Steam Cleanin', Ant killin' Sticky Toffee Pudding (egg free, dairy free, gluten free)

Now I know I’ve gone on about being an untidy slattern before, and I was getting to the point where I’d resigned myself to my scruffy state. However, I reckoned without one of my über-clean and tidy friends.

‘What you need is the right tools’ she explained patiently.
‘Invest in the tools that will help you do the job efficiently and easily’.

I had no idea there was such science behind having the perfect house.

I got very excited by the ‘investing in the right tools’ theory that might change my life, and happily embarked upon some retail therapy. The price of this particular purchase did make me blink a little, but my friend’s evangelical voice spurred me on. When the sales assistant announced the sum required, I disguised my wince as a cough and played the music in my car really loud all the way home. I find that helps. Play something edgy like Ms Dynamite and you’ll soon have forgotten all your woes.

Friends, it was a steam cleaner. Not a housewife’s steam cleaner, but a big, powerful bad boy that made me stand a notch taller and thrust my pelvis a little. I felt the urge to recline over the handle, pat my machine nonchalantly and say,
'10 bar coming out of my hose, how about yours?’

I first started on the windows. I’ll tell you straight, they hadn’t been cleaned for a year or so – what? – and the difference was astounding. It took just a few minutes, and I realised that it is actually possible to see through the kitchen window. I had thought it was some sort of French frosted glass. I have happily used my steam cleaner for various tasks; it’s a boon when it comes to removing urine from car seats. Please, don’t ask me about it.

Then last week I thought I’d discovered a satellite function of the steam cleaner; insect removal. It’s Spring, and the first bit of sunshine brings them out; ants. I can’t stand them. I once left a Camembert out on the kitchen worktop for a few days to get it to that delicious, melting, ‘did someone die in here?’ stage. I came down one morning and the ants had carried it from one end of the work surface to the other, and were swarming all over my circle of happiness. They form part of the axis of insect evil.

So I was fairly horrified when I found they had invaded a corner of my house. Then the steam cleaner caught my eye. I was going to use my WMD on them. I took up position, and from a great height gently depressed the trigger.

You know I once went to a gun club in China. A wealthy Chinese man had chosen the ‘Terminator Option’ for the day, and I watched appalled as he turned a mounted machine gun on a tethered chicken. You can imagine the result. Yet fast forward 10 years and here I was - ack! ack! ack! ack! - all visible ants dead. (In fact it was more of a Psssssssssssssshht). I had a regretful look at the collateral damage - the landlord's wooden floor was looking a lot paler- and switched off the cleaner. 10 minutes later there were more ants. A few more times I laid waste to great swathes of ants, but they kept sending in reinforcements. Fearless ants, convinced of their mission, ready to die for their cause.

My eldest girl took control of the proceedings;
‘Ok, coming in at 2 o’clock, there Mum! Steady... behind you, lock on, NOW!’

She’s very excitable and I got caught up in her frenzied shouting, nearly sustaining a third degree burn to the foot. After an hour or so I was feeling a little dispirited as they just kept on coming. We were clearly overwhelmed, and retreated to a safe distance.

M cocked her head on one side,
‘Mum, I know this sounds a bit mad, but do you think by steaming them it makes them repeat themselves?’ she looked a bit sheepish as if I might laugh.
‘I think that’s a very sensible theory dear, they must be magic repeating ants’.
In the end we went with the squirty bottle and washing up liquid ploy that we learnt about on Google.

Yet even that wasn’t a magic cure, I had to repeatedly go back to the corner and squirt. I spent the evening trying out my sticky toffee pudding recipe. In between weighing, measuring, chopping and baking, I had to keep squirting the ants. I may have won the first battle, but I was close to losing the war. In the end I had to go nuclear on them; I found their nest and boiled them alive. It was not my finest moment.

Fortunately the pudding was a direct hit first time.


Steam Cleanin', Ant Killin' Sticky Toffee Pudding
(makes 6-8 puddings depending on which version and size of ramekin)
Bear with me on the cup measurements, I'm doing my best. All emails pointing out my errors gratefully received.

You know I don't have too much to say about this pudding - barring the usual 'mmm yum, get your chops round that' - but I would urge you to chop the dates finely. Simply because they look a little too much like cockroaches don't they? What with the ant thing going on in the lounge I was not feeling kindly disposed towards any insect brethren. I chopped my dates viciously, and very finely indeed.


1. Egg free, dairy free, gluten free version:
175g /1 ¼ cups (not pressed down) stoned dates
170ml boiling water / scant ¾ cup
1 tsp vanilla extract
½ tsp ground cinnamon
¾ tsp bicarbonate of soda
75g / scant ½ cup dairy free spread
150g / ¾ cup white sugar
2 heaped tsps 'no egg' egg replacer
4 tbsps rice milk
1 heaped tbsp ground linseeds (grind whole linseeds in your blender- peasy)
1 small pinch of xanthan gum
100g / ¾ cup firmly packed brown rice flour
50g / scant ½ cup potato flour
25g / scant ¼ cup corn flour (corn starch)
½ tsp xanthan gum
1½ tsp gf baking powder
2 tbsp rice milk

2. Egg free, dairy free with wheat flour version:
Use the first 11 ingredients listed in 1. above
Replace the gluten free flours with
175g / 1½ cups of white wheat flour
use 1½ tsps of baking powder
Omit the ½ tsp of xanthan gum
Use another 4-8 tbsps of rice milk

3. Gluten free with eggs version:
Use the first 7 ingredients listed in 1. above.
Replace the egg replacer, 4 tbsps rice milk, ground linseeds and pinch of xanthn gum with:
2 eggs
Use the gluten free flours, baking powder and xanthan gum as explained in 1. above
Use another 2-4 tbsps rice milk


For the sauce:
165g / 1 cup dairy free spread
165g / heaped ¾ cup demerara or dark brown muscovado sugar
30g / ¼ cup dairy free dark chocolate, minimum 70% cocoa solids
2-4 tbsps grand marnier (optional)

• Grease 8, 9cm ramekins. Heat the oven to 170° Celsius
• Finely chop the dates (can you see that cockroach resemblance?) and put them into a mixing bowl
• Add the bicarbonate of soda, cinnamon and vanilla extract
• Pour over the boiling water, stir well to combine and set aside
• If you are using 'no egg', put the 'no egg', 4 tbsps rice milk, ground linseeds and pinch of xanthan gum into a bowl and mix with a mini whisk to remove any lumps. Set aside
• Place the dairy free spread and sugar into a large mixing bowl. Beat together until they are incorporated
• Add either the 'no egg' mixture or the two real eggs and beat well
• If using GF flour, seive in the rice flour, potato flour, cornflour, xanthan gum and baking powder. Mix until combined. You may find the mix is too stiff at this point, in which case, add 2 tbsps rice milk and try again. Don't go overboard and add too much, you've still got the sloppy date mix to add, and we can sort the consistency out in a minute
• If using wheat flour, seive in the wheat flour and baking powder and mix to combine. See above bullet point if the mix is too stiff
• Add the date mixture and give it a good stir. At this point add the extra rice milk to give your mix a sloppy consistency. The GF/egg mix looks relatively sloppy at this point, but I would add the extra rice milk, I think the end result is better. You may find that with the egg free, dairy free, gluten free version the mix isn't really sloppy. Don't worry too much, it should be fine once cooked.
• I wonder how many more times I can write 'sloppy'?
• Divide the mix between your ramekins until they are all about ¾ full. Place them on a baking or pizza tray and put them in the oven
• Bake for 20-30 minutes, but all ovens are different, so keep a watchful eye. They are cooked when they are well risen, golden brown on top and an inserted skewer comes out clean. If the tops are browning too much and the middle is still gooey, cover the tray with tin foil until the middles are cooked
• With the exception of the Grand Marnier, place all the ingredients for the sauce into a large saucepan, now turn your attention back to the oven...
• When your darling puddings are cooked, remove from the oven and leave to stand whilst you quickly rustle up the sauce. Don't worry about your guests, they're chatting happily, and judging by the amount of red they've drunk, they're not going to notice if this pudding doesn't arrive for another hour
• Stirring continuously, heat the dairy free, sugar and chocolate over a low heat until melted. The sauce will thicken and bubble slightly. I do apologise if you're a sticky toffee pudding purist and you object to chocolate in the sauce, but in these times of milk allergies, we have to substitute that creamy, fatty taste somehow, and the result is yummylicious
• Turn off the heat, add the grand marnier if using, and set the sauce aside
• Now, run a knife around the edge of your puddings to dislodge them a bit, then upend them onto their serving plates
• Lean over them and inhale their steam
• Now drizzle/pour over the sauce and triumphantly carry the pudding through to your guests
• I suppose if you can tolerate cream you could serve this with a thick double cream, although the pudding is rich and satisfying without any additions. I personally don't think ice cream would go too well; the pud is so sweet I think it all might make your teeth ache.
• Pig in the Kitchen cannot be held responsible for dental fees, root canal horrors, or gingivitis

The pictured version of the pudding is egg free, dairy free, gluten free.

© Pig in the Kitchen

The Unbearable Weight of a Tag by Dulwich Mum

Sweet, sassy (and slightly saucy in this post), Dulwich Mum tagged me last month. And I am pretty sure someone else did as well. But in the depths of the mush (that bears a remarkable resemblance to 2 tsps of No Egg mixed up with rice milk and ground linseeds) that passes for my brain, I cannot find anything. Not one hint of who tagged me to do what, but I'm vaguely kind of sure you did. I apologise for my rubbishness.

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Well, this is what Dulwich Mum asked me to do:

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1. Pick up the nearest book.

2. Open to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

5. Tag people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

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So whilst the oven heats up for me to trial the GF-but-with-eggs version of my next delectable deliciousness (swing by around about Thursday and you might get an eyeful), I shall comply.

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Of course the temptation is to pretend that the nearest book is actually quite impressive and/or a little obscure,

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'Ya, Theroux's 'Riding the Iron Rooster' is one of my personal favourites; he gives such a fascinating insight into China during the 1980's'.

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Or how about,

'I am just loving Desai's 'Inheritance of Loss', it so reminds me of my time in India, she really captures the essence of that glorious part of the world'

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Should I pretend it was Kundera?

'Ya, ya, he makes such a good point about us needing weight in our lives to feel anchored and essentially alive...'

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But really it was none of those. The nearest one doesn't actually belong to me, and I can't divulge the contents of my husband's reading matter which he has left (again) next to the computer, because I suspect I'd be revealing classified information. And really, there are only so many Central Marketing Commercial Reports a girl can read.

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So shall I get to the point? It was my old fave, Collins Robert. Now call me square, but I had such fun reading the dictionary at University. Look, when you're faced with a translation about the economic impact of frozen fishfingers on some obscure Breton port, the dictionary is a very welcome distraction.

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I particularly love the asterix system in Collins Robert.

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One asterix next to a word denotes,

'...that the expression, while not forming part of standard languages, is used by all educated speakers in a relaxed situation but would not be used in a formal essay or letter, or on an occasion when the speaker wishes to impress' *

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Two of our starry friends means,

'...that the expression is used by some but not all educated speakers in a very relaxed situation. Such words should be handled with extreme care by the non-native speaker unless he is very fluent in the language and is very sure of his company' **

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So now you're agog aren't you? You can't wait to know what on earth three of the little beggars could possibly mean,

'... 'Danger!', such words are liable to offend in any situation, and therefore are to be avoided by the non-native speaker' ***

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Some of those three star words are priceless! They don't just list the word, but give examples of how they might be incorporated into a sentence. Such complicated, vicious insults! Marvellous conjugations of eye-popping profanities that had me in hysterics when I should have been doing dull translations.

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And of course those are the phrases that stick. In the same way a 14 year old exchange student can't conjugate the verb, 'avoir' but is quite au fait with the reflexive verb 'se peloter', so the really bad phrases stick in my head, and threaten to tumble out of my mouth at horribly inappropriate moments. I really wish I hadn't learnt the one about your mother. One of these days when the French driving gets too much for me, I'm going to have to hurl it out of my car window complete with a bras d'honneur. I will be found weeks later in a wheelie bin, stinking in some chic, slate-rooved Parisian apartment.

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So now you're expecting some hard core filthy words from page 123 of my dictionnaire aren't you? You know I could have bent the rules, and given you some corkers, but I am nothing if not full of integrity.

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So hélas, with only one tame and boring asterix between them, I give you:

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chouette* adj smashing* (yawn)

chrême nm chrism (yeh, me neither)

chrétien, -ienne 1 adj Christian 2 nm, f: ~(ne) Christian

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8 christian-related words follow the above entry. In the interests of bringing this post to a close, I have chosen not to list them. Although you may like to note the mildly interesting - in a huh! look at that paint drying kind of a way - offshoot sentence,

être enseveli chrétiennement ~ to have a Christian burial

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And with that I would like to thank the dearly beloved for gathering here, with special thanks to Dulwich Mum, and I'm going to extend this tag to anyone who wishes to receive it. May you all be truly grateful, and let not your mouth be as profaned as mine own.

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Pigx

Older and Wiser Mushroom Risotto (egg free, dairy free, gluten free)

At what point does it dawn on you that you’re beginning to age? Is it the back that creaks as you get out of bed, and doesn’t really function until mid-morning? Is it those stubborn pounds of weight that have lodged around your middle and wobble uncomfortably as you attempt some desperate exercise? Or is it the Campbell de Morgan spots that spring up somewhere on your torso? They look red and menacing and fill you with a Skin Cancer Fear, but apparently they are benign and harmless, and not worth bothering about; a bit like you in a few years’ time.

Perhaps you are like me, and you still nurture some hope. You think your bad back is caused by having young children. You think the weight will drop off at some undetermined point in the future, and that the grey hair issue will easily be solved by some very expensive highlights. Yet however good you are at denying the changes wrought by advancing years in your own body, sometimes it can be meeting up with friends that brings the whole ageing thing home to you.

Some dear and lovely friends came to visit us last summer. We first met at a dubious cocktail party in a hotel in China. I can’t remember who introduced us, but I do remember being so very happy that at last, here were some people we could have fun with. And we did make it our chief aim to have fun. Over the next couple of years we lived the strange, privileged, hedonistic - and occasionally desperate - life of young, childless expats in China.

Although some of the images have blurred (it must be my age), I do recall many rampaging nights in a northern city of China. The drinking that began any time after 11am and continued long and hard into the early hours. The terrible striped ‘team shirts’ bought for our weekend assault on Beijing. The glee we felt from our podium as an entire Chinese nightclub followed us in the intricate dance some know as The Macarena. The huge platters we ordered and devoured in Korean restaurants, Chinese restaurants, Mexican restaurants, and pretty much any other restaurant that got caught in our tractor beam.
The hours we spent cycling dusty roads and exploring remote, stinking markets; trying to fill our weekends, and make sense of our twenties that perhaps were being lost in this bustling Chinese city? It was a frenetic, surreal time that probably took its toll on our livers, but forged friendships that still serve us well today.

When Mac and Fran arrived last summer, we were outwardly much the same. I couldn’t discern any signs of ageing; perhaps that’s because I still think I look rather like a 16 year old. Ok, we had a few more wrinkles, quite a few more children, but essentially our outer shells remained the same. We were happy, excited and ready to party.

Following some afternoon drinks, we decided to fill up our swimming pool. Two hours later it was Fran who called the proceedings to a halt.
‘It’s getting late, the children haven’t eaten, this is going to take hours, I think we should stop now’.
A hush fell over the group; surely these staid words had no place in our friendship?

We all nodded in agreement,
‘Yep, time to call it a day. I’m a bit chilly anyhow, and I could do with a sit down and a nice cup of tea’.

As Fran and I prepared a meal for the children, the penny dropped. Perhaps it was Mac falling asleep on a garden bench before dinner that really brought it home to me, but I suddenly saw that we were no longer young. We wanted to get our children to bed so that we could gently sip some more wine, eat a relaxed meal, drink a few pints of water for fear of a hangover, and get to bed at a decent hour. We no longer had the energy of our frenzied China years.

That evening I attempted a mushroom risotto for the ageing Gang of Four. It didn’t work out well. I’ve since perfected the recipe, and had every intention of serving it last weekend when once again we were all reunited in a beautiful house overlooking Lac Léman. Unfortunately my husband had fallen asleep before dinner, Mac was pruning the hedge, and Fran and I were too tired to cook. So we ate the kid’s leftovers, polished off the wine and were in bed by 10pm.

How long will it be until our teeth sleep in a glass by our beds? Until the Mazda RX8 is replaced by one that can ride on pavements? Until the Karen Millen jacket is swapped for a tartan rug to keep our knees nice and warm? At this rate I’m pretty sure I won’t make platinum member of SAGA.

Older and Wiser Mushroom Risotto (Serves 6)

Now this will be a great meal for me when I’m in my dotage; all soft and creamy. If the oyster mushrooms are a bit too challenging for my dentures, I’ll just have the nurse blend it all to a smooth paste. Then I shall regale the rest of the lounge with tales of my life and hope my children still love me enough to come and visit.

For the mushroom part: (can be made up to 6 hours ahead and kept in fridge)
You can mix and match with the mushrooms; use chestnut shrooms if you prefer, skip the oyster mush and increase the button mush, the choice is really yours. I would advise against using magic mushrooms, I'm pretty sure that's illegal and I've heard they make you ears turn green.

500g button mushrooms
20-30g dried porcini mushrooms
150-200g oyster mushrooms
1 large onion
4 cloves of garlic
small bunch of fresh parsley, leave some to garnish
olive oil to fry
1-2 tbsps yeast extract
130ml (approx) to soak the dried mushrooms
150ml dry white wine
black pepper to taste

For the risotto part:
500g risotto rice
60g dairy free spread
400ml white wine
1 litre of boiling water
2 GF stock cubes

• Put the porcini mushrooms into a jug and cover with approximately 130ml of boiling water
• Wipe and slice the button mushrooms and set aside
• Gently rip the oyster mushrooms apart, pausing a second to stroke their velvety surface against your cheek
• Chop the onion - finely or into strips or rings, up to you - and the garlic and most of the parsley. Leave a little parsley to garnish the plates...if your guests are still awake that is
• Put the onions and garlic into a large frying pan and fry gently for about 5 minutes
• Add the button and oyster mushrooms and fry gently for a further 5 minutes until they start to give off their juice. If you are staring in a pleading manner at the pan and they are not giving off their juice, cover the pan and that should do the trick
• Allow the mushrooms to simmer gently whilst you fish out the porcini from the jug - don't throw the stock away
• Squeeze out the porcini over the jug, then finely chop and add to the mushroom mix
• Add the yeast extract to the porcini stock, stir and then add it to the pan
• Add the chopped parsley and the 150ml white wine, turn the heat as low as it will go and leave it to simmer - stirring occasionally - until nearly all the stock has evaporated/been absorbed by the mushrooms. This could take 20 - 30 minutes. There should be a small residue of stock left in the pan, but the mushrooms won't be submerged
• Set the magical mushroom mix aside
• Mix up the two stock cubes with the litre of boiling water
• In a large saucepan, gently melt the dairy free spread
• Add the risotto rice and stir until the rice is coated
• Glug in about 250ml of the 400mls of white wine and stir. It will absorb quite quickly
• Add a good glug of stock and stir
• Now, I was about to ask you in an exasperated manner, 'have you ever managed to cook risotto rice as per the packet instructions? Don't you find it takes loads more liquid than they say?', but marvel of marvels, tonight my risotto rice, did cook really easily. Keep the heat really low, add the liquid, stir, then cover the pan. Keep twitching and dithering and stirring every 3 minutes or so. Worked a treat
• Repeat the adding of liquid, stirring, covering, dithering, twitching and stirring until all the stock and wine has been used up, OR until the risotto rice is tender with a slightly firm centre
• When you think the rice is just about cooked, add the mushroom mix to the rice and stir to combine
• Give it 5-10 minutes until the mushrooms are warmed through, then tutti frutti it's all terminale! (I did French and Spanish, not Italian)
• Serve with a good grinding of black pepper and if you can eat parmesan cheese, go right ahead and sprinkle it on
• Top tip: if you are eating this in a standing position, do make sure your zimmer frame is placed on even terrain. It's best not to take chances at our age

© Pig in the Kitchen

Gluten Free Fantasy Breadsticks (egg free, dairy free, gluten free)

If you were to look at a map of my brain you would see vast swathes of inactive grey matter. ‘Trigonometry’ reads one, ‘Logical Thinking’ another, ‘Ability to respond Rationally When Tired’ yet another. You would also see some interesting, mountainous spikes labelled; ‘Ability to Rant’, ‘Plate-Smashing-When-Furious Capability’ and ‘Slightly Sick Sense of Black Humour’.

For every blank swathe and mountainous spike there is at least one deep, dark pit. ‘Inability to Keep Up With The Washing’, ‘Ignores Dust For Weeks’, ‘Does Not Regularly Change Sheets’, ‘Does Not Unpack Shopping Bags for Days’. It is because of these domestic chore-related dark pits that I feel an overriding sense of failure when I walk through my front door. And I spend a lot of time behind my front door...not doing the boring chores I'm supposed to be doing and thus feeling like a failure.

It’s not all gloom and doom though, I’m beginning to think that feeling like a failure on a daily basis is a good thing. It means that I have created a fantasy world. This world is a little like the Tardis; it doesn’t take up much space on my brain map, but if you open the door marked ‘Fantasy World’ you’ll be sent hurtling down an Alice In Wonderland-esque hole, and who knows where you may land? Come on, let’s go and see…

The party is in full swing. The enormous, tastefully decorated, tidy, clean and elegant house is looking magnificent. Exotic ornaments hint at a life well travelled, and quite stunning photographs on the walls suggest that the owner could be related to Ansel Adams. You feel a little overawed as you peer into the oak-panelled drawing room; there is an electric hum to the air, beautiful people conversing with knowledge and sophistication. Then your hostess sees you and approaches with a friendly welcoming smile; it’s all ok, no need to stand on ceremony here.

She welcomes you warmly and deftly grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter,
‘Here, drink this, I’m so glad you could come, how are the children?’
After listening to you attentively she is called away by one of her catering staff, anxious for her to check their work in the kitchen. As she walks gracefully towards the kitchen, you are struck by what a marvellous physique she has. How can a woman who has had four children look so fantastic? She could easily be mistaken for a world-class tennis player, and you feel sure that she must have a live-in hair stylist; the sleek and shining mane could belong to a model.

‘Makes you sick doesn’t it?’ comments a guest, ‘I wouldn’t mind if she were a bitch, but she is simply the kindest, most thoughtful creature I have ever met’.

‘It’s true’ adds another guest, ‘a patient loving mother, so understanding of her husband’s frequent business trips, a real flair for maintaining domestic order and her clothes...! Do you know I’ve never seen her scrape her hair into a slightly greying ponytail, wear ripped jeans, pull on an old duffle coat and then hope she can get away with it if she dabs some lip gloss on her chapped lips!’

Other guests shake their heads in amazement, ‘She really is a unique and special person’.

Then the hostess appears from the kitchen. She is laughing gaily with one of the staff and looks quite simply radiant. She heads towards you bearing a silver platter. As she draws near, you can see a tempting array of bowls; guacamole, salsa, hummus, it’s all begging to be sampled. She smiles at you,
‘Here, try some, and – please – let me know what you think of the breadsticks. They’re a new recipe, so do be honest about what you think, constructive criticism is very valuable to me’.
Her lapis lazuli eyes shine with fervour as she adds,
‘It’s so important to be humble in life isn’t it?’
You willingly accept the breadsticks and scoop up tasty mouthfuls from the bowls. For an instant your world sways blissfully to a new and exciting culinary beat,
‘Oh, those are delicious’ you breathe.

She smiles simply and a flattering blush colours her smooth, flawless cheeks,
‘Thank-you. Thank-you very much indeed’
As her long slender legs glide away, you are quite simply slack-jawed with amazement; can this woman be for real?

Hope you enjoy these dear readers; in fantasy or in reality, they taste pretty good!

Gluten Free Fantasy Breadsticks
If you are desperate for breadsticks for your grumpy, crimson-cheeked, teething baby to chew on; please don't be put off by the salt and pepper pictured on these breadsticks. The lovely hostess mentioned above added that for her grown up party. You don't have to though; simply leave them naked.

100g / 1 cup cornflour / cornstarch
50g / 1/2 cup of potato flour
100g / 1 cup brown rice flour
1.5tsp dried yeast
0.5 tsp xanthan gum
1 tbsp sugar
0.5 tsp salt
50g / scant 1/4 cup dairy free spread
180ml (approx) tepid water

• Heat the oven to 190 degrees celsius and line a baking tray (or two) with baking parchment
• Put the cornflour, potato flour, rice flour, dried yeast, xanthan gum, sugar and salt into a large mixing bowl. Mix with a mini whisk to ensure even distribution of ingredients
• Put the dairy free spread into the bowl, and rub it in to the flours until the mix resembles fine breadcrumbs (my eldest daughter came up with that plan; she's so clever)
• Add the tepid water a little at a time, you may not need it all. You should end up with a thick mix, a bit like a thick cake mix. Beat with a wooden spoon for a minute or so, to incorporate all the ingredients and to get rid of any lumps
• Now, take a piping bag and choose a thin nozzle; mine measures about 5mm in diameter
• Dollop some mix into your piping bag and very gently pipe long, elegant breadsticks onto the baking trays
• Pour some olive oil into a bowl and painstakingly brush the surface of each stick with oil. I used my finger, but one of those silicone pastry brushes would probably be quicker. If you want to season the sticks, sprinkle over some sea salt and black pepper
• By the time you've piped out all of the mixture and daubed the sticks in oil, you can put the baking tray straight into the oven - no need to leave them to prove
• Bake for about 10 minutes or until they are golden brown
• Remove from the oven and allow to cool
• Shimmy out to your waiting guests. You are magnificent and you are sumptuous...and you really need to get a housekeeper to maintain order in your house

© Pig in the Kitchen

Dinner Party Courgette Soup (egg free, dairy free, gluten free)

When I was little, my parents would sometimes give Dinner Parties. These were not relaxed, informal dinners amongst friends; these were ‘grand affairs’. My Mum would consult a hefty tome from her complete collection of ‘Supercook’ books – they had white vinyl covers and gold embossed lettering. She would make her selection and set to work. Sometimes I would leaf through the books and stare at the photographs of all the delicious food she might conjure up. These Dinner Parties always meant that the house had to be tidied and the dining room prepared. I remember a heavy glass decanter would be produced, and on really special occasions, they would use…the Heated Hostess Trolley.

Finished in faux mahogany, to the untrained eye it could be mistaken for a piece of tacky furniture. Yet when you slid the lids aside, there underneath was a range of serving dishes, each with their own silver lid. They were sunk into a metal base. When you plugged the sideboard in, the metal base would heat up thus keeping all the food warm. How fantastic is that? I imagine that after the starter had been served (prawn cocktail I reckon), and the meat placed on dinner plates, my Mother would quietly say,
‘now, if you would like to help yourselves to vegetables from the hostess trolley…’
and the guests would politely shuffle along. Or better still, did she wheel it around the table and each guest would load up their plates, carefully replacing each silver lid so that it didn’t make too much of a clanking sound? Perhaps she would strike poses as they helped themselves, a bit like Anthea Redfern on The Generation Game? Would my Dad be tempted to do a Bruce Forsyth impression,
‘doesn't she look lovely, give us a twirl!’?
Oh what I wouldn’t give for one of those trolleys, I could have hours of Dinner Party fun.

Anyway, as the party preparations reached fever pitch, I would finish watching Doctor Who and be packed off to bed. My bedroom gave me a great view of the guests arriving up the dark lane. As the lion’s head door knocker summoned my parents, I would creep onto the landing and watch the grown up rituals begin. Effusive cries and greetings, mwah’s and handshakes, the wine gifts accepted with thanks, alien cologne wafting up the stairs.

I was – I’m fairly sure – a precocious little brat. Do you think it was because I was once a flower princess at the village fête? Maybe the success went to my head, but for whatever reason, I always felt the guests would welcome a little break from adult tedium. I would time my entrance for about halfway through the first G&T. The conversation would die and my Mother’s face would freeze, her teeth bared in an attempt at a smile. I knew that I had about 5 minutes before she deemed that the mark had been well and truly over-stepped. I’d produce my corny excuse; ‘I heard a noise’, bask a little in the grown-up attention, then scuttle back upstairs. I’d then resume position on the landing so that I could eavesdrop. If someone appeared unexpectedly in the hall, I’d have to dart back into my room, heart thumping, hysterical giggles just below the surface.

I’d wake in the morning to a silent house. Going downstairs was like wandering into an alien world. Not the usual tidy, uneventful kitchen, but a scene from a play, or perhaps the aftermath of a crime. Glasses everywhere. Some tipped over; their contents pooled on the table or swilling happily around in the bottom. Carelessly stacked plates - not even scraped off - waiting to confront my Mum when she came down to start the bleary clearing up. I half expected to see bodies sprawled under the table, or cobwebbed skeletons propped up in chairs. Judging by the amount of empty bottles, I suspect that some of those guests would have done better to bed down under the table rather than lurch happily to their cars, and veer home down country lanes. I don’t think Drink-driving laws had really caught on in the ‘70’s.

The best part of the Dinner Party carnage was the pudding leftovers. Somehow they had made it back into the fridge, and were waiting for me to surreptitiously scoop my fill. My favourite was that culinary classic of my parent’s generation; the ginger biscuit pudding. This über-kitsch dessert consisted of ginger biscuits from a packet, soaked in sherry, sandwiched together with cream, and then smeared all over with cream. How that constitutes a pudding worthy of guests, I don’t know, (born-again Delia might) but the mix of alcohol, sugar and fat was delicious. You see - the seeds of my downfall were sown early in my life.

These Dinner Party memories were swirling around my head recently, triggered by some courgettes I bought. For at least one of her dinners, Mum served a ‘Courgettes Fried in Butter’ dish. To my young mind they looked foul – like green slugs I remember thinking – but I suddenly fancied trying them again. Using Mum’s dish as a starting point I concocted this courgette soup. It’s really simple, and you’ll feel all smug and healthy when you eat it. Do you know how it would best be served? From one of those beautiful heated hostess trolleys! Must have a look on Ebay…

Courgette Soup (...is very good with Archimedes' GF bread rolls)
I think I have fallen in love with this soup. I love it because it's green, which instantly makes me feel as though it has life-giving powers. I love it all the more because my allergic girlie gobbles it up and asks for more. It's a good one for small babies, although it is not advisable to give spinach to children under the age of four months due to nitrates (here's a good explanation). If you are in any doubt, just leave the spinach out, it still tastes good. You might also want to reduce the stock cubes if feeding this to a baby.

4 medium courgettes
2 cloves of garlic
1 small potato
1-2 tbsps dairy free spread
black pepper
1-2 gluten free vegetable stock cubes
500-750ml water (perhaps a little more)
a handful of spinach/rocket/other green leaf

• Wash the courgettes and slice into rounds
• Peel and roughly chop the garlic
• Peel the potato and cut into slices
• Over a low heat, melt the dairy free spread in a frying pan
• Add the courgettes, garlic and potato and stir until everything is coated in spread. Leave to cook until the courgettes are slightly tender; about 5-10 minutes. Stir often so that the potato doesn't stick and the dairy free spread doesn't burn
• Grind a little black pepper over the frying pan, doesn't that look lovely?
• When the courgettes have softened (you don't want them brown), remove the frying pan from the heat
• Transfer the contents of the frying pan to a large, deep saucepan. Put the pan back on a medium heat
• Add 500ml of water; it should just cover the top of the vegetables. Add more if required
• Bring the pan to the boil and sprinkle in the stock cubes (now I know I'm vegetarian, but I reckon that chicken stock would be pretty good with this too)
• Stir the pan, cover, and let it bubble gently until the potato is tender; about 15 minutes?
• Add the handful of spinach and let it wilt for a minute or two. Turn off the heat
• Use a hand held blender to blitz the soup until it is smooth. If you find it too thick you could add more water at this point
• Taste and adjust seasoning to your taste; I like to add more black pepper
• Transfer your soup to your serving receptacle of choice; if you have a heated hostess trolley I'm going to be really jealous!

© Pig in the Kitchen

Hot Cross Buns (gluten free, egg free, dairy free)

I’m going to come right out and say it; Easter annoys me. There are a few reasons for this. I know I've gone on about Easter before,; but I just cannot get my head round the sequence of events. Which day did Jesus do what? Was it bad Mary, good Mary or some other Mary at the foot of the Cross? And when are we allowed to eat our eggs?

I also get annoyed with Easter’s caprices. Why can’t there be a fixed date for Easter? All this drifting around the calendar plays havoc with my holiday planning (not to mention my blog cooking) and smacks of spoilt princess,
‘Look at me! I’m not fixed like Christmas, no I’m Easter, I shall do as I please and you will just have to fit in. And I now magnanimously declare Lent to be over; you may go ahead and eat chocolate/drink beer/bathe in champagne/etc'. Yes, Easter puts me in a bad mood.

Then there’s the whole Easter food thing. I’d never heard of a meringue nest until I met my Mother-in-Law; has my family been doing it wrong all these years? If Hot Cross Buns are for Good Friday (apparently), how come Sainsbury’s are selling them just as soon as they’ve cleared the shelves of Valentine’s stuff? The significance of the gold bunnies escapes me, and egg blowing? I have five words for you: Four kids, egg allergy, mess. It’s just not going to happen under my roof.

Then there’s the chocolate. I’ll let you into a little secret; people don’t mistake me for Kate Moss. My legs would give one of the taller Seven Dwarves a run for their money, and in a dim light you might mistake me for a Comice pear. The bulges from Christmas have barely diminished before, Behold! Here’s the Easter Bunny dressed in Green and Black. You know if she wore Cadbury one season I might not be that fussed, but Green and Black? I’ve got her clothes off quicker than you can say ‘chocolate orgasm’.

So, Easter arrives, and bang go the vestiges of my self control. In addition, the children are suddenly besieged with chocolate offerings. When the big day arrives there are four children rejoicing in the chocolate from heaven. Of course that’s very sweet, I like watching them happy, and I bought most of the chocolate anyway. Yet when the rejoicing has abated, the problems kick in.

As any good Mother would, on Easter Day (that's when you're supposed to eat them, right?) I allow them chocolate before breakfast, possibly some at lunch and a bit at tea. Then I – and the children – realise that we still have enough chocolate left to melt down and create our very own Niagara. They will be eating chocolate for weeks to come. They will be asking every single day, at least three times a day, for their Easter chocolate. What have I done?

They know they can wear me down. They approach me when I am thoroughly distracted; on the phone or sending a text. Or when I am immersed deep in a blissful bath. They come in their hordes and ask for chocolate.
‘I can get it Mummy, I know where you’ve hidden it’ says the eldest helpfully. Sometimes I give in. Sometimes I don’t, and then all the door-slamming, whining, tantruming powers of four children going chocolate cold turkey are unleashed upon me. It is a terrifying position to be in.

However, I have resolved that this year, it’s going to be different. They will receive their chocolate as usual, and then I am going to indulge in a little free fall parenting; I am going to let them decide for themselves how best to dispose of their chocolate. I shall give a brief lecture on the perils of over-indulgence, and will kindly but firmly insist they are responsbile for cleaning up their own chocolate-induced vomit. I shall ask them to stash their chocolate in a mouse-proof receptacle, and to please not eat in bed. Lastly I shall insist that if they are going to gorge themselves ten minutes before I serve a healthy tea; they must not tell me. I am going with the ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ approach.

I reckon their Easter stash is going to last three days, tops. It will all be over and done with in a sickly flash and I won’t have protracted chocolate negotiations that last well into July. I’m feeling quietly smug about this plan. I’m also feeling rather smug about my Hot Cross Buns. I give you my full permission to eat them whenever the hell you want and Easter be damned. Hmmm, I do hope I’m not storing up godly wrath for judgement day with that last remark. Maybe I could bribe my way past St Pete with a plateful of steaming buns?

Happy Easter!

Hot Cross Buns (Makes 6/7 buns)
If you are scrabbling around for decent allergy chocolate; help is at hand. The chocolate eggs in the picture are Whizzers' Speckled Eggs (no dairy, no wheat, no gluten) and should be available from all good healthfood shops. Failing that, they are available from Goodness Direct, or the super Dietary Needs Direct, who have also got lots of other fab, Eastery, chocolatey type products available. Get shopping!

For the buns:
150g cornflour / cornstarch
100g brown rice flour
1.5tsp dried yeast
0.5 tsp xanthan gum
2.5tbsp sugar
0.5 tsp salt
1 tsp mixed spice
0.25tsp ground cinnamon
zest of 1 lemon (perhaps a bit less according to taste)
zest of 1 orange (ditto)
50g dairy free spread
225ml tepid water
100g raisins

For the Cross (optional)
4tbsps brown rice flour
1.5tsps cornflour
a pinch of xanthan gum
1.5tbsps sugar
enough water to make an iceable paste (approx 60ml?)

For the glaze (again, optional)
3-4 tbsps golden syrup

• Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Line a baking tray with baking parchment
• In a large mixing bowl place the flours, yeast, xanthan gum, spices, sugar, salt and grated zest of the orange and lemon. Mix around with a mini whisk
• Now to adding the water. Start by adding 180ml or so, mix it in a bit, then gradually add the rest. The mix should have the consistency of a cake mix. Using a wooden spoon, gently mix until the water is incorporated. Then beat like mad until the dairy free spread has blended in, and any lumps in the flour have gone. Any stubborn lumps can be squidged between your (clean) fingers
• Add the raisins, and stir them in. Scrape any mix down from the sides of the bowl, then place the bowl in a warm place and leave for approximately 10 minutes. The mix will not really grow, it sort of bulks up a bit
• Whilst the dough is proving, make the paste for the cross (if using). Put the flours, sugar and xanthan gum into a small bowl, and gradually add water - whilst whisking - until you have a smooth paste you can pipe onto your rolls
• There goes the timer, so carefully place large spoonfuls of the dough mix onto the baking tray. Try and give your rolls as much height as possible by sort of folding the dough back onto itself as it drops off the spoon. Yes, that's very clear isn't it? Well I thought it was fairly clear, but do ask for clarification if you have no idea what I mean
• When you have your rolls lined up on your baking tray, dollop your cross paste into an icing bag and pipe a cross onto the buns, don't press down on the buns, we want to keep them enhanced; think Jordan rather than Victoria
• Leave the buns to prove in a warm place for another five minutes, then place them into the oven
• Check them anxiously after about 10 minutes, then leave them for another 5 minutes or so until the tops are golden brown, and they sound hollow when tapped on the base
• Remove the baking tray from the oven
• If you're going down the glazed route (be warned, it does make the buns very sticky, but is most delicious if you gobble up a bun when it's still warm and the syrup dribbles over your lips leaving them sticky and shiny), briefly warm the golden syrup and brush it over the surface of your buns
• Transfer the buns to a cooling rack and leave to cool
• They are good warm with dairy free spread and jam, they are also good toasted. My lovely son proudly told me today - as I handed him an allergy friendly hot cross bun - that he made hot cross buns with egg and milk at school. 'But I might like yours more Mum' he added. He then boomed 'Delicious!' when he'd finished. The way to a small boy's heart is definitely through his tummy

© Pig in the Kitchen

Apple and Cranberry Half Term Muffins (egg free, dairy free, gluten free)

When my second daughter realised we were going to our house in Normandy for half term, she staged a minor rebellion,

‘I don’t WANT to go to our house in Normandy. All my friends are going somewhere good; like skiing or to Italy, I want to go somewhere different, it’s so boring at our other house’.

I looked at her thoughtfully. A pair of my Mother’s ghostly, strappy, work shoes hovered around my feet. I stared at them, and considered trying them on for size,

‘Now just you listen here young lady, have you any idea how spoilt you sound? You are very, very lucky to have another house to go to, it is a privilege. We are going, and you will come whether you like it or not. Now stop that crying or I’ll give you something to cry for’.

Those shoes just don’t feel comfortable though. My 21st century, vaguely fluffy, stay-at-home boots suit me better;

‘Why don’t you want to go? I thought you enjoyed it there?’

‘Well, I do…’ she conceded reluctantly, ‘it’s just that we never really do much, we just stay around the house’.

She had a point. I do tend to potter around the house, the children disappear into the garden and we meet up for meals. Apparently the novelty is wearing off. I made a decision,
‘You’re right, we’re not just going to stay at home; we’re going to do stuff’.

I got quite excited at the thought of spending days away from the house and not trying to keep up with the washing and the usual chores.

And so the week began, bathed in beautiful sunshine. We headed for the sea. The beach in globally-warmed February is a fantastic place to be. The children paddled, Daddy lost the ball in the sea (we’ll gloss over that bit), and we ate ice-cream and lollies sitting on the sand.
Day 1 – Mummy is off to a great start, keep up the good work.

Monday: first real day of the holidays. Daddy away until Thursday, but I was not fazed. Dear Kathie arrived with her son, and the children spent hours on the trampoline. As the momentum slowed we frogmarched them to the woods where they climbed trees and helped us collect firewood. The tiny, bleating lambs in the fields were achingly cute, and my youngest declared she wanted to have two ‘sheepy babies’.
Day 2; Another good day for Mummy, continuing good work.

Waking to a downpour during half-term is never a good start. I was still playing the Kathie sleepover card though, so the children played with her son until lunchtime when we took them to a pizzeria. As we waved Kathie off, I felt a wave of tiredness and decided to sit down. Unheard of. I painted my eldest daughter’s nails, and even managed a little light sewing. The world did not stop turning because I sat down during the day; it was a revelation.
Day 3 – Mummy is making steady progress, relaxing into her role. We think she will do very well here.

On Wednesday, I played my trump card. Not only a trip to a different beach, but also meeting up with some of their school friends, and a trip to an Aquarium. My complacency was diminished somewhat by the flash of a speed camera and a well-concealed Gendarme-ess staring at me through speeding binoculars. If anything comes of these mishaps, I will sink the costs into the half term ENTS budget and we’ll say no more about it. Anyway, the children were all very happy with more beach action; they don’t seem to mind the scarlet, pre-frostbite feet. They liked the smaller-than-expected-aquarium and enjoyed another lunch out.
Day 4 – Mummy is making excellent progress, but she does need to be careful with her attitude. We hope that she will learn from the speeding incidents and take care not to allow careless errors to creep into her work.

Another day. Another 24 hours to fill. Waking with a cricked neck was not good, neither was more rain. We did manage a trip to a garden centre to look at furry animals, weird fish and brightly coloured birds. However, the quick-in, quick-out supermarket visit stretched maternal patience to twanging point; I think I did well not to have a liquid lunch that day. The afternoon was spent recuperating. The children briefly attempted sewing, and then we dug out the UNO cards.
Day 5 – We do hope Mummy has not peaked too soon. She still has 3 more days to go and the sign of a good parent is the ability to pace themselves. She would do well to bear that in mind.

Parental reinforcements arrived late on Day 5, so Day 6 was always going to go a little better. My other half stayed at home to work and the rest of us set off to see the sheepy babies again. I did worry for a minute that the sheepy babies had already met their maker, but fortunately they were all still there. More tree climbing in the woods, back for lunch, then some more UNO. My son really is a consummate cheat, and he’s only five. My neck had seized up again after tea and I had to retire to the sofa. One daughter massaged my feet, another my face, and my son brushed my hair. Bliss.
Day 6 – We feel that Mummy has weathered adversity very well indeed, and her determination to continue providing quality care to her children, does her credit.

Saturday meant that normal weekend business resumed; I went for a run, we had lunch at our favourite pizzeria and my eldest went horse-riding. I decided to clean the inside of the car because apparently a herd of pigs had been living in there for the past week. Astounding what turns up in a long-neglected car, I think the tuning fork was my best find.
Day 7 – There is very little left for us to say; Mummy is doing stellar work and her multi-tasking skills are improving daily.

Day 8 is always about packing up and going home. It happened to be Mother’s Day so I was rewarded with breakfast in bed. I took the opportunity to ask my dear offspring what had been the favourite part of their action-packed, fun-filled week. There was a thoughtful pause.

‘Going to bed’ ventured one.

‘Watching telly’ from another.

One rallied with ‘going to the beach’, and the fourth one is really too small to answer.
Day 8 – Mummy really shouldn’t take any notice of her children. She has provided an entertaining week, and she would do well to realise – sooner rather than later – that Motherhood is a thankless task. She should also take comfort from the three batches of Apple and Cranberry muffins she managed to bake during a very busy week.

Apple and Cranberry Half Term Muffins (Makes 12 large muffins)

The inspiration for these came - not from the creative joy of half term - but after reading an email from a lovely reader who I know is struggling to find allergy-friendly finger foods for her one year old daughter. I know these are a tad sugary, but I thought they might help when trying to think of vaguely healthy snacks for weeny ones. The addition of chickpea flour adds a little extra protein which can be hard to get into your child's diet when they can't eat dairy or egg.

Egg free, dairy free, gluten free:

125g brown rice flour

30g chickpea / gram / besan flour

70g cornflour / cornstarch

2 tsp gluten free baking powder

0.5tsp bicarbonate of soda

0.5tsp xanthan gum

1 tsp ground cinnamon

120-130g sugar (depending on taste)

1 heaped tsp of Orgran 'no egg' egg replacer+ 2 tbsp rice milk

1 heaped tbsp ground linseeds + 1 tbsp rice milk (to grind linseeds; put whole linseeds in a blender and blitz until they are a powder)

90ml vegetable oil

70ml rice milk

70 ml coconut milk

100g dried cranberries

200g peeled and cored apple (weighed after peeling and coring) approx 1.5 large apples

For egg free, dairy free with wheat flour:

Replace the gluten free flours with 225g of plain white flour

Reduce the sugar to 120g

Omit the xanthan gum

For gluten free with egg:

Omit the 'no egg' egg replacer, linseeds and the 3 tbsps of rice milk. Use one egg instead

• Pre-heat the oven to 170 degrees celsius. Place your muffin cases into your muffin tray
• If making the egg-free version, put the tsp of egg replacer into a small bowl. Add the tbsp of ground linseeds and the three tbsps of rice milk. Mix together with a mini whisk until there are no lumps, and set aside
• Into a large mixing bowl place the gluten free flours or the wheat flour (if using). Add the xanthan gum (if making the gluten free version), baking powder, bicarbonate of soda, ground cinnamon and sugar. Mix with a mini whisk until everything is combined
• Into a large jug put the oil, rice milk and coconut milk. If you are using a real egg, add it to the jug, and whisk lightly
• Peel and core the apple and weigh out 200g. Finely chop the apple; maximum chunk size 0.5cm (and who says cooking is an imprecise science?)
• Make a well in the centre of the flour bowl and add the oil, rice and coconut milk, real egg (if using)/ or egg replacer and linseed mix. Use a fork and mix briefly, about 5 goes around the bowl
• Before it is all combined, add the chopped apple and the dried cranberries, mix again. It does look as though there's loads of apple at this point, but the end result is worth it
• Divide the mixture evenly between the 12 muffin cases, and place into the oven
• Bake for approximately 15-20 minutes, but keep an eye on them; it is a moment of pure chagrin if you allow your muffins to burn. Such a schoolgirl error
• When they are firm and golden brown on top, insert a skewer into them. Aha! You see! They look cooked, but are still a bit gloopy inside (if yours are cooked at this point, disregard me as a wittering idiot, but otherwise, read on)
• Reduce the oven heat to approx 150 degrees celsius
• Your muffins should now be firm enough to be gently removed from the muffin tray (keep them in their cases though), and placed onto a pizza tray or baking tray
• Return them to the oven for another 10 minutes or so, and then that cheeky, gloopy interior should firm up and your muffins will be cooked. Check this by inserting your skewer or knife. If during the interior-firming process the tops are getting too brown, cover them up with some tin foil
• Remove the muffins and allow them to cool. Don't be too quick to taste them, that hot apple can cause nasty scalding to the roof of the mouth. Serves me right for being a Pig
• Enjoy them whilst still a little warm. Enjoy them more when half term is over and at last you have time to breathe again

© Pig in the Kitchen

The pictured muffins are egg, dairy and gluten free.