Any one else making leek ziggurats?

Goody, goody (chic alors). Brunch means toast. Toast means jam. Some would kill for chips (ah, “Carfax Chippy”- sweet Oxonian memories), I, on the other hand, would quite happily kill for toast and jam.

Christine Ferber has always being a personal favourite when it comes to jam recipes. And, once again she scores highly on the Colloquial Jam Scale. Before quinces are out of season, make the most

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Quince and Orange Blossom Honey Jam

Why is it that sometimes, however many pictures you take, your tarte Bourdaloue always ends up looking like a darn flying saucer? And why are there so many references to odd space crafts on this blog? Is this recipe part of a larger conspiracy?

Would that explain why its flavours are “out-of-this-world”? Could it possibly be connected with the tonka bean that I stealthily grated in the frangipane, a

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Bourdaloue Redux: Vanilla & Tonka

What? Oh come off it, doofus. (et puis quoi encore, espèce d’andouille?)

When life throws you 2 quinces, I say, quarter them and blanch them for 10 minutes,  while simultaneously sweating two chopped onions in a tablespoon of olive oil. Drain the quinces, let them cool a bit, peel and core them, and chuck them in with the onions,

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Duck Terrine and Quince Chutney

Or acknowledge this urge of yours to braise stuff. Like lamb shanks. But before I witter on, let’s get socked up.

In case you wonder, you little wondering machines, the stringy stuff on the shanks is not industrial shredded Cheddar (god forbids), nor giant nail clippings. That would be gross. Shame on you for harbouring such disgusting thoughts, Sir.

It’s friggin lemon. It’s

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Braised Lamb Shanks & Artichokes

Totally a must-have, dahling. Forget leopard-print.

Toffi, who likes to sport an effortlessly dishevelled,

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Oatmeal Dog Treats

Yesterday was my best (and oldest) friend’s birthday. I dare not disclose her age (she’s a very dignified lady), but the vet assured us that she is now way past a hundred human years (ça fait un bail qu’elle est centenaire). She may not see so well any longer, or hear, but her sense of smell and extra long whiskers guide her securely in her daily inconsequential businesses,

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Milky Dog Treats

[ok, how many readers have I already lost? is it really that bad? bunnies are only cute when they bop around, you know]

Somehow there seems to be a great wall of silence surrounding this benine recipe. Either it’s an alliance of PETA and the Dried Apricot Producers’ Union, or it was

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Rabbit With Prunes

Then I did write a long, feverish post on how delicious it was and how “spice cabinet” sounded like a NASA concept, a kind of cupboard with spices and small astronauts sitting on minishelves, with a big reactor attached underneath. Then I thought, o Claire, cut the crap, for Pete’s sake

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Quetsche, Nectarine and Cinnamon Jam

[Have I oversaturated my lemon slice? Sometimes it feels like it.]

After I rescued the

More claptrap! (Plus de sornettes!)Read Pollack with Zucchini, Tomatoes & Thyme