HERB, by Mark Diacono

 A book review

Whilst I have never been a smoker, I can understand instinctively the reference to the importance of a cigarette paper on page 64, describing the hair's breadth separation between oregano and marjoram.  Reminscences about rollups in bus shelters rarely figure in food writing.  

This is a book, not about bad habits and memories, dried leaves and paper, but about herbs, vibrant, verdant, fresh and yes, dried. It is about their place in the garden, the window box, the back step or the window sill and their role in the kitchen; but it is so much more.  Mark's writing is sublime, this book ranks as a good read whether or not you are a gardener or a cook.  Anything we write about it will pale in comparison, but try we must!

I wrote this review, sitting on a hotel terrace, surrounded by four strategically placed bay trees.  It was earlier this summer in Scotland, so although there was sun, the heat was far from Mediterranean, unlike now, but the waft of lavender and the persistent buzz of the bees echo the opening lines of HERB; "I'm sitting within an incomplete ring of pots, each full of herbs, their flowers alive with pollinators, the sun flashing bright as I scribe".

As a gardener and cook, as well as a writer, Mark is well qualified to take you from plot, or pot, to plate and whilst it may amount to less than a single page, to my mind one of the most useful entries in the book is the section on "Choosing what to grow".  With an ever increasing range of fresh and dried herbs available in the supermarket and farm shop, even in rural Shropshire, the frankly mind numbing selection of plants on specialist websites* and limited growing space at home, advice and guidance on the best options to maximise herbal gratification and minimise horticultural disaaster are more than welcome.

"if you were expecting to see lemon balm: NO"

Once these fundamental decisions have been made, Mark guides the reader through two distinct sets of herb skills; firstly describing garden skills, such as sowing from seed and propagation, through to picking the end result.

And then, logically enough, into the kitchen; there are more ways to chop and store your herbs than you have hitherto considered, I'll wager.

Moving on, the excitement grows - sorry about the pun, with a comprehensive directory of herbs to grow and eat.  More than a simple list, each description paints a picture, effervesces with enthusiasm and quite frankly, is less than helpful in restricting your choice - I want them all.

"Anise hyssop (ours is just coming into flower) looks like the offspring of a one night stand mint had with a nettle". Sadly there is no back story about how mint and nettle got it on, but it was an intriguing enough introduction to make me read on.

By now, you should have your herb patch planned out and you can step into the recipe section. 

Disclaimer: this review is in no way coloured by the appearance of Mark's Netherton pan in some of these recipes, page 155 for example😊

Green is now my favourite colour, leaping out of every shot, as refreshing as a cold beer on a hot summer evening.

Among our favourites, and it is very hard to choose, is the dill, lemon and green bean pilaf.  The description of it being "crazily moreish", is if anything, an understatement.  The only way I can justify my greedy approach to this dish is to convince myself that is is good for me!.

There is so much to love about this book, but the love does not reside solely between the covers.

Mark is "offering HERB at four prices. We want to ensure that those who might benefit most from the book are able to get their hands on it, so you can pay whichever suits you." 

If you have wanted more from your herbs than a parsley garnish, then anything you spend on this book, will be a true investment.

* is "herbporn" a thing?

Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2021 ©

www.netherton-foundry.co.uk

SIMPLE: A book by Diana Henry

You will recall my trip to Otter Farm earlier this year for a food writing course with Diana Henry.
You may also remember my trepidation at the thought of submitting a piece of homework for review by our talented teacher.
This was a sample of work, written BEFORE the course - definitely an opportunity to "compare and contrast" our writing abilities, in the manner of the old English O level questions!

Well .......... the homework came back duly marked and I think I can safely say that the comments could be interpreted as a solid 7/10.
Diana's comments were incisive and very helpful.  I am putting them into practice with my writing now and hope that the results are evident.

But this all gave me an idea and as she has written, albeit privately, about mine, I have decided to write about Diana's writing.  I have several of her books and, in my opinion, each one is even better than the last.
Her latest, is certainly my favourite.

SIMPLE:  Effortless food, big flavours

To be honest, there's not much more to add to that.  We learned on our course that "less is more" and not to pad out our writing with unnecessary waffle.  The title and summary really do describe the book to a T.

Damn, Diana is a clever writer!!

This book shows you how to turn a few ingredients into tantalising, easy to prepare and visually impressive meals without having to be a trained chef or have a kitchen full of specialist equipment.
OK, so some of the ingredients are a bit off beat for us rural mice - pomegranate molasses in Highley anyone? - but surely that's what the internet is for.  Hello Souschef.

Take, for example, huevos rotos:

"SPANISH BROKEN EGGS; spicy, cheap, calls for a cold beer."
No spare words and already I am hooked.  After all, an excuse for a beer on a school night signposts me to a recipe every time.

"In other words, perfect midweek food" 
Who can argue with that?  
A total of only 16 words and they speak volumes.

This not only sums up the recipe, but everything that Diana taught us. Choose your words carefully and sparingly and they will deliver your message. Blather on and the message will be lost.

Now go and get yourself a copy of the book - and treat yourself to some remarkably SIMPLE food.

© Netherton Foundry 2017

www.netherton-foundry.co.uk

A day at Otter Farm 3

Wear sensible shoes. So said the joining instructions for the course.
OK, so the footwear is sorted, sort of. But what else to wear, is there a dress code for this kind of event?  The nerves tingle and sting like Spring nettles. What will everyone else be wearing? Am I being too shallow? Will there be a yummy mummy contingent,  ladies d'un certain age and a certain, confident style, media maidens, sassily strutting their AllSaints apparel?  Nothing in my wardrobe shouts "writing course" at me, oh where is my Elizabeth David outfit when I need it.
Pull yourself together, woman. This is a food writing course, not a remake of The Devil Wears Prada. You are meeting Diana Henry, not Anna Wintour.  All the same, as the saying goes, clothes maketh the (wo)man, so I need something that is not only comfortable, but which will also boost confidence.
Black dress, black boots, grey cardigan, done.
And as I walk into Mark and Candida's glorious kitchen at Otter Farm and meet Diana, I take in her black dress, black boots and grey cardigan.  I feel better already.  Better yet with a cup of coffee and a still warm, fennel fragrant biscuit, produced by the disarmingly youthful 5 o'clock apron, aka Claire Thomson.
The other course attendees start arriving.  Coffee and tea flow freely and initial, introductory conversations stutter into life. We are issued with sticky name labels and V. uses hers to cover the toothpaste mark on her black top and I inwardly acknowledge my right to be here.  What's more it's a joy to discover that I already "know" some of these people from the virtual world of social media, where we so often expose our personalities and hide our identities.
More coffee, and, with the arrival of long distance traveller, A., we begin.

I open the beautiful notebook, given to me at Christmas by my daughter, especially for today. I don't want to miss a thing.

There is so much to take in, Diana has structured the course to cover as much material as possible In the time available.
I listen, I make notes, I drink more coffee, I eat sublime cake, thanks again Claire, listen again, make more notes, eat a delicious lunch, yes, prepared by Claire, and swig home made Limoncello with sparkling Otter Farm wine. 

Enough to be glad that I am not the one to be driving home, not so much that the afternoon will be a somnolent haze.
Just as well, because as soon as the lunch  dishes are cleared, it's our turn to work.  Write a piece in 45 minutes; a metaphoric blank piece of paper insolently defies us to pick a topic, an audience and a coherent collection of words.
THIS IS NOT EASY. But harder yet is reading it aloud to the group.
Deep breath, don't look up, go for it. There is appreciation, laughter - reassuringly in the places I'd expected - and relief.  I listen to the others' pieces; this room is brimming with talent, wit and warmth.

The day is over, we have run over our allotted finish time and yet it has past all too swiftly.

I am not going to divulge details of the course itself, you will have to attend yourself for that.  Only that way can you benefit, as I did, from one far more qualified than I am to deliver pearls of writing wisdom. Cliched that may be, but believe me, pearls they were, lustrous, precious and certainly not found in every shell.

It is time to go home to homework, housework and getting these in the right order.  This post is part of my homework, whilst the dishes languish in the sink!

Many thanks to Mark and Candida for arranging the course and opening their beautiful home to us, to Claire for feeding us so wonderfully,  I can still taste the marmalade polenta cake and, of course, to Diana for sharing her skill and talents with us so generously.

© Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2017

www.netherton-foundry.co.uk

Cranberry and marmalade cake

I have never been one for the type of resolutions that see you having to give up something pleasurable during the grey days of January.  Admittedly the days are technically getting longer, but you'd be hard pushed to admit that that's what it feels like.
There is, I have no doubt, a different shade of grey for every day of the month and yet they all merge into one long, washed out blur of monochromatic misery.  Not quite 50 shades, but let's not go down that road.

It's hard to feel cheerful faced with the monotony of bad, but rarely so bad you can't go to work, weather; the comedown after Christmas, when you no longer have the tree, but the pine needles keep turning up under the sofa, the last of the slightly dodgy chocolates that you received in the secret Santa sack, the sad resignation of not being able to gorge yourself on mince pies for another 10 months, at least;  eating the last slice of Christmas cake; acknowledging that a nice glass of sherry mid afternoon is no longer acceptable; higher heating bills that coincide with the arrival of the Christmas credit card bill. April is most certainly not the cruellest month.
January is not the month to be contemplating fresh starts, it does not live up to the promise of a new year, new start -  more like new year, let's just pull the blankets over our heads and wait for Spring.

But there are reasons to be cheerful - no more bloody trite TV ads for a start and no more celebrities smugly telling us about their perfect Christmas,when we all know that they pay someone else to decorate their tasteful tree, cook their dinner and wrap their overindulgent, social media friendly presents.

Bah humbug indeed.

Mid way through the morning of my day at Otter Farm, Claire presented us with a slice of still warm, marmalade, polenta and thyme cake.  Divine.
I also have my own, slightly different and seasonal marmalade cake, which I shall share with you.
This is a perfect January dish, when you still have cranberries hanging around after Christmas and the first Seville  oranges are in the shops.

I used the last of the cranberry sauce I had made at Christmas, which had been decanted into a jar and stored in the fridge.
You can, of course, use commercially made sauce, but it will be too sweet and sticky without a little adulteration. I suggest that you warm 2 tablespoons of sauce gently over a low heat and add the juice of 2 Seville oranges.
If you want to start from scratch, measure out enough fresh cranberries to cover the base of your loaf tin and then transfer them to a pan. Add the juice of an orange and cook gently until they start to burst and the juice starts to run. Add sugar to taste, but go carefully, this will be the topping for a cake, so don't overdo it or the end result will make your teeth ache.

Pre heat the oven to 180ºC

Weigh 2 medium size eggs, in their shells and then measure the same weight of butter, marmalade and self raising flour.
You will also need ½ tsp fennel seeds, although I know opinion is fiercely divided on this subject, so feel free to omit them if you are not a fan and 2 tablespoons cranberry sauce

Beat butter and marmalade together.  Add the eggs and beat thoroughly.  A food mixer or processor is best for this, you want as much air in the mixture as possible.
Sift in the flour and fennel seeds.

Grease a 1lb loaf tin and spread the cranberry sauce over the base.

Top with the cake mix and spread evenly.

Place in the oven and bake for approx 30 minutes until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean.
Leave to stand for 10 minutes

Run a knife around the edge of the cake and invert the tin onto a serving plate.

Serve with creme fraiche, mixed with grated orange zest and a sprinkle of icing sugar, or simply eat as it is with a cup of coffee.

© Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2017

www.netherton-foundry.co.uk

A day at Otter Farm 2

Chapter 2.
Arrival

We are early.
Progress down the M5 can be as swift and smooth as sugar spilling out of a split bag or as frustratingly slow as a watched kettle.  Today it has been a straightforward journey, the workman-less roadworks are under populated and traffic is moving apace.
Even a "Road closed " sign just outside our target village did not impede our journey - the closure, such as it was, being approximately 30m beyond the entrance to Otter Farm.

Now I would always rather be early than late, but too early is no better mannered in my view than late. So we park, out of the way, in a farm entrance and steel ourselves to listen to the 9 o'clock news on Radio 4. So far, Donald Trump has not blown anything up (besides Obamacare grrrr) and 9 more people have been rescued from the avalanche hit hotel in Italy.

It's going to be a good day.

We refer to our instructions and pull into a lay by.
"This is it," I confidently announce.
"How can you tell? Are you sure?"
"Look over the gate"
"That's  it?"

Oh yes, that, very definitely, is IT.
Otter Farm, star of Grand Designs, partially financed by a hugely successful Crowdfunding campaign that had me and many, many more dipping their hands in to their pockets, enthused and inspired by Mark and Candida's vision, is unmistakeable.

Distinctive, arresting, a fascinating combination of traditional methods, materials and crafts providing the structure for a thing of contemporary beauty and functionality.
It's only as I write this that I realise I could, on a smaller scale, be describing our cookware.  Never off the job!

Minutes later and Candida is opening the gates and welcoming us, more than happy to let Neil gawp in admiration at these awesome buildings.  Awesome, a word hijacked and abused by a generation, really is the right word to use here, the house and cookery school leaving us wonder-struck and marvelling at both their physical beauty and creative construction.

Neil leaves, off to visit Devon dwelling family. I enter the house and as the front door closes behind me, the day really does begin.  MY DAY.

© Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2017

www.netherton-foundry.co.uk