhaps a bit naive, but I hadn’t expected it to be so runny, and I panicked a bit when it started to drip down the sides of the cake. My mistake might have been using this recipe from The Kitchn, which doesn’t contain cornstarch, though having no previous experience with this, I can’t be sure. 

I haven’t included a recipe for crème patisserie below, but the lack of it shouldn’t affect the success of this. Use your own recipe if you have a good one (and feel free to send it to me!), or experiment with other toppings. A not-too-sweet buttercream would work here, or some stiffly whipped cream, or a simple dusting of icing sugar over the berries. 

This cake is sweet and dense rather than heavy, with a lovely tang from the buttermilk and lemon zest. The strawberries and crème patisserie (though runny) perfectly balance the cake and keep things interesting. The only problem with this dessert is that, well- I’ve made it before. Sure, that time it was a tart, not a cake, and yes, it had a successful mascarpone filling instead of a failed crème patisserie topping, but there’s no denying the facts: I’m in a strawberry-driven dessert slump. 

So let’s strike a deal. Let me off just this once, and I promise: there will be no more strawberry-topped cakes, pies, tarts or similar. At least until next year.

• Lemon and Semolina Buttermilk Cake with Fresh Strawberries
• adapted from Rose Levy Beranbaumv‘s Buttermilk Country Cake
• 4 large egg yolks
  2/3 cup buttermilk
  zest of one lemon 
  1 tsp. vanilla
  1 1/2 cups plain flour
  1/2 cup semolina 
  1 cup sugar
  1 Tbs. baking powder
  1/2 tsp. fine salt
  8 Tbs. (or 4oz, or 113g) unsalted butter, softened
  2 cups washed, trimmed and chopped strawberries 
• 1. Preheat your oven to 175°C/350°F. Whisk together the egg yolks, lemon zest, buttermilk and vanilla in a small jug and set aside. 
  
  2. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, semolina, sugar, baking powder and salt. Add the softened butter, and using a hand beater or your fingers, work into the flour until the entire mixture represents fine breadcrumbs (it should be quite uniform).
  
  3. Pour in the wet ingredients, and either beat gently or mix with a spoon until just combined.
  
  4. Pour batter into a 9″ buttered and floured cake pan, preferably with a removable bottom. Bake for 30-35 minutes until golden on top. Cool completely, first in the pan and then on a wire rack, before continuing. 
  
  5. When you’re ready to continue, transfer the cake to a serving plate. Thickly ice the top only with crème patisserie, buttercream icing or whipped cream, if using. Arrange the strawberries as artfully or un-artfully as you like over the top, and serve.

I should probably explain, huh? This dish unfortunately goes by the moniker “Plaster Pasta” in my house. Charmingly bestowed by Andrew, it’s from the early days of the recipe, when I was still working out the kinks. As it cooled, the ricotta would firm up and the whole thing would stick together in a rather unappetizing way. Unappetizing for him, I should say. I didn’t really mind- it still tasted good! If plaster pasta sounds less than appealing to you, though, not to worry. I fixed the recipe and it doesn’t do that anymore. Unfortunately, the name has stuck.

If you can get past it, you should really try this. I love creamy pasta sauces, but try to stay away from them for obvious reasons. They’re less than healthy, and, in the summer at least, who needs all that richness? This dish, though, is wonderfully creamy and light, so it’s perfect for the warmer months. Almost all the creaminess comes from ricotta; I’ve added only a bit of single cream and olive oil to cut down on the plaster-like properties. You could even use low-fat ricotta if you really wanted to. 

It’s not just the sauce; the basil, lemon and peas share responsibility for the great summery-ness of this pasta. I used fresh peas from the farmer’s market, but frozen would work, too. For the pasta, I find conchiglie (better known as shells) work best; they hold onto the peas, making the whole thing easier to eat. 

Speaking of eating, this should be served semi-immediately. If it sits around for too long, traces of plaster pasta might return. Hey, I’m not a miracle worker, and cooking concessions have to be made sometimes, right?

• Pasta with Peas, Ricotta and Lemon
• serves 2
• 200g conchiglie (shell) pasta, or other small, hollow shape
  100g (approx. 1 cup) fresh podded peas (or frozen)
  1/3 cup ricotta cheese
  3 Tbs. single cream
  1/4 cup parmesan
  1 Tbs. olive oil
  zest of one lemon
  juice of 1/2 a lemon 
  2 Tbs. roughly chopped basil (or only small leaves)
  sea salt and black pepper
• 1. Put a large pot of water on to boil, and salt it generously when it does. Cook according to package instructions, and add the peas for the last 4 minutes of cooking time (Only 1 minute if peas are frozen). Drain, but reserve 1/2 cup of the cooking water. 
  
  2. Meanwhile, combine the ricotta, cream, parmesan, olive oil, lemon zest and juice in a large bowl. Whisk together thoroughly, salt and pepper to taste, and add most of the chopped basil. 
  
  3. Add the cooked pasta and peas to the bowl with the sauce and toss to coat. If it seems a little thick or sticky, thin with some of the reserved cooking water. Serve with the remaining basil as a garnish, and extra pepper and parmesan if you like.