The Runcible Spoon

It’s five months now since my photoblogger sister moved to London. I’ve found it odd not having her close by, although technology makes the distance somewhat easier. We Skype (yes, it’s a verb now too) on Sundays, mostly, as we’re readying ourselves for the working week ahead. This weather, the ritual is straightforward: chat, chop, simmer or roast, gossip, stir, taste, giggle, salt, pepper, and blend. It’s soup season, to be sure, and not long until her next sojourn home.

There wasn’t much in the way of soup-making veg in the house this past Sunday, but this recipe yielded two lovely warming lunches. And the chat was good, too.

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It’s fair to say that I have an odd sort of relationship with bananas. It’s not that I detest them, as such, but if I’m going to eat one, it must be just-so-ripe, and each bite washed down with a gulp of ice-cold water. (I know, I’m insane.) Once at the mushy black-pocked stage, they are frutta non grata but, baked in banana bread, they’re a different prospect entirely. That said, I would eat pretty much anything baked in a cake.

The bones of this recipe – now much tweaked and experimented with – originate from Helen Jane Hearn. I especially love the crunchy demerara crust, the lingering smoky hint of maple sweetness, and best of all, the slathered layer of melting butter on a slice straight from the oven.

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Despite this week’s unseasonably warm winds, autumn is most definitely on its way in. It’s my favourite of all seasons; a time for leaf-crunching walks, new crocheted woollens, whiskey, and warm, comforting food.

Crumbles, of any kind, are my sort of dessert – they can be prepared in advance, tolerate my let’s-throw-this-in-here-and-see-how-it-tastes tendencies, and are very happy to be drowned in custard or cream. This oaty variation, inspired by one of my favourite dessert books, has a fairly hefty crumble-to-fruit ratio, the better to soak up the caramelly spice of the Lasanta cream. It would work equally well with apples, and any sort of whisk(e)y cream.

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Internet, look at the state of my cabbage patch.

I had no idea, back in June, that I was planting such a tyrannical vegetable. But, since then, my eight little Savoys have grown and grown, dwarfing the peas and throwing shade on the courgettes (although the latter don’t seem to mind the dark too much). Last Sunday, I decided it was finally time to pull up a couple of heads, wash the dirt and beasties off, and see how they tasted. Lo and behold, my cabbages have hearts, and there are now weeds growing in their place.

Now, I am not a fan of watery boiled cabbage. I’d happily eat it raw, or flash-in-the-pan-fried. My favourite cabbage dish, though, inspired by the foodie uncle, involves a pancetta-y twist and some flavourful chicken stock. I’ve eaten piles of it by itself, but it’s a tasty addition to Sunday lunch, too – especially lemon, garlic and herb roast chicken and crisp-edged roasted spuds.

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Two things always happen when I am having a busy time of it:

1. I eat more than the usual amount of chocolate
2. I stop cooking new things

And lo, it’s been a couple of cocoa and comfort food-filled weeks at Runcible Spoon HQ as I make do without my daily dalliances at the stove. There is light at the end of the tunnel, though, and a garden full of fruit and veg to be harvested. (It was a pleasant surprise to pick the first two chillies from our first ever chilli plant this evening and find them hot!)

Whilst I continue dodging spatulas and pots, here are some photos of one of the cakes I made a couple of Sundays ago. (I say “one of” as there were two chocolate cakes, too – a one-day record for me, and a lovely way to spend an afternoon.) The recipe is Jamie Oliver’s, the plums from my parents’ trees, and the idea from my mam, who has taken to texting me photos of things she cooks. Perhaps I can get her on the food blogging bandwagon too…

Caramelly plums

Ready to go in the oven

The finished product. Very m-word.

(Back soon.)