Cracking under pressure: cheat’s peach and thyme jam

Our landlord’s peach tree simply couldn’t bear its own weight any longer. A single crack, the unmistakable sounds of birds in sudden flight and it was all over for the poor tree. I’m typing to the strains of chain saw on peach tree.

Still, something had to be done with the fruit, and I was more than happy to oblige. These sudden gluts remind me of one of my favourite childhood books: Ruth Orbach’s Apple Pigs. We’ve had peaches for breakfast, peaches for lunch and still we have peaches. Time to realise my long held ambition to make jam.

I’m warning you now, this is a non-WI approved recipe. I took the easy route and just bought a pack of jam sugar from the supermarket, ready loaded with pectin and printed with simple instructions that even a novice like me can follow. Plus, I don’t have my sugar thermometer or any fancy equipment out here.

So here we go, peach and thyme jam.

Makes three jars

1 kg ripe peaches, peeled, destoned and chopped into small pieces. As a guide, that was equivalent to 27 small whole peaches for me

3 sprigs of thyme, leaves only

One 500g pack jam sugar

Pop the fruit, thyme and sugar into a large saucepan and bring to the boil on a high heat. Let it bubble away for a good five minutes until the fruit is soft – the packet suggested three minutes, but I was unconvinced after three. If you’re unconvinced, take a teaspoonful and leave to cool. If it starts to set, it’s ready to go.

Pour into sterilised jars and screw on the lids. Leave to stand, flipping the jars after three minutes so the fruit sets evenly throughout the jar.

The glut and the glutton: a beautiful excess of courgettes

I dearly wish I had an excess of courgettes (zucchini, my American friends, zucchini). I wish I had an excess of anything for that matter. Unfortunately, the blimming snails ate my two courgette plants right down to a tiny stump of stalk. And the weather was so diabolical that I didn’t even get a flower on my tomatoes. This year, no greenhouse = no fruit.

Still, this is a post for my dear friend Ms Jones, because her mother has been plying her with courgettes for weeks. Yes indeed, I am happy to take requests (actually I’m just happy that anyone is actually reading this regularly enough to make a request!).

I can’t think of anything more wonderful than an excess of courgettes. They are on a par with broccoli and morning glory on my all-time favourite vegetable list. They are so versatile, so delicious. I never tire of them.

When I was a student in Florence, we used to slice them finely, sauté in olive oil until golden brown and toss them through pasta with a drizzle of panna (cream) and lashings of parmesan. Quick. Simple. Delicious.

Then there’s another of my favourite dishes, one I am currently eating no less (I’m writing this on my lunch break), which is courgette and paneer curry. This is one of the first recipes I ever uploaded to this blog. I admit, it’s not all that photogenic, but it tastes goooooood. You’ll love it Jonesy.

Of course, another courgette recipe already covered in these pages is courgette and polenta bake.

Then there’s the stunning courgette salad that my stepmother makes in the summer. I think it’s from Skye Gyngell’s A Year in my Kitchen. Simply shave raw courgettes into paper thin strips using the cheese slicer setting on a grater and dress with lashings of lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper, and herbs – tarragon is great with this but basil works too. Fantastic with barbecued meat.

But perhaps one of my favourite ways to eat courgettes is heavily inspired by Angela Hartnett’s stuffed marrow recipe. It’s great and versatile — I’ve made it for a one-year old girl (no salt and pepper), a vegetarian (no chorizo) and some big strapping lads and they all loved it.

Serves: 4

4 large courgettes (perfect time of year for large courgettes – but tiny ones will work if you’re patient and capable of being delicate)

1 block feta cheese, diced

1 onion, finely chopped

Half a looped chorizo, diced (substitute for a finely chopped red pepper if catering for veggies)

2 slices bread, whizzed into breadcrumbs

Half a pack pinenuts

A small bunch flat leaf parsley, chopped

Olive oil (I like to use lemon oil or basil oil for this)

Preheat the oven to 180C. Cut the courgettes in half, lengthways, then hollow out the centre by scooping out the insides. Chop the flesh finely and set aside. Rub oil into the courgette ‘boats’ inside and out and season generously, then line up on a baking tray ready to fill.

Fry the onions and chorizo chunks, add in the courgette centres, and sauté until softened. Remove from the heat, then stir in the pinenuts, parsley and half the feta. Fill the courgette boats with this mixture, then sprinkle over the breadcrumbs and remaining feta cubes. Drizzle with olive oil and bake for 10-15 minutes, until the courgette shell is soft and the topping crispy and brown.

Serve with a crisp green salad, hummus and crusty bread.

If you have a slice leftover, chop it all up and run it through some cous cous with a sprinkle of lemon juice. Delicious.

 

Mini break: LoveRich CashPoor goes on the world’s shortest holiday

LoveRichCashPoor has officially run out of holiday. Not even half a sausage of a day until the annual leave calendar ticks over again on January 1st.

Wallace (or was it Hugo?) the Alpaca

If there is anything more annoying than having no holiday left, it’s having no holiday left and being invited on a fabulous free holiday with some of your favourite people. Still not even the powers that be can take away our Saturday night (actually they can, and frequently have, but that’s another story), so we drove down to the wilds of Oxfordshire for the miniest mini break in the whole history of the world.

We watched the sun set as we sipped on a sundowner, followed by a super spaghetti bolognese supper (with TWO different types of garlic bread! Whoop! I love holidays!) then we tucked into bed to dream of Alpacas. After a restorative bacon butty in the morning, we attempted to visit the only duck decoy in Britain, but it was closed (so don’t ask me what a duck decoy is—I have absolutely no idea). Instead, we went for a Sunday Roast and a play on the swings, followed by tea and cake on the terrace and a last play with Pickle before the drive home. Bliss. Thank you, you wonderful lovely people, you!

Wedding belles: LoveRich CashPoor turns florist

Honey I’m home! Gosh I’ve been busy, performing my matron of honour duties, being an adoring aunt and gushing godmother and generally beetling about. But I’m back. Broke, but back and determined to climb back onto my budgeting wagon.

Oh, and if anyone wants to hire a not-at all skilled florist for their wedding, then look no further…

Hitting the hay: paglia e fieno

Sometimes you have to leave London to appreciate what time of year it is. August is just another month in the city but in the countryside the harvest is in full swing and huge balers are working flat out to bind up the straw into enormous golden wheels.

The sight of these huge mountains of hay reminded me of the many nights I spent at Yellow Bar as a student in Florence. We’d scoot into one of the booths, order a vat carafe of house red and a steaming plate of paglia e fieno (straw and hay). No this isn’t some strange student pre-loading ritual – paglia e fieno is the Italian name for green and yellow tagliatelle. In Yellow Bar, they served it with cream, pancetta and mushrooms. It was delicious.

Serves: 2

4 nests of tagliatelle ‘paglia e fieno’

1/2 tub mascarpone

100g bacon, chopped into bite-size pieces. Please note, the fine side of bacon you see above is from Sainsbury’s basics range. 670g for 99p. Yes, really. Amazing how posh it looks when you take it out the shrink wrap and pop it  in a wicker basket.

1 punnet chestnut mushrooms (reduced to 49p), peeled and sliced

1 clove of garlic, finely chopped

A spring of thyme

A splash of olive oil

Lashings of parmesan to serve

Salt and pepper to taste

Plunge the pasta into salted boiling water and let it bubble away for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, fry the bacon bits until crispy and brown, then set aside. Then fry the mushrooms, garlic and thyme in a splash of olive oil. Turn off the heat and add in the bacon and mascarpone and stir to a smooth silky sauce.

Drain the pasta, pour into the frying pan to coat with sauce and serve with a bowl of grated parmesan at the table.

If you go down to the woods today…

Okay, so this one didn’t really qualify for the ‘best things in life are free’ section, as a punnet of doughnut nectarines costs £1.50 (we’d scoffed most of them by this point) and we (well, the husband) had to pay for the petrol to get to Epping Forest, but the stroll through the woods was free.

We sprung over spongy, mossy mounds marvelling at the many shades of green and crunched our way over a carpet of brittle beech nut shells. We wove between contorted tree trunks and stopped in our tracks as a fox cub dashed across our path. Then, ahead in the distance, the green glow of a grassy clearing where we could lay down our trusty blanket in dappled sunlight and while away an hour or two with the Saturday papers.

I love weekends. What did you all get up to? X

 

Week fifteen: and then there were three

Friday

Wake up with: £80 + £28.86 (from last week)

Go to bed with: £80 + £28.86

At 6am, I am pacing in paradise. I watch the rosy glow of dawn spread across the lagoon from my hotel window, it’s going to be a scorcher today. And suddenly, there it is; the news I have been waiting for all night: my wonderful, clever, brave sister has given birth to a little girl. And so the waterworks begin…

The day has a dreamlike quality to it: breakfast with the client, a last wistful wander around Hotel Cipriani’s kitchen gardens, then an hour to get lost in the streets behind Piazza San Marco before I have to jump on the vaporetto to the airport. I get home to an immaculate house, and the husband has even bought me flowers. Did I mention how much I love the husband?

Saturday

Wake up with: £80 + £28.86

Go to bed with: £80.04

Can there be anything better than the utter decadence of a Saturday morning with nothing to do and no one to see? I laze in bed, conducting a multi-media, cross-channel campaign to get my poor beleaguered brother in law to send me photos of my new niece. Then transfer to the sofa for full Olympic immersion.

I was going to offer to take my long-suffering husband out to dinner with the £28-odd pounds I somehow have left from last week, but the Olympics coverage is too exciting and we settle on a takeaway instead so we don’t miss a second of the Gold Rush. Go Team GB! I am really not accustomed to this winning lark but I could certainly get used to it: three golds. THREE GOLDS!

Sunday

Wake up with: £80.04

Go to bed with: £64.31

I have a date with my younger goddaughter to check out her new tooth today. I know it’s a cliché but I just can’t get over how quickly babies grow. I see Tiz at least once a month, but I’m amazed how much she changes in that relatively short interval. She’s now at the delightful shuffling and gurgling stage. Heart-meltingly cute — it makes me ache to see my niece. In a mad moment, I almost get on a train to Lancashire on the way home, then I remember they are still in hospital; so I return home via the greengrocers and cook a tomato shorba soup for the week. I will have to be patient.

Monday

Wake up with: £64.31

Go to bed with: £45.62

Supper Club is back on now we have the full complement of facilities, but we’ve no food in the house and I was too distracted by the Olympics to plan a menu at the weekend, so I cycle home via Sainsbury’s. Monday night is definitely the night to pick up a bargain in Dalston. I get 12 sausages for £1.50 and can’t resist a rack of lamb reduced from £7.99 to £3.29; the freezer will have a field day. I use half the sausages to make enough sausage and roasted pepper cannelloni to feed four hungry boys and the husband and I for the rest of the week. Yum!

Tuesday

Wake up with: £45.62

Go to bed with: £45.62

Tuesday is a whirl of meetings and emails so I’m exhausted by the time I get home. I spend the night relaxing in front of the Olympics, whittling down the enormous ironing mountain.

Wednesday

Wake up with: £45.62

Go to bed with: -£19.08 (oops)

My sister and niece have been given the all-clear and are on their way home from hospital. I promptly break the cash-only rule and order her a Sainsbury’s delivery online so she can just concentrate on her new family of three and not worry about the shopping.

Tonight I’m booked in for dinner with the girls. Despite the fact that I spent all my remaining weekly budget at lunchtime on my sister’s surprise, there is no way I am cancelling an evening with some of my bestest girls in one of my favourite restaurants, so I peddle off to Gallipoli Again for gossip and mezze: at £17.70 including wine, it’s reasonable—I’m not going to lose any sleep about blowing the budget this week.

Thursday

Wake up with: -£19.08

Go to bed with: -£19.08

I am supposed to be meeting a friend for drinks tonight, but she is unwell – and the budgeting side of my brain breathes a sigh of relief. We re-schedule for next week, when hopefully I’ll be able to comfortably afford a glass of vino or three.

I end the week £19.08 down, but one niece up, so on balance, I think I must be the richest person in the country this week. Welcome to the world our little Golden Girl, I cannot wait to meet you. X

La Serenissima: 24 hours in Venice

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“I saw from out the wave of her structures rise / As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand”

I have yet to visit every city in the world, but I have no compunction whatsoever in declaring Venice the most beautiful of them all. Here’s a little taster of what 24-hours in Venice looks like, as long as you don’t count the meetings, that is…

1300h Speeding towards The Cipriani

1900h A passion fruit cocktail on The Cipriani’s terrace

2000h Sunset at The Cipriani Dock

2100h The moon resplendent over the lagoon

0900h Breakfast with a view

1000h A tour of The Cipriani’s kitchen garden

1100h Attempting to hide among the grape vines in The Cipriani gardens (I don’t want to go home)

1300h Off the beaten track: a quiet back street in Venice

1310h A gondola floats by…

1330h Drooling over biscotti at Fuori Menu

1340h Buying a souvenir from Italy: Parmigiano Reggiano

Week fourteen: the great escape

Friday

Wake up with: £50

Go to bed with: £41

Another £50 week, to account for the purchase of wedding presents this month. I am very much looking forward to next week, not only because it will herald the return to the full budget, but also the return to normality on the home front: the DIY project is scheduled to finish on Monday. Phew.

The week starts on a real high, a drink and a gossip with a former colleague at The Book Club Basecamp, a pop-up outdoor bar, kitchen and playground that is screening the Olympics everyday until 12^th August. It’s awesome, but unfortunately everyone else thinks so too. We finally manage to secure a bottle of rose, (£18) and a nook to drink it in (free) and so the gossip begins.

As the wine peters out, I check in with the husband who sounds unusually strained for a Friday night, so I decide that I’d better head home to ply him with some food and cuddles. Plus, I’m really looking forward to seeing our newly-installed bathroom floor…

When I get home, I discover exactly why the husband is tense. The tiler we have drafted in, the self-same tiler who promised it would take just a day to lay our new bathroom floor is still there. The toilet and sink are disconnected and there is precisely one tile on the floor. We try to cajoule the tiler into calling it a day: surely he wants to watch the opening ceremony? Apparently he doesn’t.

I walk into the garden, take a deep breath and resolve to put on my happy face. I am zen personified. The husband and I retire to the sitting room to watch the show, which is enough to banish all DIY stresses. It’s amazing, transporting us to another world where London is a dream city and the UK a utopia of all things lovely and wondrous. And I really want a pair of those glow-in-the-dark wings. Good job Danny Boyle.

The husband has bought us steak for tea and, when the tiler finally leaves at half ten (curiously, no noticeable progress has been made), we sit down to enjoy it on the balcony.

On this night, I am proud to be British, at least until Paul McCartney starts warbling, anyway! 

Saturday

Wake up with: £41

Go to bed with: £41

On the plus side, this DIY business sure is cheap. I’m so busy sanding, painting and cleaning today I haven’t got a second to spend any money—as long as you don’t count all the pennies I have to spend in the local pub; our loo is no closer to being connected at the day’s close, although we have at least got a few tiles on the floor now.

Looking on the bright side, at least I’m here today to remind the tiler not to smoke in the house, use my kitchen worktop as a tile-cutting bench, or to wipe up excess adhesive with my shower curtain. Honestly, I have spent more time over the last few weeks desperately fire-fighting after spectacular carelessness than I have actually doing DIY. It took an hour to pick the paint off my jute chair covers (they were in a room where NO DIY was taking place!), I have washed, dried, ironed and folded endless amounts of towels and teatowels that have somehow leapt from the serried ranks in the airing cupboard into a bucket of plaster. Not to mention the irreplaceable and precious fabric I was using as a window panel in the sitting room, which is now liberally daubed with white gloss paint and consequently ruined forevermore.

Humph!

Sunday

Wake up with: £41

Go to bed with: £32.90

I am no longer zen. At 3.45pm on day three of the bathroom floor debacle, there is no sign of the tiler, ergo sum, the bathroom floor is no closer to being completed. The tiler said he would be here between 11am and 12pm. So far, so four hours late. I am not impressed. He finally turns up at 3.52. Grrrr.

I try to distract myself with a trip to the greengrocers and a bit of kitchen therapy, but it’s an ask with all the bathroom appliances and several toolboxes underfoot. Still, we’ve got to eat something this week so I persevere. I make a couple of moussakas (one for now, one for the freezer), a dame blanche cheesecake and some quesadilla filling, as well as a pot of chicken stock. By the time I have shopped for and made that lot, the floor is no closer to completion.

I should point out at this juncture that our bathroom floor is approximately two foot by six foot; I could have taught myself to tile and plumb in the amenities by now. The clock ticks on, the floor is grouted but the ‘conveniences’ remain in the kitchen. Curious. Eventually, at ten pm, when I am ready to weep with frustration, the tiler decides he is going to come back tomorrow. It takes every single ounce of willpower I have to nod and smile, and not punch something (or someone). As soon as the door closes the floodgates open. I can’t take this anymore.

Of course I am grateful that he worked through the weekend to finish the job. Of course I appreciate that you can’t have good, fast and cheap. But: builders please note: if you think it will take three days, say so. But don’t tell me it will take one day and then drag it out to four.  And yes, that is a newly-painted wall you have just smeared with grout. Thanks. I’ll just repaint that before I go to bed then.

Monday

Wake up with: £32.90

Go to bed with: £28.86

I’m not the greatest fan of Monday mornings, but boy is it a relief to be at work today. There isn’t dust on every surface and I don’t have to leave the office to relieve myself. Bliss.

One big shout out has to go to the husband, who got up at 6.45am to clean the bath so I could wash for the first time in three days. The husband is amazing. FACT.

It’s lucky I’m feeling buoyed up because the carpet fitter calls in sick. Oh joy! On the plus side, the husband tells me the tiler is on his way at 11am. All he has to do is re-plumb in the loo and sink… When I get home from work at six-thirty, guess who’s still there? Yep, the tiler. Oh joy! And neither the loo nor the sink are plumbed in. How is this possible? What has he been doing for six and a half hours? Reader, I am baffled – and furious. This is beyond a joke now. Maybe I should stop feeding him? The tiler eventually leaves at nine-thirty pm (after I’ve cooked him dinner), so another night ruined, but at least we have a working bathroom now. Thank god.

Tuesday

Wake up with: £28.86

Go to bed with: £28.86

Hurrah! The carpet fitter has been and I am going to sleep in a proper bed tonight. The husband and I spend the evening re-assembling the bed, and gradually shuffling the furniture into the right position in the right room.

At just after midnight, I climb into an actual bed, in the actual bedroom and delight in the clean sheets. This is the definition of bliss.

Wednesday

Wake up with: £28,86

Go to bed with: £28.86

To say I have a humdinger of a day at work would be an understatement. Luckily, I have the perfect antidote up my sleeve: we’ve been invited to cuddle the brand new supper club baby this evening over dinner. The tiny one is utterly gorgeous, and I scoop him onto my lap, apparently just in time for his evening ablutions. I quickly try to hand him back to his dad but it’s too late; he’s christened my dress. I mean, really, really christened my dress. His mum and I are so busy crying with laughter that we can’t even wipe it up. Luckily, it doesn’t put me off my dinner (I’m not sure what it would take to put me off my dinner!)—delicious chicken satay—followed by my dame blanche cheesecake.

On the way home, I reflect on the day: there has to be something wrong when the high-point of your day is being poo-ed on! Luckily, I am escaping from everything tomorrow: I’m off to Venice for a meeting with a client. No more DIY, no more ‘challenging’ work situations: just me and Italy. I need this, reader, I need this.

 

Thursday

Wake up with: £28.86

Go to bed with: £28.86

My sister has gone into labour. MY SISTER HAS GONE INTO LABOUR! It’s a huge surprise when I get a text telling me that her waters broke yesterday as she isn’t due until the 27th. I rise at 5am to catch my flight to Venice, frantically checking my phone every 30 seconds for news. I know this giving birth business can take a wee while, but I can’t stop myself.

There is literally nothing in this world that can rival the feeling of arriving at Piazza San Marco from across the sparkling lagoon. Venice is just magical and I feel my spirits soar instantly; now, I remember why I love my job. Our client is waiting for us at The Cipriani dock, and immediately ushers us poolside for lunch and a bellini—that’s what I call a welcome. We retire to the bar to brainstorm contents for the next issue, followed by an aperitif on the terrace and a tour of the hotel. After a magnificent dinner, I’m ready to sink into my five-star bed. It’s ridiculously comfortable, like  sleeping on a cloud, but I toss and turn, constantly glancing at my phone in case my new niece or nephew has made an appearance… To Be Continued.

Had any DIY dramas of your own? Dreaming of escaping the daily grind? Get it off your chest, or simply divulge your dream destination in the comments box below… Thank you, as ever, for reading.

 

Paddy power: quesadillas

Our friend Paddy is an exceptional cook. And every time he makes quesadillas, I am blown away by just how delicious they are. I was even more amazed when he told me what was in his quesadillas: peppers and peaches? Who knew? I forgot to ask Paddy for the proper recipe, so I have just made it up based on a half-memory of the ingredients he divulged at our Mexican extravaganza on New Year’s Eve (okay, I admit, I was too drunk to write it down!). Mine were not as good as Paddy’s, but delicious nonetheless.

Serves: 8 as a starter

16 large flour tortillas (so easy to make, or use pre-prepared ones)

3 red peppers

Half a tin of peaches in juice (drained)

1 small red onion

1 bunch coriander

1 red chilli (seeds removed)

A generous heap of grated Applewood smoked cheddar (or other smoked cheese). I used a smoked Gouda, because my stepmother gave me one and I’m on a budget here people!

Pre-heat the oven to 200C. Roast the peppers until the flesh is soft and the skin is slightly charred. Remove from the oven and skin. Obviously they will be hot – if you don’t have hands made of asbestos, like me, drop them into a sandwich bag to cool and the skin will just slide off. Remove the stalk and seeds and throw into a blender. Peel the onion, chop into quarters, drain the peach slices and chuck into the blender with the peppers. Pulse until the ingredients are finely chopped, but not liquified.

Take a tortilla, spread with a layer of the peachy filling and sprinkle over cheese. top with a further tortilla and fry in a griddle pan until brown on each side. Cut into quarters and serve with guacamole.