This is the post that nearly wasn’t. My quest to make this dish sent me on a wild goose chase across London, causing unforetold amounts of stress and frustration, and almost resulting in no dish at all.

See, I was intending to come up with a clever mash-up of two favourite meals: mejadarah, the addictive Arab dish of rice, lentils and onions, and koshary, its close Egyptian cousin, which adds pasta to the mix. I’m an especially big fan of the latter, but sometimes feel like the pasta overwhelms the other textures. My clever solution? Israeli couscous. Essentially super-small, spherical bits of pasta, I figured the couscous was the perfect way to keep the taste and texture of this dish just so.

Only, I couldn’t find any Israeli couscous. Anywhere. I tried supermarkets. I tried heath food shops. I tried specialty food shops and even the expensive department store “food halls” in the West End. I grew so frustrated I even considered asking my Mum to mail me the box of Israeli couscous that I knew was sitting in our pantry back home. Though I’m no stranger to becoming obsessed with hunting down an obscure ingredient, this was the first battle that made me feel like raising my white flag and giving up.

And you know what? I did. After coming home, exhausted, from what will now be called The Great Israeli Couscous Hunt of 2010, I found a box of tiny, rice-shaped puntalette pasta in my corner shop. Good enough.

Purists, I must warn you: this dish is neither mejadarah, nor koshary, nor a reasonable simulation of either. I made countless changes, mainly to suit my laziness and impatience as a cook. Both of the original dishes cook the rice with the spices, then sear each carb in a separate pan, which results in confusion and many dirty dishes. I made mine a one-pan meal, compromising neither flavour nor feel. I also substituted puy lentils for the called-for brown, because I think their firmer texture works here.

So authentic my Mejadarish might not be, but it is delicious. Delicious enough that, on tucking into a bowl of this carb-fest for lunch the other day, I resolved to make it again as soon as humanely possible. I still think it would be great with Israeli couscous, so Mum- do you mind popping that box into the mail?

• Mejadarish
• adapted from Ottolenghi’s Mejadarah and Gourmet’s Koshary
• serves 4 as a main; 8 as a side
• 1/2 cup brown rice
  1/2 cup puy lentils
  1/2 cup Israeli cous-cous or very small pasta shape
  3 medium onions
  1/3 cup olive oil
  1 tsp. cumin seeds
  1/2 tsp. ground coriander
  1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
  1/4 tsp. turmeric
  sea salt, to taste
• 1. Bring a pot of water to the boil, salt it, and cook the rice according to package instructions. Rinse with cold water, drain and set aside. Do the same for the lentils and the pasta. (You can do this in three pots at the same time, or one after another. Doing it the day before, or using leftover grains works well, too.)
  
  2. Thinly slice the onions and place them in a large pan over medium heat, covered tightly. Shake the pan every so often and keep checking to make sure they don’t burn; they will give off a lot of liquid and then dry out and start to stick. When this happens, add 1/4 cup of the olive oil and turn the heat down to very low.
  
  3. Continue to cook the onions over a very low heat, stirring frequently, for 20-40 minutes. You are aiming for a dark, rich and jam-like flavour, with few crispy bits.
  
  4. When the onions are done to your liking, add the spices and stir quickly, letting the mixture become fragrant. If the spices stick to the pan and become dry, de-scale with a tablespoon or two of water.
  
  5. Push the onions to the edges of the pan and turn the heat up to high. Add one third of the remaining oil and when it gets hot, add the pasta/couscous. Don’t move it around too much- let it cook until you get some browned and crusty bits, then push the pasta also to the sides of the pan. Repeat this step with the rice and lentils- adding oil and cooking to heat through and crisp up. When everything has been added, give the dish a good stir and salt to taste. Serve hot.
• Note: The best way to eat this as leftovers? Add a can or two of chopped tomatoes and simmer until hot through. Serve with crumbled feta on top. The sweetness of the tomatoes and saltiness of the feta make this version almost better than the first.

They do say that necessity is the mother of invention, and though I can’t quite claim to have invented muffin-cup frittatas (it seems that, oh, 90,000-odd people thought of it first), I’d say the phrase definitely rings true here.

As a vegetarian who isn’t particularly interested in developing a protein deficiency, I eat a lot of eggs. Not only for the nutrients they provide, but because they’re just so darn delicious. Scrambled eggs are a favourite around here, as are frittatas and, when I’ve got the time, quiches. The problem with the latter two options is the size issue- a 10″ tart or frittata makes sense for an evening meal or a weekend brunch with company, but not for a solitary, mid-week lunch. Unfortunately, it seems like those times are exactly when I crave this type of food.

The other day was just such an occasion; home alone, only moderately hungry, but craving a frittata. I was all set to ignore my stomach’s rumblings and toast myself an English muffin instead, when I remembered something I’d seen on a favourite blog at least a year ago: miniature frittatas, baked in muffin cups.

The flavours here are a favourite combination of mine, and I like them in any egg dish: frittatas, omelettes or even scrambled eggs. The combination of feta and mint is pure Mediterranean summer, and the addition of pasta gives the frittatas a body and bite that they wouldn’t otherwise have.

To that end, be warned: these adorable and innocuous-seeming little guys are filling. I could barely manage one (though that might have been due to all the snacking I was doing while cooking them- mmm pasta and feta). Luckily they keep well, and are fantastic cold or at room temperature, too.

• Muffin-cup Frittatas with Pasta, Feta and Mint
• makes 4 mini frittatas (perhaps more, if your muffin cups are small)
• 60g linguine, fettucine or other long pasta shape
  3 eggs
  2 Tbs. water
  2 Tbs. finely chopped mint
  2 tsp. finely chopped chives
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
  40g feta cheese
• 1. Put a large pot of water on to boil, salt it, and cook the pasta according to package instructions. When al dente, drain and rinse with cool water.
  
  2. While the pasta cooks, preheat the oven to 175°C/350°F. Butter the inside of 4 muffin cups very well (or use silicone) and set aside.
  
  3. In a small bowl, whisk the eggs with the water, herbs and salt and pepper until well blended. Set aside.
  
  4. Divide the now-cooked-and-rinsed pasta between the four muffin cups. Crumble the feta and divide it between the cups as well, pushing it down in between the pasta. Pour the egg mixture over so that each cup is 3/4 full.
  
  5. Bake for 20-25 minutes, until frittatas are just dry and still spongy when touched in the middle. Let cool for 5 minutes before serving.

Last night, after enjoying a drink at the local pub, Andrew and I stopped in to visit my sister and her boyfriend, both to catch up and see if there were any spare baked goods lying around. (She is a baking blogger, after all.) Naturally, the conversation soon turned to food.

“You know what I hate?” Hil asked, as she prepared a pizza for dinner. “Vegetarians who eat meat substitutes. Vegetarian chicken cutlets, vegetarian mince, vegetarian sausage- what’s the point?”

While “hate” might be a bit strong (she didn’t really mean it, anyway- I’m the sister given to emotional hyperbole), I completely agreed with her. I strongly believe in real food; food that’s natural, close to its intended form and isn’t pretending to be something else. This isn’t intended as elitist preaching; I just don’t like those meat substitutes my sister spoke of. In fact, I rarely even eat tofu.

It’s now been about 18 months since I gave up eating meat. What at first I viewed as a challenge turned out to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and now I barely even notice what I’m not eating. Of course, there are those few “off-limits” foods that I still crave occasionally.

You know the common-held belief that the one meat vegetarians miss is bacon?Bacon schmacon, I say. These days, the only meat I’m even tempted to miss is ground beef. I know you’re all scratching your heads and wondering where on earth my sense is, but to me, mince means food from my childhood. My Mum’s homemade hamburgers in the summer, spicy chili in the winter and her delicious spaghetti bolognese. My sister and I both mastered this dish by the age of 12, and have been making it ever since.

I don’t make my Mum’s bolognese anymore, but when I’m craving a quick, simple pasta sauce, I make this. Using red split lentils instead of meat, it’s hearty without being heavy. While it won’t make you believe you’re eating meat, it will make you want to add it to your real-foods roster.

Note: Don’t feel that this is just a pasta sauce; I’ve had it with vegetables, spaetzle, in an omelette- like any good sauce, it’s pretty darn versatile.

• Meaty But Not Really Pasta Sauce
• serves 6 with pasta
• 2 Tbs. olive oil
  1 medium yellow onion, chopped finely
  2 carrots, quartered lengthwise and chopped
  2 cloves garlic, minced
  1/2 tsp. chili flakes
  1 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
  1 Tbs. tomato paste
  1 x 400g can chopped tomatoes
  1 cup passatta or stock (if I have some passatta open I’ll use that, otherwise I’ll use water and boullion powder- either will make a good sauce)
  3/4 cup red split lentils
  sea salt and black pepper
• 1. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pan with a lid (I use a Dutch oven) over medium heat. When hot, add the onion and carrots and cook until soft and translucent, about 5 minutes.
  
  2. Add the garlic, chili flakes and thyme and cook, stirring frequently, for another 2 minutes. Add the tomato paste and stir to incorporate.
  
  3. Add the chopped tomatoes and passatta (or stock) to the pan and bring the mixture up to a simmer. Add the lentils, cover and turn the heat down so the mixture just simmers. Cook for 20 minutes until the lentils are tender stirring occasionally. (You may need to add a bit of water, but the sauce should be thick.)
  
  4. Season the sauce with salt and black pepper to taste. Serve over pasta, with parmesan cheese on top.

We all have our favourite flavours, right? The ones that keep tempting us, year after year, and become mainstays in our home cooking. Also the ones that as food bloggers we have to watch ourselves on, lest we become known as “the girl who writes that goat’s cheese blog“.

For me, those flavours include: goat’s cheese (clearly), caramelized onions, butternut squash, leeks, broccoli, sundried tomatoes, cumin, ginger, coriander, thyme and lemon. (And those are just the savoury ones; you’re lucky this isn’t a dessert blog!) Anything that combines two or more of these favourite flavours is bound to win my affection.

Come Autumn, when the squashes start appearing at the market, I go especially crazy for any combination of butternut squash with onions, nuts, sage, thyme and/or cheese. I’ve combined these ingredients, in various permutations, in countless pastas, risottos, tarts and salads. Yet still I go back for more.

With that in mind, today’s dish is a painfully obvious one. Yes, the onions here are roasted and so technically not caramelized, but the squash, goat’s cheese and thyme are all present and accounted for. Sigh, I’m a predictable little thing, aren’t I?

Heidi‘s recipe for Farro and Roasted Butternut Squash has been on my “to-make” list for some time, and a recent lunch at home with Andrew proved the perfect opportunity to add it to my roster of squash dishes. Since I’ve made rather a lot of farro-based salads lately, I was planning on replacing the farro here with brown rice or quinoa. Unfortunately, Andrew’s alarmed face stopped that idea in its tracks, and pasta it was.

To that pasta (whole wheat, so it’s not so bad) I added the roasted vegetables, some toasted nuts and some crumbled goat’s milk cheese. A simple balsamic vinaigrette brought it all together perfectly. And yes, it might have been obvious, boring and run-of-the-mill, but it was also very, very good.

Oh well- you can’t fight city hall, can you?

Note: This dish is meant to be warm and not hot, so don’t worry about finishing all the steps at the same time. It’s also good at room temperature, or even chilled.

• Roasted Squash with Whole Wheat Pasta
• adapted from 101 Cookbooks‘ Farro and Roasted Butternut Squash
• feeds 4
• 1 small butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2″ cubes
  1 small red onion, peeled and cut into 12 lengthwise wedges
  4 Tbs. olive oil
  1/2 tsp. dried thyme (use 1 tsp. fresh if you have it)
  pinch of sea salt
  150g whole wheat pasta (conchiglie and orecchiette work well)
  2 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
  20g pinenuts
  30g walnuts, chopped roughly
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
  30g soft goat’s cheese, crumbled
• 1. Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F. Put the cubed butternut squash in a shallow baking dish and scatter the pieces of onion (break them up as best you can) over the top. Add 2 Tbs. of olive oil, the thyme and a pinch of sea salt and toss well. Roast, tossing every 7 minutes or so, for approximately 25 minutes, until the squash is tender and browned. When you remove it from the oven, stir in 1 Tbs. of balsamic vinegar and set the dish aside to cool.
  
  2. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to the boil and cook the pasta according to package instructions. When it’s done, drain and remove to a large bowl. Toss with 1 Tbs. of olive oil and 1 Tbs. of balsamic vinegar and set aside.
  
  3. Heat a small frying pan over high heat. When it’s hot, add the nuts and cook for 3-4 minutes until nicely toasted (toss frequently). Remove from heat to cool.
  
  4. When the squash and onions are cool enough to handle, remove roughly half the onions (I chose the burnt, ie less pretty, ones) and chop them finely. Dump them into the bowl containing the pasta, followed by the squash and rest of the onions, two thirds of the nuts and the remaining 1 Tbs. of olive oil. Mix everything together gently and add salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle over the goat’s cheese and the rest of the nuts and serve.

You know how, as food bloggers*, we like to convince our readers that we always eat like this? That beautiful, creative, well thought out and healthy meals grace our tables daily and effortlessly? That we never succumb to take-out pizza, boxed cake mixes or store-bought vanilla extract?

(*I’m addressing this to “food bloggers” because I’m convinced that at least 90% of food blog-readers are food-blog writers, too.)

Well, in my house at least, the above is emphatically not the case. Sure, I try to eat healthily most of the time, and the last time I used a baking mix was years ago, but come on- I’m not Super Foodie Girl, here. To prove this, I feel like it might be time to come clean about one of my favourite meals, one that is eaten all too often in my house: macaroni and cheese. 

I’ve talked about my love for mac n’ cheese before, but I don’t think I really admitted how often we eat this around here. I’d say some variation of this dish graces our table every week, either because I’ve planned it, or because we’re too tired or uninspired to think of anything else. Plus, it’s the all-time favourite meal of my three-year-old child 26-year-old boyfriend, and what Andrew wants, Andrew gets. 

Luckily, no amount of fatigue can quell my kitchen creativity, so I’m always trying out new recipes for our favourite dish. Some experiments are deemed failures (Andrew wasn’t too keen on my Mac n’ Cheese with Caramelized Onions and Sundried Tomatoes the other week) and some are pronounced winners. Truthfully, the scale tips in favour of the latter (it’s sort of hard to make mac n’ cheese bad, after all), so we now have a lengthy roster of winners to choose from. 

This version uses the mild, onion-y flavour of leeks and the tartness of sour cream to keep things interesting, along with a healthy (er, unhealthy) dose of mature cheddar and parmesan. I usually use whole wheat pasta for it, if only because the extra nutrients soothe my food-blogging guilt, slightly. 

• Macaroni and Cheese with Leeks and Sour Cream
• serves 3
• 250g pasta, any shape you like
  1 Tbs. butter
  2 leeks
  1 Tbs. flour
  1/2 cup + 1 Tbs. milk
  1/3 cup sour cream (low-fat if you must)
  1 cup grated cheddar cheese
  1/4 cup grated parmesan 
  sea salt and black pepper
• 1. Bring a large pot of water to boil, and when it does, salt it generously. Cook pasta according to packet instructions. 
  
  2. While the pasta cooks, slice the leeks (white and light green parts only) into 1cm rounds, and rinse them well. Mix together the flour with 1 Tbs. of milk in a small cup, and set aside. 
  
  3. In a medium-sized saucepan, heat the butter over medium heat. Add the sliced leeks and cook for 5-6 minutes until softened.
  
  4. Add the remaining 1/2 cup of milk and the sour cream to the pan, and stir well. The mixture will begin to curdle- DO NOT panic! Keep stirring, and it will come together. 
  
  5. Stirring all the time, pour in the milk/flour mixture and wait until the sauce thickens- about three minutes. Add the cheeses and stir until melted. Taste, season with salt and pepper and take off the heat. 
  
  6. When the pasta is ready, drain and toss with the sauce. Serve immediately. 

I hope you’ll permit me to begin this post with a bit of a rant:

How unfair is it that it’s only the beginning of August, and the days are noticeably shorter already? Obviously I realize that science (or whatever- physics?) dictates that the Summer Solstice is sometime at the end of June, and after that the days get shorter. Fine, I get it. But if I was in charge of the world (and therefore physics answered to me), I wouldn’t let the days shorten until the end of August at least. The whole thing just puts a damper on summer, doesn’t it?

I didn’t know this until this year, but the whole thing puts a bit of a damper on food blogging, too. See, food blogging requires food photography, and food photography requires natural light. Andrew and I tend to eat our evening meal quite late, especially in the summer. I can’t get hungry for dinner until 8 or even 9 o’ clock on most evenings. So far, it’s been working well: I cook, snap a few photos in the kitchen, serve dinner, bask in Andrew’s praise of my prodigious talent, etc, etc. 

The other night though, I ran into a problem with this routine. I plated up the meal and set it on the kitchen table as usual, but try as I might, I just could not get a photo that wasn’t blurry, too dark, or comprised of odd pasta-shaped shadows. I’m loathe to use a flash (horrible invention, that) so in the end I just gave up. Luckily, the dish in question makes fantastic leftovers, so I was able to photograph some the next day, no problem. But it does beg the question: what on earth am I going to do come winter? Have dinner at 3 in the afternoon?

Well I won’t worry about that now, but I will share the meal that caused the question to pop up in the first place. This dish of leeks braised in white wine, served over pasta, is one of my favourite. I love leeks, and anything that gives them a starring role, rather than the bit-part they’re too often confined to, is bound to appeal to me. Braising them in white wine until they’re sweet and tender? I’m sold. 

Adapted from a Jamie Oliver recipe, I’ve simplified this a touch, doing away with the Porcini Pangrattato (though it is delicious, if you can be bothered), and adding a bit of cream for richness. It’s fantastic made fresh and works as leftovers too; great for the obsessively photographic among us, no?

• Pasta with Leeks Braised in White Wine
• serves 3
• 250g pasta, any shape you like
  3 good-sized leeks, outer leaves discarded
  2 Tbs. olive oil
  2 Tbs. butter
  2 cloves garlic, sliced thinly
  1 tsp. fresh thyme leaves (I’ve used dried in a pinch)
  3/4 cup white wine
  1/2 cup stock or water
  1/4 cup cream 
  salt and pepper 
  grated parmesan, to serve 
• 1. Put a large pot of water on to boil. When it does, salt generously and add the pasta to cook according to package instructions. 
  
  2. Meanwhile, slice the leeks into 1cm thick slices, white and light green parts only. Put in a colander and rinse very well- leeks can hide a lot of dirt! Drain and set aside. 
  
  3. In a large heavy-bottomed pan with a lid, heat the olive oil and butter over medium heat. When the butter foams, add the garlic and thyme and cook for one minute. Add the chopped leeks and stir until everything is coated well. 
  
  4. Pour the white wine and stock over the leeks and cover. Turn the heat down to low and allow to cook for 25-30 minutes, until the leeks are quite tender. You can stir occasionally and may have to add some extra stock or water to keep the dish from drying out- you want it thick and saucy, but not soupy. 
  
  5. When the leeks are tender, remove from the heat and stir in the cream. Salt and pepper to taste. You can serve this as a sauce over the pasta, or add the pasta to the pan and mix everything together- both are delicious. Serve with parmesan grated on top. 

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.  

Stuffing pasta with cabbage seems like a half-baked idea, I know. For many of us, doing anything with cabbage seems a bit far-out. I used to hate cabbage- well, actually, I used to think I hated cabbage, which is something completely different. We didn’t eat it all that often when I was growing up, so I never really got the chance to decide for myself whether I hated it- but every kid hates cabbage, right?

Andrew proves my theory; he did and still does loathe the stuff. He calls it “poor person” food, an idea planted by the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, one of his favourites as a kid. At the start of the film, Charlie’s family is so poor that all they can afford to eat is cabbage. (Hmm, I wonder if that film is also the reason Andrew loves chocolate so much?) 

It wasn’t until I moved to the UK that I realised how great cabbage can be. Not only is it healthy, delicious, and yes, cheap, but this veg is a total chameleon. I love it braised and sweet or sautéed and spicy. In my family, though, there is one cabbage dish that stands head and shoulders above the rest: boiled, with butter, salt and pepper. Sounds horrible, I know, but with the right ingredients, it’s divine.

Still, no matter how it’s made, Andrew never really warmed to the stuff. Until this, that is. This cabbage-stuffed cannelloni is one dish he’ll happily eat, and I defy any cabbage dissenter to feel otherwise. Originally the recipe (much adapted from a Jamie Oliver one) called for a combination of cauliflower and broccoli, which I strayed from one day when I didn’t have any broccoli in the house. It’s even better this way, so I’ve never gone back. 

Though tasty, this isn’t a quick weeknight meal. The two sauces are practically effortless to make, but the filling does require its fair share of simmering, mixing and mashing. And that doesn’t even take into account stuffing the cannelloni; slow and tricky work, though also calming in a mindless sort of way. The good news is that the whole thing can be made in advance, and kept, covered tightly, in the fridge for up to 24 hours.  

• Cabbage and Cauliflower Cannelloni
• serves 4
• Filling
  1  small head cauliflower, cut into florets
  3 Tbs. olive oil 
  1 small onion, finely chopped
  2 cloves garlic, minced
  3/4 tsp. chili flakes
  1/2 small pointy cabbage (or green cabbage), finely chopped
  sea salt and black pepper
  1/4 cup grated parmesan
  1/3 cup ricotta    

  Tomato Sauce
  1 cup pasatta or simple tomato sauce
  1 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
  sea salt and black pepper

  White Sauce
  2/3 cup crème fraîche (low-fat is fine)
  1/3 cup ricotta
  1/4 cup grated parmesan
  sea salt and black pepper

  12 cannelloni noodles (roughly 125g)
  small bunch of basil leaves, torn
  150g ball of fresh mozzarella, sliced
  olive oil, for drizzling

• 1. For the filling, bring a medium pot of water to the boil. When it boils, add the cauliflower florets and cook until tender, approximately 5 minutes. Drain and set aside, but reserve 1 cup of the cooking water. 
  
  2. In a large, heavy-bottomed and lidded pan, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the onion, garlic and chili flakes and cook for about 5 minutes, until just softened. Add the cabbage, cauliflower florets, reserved cooking water, and salt and pepper to taste. Cover the pan and cook for 20-30 minutes, stirring every so often. You may have to add a bit more water from time to time, but remove the lid for the last 5 minutes, so that it all cooks off. 
  
  3. Remove the pan from the heat and, with a potato masher, crush the cauliflower into the rest of the ingredients; everything should be very soft at this stage. Mix in the parmesan and ricotta and set aside to cool.
  
  4. Now, make your sauces. In one bowl or jug, mix together the passata, vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. In another, whisk the ricotta with the crème fraîche, and salt and pepper to taste. 
  
  5. Preheat your oven to 190°C/375°F. Lightly oil the bottom of an 8″ x 10″ baking dish and pour in the tomato sauce. Distribute evenly and set aside. 
  
  6. The filling mixture should now be cool enough to handle. Fill the cannelloni with a small teaspoon; with a creamier mixture it can be piped in, but this is chunkier and requires a bit more time. Fill the tubes until almost bursting, and lay flat on top of the tomato sauce.
  
  7. When all the cannelloni are filled, pour the white sauce over the top and spread it evenly to cover. Sprinkle over the torn basil and lay over the sliced mozzarella. Drizzle on some olive oil and bake for 30-40 minutes. The top should be golden brown and the mixture will bubble at the edges. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.   

Some of you might be wondering what I’ve been up to lately. Or more importantly, what all that produce in Sunday’s post has been up to. The sad truth is: not a whole lot. I can’t bring myself to feel too bad about it, though. My friend Fiona (she of the shared cheesecake love) is visiting in London for a few days, and I’ve been showing her the town. We’ve been window shopping in Covent Garden, museum hopping in Trafalgar Square, and tomorrow we’ve got a day of antiquing at Portobello market planned.

You might think that home-cooked meals have been few and far between, but not so. I’ve definitely been cooking, but so far it’s been of the quick-to-prepare and delicious-but-not-very-photogenic variety. Obviously, lulls like this leave me a little high and dry on the blogging front. Luckily, I’ve taken to photographing most of what I cook anyway, so a quick scroll through iPhoto is usually enough to come up with a post idea.

For today, then: a fallback meal for a fallback blog post. I’ve been making versions of this salad for years: sometimes with beans, sometimes with pasta, and sometimes with a mix of the two. The mainstays are good canned tuna (preferably the Italian kind, packed in olive oil), fresh green onions and a generous amount of lemon juice. This is one dish I’m never tempted to add things to: other than some olive oil and seasoning, it doesn’t need anything else.

I call this a salad but I’m not sure that’s what it is, technically. (What is a “technical” salad, anyway?) The pasta is hot but the rest of the ingredients are either cold or room-temperature, so it ends up being sort of warm. I love it this way, or right from the fridge; it keeps well and even improves over a few days. Done that way, this is truly a last-minute meal. 

• Pasta, Bean and Tuna Salad
• serves 2, generously 
• 150g whole wheat pasta (any smallish shape works well)
  1 x 400g can cannelini or borlotti beans
  1 x 185g can tuna (preferably packed in olive oil, but water works fine, too)
  4 spring onions, chopped finely 
  zest and juice of half a lemon 
  3 Tbs. finely chopped parsley 
  up to 1/4 cup olive oil
  sea salt
  black pepper 
• 1. Put a large pot of water on to boil. When it boils, salt it generously and cook the pasta according to package instructions. 
  
  2. Drain and rinse the beans and place in a large bowl. Drain the oil or water from the tuna and flake it into the bowl, as well. Add the onions, lemon zest, lemon juice and parsley to the bowl, and set aside.
  
  3. When the pasta is cooked, drain and add the the bowl. Mix gently and add as much olive oil as needed to lightly coat everything- if your tuna was packed in olive oil you will need less, more if it was packed in water. Salt and pepper to taste (I use lots of pepper in this). Serve immediately, or store in the fridge until later.  

I’ve been fighting a summer cold for the last few days. I always find fair-weather illness extremely annoying- not only do you feel sick, but you feel guilty for feeling sick. We’re made to feel that colds should only occur when it’s, you know, cold, so we convince ourselves that we should feel fine- after all, the sun is shining outside and the temperature is balmy. But, try as we might, we just can’t ignore the sniffling, sneezing and unmistakable presence of phlegm. (Sorry, I do realize that the word “phlegm” has no place on a food blog. It won’t happen again.)

Luckily, there are things that can make us feel better, the most important one being food. Sure, people are always saying that “drinking lots of fluids” and “getting enough vitamin C” are the surest ways back to health, but I prefer my medicine in a comforting, home-cooked package. Common knowledge tells us that chicken noodle soup is the cold cure-all, and though I don’t eat chicken, I’m not about to argue with Common Knowledge. 

So, what’s the vegetarian equivalent of chicken noodle soup? I think the jury might still be out on that one, but this soup did me just fine when I made it a few days ago. Adapted from my book du jour, Jamie’s Italy, it’s part pasta dish, part thick stew, and completely delicious. 

Made from chickpeas, pasta and not much else, its simplicity will appeal to your inner child in need of nourishment. But using good stock and topped with fresh parsley and parmesan, it’s flavourful enough to appeal to the more healthy among us, as well. What can I say?  I’m may not be cured, but at least I’m well-fed.

• Chickpea and Pasta Soup
• adapted from Jamie’s Italy by Jamie Oliver
• 2 Tbs. olive oil
  1 small onion, chopped finely
  1 stick of celery, chopped finely
  2 cloves garlic, minced
  1 tsp. dried thyme
  2 x 400g cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
  500ml vegetable stock or water
  100g macaroni, ditalini or other small pasta shape (about 1 cup)
  salt and pepper to taste
  1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
  2 Tbs. chopped parsley
• 1. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat. Add the onion, celery, garlic and thyme, and cook, with the lid on, for about 15 minutes. The onion should be very soft and translucent, but should not colour. 

  2. Add the chickpeas and stock, re-cover, and cook for 30 minutes. Remove from heat. 

  3. Using a slotted spoon, remove about half the chickpeas to a bowl. Puree the remaining chickpeas and broth, using an immersion blender (or a food precessor). Return the whole chickpeas to the pot, along with the pasta and a good pinch of salt.

  4. Return pot to the heat and cook gently, covered, until the pasta is tender. This will take slightly longer than the package indicates, as the soup is so thick. If the soup seems too thick to cook the pasta, add some boiling water from the kettle. 

  5. When the pasta is cooked, remove soup from the heat and season to taste, adding a good amount of black pepper. Stir in most of the parmesan and parsley and allow to cool for five minutes. Serve with the remaining parmesan and parsley as a garnish.