Plenty more fish in the sea

What's your worst nightmare? Being trapped in a lift? Naked in public? Teeth falling out? Mine involved a fish shaped cookie cutter...

I had agreed to make 60 iced fish-shaped cookies for a children's party being organised by two ruthlessly efficient mothers - and lost the cookie cutter at the last possible moment. I put out a plea on Facebook, I sent texts to all my baking friends: no-one had a fish. But salvation comes in the strangest forms - in this case the just-opened 'Cake Kit' (sister shop of Kitchen Kit) in Fleet, who offered a choice of fish or dolphin.

Still looking for Nemo...

The recipe for the dough comes from Annabel Karmel. It's failsafe AND delicious, with a crisp texture and the buttery taste of shortbread. And it's not just for making fish either - roll it into a big fat sausage and cut into slices about half a centimetre thick for boring-but-fast round cookies.

Cookie dough

250g butter - at room temperature

140g caster sugar

1 egg yolk

2 teaspoons vanilla essence

300g plain flour

¼ teaspoon salt

Pre-heat oven to 180/gas 4. Put everything except the flour and salt into a bowl and beat well. Add the flour and salt, then mix again. Press the dough together firmly with your hands, then wrap it in clingfilm and put it in the fridge for 30 minutes. When you get it out, cut into 2 or 3 chunks, and work with one at a time (smaller volume = easier to handle), bringing all the scrappy bits together at the end. Using plenty of flour, roll it out, cut into shapes about half a centimetre thick and bake for 10-15 minutes until light golden brown. And don't have nightmares...

Naked fish

Peach fool

Have I told you before how lazy I am? It's a good thing for you, because it means every recipe I post is designed for maximum delight and minimum effort. Sometimes I'll cook my way through a long list of ingredients, but I have to be pretty certain the outcome will be worthwhile. So imagine how pleased with myself I was when I concocted this two-ingredient-pudding - a light and creamy, fresh and fruity peach fool.

Peachy

I had the remains of a jar of Bonne Maman peach compote in the fridge (about a quarter of a jar) which I liquidised in a blender and then folded into about 200ml whipped cream. I spooned it into retro cocktail glasses, stuck it back into the fridge until needed and served with a couple of slices of nectarine.

This will work with any fruit puree, blended to the consistency of your choice.

Easy peasy lemon cheesy

This recipe came from a booklet entitled 'Princess Recipes'. "What ho" I thought, "Has the great food guru Pippa Middleton been exploiting her connections once again?" No, instead it was a pamphlet by Annabel Karmel, presumably designed to put boys off cooking for life, and containing some of her trademark easy-and-delicious-for-all-ages confections such as mini lemon no-bake cheesecakes.

My first introduction to cheesecake was the packet mix. Fun to make (as a child), vile to eat. Some years later, living in southern California, I encountered The Cheesecake Factory. Not actually a factory, but a restaurant chain where they serve very large portions of cheesecake - among other things. I went a few times before summoning up the courage to order it, and have never looked back. If you don't like cheesecake, just make the topping and serve it chilled, in glasses, with the blueberries.

I made these cheesecakes mini by using two 10cm springform tins (bought because they looked like toys and I fancied making a cutesy mini Victoria sponge). The recipe serves four and can also be used in individual ring moulds (if you're a pro) or ramekins - or scale it up, make double and pile it into a 20-ish-cm tin.

Sweet yet tart, smooth yet crunchy

Mini lemon no-bake cheesecakes

5 Digestive biscuits (70g)
50g butter
4 tablespoons Greek yogurt
150g lemon curd
1 teaspoon lemon juice
125ml double cream, whipped
a few raspberries or blueberries

Melt the butter. Put the biscuits in a plastic bag and bash them with a rolling pin, then stir them into the butter. Press them firmly into the base of your chosen vessel, then place in the fridge to cool while you make the topping. Combine the yogurt, lemon curd and lemon juice in a bowl, fold in the whipped cream and spoon it on top of the biscuit base. Return it to the fridge to firm up for at least 30 minutes. Garnish with the fruit and sprinkle with icing sugar.

Birthday cake revenge

Jane Asher and I make cakes. She does it for money, I do it for love.

One of mine: Noddy with acne

One of Jane's

When my 9 year old requested that I go to a shop and buy a 'proper' cake for her birthday this year, I had mixed feelings - and decided to get my own back on her.

I arranged a very last minute Mad Hatter's Tea Party with heart-shaped sandwiches, layered jellies, dormice and cakes. Just as things were starting to get messy, we announced the arrival of The Cake with a great fanfare. The lights were turned off, blinds lowered, eyes covered, and I placed it in front of her: a cake that was an inch in diameter, covered with pink buttercream bearing a single pink heart-shaped candle. As she teetered on the precipice of tears and laughter, I explained that it had shrunk, as things are wont to do in Wonderland. (Luckily, there was a large pink shop-bought cake waiting in the wings.)

Here are some of my past creations:

Nice face, shame about the arms

Decorated by a 5 year old (Christmas decorations in May!)
Cake frills cover a multitude of sins - and mean you don't have to bother icing the sides

Hummingbird Bakery's dulce de leche cupcakes which provoked the following outburst:
"I don't like cakes, I don't like icing, and I certainly don't like fairies"!

Be careful what you wish for!

I was brought up by a very superstitious grandmother and a very Catholic mother. This combination of dogma and irrational belief meant that my childhood was spent not just trying to remember the difference between a mortal and a venial sin, but terrified of what might happen if I looked at a new moon through glass, put new shoes on a table, or didn't say hello to a solitary magpie. It might explain why I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor in the small space behind my bedroom door reading books.

On the up-side, my grandmother was very insistent that we made a wish every time we ate a food for the first time in its season. So lately I've been wishing up a storm, what with asparagus, strawberries, new potatoes and - today - rhubarb. I love rhubarb, and although I lack the commitment to be a good gardener, I have inherited a flourishing rhubarb patch which thrives on utter neglect at the bottom of the garden amongst a tangle of brambles.

So with great excitement (and a bowlful of the stuff in front of me as I write), I bring you my favourite sweet thing - a moist and fragrant rhubarb & orange cake - and the chance to make a wish.

Rhubarb, rhubarb

Rhubarb and Orange cake

Cake:

350g rhubarb, cut into chunks

200g golden caster sugar

grated zest and juice of half an orange

140g butter, softened

2 eggs, beaten

½ teaspoon baking powder

85g self-raising flour

100g ground almonds

Topping:

25g butter

25g light muscovado sugar

grated zest of half an orange

50g slivered almonds (I often leave them out)

Mix the rhubarb with 50g of the caster sugar and the orange zest, then set it aside for an hour, giving it a stir or two. Pre-heat the oven to 190/gas 5 and grease and line a 23cm loose-bottomed cake tin. Cream the butter and remaining 150g sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, baking powder, flour, ground almonds and orange juice and beat gently until smooth. Turn into the tin and level with a spoon. Drain the rhubarb and spoon the chunks over the cake. Bake for 25 minutes. Meanwhile, make the topping by melting the butter and stirring in the sugar, zest and almonds. Take the cake out of the oven, reduce the temperature to 180/gas 4, sprinkle the topping over it and quickly replace it in the oven for another 15-20 minutes until firm in the centre. Cool in the tin for 20 minutes or so before transferring to a rack. Dust with icing sugar and serve warm or cool with thick cream.

The recipe was snipped out of a Good Food magazine some years ago. 

Turning over a new (lettuce) leaf

I've been having feelings of slight despair every time I look in the fridge. It's the same kind of feeling I get when I open my wardrobe. I will make a decent dish out of what's there/will be able to dress myself without causing looks of alarm from passers-by, but really I want to chuck everything out and start again. I could solve the wardrobe problem with a personal shopper, but does anyone offer a personal shopping service for fridges?

Thinks: The fridge PS could take into account your body shape and decide to stock you up with full-fat or low-fat yogurts; she could update your classics with a new spicy chorizo or a flavoured houmous; she could suggest accessorising with some coloured plastic storage boxes; or she could even lead you towards a whole new line of fridge magnets.

But then something magical happened; the sun came out. Now I can strip out all the dark coloured moth-eaten stuff and replace it with white linen, and throw away that old shrink-wrapped swede and buy salad leaves! I lost no time in making Salad Niçoise.

Salad Niçoise with hot smoked salmon

1 egg per person, lightly hardboiled
lettuce
green beans, cooked
tomatoes
black olives
hot smoked salmon (I used a 150g pack for 2 people)
new potatoes

Cut the potatoes into smallish chunks and cook them in a pan of water with a pinch of salt. Add the eggs to the pan just as the water comes up to the boil and keep them there until the potatoes are done. Drain, and place the eggs into cold water for a few minutes, before peeling and quartering them. Meanwhile, assemble the salad by piling it all artfully on a large platter, finishing with the eggs and flaked salmon. I like to serve it undressed (it, not me) as it looks prettier that way (I don't). Serve with a dressing of your choice or this one:

Simple salad dressing

2 teaspoons runny honey
half a teaspoon Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
6 tablespoons olive oil
a generous pinch of salt

Place everything in a screw-top jar and shake vigorously.

Old skool

Love her or loathe her, Maggie did me a big favour. I was often milk monitor in my early days at school, which involved sticking straws through the foil tops of mini bottles of thick, cheesy milk which had been sitting in the playground all morning. In a bid to save the country money she scrapped the milk and became known as 'Maggie Thatcher, milk snatcher'. Hooray!

Milk wasn't the only vile thing we had to drink at school. Our lunch was served with water in coloured aluminium jugs (and matching tumblers) which tasted like it had been scooped out of a fish pond and was always slightly warmer than room temperature. The food wasn't bad though. I have to admit to being partial to the odd spam fritter with an ice cream scoop of mashed potato, and I really loved the spongey puddings and coloured custard. 

Here's one I made earlier...

Jam and Coconut Sponge with pink custard

125g margarine (for an authentic 1970's flavour)

125g caster sugar

2 eggs, beaten

125g self raising flour

½teaspoon baking powder

a few drops of vanilla essence

a splosh of milk

raspberry jam

dessicated coconut

Pre-heat the oven to 180/gas 4. Cream together the marg and sugar until pale and fluffy, then add eggs a little at a time. Mix in the milk and vanilla, then fold in the flour and baking powder. Pour into a lined tin measuring 18x20 cm and bake for about 20 minutes until risen and golden. When cool, spread liberally with raspberry jam and a  sprinkling of coconut. Serve with Ambrosia pink custard (in the little tubs) which has a very authentic taste.

Definitely the best days of our lives!