Daily Bread

My inner voice is considerably more insightful than the one that comes out of my mouth. Throughout August, inny was adamant that I was fast running out of time. Opportunities to lay out under our huge whitebeam tree reading dozing were passing me by. I ignored the dopey wasps crawling over the window frames as I dashed about finding pencil tins and PE kits. I was certain the heavy green fruit of the Black Krim tomatoes in my veg beds would ripen gently in a warm September glow and I would breathe in the sweet rot of Autumn. Our beautiful summer seemed endless, but my subconscious had already noted the dropping leaves.

Term began and the rain came. I haven't seen a single wasp in a fortnight, the toms are surely chutney. And I have completely run out of time.

Now it's all timetables and lost property, alarm clocks and commuter traffic. But back in August I had a little fun with GBBO bread week - I just didn't get around to blogging it. The family demanded breadsticks so I obeyed. I am pretty scathing about the showstopper rounds, cooking doesn't need to be a spectacle - it needs to taste good. Heston has so much to answer for.

I tried Paul Hollywood's green olive breadstick recipe from his How to Bake book. I made half the dough into a green olive mixture as directed and with the other half I experimented with roasted echalion shallot and Roquefort, because it's what I had in. The olive recipe called for 400g of olives which would have been ridiculous and expensive, so I halved it.

I made the dough in the KitchenAid with a dough hook which was super easy. I was so carried away with the ease of the process I misread the bit about the dough trebling, and assumed a normal doubling would take place. 

I'm not sure whether it was the KitchenAid, the proportion of yeast, or the warm evening but the dough was very airy with an amazing cobwebby structure.

Once shaped, the dough sticks require more proving. For this I would have needed five baking sheets and more than the tail end of the baking paper roll. As it was I spent the evening pinging back and forth from the kitchen in fifteen minute intervals, increasingly impatient, flinging bits of dough onto my single baking sheet while the oven belted out 250 degrees. 

Frankly it made very little difference whether the sticks were proved or not. They were all delicious hot out of the oven, the olive generally the favourite. They were sadly revolting after a day or two and I wouldn't bother making them again - at least a day old loaf can be toasted. And it only needs one tin.

Half Baked

My inner/outer geek loves the lure of back to school. New shoes and sharp pencils, I always want to start something as September approaches. August is just too overripe and overgrown.

What better time to begin blogging again than a new series at of the Great British Bake Off? All the satisfaction of fresh challenge paired with the deep joy of autumn telly schedules.

For the first episode, the family gathered round the set like it was 1983. GBBO is about the only regular programme we all watch together.  I knew immediately that I wanted to try a "signature bake" - a variant on a traditional Victoria sponge. I am obsessed with Germanic cakes, heavy with big pieces of fruit and topped with a nutty, crumbly streusel. I just can't get enough of them and imagined the top sponge with a crumble texture and a lovely apple filling through the middle.

I started with a traditional small Victoria sponge batter (three eggs) but replaced a little of the flour with some whizzed up hazlenuts. I made a separate crumble mix of even quantities of Demerara sugar and plain flour with a little less melted butter and scattered it over one of the tins of batter. Then I chucked on a bit more pulverised hazlenut for the sheer hell of it.

I was concerned that the crumble would sink into the sponge as it cooked and a halftime peek into the oven confirmed my suspicions. The only thing left on the surface were the nuts. Nuts. I forged on with filling. With one foxed chicken (poor Bella) and one broody chicken, wasting Sylvia's perfect little eggs on a cake mistake was not an option.

A few Bramley windfalls from the orchard just needed to be heated with a squeeze of honey to make soft pulpy jam. A jar of Confiture de Lait winked at me from the fridge. It seemed like a cheat but the salty caramel was a perfect partner for apple and it was easy to spread on the warm sponge.

The streusel all but disappeared, but the nuttiness of the sponge and the caramel apple filling were delicious. Bread week beckons...

GBBO Week 7 - Saffron Buns

Another new area of baking for me this week, I haven't tried an enriched dough before. Danny's Cherry Almond Chelsea buns seemed like the perfect symphony of flavours to me, but the BBC haven't provided the recipe and I didn't have the time to experiment as half of my kitchen walls were being demolished...

After doing a quick bit of googling, Saffron buns seemed tempting. I liked the idea of the warmth of the spice combined with a rich dough. I found lots of recipes for the traditional Cornish cake and also some for a Swedish bun called Lussekatt (Lucia's Cat) which are traditionally baked on the 13th December to celebrate the Saint Lucia. This feast day falls near the shortest day and is celebrated by Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran and Orthodox Christians.

The Swedish buns are simply an enriched saffron dough decorated with a few raisins before baking,  but I desired more fruit and some citrus flavour too. My buns with candied peel are the resulting love child of a Cornish and Scandinavian dalliance. Delicious!

Saffron Buns

250ml milk
1 tsp saffron
500g strong white flour
1 sachet dried yeast (7g)
50g butter, cubed
1/2 tsp salt
50g caster sugar
1 egg
50g raisins
50g candied peel, if desired

eggwash
Brick dust, optional.

Warm the milk and add the saffron. Stir and leave to infuse for 20 minutes.

Rub the butter into the flour until it looks like breadcrumbs, then stir in the sugar, salt and yeast. Don't let the salt sit directly on the yeast or it will kill it; stir each ingredient in separately. Mix in the fruit then add the milk and egg to form a dough.

Knead the dough for about 10 mins and then leave to rise for one hour or so, by which time it should have doubled in size.

Divide the dough into 10 equal pieces. As ridiculous as it seems, I do bother weighing the whole mass and then each piece at this stage to get even sized buns. Roll each ball between your palms, stretching it evenly until it is 20-25cm long. Join the two ends together and twist the dough to make a figure of eight. Wriggle your shape so the join is in the centre and on the underside of the shape.

Place the buns a few centimeters apart on a tray covered in baking paper and stud each loop with an extra raisin. Leave to rise for 45 mins. Eggwash, then bake at 200c for 12-15 mins. The buns are ready when golden brown. They should make a hollow sound when you tap the underneath.

The saffron came through very well and the dough was light and springy. We all felt these were quite plain and would have been more festive with a little icing. I saw a frosting recipe recently which was a mix of soft cheese, icing sugar and milk. I think that would be lovely here, perhaps with a little orange juice or zest.

GBBO week 6 - Mary Berry is Queen of Puddings

No hesitation this week, I had to make Queen of Puddings. I have only tasted this dish once before and I remember eating it so vividly. My parents were away on holiday and my maternal grandparents, Nanny and Grandad were looking after me and my brother. I think I would have been 10 or 11 years old. We were sat in our usual places at the table, me facing the kitchen and my brother opposite me. Nanny produced a large Pyrex dish, with visible layers of golden meringue, raspberry jam and a mellow yellow custard that was definitely not Birds. The flavours exploded in my mouth, hot and sweet and soothing all at once. It stayed warm in my belly long after I had gone to bed.

I felt confident about this bake. The egg custard was the only element of the recipe I hadn't cooked before, so I started with that. A pint of full fat milk is warmed with butter, infused with lemon zest and sweetened. This is then whisked into three egg yolks, poured over breadcrumbs in pie dish and the resulting mixture is baked in a moderate oven in a bain marie until set.

The next layer is a soft fruit jam which could be any combination of berries but I used a 50/50 mix of strawberries and raspberries. I wanted that ruby red colour and the simplicity of the two flavours. I do use a sugar thermometer - unlike Brendan, I really don't find it easy to judge the set by eye. 

Stupidly I wasted time piping the meringue on as Mary's recipe directed. My dish was too wide and the meringue didn't cover the jam layer if piped so I ended up forking it across. I think I prefer it that way, my mum would always fork the top of her legendary Lemon Meringue pie. It makes for very crunchy ridges and no need for poncey piping bags.

My Queen of Puddings looked lovely and it was a big hit with one of my testers. All the flavours I remembered were there but on my adult palate the effect was tooth shattering sweetness. I think my custard split when cooking the meringue, it was watery when hot but I really enjoyed the pudding cold the next day when the custard had re-set.

My ancient oven has been limping along without a working fan recently. If the builders turn up the whole kitchen may well be demolished next week to make way for something new and shiny. I have ordered a Russell Hobbs Mini Kitchen so I am hoping to carry on baking. It has a fan oven and two hotplates. I keep telling myself it's going to be FUN, like camping. 

GBBO week 5 - Pie

I was excited about this week's bake. Entirely sated with sweet food and fairly short on time, a savoury dish that could count as Sunday dinner seemed ideal. As tempting as it was to find myself a wooden dolly and start hand raising pies (it can't be just me that envisages a pork pie suckling on a bottle of milk), I decided to plump for the Wellington option for this week's Bake Off challenge. Should I ever feel the need to spend hours making pork pies that I can buy from any petrol station Delia reckons a deep muffin tin is all you need. And anchovy paste, whatever that is.

I have never made a Beef Wellington, nor have I attempted proper homemade puff pastry so I decided not to mess with a classic. Clearly the most painful part of this bake would be parting with the money for the beef fillet. Gordon Ramsay's recipe suggests 750g of meat, which would have cost over £26. That's more than I would spend on meat for our family of four in a fortnight, so I bought a third less.

A layer of duxelle (paste of diced mushroom, shallot and herb) seemed risky, but essential for flavour. I was concerned about excess mushroom juices ruining my pastry. Also the children are both phobic about mushrooms even though I secretly sneak them into all manner of foodstuffs. A stand-off over the dinner table needed to be averted or tears would flow, probably mine. Gordon's addition of Parma ham, wrapping the duxelle to the fillet was extravagant, but I could see the wisdom. Another £2.99. As we drove away from the supermarket, I felt quite hysterical. Even childish jokes about eating wellington boots made me laugh.

In fear of ruining the luxurious cut of meat, I very nearly defrosted a pack of all butter puff from the freezer. Here are the photos to prove I didn't. Yes, that is an entire pat of butter.

I actually found it quite soothing to make my own puff pastry, and the endless short periods of "resting" time between rolling are very handy for getting those irritating little DIY jobs done.

With the pastry made, the meat seared, smeared (with mustard and the duxelle), wrapped in Parma and chilled, I felt very serene. I just needed to bring everything together, eggwash and then leave it to rest once more.What could go wrong?

Suffice to say a tantrum of epic proportions involving homework, a late night and hunger whipped any smug grins from my face. Sacrificing the final essential rest for the pastry, I hurled the Wellington into a not-quite-up-to-temperature oven.

It smelt wonderful cooking. It looked less good as the pastry began to slide off the meat. I am not sure why this happened because the meat was well chilled before the pastry went around it. I think the lack of resting and a low oven temp might be to blame. Ultimately it looked less than perfect but the beef tasted great and was deliciously tender and there was no soggy bottom!

I plan to make an inside-out version with a pork fillet. I'll hammer the pork out flat, lay on the Parma ham, then the duxelle, roll it all up and cover with puff pastry. I might even make my own pastry again. Tonight's programme is sponge puddings, Queen of puddings and strudel. Can I do all three?

Soft set oven cooked raspberry jam

Mentioned in my last post, making raspberry jam in the oven is a lovely way to preserve raspberries. It's incredibly simple and gentle cooking method doesn't destroy the characteristics of the fruit and the end result is very soft set. There are numerous versions of Elizabeth David's original idea but in essence you place the fruit in one tray, the sugar in another and heat for 20 minutes in a moderate oven (190°c).

Once the fruit and sugar are really hot, the two must be brought together and then potted up. I use two cast iron roasting dishes, pour the sugar into the fruit, and give it a good stir to help dissolve the sugar crystals. Set the jars on a cloth, don some good long oven gloves and pour it in.

Some recipes suggest the juice of a lemon or a little liquor, but for me the simplicity of the fruit is the delight and it sets as much as I want it to. Due to the lack of boiling, this is not a store cupboard jam. It should be eaten before the New Year and perhaps kept in the fridge if you have a warm kitchen. I make sure the jars and lids are scrupulously clean and hot, don't skimp on the sugar and ban anyone from sticking a buttery knife into it - I have never had a mouldy batch yet.

One of my first jobs when we moved to a house with a larger garden last year was to plant raspberry canes. I chose a mixture of summer and autumn fruiting varieties including Glen Ample, Tulameen, Cascade Delight, Tadmor, Autumn Bliss and Polka. I should have picked the flowers off the summer varieties to give them a chance to get established but forgot so we ate the few berries anyway. The autumn fruiters are romping away this week with lots of fruit still ripening. Little hands hunt the ruby treasure and few make it as far as the kitchen. Maybe next year there will be enough for jam.

Bake Off Week Four - Italian Meringue

A week of tortes, creme caramel and meringues led to days of indecision. There was general disagreement in the house as to what my tasters were happy to subject themselves to. There was a 50/50 split of delight or disgust concerning creme caramel and two tasters won't eat cream unless heavily disguised. Tut.

The towering gateaux seemed a bit vulgar to me so a slight cheat, this week a foray into Italian meringue, but in more delicate form. Ever since my husband gave me an exquisite copy of Ladurée: Sucré I have wanted to have a crack at macaroons, which should be made with meringue and an almond paste. My copy is not translated, so fearing my hazy GCSE French might be my undoing, I used Raymond Blanc's Kitchen Secret's to guide me with it's reassuringly comprehensive method.

The Italan meringue was simple but I wouldn't want to attempt it without a sugar thermometer or my beautiful red KitchenAid for hands free mixing. After beating egg white to firm peaks, a sugar syrup heated to 120°c is introduced, which partially cooks the egg. It needs a further few minutes of beating, producing a gloriously glossy, creamy whip.

Foolishly, in my excitement to try Italian meringue, I ignored the directions to make the almond paste first. The meringue should be folded into the macaroon paste whilst still warm. Whoops. The paste is a stiff marzipan of equal parts icing sugar and ground almonds brought together with egg white. Folding it into the meringue without overbeating would have been easier with some heat. I flavoured one third of the mix with molten dark chocolate, coloured one third pink and the remainder yellow. Raymond uses cacao paste for chocolate flavour. Good for him, you can't get in Morrisons.

Ideally the biscuits should be even in size after baking, so each dollop of mixture needs precision. I made a card template with 3cm circles, coloured in with black marker pen, then laid baking paper over, and piped to size. Some baked beautifully, rising to shiny domes but others cracked and spread which is apparently due to overbeating at the folding stage.

I glued the yellow macaroons with lemon curd, the pink ones with homemade raspberry oven jam, and made a chocolate ganache for the remainder. I thought the chocolate were delicious, sweet chewy crispness counterbalanced by bitter fudge filling -  the rasperry were most popular with everyone else. 

This is special occasion cooking, requiring a tidy kitchen and a quiet mind. I found the macaroons a faff to make and it's difficult to make time for this sort of baking. I don't know if I will revisit the recipe to tweak although I am wondering about running a fresh rasperry syrup through the plain macaroon base. And coffee macaroons. With hazelnut paste?

A little slice of Hollywood

I don't endorse a cookbook lightly. The only cake baking book I have ever recommended to a friend is Mary Berry's Ulitmate Cake Book.  I have had my copy for years and it is properly filthy, which is really how I like to see a recipe book. A pristine copy on a shelf tells you all you need to know about it's dispensable content. Every single recipe I have tried in Mary's book has worked and been delicious. I have baked her recipes for birthdays, Christmas, weddings and funerals and all the days in between.

I am still a sucker for something new and couldn't resist ordering Paul Hollywood's How to Bake recently. Primarily I was interested in the bread baking, but it's got some lovely cake and dessert recipes as well and I have been curious about the lemon curd in Paul's recipe for Mrs Post's Lemon Drizzle Cake since the book arrived. The house has shuddered to it's termly hush this morning and there was a pressing need to clean six weeks of congealed playtime from every surface. So I baked instead.

We like a lemon drizzle in this house. But not from a shop. For me it's got to have a dark crust on the outside with plenty of crunch to the syrupy top. It should be plain without a hint of cloying sweetness.  I want it prepared and cooked in less than an hour with minimal washing up. I made this while I was waiting for a flooring man who was running a bit late.

Cream together 75g butter with 125g of caster sugar, then mix in 150g of self raising flour with 1 tsp of baking powder, a hefty tablespoon of lemon curd, 2 eggs and 2 1/2 tablespoons of full fat milk. Bake in a loaf tin for 40 mins or so at 180°C. While the cake is hot, pour over the juice and zest of 1 lemon mixed with 2 tablespoons of granulated sugar. Leave to cool completely, if you can bear to.

One of the most useful things in my baking cupboard is my pack of Loaf tin liners. As much as it seems very wholesome to fashion your own from a roll of paper, this is a much better solution.

I think there could have been a drop or two more syrup - next time I might bother to ding the lemon in the microwave before squeezing to get a bit more juice. The cake is incredibly soft and light. A sweet taste of summer to soothe away the indignities of the school day.

Bake Off - Tart week

This week Paul and Mary were on pastry patrol. As luck would have it I am drilled in the ways of pastry. When my ice cold hands have my Nanny Barbara's wooden pin in them, I am armed. My mum's voice is there..turn the pastry not the pin, turn the pastry not the pin. These ladies knew their stuff.

For what it's worth this is what I have learned. Cold hands, cold butter, very cold water, cold kitchen. Handle everything as little as possible. Use a food processor if you have one (I don't). Rest the pastry before rolling, rest it after rolling. I know a secret butter substitute too, but that isn't my secret to share.

I had to tackle Mary's Treacle tart with woven lattice top. I can't imagine I will ever bother weaving pastry into a lattice top ever again, but having witnessed the tearful shame of vicar's wife Sarah Jane and her shortcut twists, I didn't dare cut corners.

I took my time over the pastry and had some chilled water in the fridge, so it went well. The filling couldn't be more straightforward - almost an entire bottle of golden syrup, breadcrumbs and the zest and juice of two lemons. I was dubious about the amount of lemon, the recipe suggests you reduce it if you want less citrus flavour, but, intrigued I decided to put it all in.

At this point I realised my usual tart tin was two inches larger than it should have been and shallow, not deep. I toyed with the idea of taking the pastry out but I don't have a 7 inch tart tin so it would have been a cake tin. Not ideal. I ploughed on.

The lattice was a total faff. According to the recipe I had to roll out the trimmings, eggwash the whole piece and chill it before cutting. I decided to pre-assemble it on baking paper, as Dr. Knitwear did. What I didn't remember was that I would have to flip it twice so the eggwashed side was on the top of the tart. Also as my lattice strips had to be at least nine inches in length due to my oversized tin, it all got a bit wobbly.

The broken edge is due to mishandling by my official GBBO photographer. Him and his big hands. I wove the last piece of lattice in just before baking, so it got the eggwash that the rest didn't. My tasting panel are every bit as brutal and honest as Paul and Mary. They all declared it a success and everyone had seconds. We unanimously felt the lemon overpowered the syrup flavour.

Oh and James is our favourite. And not just for his highland jumpers.

Mulberry crush

This week there has been an overwhelming feeling that summer is coming to an end. Not just the pile of new coats, shoes and lunchboxes awaiting name labels but also longer shadows and perceptively shorter days. The pungent whiff of autumn; the sweet rot of the leaves and first puffs of woodsmoke still absent, but near.

This impending gloom makes a trip across the lane to our village orchard irresistible. The orchard offers numerous ancient fruit trees; quince, apple, plum, medlar and mulberry. Last year we tasted quince for the first time, but managed to miss the mulberries, so I was determined to look out for them this year.

The sharp, winey flavour of the fruit was a surprise, quite unlike anything else I can think of but closest to blackberries. A mulberry yields it's juice so lavishly it's unsuitable to be sold in shops. It's bloody, violent seep is remarkable, irrevocably staining your nail beds just as Pyramus' blood stained the white mulberries in Ovid's tale of forbidden love. It's worth seeking out, as Jane Grigson advises the likeliest spot for these grand trees are castle, manors and old vicarages.

I am sure mulberries would jam beautifully, but I only gathered a few hundred grams so I am going to pair them with some of the little sharp orchard apples in a crisp strudel and serve it warm with very cold, dollopy thick cream.

The Great Big British Bake Off Challenge!

As confirmed fans of the Great British Bake Off, Indigo and I have decided that this year we will watch in a more interactive way. We will bake alongside the contestants, at least one item per week and blog our results. Inspiration struck rather late in the day so we will revisit episode one (Rum Baba or Upside Down Cake) at a later date. We are unable to confirm at this stage whether any Kingston squirrels will feature in the blog.

This week we couldn't resist the technical bake, Paul's eight-strand plaited loaf. Who could? Auntie Beeb has obliged with a good selection of recipes from each episode on the GBBO microsite and the ingredients couldn't be simpler so...we immediately made the dough and left it to rise. Which it did very quickly. I wasn't surprised, the kitchen was really warm and there was 14g of yeast to half a kilo of flour. The rising period was considerably longer than the recommended 60 minutes as we had to squeeze in a trampolining lesson post-kneading! I bet Hollywood can't do a seat drop with half turn.

On return, I divided the dough into eight and weighed each dollop to check they were roughly even. Then we had to make the eight octopus legs that form the plait. Tricky stuff. Each tentacle was supposed to be 40cm long but it was hard stretching the dough and keeping an consistent width.

Indie overworked her tentacle. It was short and a bit dry. Our official GBBO photographer had to get involved, luckily he happens to be a bit of an artisan baker and the go to guy for anything involving large hands. Does this count as cheating? I am sure Mel Giedroyc (ha! didn't even Google it) helps out with a fishslice now and then.

Then we had to lay out the legs and start the plait. Indigo was convinced I was getting it wrong and kept up a chorus of unhelpful disapproving noises throughout. I think it went quite well, reasonably neat if a touch intestinal looking. As there was to be another hour of proving, Indigo retired for the night leaving me to eggwash and bake. And wash-up. 

   

Look at that crust! Bread baked beautifully and was delicious, but perhaps not perfect. There was the odd tiny fold inside the loaf where the tentacles hadn't fully merged. So what we want to know is where did we come? Did we threaten John's Star Baker of the Week status?

Nigel Slater

Just received my latest purchase of food porn from Nigel Slater. Tender Volume II is his fruity follow-up to last year's collection of recipes from his vegetable patch. The photography is every bit as delicious as the food. I love the obvious imperfections in the baking images and the Walnut, Chocolate and Honey tart has me intrigued. What would that taste like?

Macmillan Coffee Morning

I made sure I was near the front of the queue at the school Macmillan coffee morning today. I quickly spied this German apple cake to accompany my rocket fuel coffee.  Turned out it was still warm when I took my first, mouth-watering bite. A perfect combination of juicy firm apple, delicately caramelised syrup, and buttery, crumbly cake. No hint of cinnamon - sometimes I really don't want that spice. And all for £1.50.

I have been scouring Google for a recipe, I make a Devonshire Apple cake from here which is pretty good. And I think I can adapt the English Apple cake recipe from here to suit.

September song

There's a lot to recommend September. Days still warm enough to spend outside but nights cool enough for blankets and pyjamas. An abundance of blackberries, damsons and wild plums for crumbles and jellies. The start of the academic year suggesting new beginnings in a way that Spring can't. We doze through summer's long languorous sleep and the first cold draught under the door awakens us eager and ravenous for new beginnings!

September's greatest delight is the sudden appearance of enormous rosy fruit, implausibly balanced on the gnarled branch of every apple tree. Mid September briefly brings my favourite Worcester Pearmain apples to the shops. Worcesters are an early fruiting English variety, a parent of the ubiquitous Discovery apple. A good Worcester will release a pungent fruity smell, and their delicate green and red colouring is divine. They are supposed to taste a little of strawberries, but to me they are just irresistibly apple-y, as if Willie Wonka had a hand in their creation.

I planted an Worcester Pearmain tree in the garden of my first house. The garden was depressing and horribly overlooked, a typical tiny green patch on a modern estate. A couple of apple trees and a reclaimed brick patio replaced the existing ghastly blue pergola and suddenly the space felt full of promise. Unfulfilled promise as it turned out. I didn't live there long enough to taste the Worcesters and every September I wonder who might be enjoying my lovely apples.

There is nothing better....

Baking is my first love and I was taught skillfully by my mum and my two Nannies. Hours stood on a chair at the kitchen bench, watching and helping just as Indigo does with me now. These women may be long gone from my life, but they are never closer than when I am cooking. Rubbing in butter, folding in egg whites, rolling out pastry, I see their hands on mine. I am the sole keeper of their secrets now and I really hope I have remembered well.

As much as I like to experiment and try new flavours and recipes, I realised recently that their currency was comfort food and that comfort came from familiarity. As a child, I wanted to eat the same things over and over. It had to be apple pie or lemon meringue for Sunday lunch, Belgium cake and date krispies for tea, cheese scones and lardy frumadiddles in winter and a deep, buttery Victoria glued with raspberries in June.

I'm never happier than when I have made a chocolate cake. The most basic all-in-one Victoria sponge sandwiched with some concoction of chocolate or cocoa, icing and butter. It seems too simple, almost like cheating. It never fails. And the children always want one on their birthdays.

Fresh walnuts from the Lonely tree

I usually loathe walnuts, little shriveled squirrel brains ruining decent coffee cake. A few years ago on a trip to the Dordogne, I discovered how delicious wet walnuts were so I was excited to find these beautiful fresh walnuts falling off the Lonely tree at school pick-up this afternoon. I discarded the outer shells and filled my cardigan pockets. What's more thrilling than free food? I confess that I don't always manage to use my foraged food and there is a very real risk that these nuts will languish in some plastic pot or other, growing fluff until they hit the compost bin. But for now I'm inspired and planning fabulous Perigordian salad; Pear, Roquefort, rocket and the crumbled nuts with a sharp lemony dressing.

The Lonely tree is a magnificent, mature walnut that stands within my daughter's school grounds, close to the two infant classrooms. It's sprawl of branches hang low, just above head height and it shelters us all from sun and rain as we wait for the straggle of children to appear at the end of the school day. 

The tree used to make me sad. Surely a refuge for those kids who didn't quite fit in? A morose soul sat on the rough tree bench, scuffing the dust in solitary social exclusion. How tragic! Another parent recently enlightened me of the true meaning of the Lonely tree. The children know they can go there if they ever find themselves without a friend at playtime, and then anyone passing will invite the "lonely" child to join their game.