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  • Regina Schrambling’s Almond-Cranberry Cookies

    Cookie_2

    Well, actually, these aren't meant to be made with almonds. They're supposed to be pistachio-cranberry cookies (with vanilla extract instead of almond extract, and salted, chopped pistachios instead of toasted almonds). But yesterday was the kind of dark, cold day that simply begged for a lit oven and a tray or two of baking cookies to perfume the house, and since I had everything I needed except the pistachios and the vanilla extract, I thought it'd be okay to fudge with the recipe a bit.

    And it was! The cookies are soft, tender little things that are filled with nuts and fruit which give the cookies some heft and an agreeable bite. The kosher salt, as always, brings out a tasty sparkle in the dense fug of brown sugar and butter. You can chew on a few of these while hugging your mug of hot tea close to your body under a blanket on the couch and not feel so bad about the Sunday blues after all.

    Otherwise, you can wait until the cookies cool, stack them neatly in a pretty little bag with a tie, and give them to your boyfriend who has had quite a long, tiring weekend, or bring them along to wherever you're having Thanksgiving to be nibbled while the menu is being planned, or, of course, just hoard them happily for your afternoon tea. They're simple, wholesome cookies that bring comfort and warmth to these gray autumn days.

    Almond-Cranberry Cookies
    Makes about 3 dozen cookies

    1 3/4 cups flour
    1 teaspoon baking powder
    3/4 teaspoon baking soda
    1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
    3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
    1 1/4 cups packed light brown sugar
    1 large egg
    1 teaspoon almond extract
    1 cup blanched almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped
    1/2 cup dried cranberries

    1. Stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt and set aside.

    2. Cream the butter and brown sugar together with a wooden spoon until smooth. Blend in the egg and vanilla. Gradually blend in the dry ingredients until well mixed. Stir in the nuts and cranberries.

    3. Drop the dough by tablespoons onto ungreased baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches between each. Bake the cookies in a 375-degree oven until light golden brown (centers should be soft), about 10 minutes. Remove from oven and let stand 2 minutes, then transfer to a rack to cool completely.

  • King Arthur Flour’s Fudge Pudding Cake

    Cream_4

    This is possibly the easiest chocolate dessert you'll ever make. That doesn't mean that it's the best dessert or the chocolatiest, because it's not. But it does win the crown of easiest, and when your dinner preparation takes twice as long as you thought it would and you realize that baking dessert was the simplest part of your night and you get to impress such charming guests as these with your baking skills, then ease is what you're going for.

    The recipe comes from The King Arthur Flour Whole Grain Baking book, where those selfless elves at King Arthur Flour aim to make whole-wheat baking a lot more accessible (and tasty) than it's been in the past. It's an admirable attempt, for sure, but I think what I'm realizing is that I like whole grains in my breakfast foods, but not necessarily in my after-dinner desserts.

    You're supposed to want to be wholesome in the morning, after rising and shining. But after dinner, at night, richness and flavor and mouthfeel take precedence over good nutrition. No?

    The pudding cake is one of those miracles of science wherein liquid and solid batters essentially swap places in the oven, creating a cakey top and a pudding-y bottom when you spoon out the cake. We served ours with heavy cream, for pouring, and creme fraiche, for dolloping, and because I tried this cake both ways (I can be such a glutton), I can tell you that the tang of the creme fraiche coaxes out all kind of chocolate-y flavors from the cake and elevates this ho-hum dessert into something a little more special (the heavy cream just sort of moistens it all without adding any real character).

    But you can't really escape the fact that you're eating a whole-wheat dessert – the flour is too assertive. After our bison steak dinner the other night, the pudding cake was a nice enough end, but the leftovers sat untouched in the fridge for three days before I took pity on them and threw them out. I think that's the real judgement here.

    Fudge Pudding Cake
    Yields 12 to 16 servings

    1¼ cups whole wheat flour
    ¾ cup granulated sugar
    ¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
    2 teaspoons baking powder
    ½ teaspoon salt
    1 large egg
    ¾ cup milk
    2 teaspoons vanilla extract
    ½ teaspoon instant espresso powder
    4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
    ¾ cup, packed, light or dark brown sugar
    1½ cups hot brewed coffee or hot water
    Vanilla or coffee ice cream for serving 

    1. Heat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, granulated sugar, ½ cup cocoa, baking powder and salt. In another bowl, beat egg into milk and add vanilla, espresso powder and melted butter. Add to dry ingredients. Mix to blend. Spread in a 9-inch square baking pan or a glass or ceramic baking dish.

    2. Whisk remaining cocoa with brown sugar and spread over batter. Slowly pour hot coffee or water on top. Do not mix.

    3. Place pan in oven and bake 35 to 40 minutes, until batter appears set and sauce is bubbling. Remove to a rack and let rest 15 minutes. To serve, scoop portions into goblets or onto plates and top each with ice cream.

  • Regina Schrambling’s Lentil and Duck Salad with Hazelnut Dressing

    Salad_3

    I don't know if you noticed, but there hasn't been much balance in terms of cooking from both coasts here lately. Although it wasn't done on purpose, it's been all NY Times all the time, and my LA Times recipes have begun to nurse a distinct grudge against me in their little corner. No more! I promise. It's back to fair and balanced.

    One of my favorite things about the LA Times food section is their round-up of the year's Top Ten recipes in December each year. You can rest assured that the list is foolproof (remember this cake? and these eggs? Both on the 2005 list) and it's fun to read about what the editors loved the most. It humanizes the section, and the writers, which is something I find often lacking in the pages of the NY Times.

    Regina Schrambling wrote an article about different lentil varieties last year and included this dish that features classic French combinations of frisee, duck confit, little green lentils and a mustard vinaigrette. It's an elegant main-course salad that's also quite satisfying and hearty. I love salads that have warm and cool components, varying textures and a whole layer of flavors, and this salad has all of those things.

    There's a lightly dressed tangle of barely bitter frisee topped with a warm mound of delicate, herbed lentils and shredded duck confit (broiled for a bit so that you have tender meat and crispy skin and a few unctuous bits of duck fat mixed in there) that's been dressed with the same mustard vinaigrette. The whole thing is topped off with a shower of browned, chopped hazelnuts that provide crunch and a warm, toasty flavor (underlined if you're using hazelnut oil in the dressing).

    Despite all the separate components, everything comes together so quickly and easily that you have no excuse for not making this (well, duck confit can be rather expensive, so that's a hinderance, but I suppose you could always go all Paula Wolfert and make your own to cut costs). And despite the hearty pieces of duck, this is actually a relatively light meal. And pretty. And so French. What's not to love?

    Lentil and Duck Salad with Hazelnut Dressing
    Serves 4

    1 cup French green lentils
    1 leek, white part only, cleaned well and diced
    4 cloves garlic, peeled
    2 bay leaves
    1 teaspoon salt, plus additional to taste
    1 carrot, peeled
    2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
    2 tablespoons Champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar
    1/4 cup hazelnut oil (I used olive oil)
    2 confit duck legs
    1/4 cup chopped chives
    1 tablespoon chopped tarragon
    Freshly ground black pepper to taste
    1 small head frisée, washed, dried well and torn into 1-inch pieces
    1/4 cup toasted, skinned and coarsely chopped hazelnuts

    1. Pick over the lentils to remove any stones. Rinse well in a fine sieve under cold running water. Place in a medium saucepan. Add the leek, garlic, bay leaves and 1 teaspoon salt.

    2. Cut the carrot in half crosswise, then lengthwise and add to the pot. Add cold water to cover by 2 inches.

    3. Bring to a boil, stirring often. Reduce the heat to very low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are just tender but still firm, 17 to 20 minutes. Do not overcook. Remove from heat and drain well.

    4. While the lentils cook, heat the oven to 500 degrees. Whisk together the mustard and vinegar in a small bowl. Whisk in the oil to emulsify.

    5. Discard the bay leaves, garlic and carrot from the lentils. Combine the lentils and all but 1 tablespoon of the vinaigrette in a shallow bowl, mixing well. Set aside in a warm spot.

    6. Lay the duck legs on a foil-lined broiler pan. Broil them 6 inches from the heat source, turning once, until the skin is well crisped and the meat is warmed through, about 10 to 15 minutes. Using a fork and knife, shred or chop the meat and skin into rough pieces, trimming excess fat.

    7. Add the meat to the lentils and mix well. Add the chives and tarragon and salt and pepper to taste.

    8. To serve, toss the frisée with the remaining 1 tablespoon vinaigrette and distribute it among 4 salad plates. Top with the lentil mixture. Sprinkle with hazelnuts.

  • The Pink of Perfection

    Pop

    M. Kennedy, the ringleader of this NaBloPoMo business, has directed us post-addled writers to relax at the halfway mark. "Post something from Youtube!" she says blithely. Well, dear readers, I have something much better than that.

    Mosey on over to Sarah and Sebastian’s fantastically clever site, The Pink of Perfection, for video footage of my tussle with Florence Fabricant’s Bison Steaks with Smoky Wild Rice.

    Though the sound of my voice makes me want to crawl under a chair and never come out again, Sarah and Sebastian did an amazing job. And they’re awfully sweet, too.

  • Jim Lahey’s No-Knead Bread

    Bread_3

    I imagine many people's weekends were spent like mine – with a bowl of flour, instant yeast and water fermenting in a warm corner of the kitchen as they went about their business, courtesy of Jim Lahey and that kitchen imp, Mark Bittman.

    Yes, you all know how I feel about the Minimalist. I usually downright ignore his column when Wednesdays roll around. But this time, I simply could not. I've spent too many Saturdays lingering around Sullivan Street Bakery, gnawing on a slice of the best pizza bianca to be found in New York or walking back home with a crinkly bag of filone to ignore Jim Lahey's spectacular recipe for bread that is the easiest I've ever tried, with among the best results.

    Yes! A fantastic recipe! Something to rave about! Finally. What a relief. If you all aren't running home to buy instant yeast (not that stuff that comes in little packets, that's not instant) and throw together your loaf of supremely gratifying, holey, tasty bread, well, then I can't help you either. Do it! You'll be so happy you did. And then you can laminate this recipe and add it to the hall of fame.

    It's so easy – you mix together some instant yeast, flour (I used a mix of bread flour and AP flour, half and half) salt and some water to form a "shaggy" dough. You cover this tightly and let it sit undisturbed for 12 to 18 hours. Then you sort of manhandle the dough around for a bit, let it rise a little longer while you preheat an oven and a cast-iron pot (I used a round one, but next time might try the smaller oval pot), and then dump your wobbly dough into the hot pot and let it bake in the oven (first covered, then uncovered) until you have a golden, hollow-when-thumped, crackling loaf of bread (it crackles! As it cools!).

    You have to let it cool before slicing, but when you do, beware. A taste of those slices of bread – plain, spread with honey, whatever – will make the people around you become singularly fixated and before you know it the entire loaf will be gone. Gone! It's okay. You can make another loaf and barely even dirty your hands.

    Go! Bake! NOW!

    No-Knead Bread
    Yields one 1 1/2 pound loaf

    3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
    ¼ teaspoon instant yeast
    1¼ teaspoons salt
    Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.

    1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

    2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

    3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

    4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

  • In My Kitchen

    Me

    1. A rainbow collection of cast-iron cookware collected over the years: the green one given to me by my father in college along with my first (and still, best) kitchen knife, the orange one a birthday present from a friend last year (thanks, Kirsten!), the blue one scored for 75% off at Broadway Panhandler when I first moved to New York.

    2. My plates from Clignancourt. I have an entire box of mismatched plates and bols from my year in Paris sitting in my mother’s basement and quite possibly driving her mad.

    3. An Urbino poster that might be older than me. This thing has followed me my entire life – from Italy to Berlin to Boston to New York. I feel like it’s part of my visual-psychological history.

    4. Additional attachments for the mighty RobotCoupe, which I’ve been neglecting lately. But no more! I feel the urge for scones coming on. Pastry in the food processor, oh yes.

    5. Me, caught off guard. (Pissed? Surprised? Probably just hungry. Stand up straight, for Chrissakes.) Oh, and that sweater is a thirty-year old, thin cable-knit, Tse thing that my mother has been wearing my whole life. Well, until I nicked it from her. I’m such a lucky daughter.

    6. The glass door to the backyard patio where leaves form a carpet and my roommate recently found (and disposed of, because she is a much braver and better person than I) a dead pigeon. DEAD CARRION ON THE BACK PATIO, people. But it’s also rather nice for drinking beers in the summer months. Besides, for outdoor space in NYC? You take what you can get.

    7. A perfectly situated drying rack, which drives Ben nuts because he has managed to single-handedly throw that thing – laden with my lovely Parisian plates, by the way – to the ground on at least five separate occasions and instead of taking responsibility for his klutziness he blames these mishaps on its "precarious" location. Whatever, sweetie. It’s a good thing you’re so cute.

  • Chloe Doutre-Roussel’s Spicy Hot Chocolate

    Choc_1

    My photography skills are quite limited when it comes to brownish liquids in white mugs, it seems. Trust me when I tell you that this tasted much, much better than it looks. Well, duh. Could a vanilla bean and chopped bittersweet chocolate and milk and cream and spunky spices and two spoonfuls of sugar all melted together into a warm, frothy drink really taste bad?

    Of course not. But the real question here is, can I actually devote an entire post to a mug of hot chocolate? Has NaBloPoMo gotten me to sink this low?

    Chloe Doutre-Roussel, the chocolate buyer for Fortnum & Mason and author of The Chocolate Connoisseur, was profiled in the New York Times Magazine last year as a choco-dependente (sadly, as hard as I try, moi aussi). Alongside her profile was a recipe for spiced hot chocolate (ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, and… licorice powder? Optional, thank God).

    Last weekend, as a soothing cap to the Sunday evening blues, I made Doutre-Roussel's recipe (well, actually, it's her friend Ingrid's, but whatever). The recipe is a bit puzzling, what with the addition of two spoonfuls of filtered water and the 45-minute steepage time and the fact that a pinch of black pepper diluted in all that liquid does not for spicy hot chocolate make (spiced, maybe. Spicy? No).

    But still, like I said before, melt all those tasty things together and you're likely to end up with something you wouldn't kick out of bed. (Which, incidentally, is where we drank our hot chocolate. Too much information?) The verdict, however, is that this really wasn't worth the trouble. Just go to City Bakery or to Paris for hot chocolate that will knock your socks off.

    And now that I have entirely outdone myself with ravishing eloquence and (not so) rhetorical questioning, I leave you. Oh right, until tomorrow. Sob. Are you sick of me yet?

    Spiced Hot Chocolate
    Serves 4

    1/2 vanilla bean
    2 cups whole milk
    2 tablespoons mineral or filtered water
    1 pinch ground ginger
    1 pinch cinnamon
    1 pinch black pepper
    1 pinch licorice powder (optional)
    3 1/2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
    4 teaspoons natural cocoa powder
    1 to 2 teaspoons sugar
    3 tablespoons heavy cream

    1. Split the vanilla bean in half lengthwise, scrape out the seeds and place the seeds and pod in a medium saucepan. Add the milk, water and spices and bring to a simmer over medium-low heat. Whisk in the chocolate and cocoa powder until melted. Add the sugar to taste and then the cream. Let cool for 45 minutes.

    2. To serve, remove the vanilla bean, return to the stove, and whisk over low heat until frothy and warm. 

  • Nigel Slater’s Chicken and Rice Salad

    Rice_4

    I'm not going to be beat around the bush here. Gentle readers, I have to tell you, this NaBloPoMo thing? Is exhausting me. It's been such a great week, what with those elections and the first female Speaker of the House and healing my great heartbreak from 2004 (and, frankly, 2000, but let's not even get into that because the rage heartbreak there is unhealable) and all, but mostly I just want to lie down and take a nap. Daily posting is wearing me out, friends.

    But because I am nothing if not committed, I am forging on. Onward ho!

    Last weekend, while pouncing upon clams and chorizo for dinner, I grabbed a rotisserie chicken as well. It was too late in the day to roast our own, and I knew Ben needed more than a soupy bowl of clams with crusty bread for dinner. I boiled and mashed some potatoes and thought about dressing a salad (sometimes that's enough), and there we had it, our fine little dinner. But we barely made a dent in the chicken (I was too concerned with finishing every last drop in the bowl of clams) and I found myself contemplating the remains of it the next day.

    In The Kitchen Diaries, Slater has quite a few thoughts on leftovers, sometimes with full recipes and sometimes just written out as thoughts. But then he'll get moody and leftovers will be declared a waste of time. Soon after that, though, he'll go back to concocting delicious meals out of cold, sliced meat and day-old noodles and whatever else you've got lying around the house. They clearly inspire him.

    I freely admit that leftovers rarely inspire me. There's something about day-old food that usually leaves me feeling nauseated (though I'd like to point out here that for the sake of frugality and the plight of starving people around the world, I usually do choke down whatever's sitting in my fridge for lunch the next day – aren't I a martyr, I know). But if I can create a fresh, new meal using older ingredients, then that makes the whole process a little bit more pleasant.

    And so it went with this leftover chicken carcass. While I carefully picked every last scrap of meat off of it, I soaked and rinsed some basmati rice, and then boiled it in barely salted water until it was tender. The chicken strips were tossed in a dressing of fish sauce, lime juice, olive oil and chopped red chilis (I left the mint out because I didn't have any – but I added chopped scallions. So there.). The cooled rice was added to the dressed chicken and the whole thing was tossed for good measure.

    The result? A pungent, spicy, interesting take on that most pedestrian of leftovers: roast chicken. The lime juice tamed the funk of the fish sauce, and though I would usually say to keep fish sauce far away from chicken (especially after this), that similar gaminess didn't come out here. We didn't let ours sit for 20 minutes, as he instructs you to, and I'm actually quite glad I didn't. I liked the hurried freshness of the salad, and the fact that I could still taste the herb rub on the cold chicken separately from the spicy dressing.

    Regular old roast chicken turned into a cooling, faintly Asian, main-course salad and we ate up the entire bowl. Isn't it great when you discover a whole new approach to something you only ever thought of a certain way?

    Chicken and Rice Salad
    Serves 2

    1 cup basmati rice
    1 3/4 cups sprouts (mung bean, lentil, etc)
    2 fresh, red chili peppers
    6 sprigs mint
    2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
    2 tablespoons lime juice
    3 tablespoons olive oil
    several handfuls of leftover chicken

    1. Wash the rice, put it in a small pot and cover it with the same volume of water. Add a pinch of salt and bring to a boil. Turn the heat down and let the rice simmer, covered, until the water has evaporated and deep holes have appeared in the surface of the rice. Turn off the heat and let the rice sit, covered, in its pot for 10 minutes. Fluff up the rice and let it cool.

    2. Rinse the sprouts in cold running water and drain. Make the dressing by chopping and seeding the chilis, chopping the mint leaves (throw away the stems), and mixing them together in a serving dish with the fish sauce, lime juice and olive oil.

    3. Cut the chicken into thin strips. Toss the chicken with the dressing, then add the cooled rice. Mix gently and check the seasoning.

  • Nigel Slater’s Clams with Ham and Sherry

    Clams_1

    I actually don't know what to call this post. Because I took inspiration, yes, from Nigel Slater's recipe for Clams with Ham and Sherry, but then, so inspired by his slapdash manner, I found myself improvising everything. I ended up with a succulent, savory bowlful of New Zealand cockles and chorizo. So, here's my compromise. You go and buy The Kitchen Diaries so you have Slater's original recipe, and below you'll find my interpretation of it. Deal?

    I made this dish on Saturday night, after I had bulldozed my way through Slater's book and found myself overcome with a craving for shellfish and pork. To be totally honest, I had meant to make Russ Parsons' Monkfish and Clams with Chorizo for dinner, but Whole Foods had no monkfish and I was left to improvise. Also, I received a distinctly lukewarm message from Ben on the subject of fish stews, so it was probably just as well.

    I hunted down chorizo in the meat department, but the only thing I could find was a fresh sausage, and I'm thinking that this recipe was perhaps meant to be made using the dried, Spanish version. But it didn't matter. This is one of those liberating recipes that really leaves everything up to your whimsy. The fresh chorizo is Mexican (right?), so there are some faint cumin notes in there, too.

    The best part is that this thing is all about instant gratification. I guarantee that there are few other recipes that cook up so quickly and deliver so potently on flavor and rustic elegance. I dumped my cockles and chorizo into one bowl and served it at the table with a crusty Tom Cat baguette (for dipping in the pot liquor).

    With a nice, lightly dressed salad for afterwards, this could actually be a fantastic little dinner for two. The cockles were tender and sweet, and the crumbled chorizo gave each sweet bite a pleasant kick of flavor. The parsley smoothed out the edges. It was, in two words, completely satisfying. And the kind of thing you can make once and keep in your memorized repertoire forever after. And for that alone, the book is worth buying.

    And now I leave you to bite my nails over Montana and Virginia. I can barely stand it, people.

    Cockles with Chorizo
    Serves 4 as an appetizer

    1 pound of New Zealand cockles or small clams
    1 tablespoons olive oil
    2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
    1 chorizo sausage
    1/2 cup dry white wine (I used the remains of a Muscadet)
    1 handful of chopped flatleaf parsley

    1. Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pan over medium heat, then add in the garlic and the sliced and diced chorizo. Cook the chorizo until the fat has rendered and the sausage is browned.

    2. When everything is sizzling, add the white wine and the washed clams. Cover with a lid and let it cook for two to three minutes, until the clams have opened. Top with the chopped parsley and check for seasoning (it might need black pepper, but will need no salt).

    3. Serve, in one big bowl, or in several individual ones, with lots of fresh, crusty bread for dipping.

  • Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries

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    In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you right away that I was sent a copy of Nigel Slater’s latest book by his US publisher last week to review here. But I’ll also tell you that I would have happily paid full price for this book, because ever since discovering the Observer Food Monthly online and then reading Toast, I am convinced that Nigel Slater is my kitchen hero.

    The Kitchen Diaries is the best cookbook I’ve read or cooked from in a long time. Slater kept a diary of everything he had for dinner over the course of one year. Most of the time, he cooked his meals, freely admitting, however, to evenings of ordered-in bento boxes or a plate of canned baked beans with frozen french fries. But whatever Slater had to eat, his lyricism casts all of his meals in a golden light and makes each sound irresistible, whether it’s a thin slice of brown bread plastered thickly with cold, sweet butter, or a four-course Christmas Day supper.

    I started reading, from the beginning, on Friday night, and by Saturday I’d plowed through the entire thing. The structure of the book, and Slater’s easy tone, makes the book read like the archives of a blog. Each day, you uncover a little bit more about the reader. It’s enticing and funny and even bittersweet. There’s a lemon ice dedicated to a dead friend here, and a strange encounter with an anonymous fan and a bag of frozen peas there. And more than anything, there is Slater’s firm and unerring taste, and his literary talent.

    Can I read you the entry from August 13? Actually, I’ll just retype it here. And tell me if it doesn’t have you clicking straight over to Amazon to buy this book. "I break my glasses, lose my watch at the gym and realize that the ripe tomatoes I intended to pick for supper have been sucked to a pulp by the snails. The day ends with me slicing a ball of mozzarella into four, trickling olive oil over it and adding some small thyme leaves in lieu of basil. Ciabatta soaks up the milky, olive-oily juices from the plate. A delight, but it does not quite soak up the whole bottle of wine."

    Or how about something taken from May 30?  "Two of us ate the beets and their greens with slices of crumbly goat cheese, hacking off bits of cheese and pushing them on to the still-warm beets with ruby-stained fingers. After the fudgy, chalk-white cheese and sweet, claret roots, we filled up on slices of thickly buttered white bread cut from a cottage loaf. Oh, and I bought pinks too, a fat bunch of them, and sat them in a creamware jug on the kitchen table."

    And June 23 (I promise I’ll stop after this). "Five people turn up for a meeting that ends up dragging on later than anyone expected. They keep looking longingly at the oven, hoping I will suddenly produce a meal out of nothing. In truth, I’m tired and I cannot wait for them to go, and so offer them the only thing I have around – sardines on toast. We end up eating round after round with bottles of beer, till every crumb of bread is finished and my larder is looking distinctly depleted."

    Slater’s sure hand with ingredients, his inspired take on leftovers, his deep understanding of those days when you simply cannot cook but still need something to nourish you, his disdain for long ingredient lists, his uncanny way of turning simply everything he describes into the very thing you must have for dinner, right now, no doubt about it – these are all reasons to buy this book. I may not have 101 cookbooks, but my collection comes close and I can tell you honestly that not a single one of my cookbooks has me as inspired as this one does.

    You will, I think, want to cook everything in this book. I’ve already started to.