All posts filed under: Life

cauliflower steaks

Spice-Rubbed Cauliflower Steaks

Hello 2017 – and hello to all of you – sorry I’m horribly late. Everything’s gone by so quickly – Christmas, New Year, delicious food – and I’ve let them slip away because, with time, the thought of recording them all has become more and more tiresome. A job for a long afternoon of nothingness, and how often do those come about? Anyway, I’m now on a train on my way home from London and I feel the urge to write. Not quite a long afternoon, but it’ll do. I know the middle of January is hardly the time for yearly reviews, but I do want to talk a bit about my 2016 (wow, doesn’t that seem a while ago?). Now contrary to popular opinion, I liked 2016. Political strife and numerous celebrity deaths aside, it was actually quite good, and without sounding too unbearable, I think I might have learned some important things. Here they are: 9-5 (who am I kidding – 9-6) jobs are, for the most part, intolerably shit. Well, in any case I’ve Read More

December 21

In the days since we last spoke I’ve taken my last trip to London for the year. I’ve also eaten all the mince pies and decided that in the New Year I will be a svelte fitness queen. I’ve written my Christmas cards while listening to carols from King’s. I’ve come down with a wretched cold. I haven’t done my tax return yet. I’ve driven – or rather Dom’s driven – to Cheshire, and we’ve wandered through the dark cloisters of Chester cathedral. I’ve explored the city walls, heavy with fog, silent except for the rush of the weir. I’ve waited, with family, for a 9pm table reservation at the Chef’s Table. A tiny restaurant, tucked away in the old alleys of Chester – enough room for 24. The food unbelievably good. Marinated quail, served with clementine, chicory and spiced nuts. Then a Christmas dinner of duck – duck breast, duck stuffing, duck sausages. And yes, I’ve put down my knife and fork every so often and sighed. And all that, (minus the tax return, and the cold), is Read More

December 13

We live in a three-bedroom house, Dom and I. But honestly, two people have no need for that many rooms. It’s a perk, having an ironing room and a big study, but it’s not essential. Especially not when you’re living in rural Northamptonshire, with far fewer risks of house parties and zero chance of friends popping round for a cuppa. But still, we have a three bedroomed house with its own downstairs loo. We’ve filled our home with mismatching furniture, cushions and fairy lights and it is, to all intents and purposes, as cosy as could be. But there is one thing missing – I’ve only realised it now – and that thing is people. On Friday we welcomed eight friends through our door. They came bearing gifts of wine, sticky toffee pudding and mountains of bedding. We stayed up until the wee hours, eating cheese and drinking champagne. Then when it was finally time to go to bed, two couples slept in the living room beside the twinkling Christmas tree. Our house wasn’t so Read More