Lamenting the loss of lie-ins

Oh, lie-ins, how I miss you. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed one of you, the last time I dawdled in bed with nothing to do except flick through magazines, doze and wonder what to have for breakfast.

I've been working so hard trying to get this café up and running while struggling to keep up with my writing and teaching work at the same time. Last Wednesday saw me teaching a class in Tralee, taking an interview in my car and then writing a 1200 word article in a car park all the while being interrupted by calls from fire safety officers and suppliers. This is just how erratic my life has got. So erratic that I'm going to bed exhausted every night and rolling out of bed early the next morning only to do it all over again. 

You can see why I miss lie-ins... 

I've made progress though. The painting is finished bar a few touch-ups. The kitchen is near ready. I've sorted out lots (but not all) of my suppliers. I've even hired some staff. And I also have a name. But it seems to be contentious...

I wasn't anticipating this but I've had conflicting reactions to the name and I wonder what you are going to think of it. I've decided to call it (drum roll, please):

Béile le Chéile (I'm useless at figuring out how to write things phonetically but it's pronounced something like bay-le le chay-le and it loosely translates as 'a shared meal'.)

Anyhow, I thought it sounded lovely as it rhymes and I liked the communal feel of what it meant. And I wanted something that was in the Irish language as it's something that I feel is at the heart of who we are in this part of Ireland yet it's also something that is slowly fading away.

So... here are the reactions I’ve had to it. Irish-speaking people instantly like it. It makes them smile.
Irish people who don’t speak English don’t like it and think that the fact it’s an Irish name will keep people away from the café. Be honest with me here: do you really think this will happen?
Foreigners who are not English speaking like it once they are told what it means and think it will have no bearing on whether or not they would go to a café.
Foreigners who live in Dingle and are not Irish speaking think it might affect business.
My boyfriend, who is English and speaks hardly any Irish, doesn’t know what to think!

I’m confused. It took me ages to come up with the name (and I have to give credit to my sister's boyfriend Gearóid for the final choice). I wanted it to be in Irish as I think the fact that the language is in decline has a lot to do with people like me abandoning it in favour of English when presented with situations such as this. I wasn’t expecting my choice of name to present me with such ethical problems. What do you think?

As you can see, I’ve had problems on my plate which is why I haven’t posted here for a while. I’d have much preferred to have something like this on my plate – a breakfast dish that is perfect for people who have just enjoyed a lie-in, a dish that is full of flavour, that is worth lingering over and is a great way to start a lazy weekend.

It comes from Yotam Ottolenghi's book 'Plenty' and it's eggy, herby and spicy with a hint of sweetness. It's called Shakshuka and it's one of my favourite ways to celebrate having had a lie-in.

And although it takes over a half an hour to make, you can make the pepper mix in advance and then all you need to do is cook the eggs in it for ten minutes in the morning. I've done this before and it's so worth it.

This makes a very satisfying brunch for two
1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds
90ml vegetable oil or light olive oil
1 large onion, sliced
1 red and 1 yellow pepper, halved, quartered and then cut into 2cm strips
2 teaspoons muscuvado sugar
1 bay leaf
3 thyme sprigs, leaves picked and chopped
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
1 tablespoon chopped coriander, plus extra to garnish
3 ripe tomatoes, roughly chopped
1/4 teaspoon saffron threads
Pinch of cayenne pepper
Up to 125ml water
4 free-range eggs
Salt and black pepper

• Place a large frying pan over a high heat and dry roast the cumin seeds for two minutes.
• Add the oil and the onions and sauté for five minutes.
• Add the peppers, sugar and herbs and continue cooking on a high heat for five to ten minutes to get a nice colour.
• Add the tomatoes, saffron, cayenne and some salt and pepper. Reduce the heat to low and cook for 15 minutes.
• During the cooking, keep adding water so that the mix has the consistency of pasta sauce.
• Taste and adjust the seasoning. You want something with a strong flavour.  (This is the part of the dish that you can make up in advance - it keeps well in the fridge).
• Remove the bay leaf and divide the mix into two separate small frying pans, each large enough to take an individual portion. 
• Place them on a medium heat to warm up.
• Then make two gaps in the mix and break an egg into each gap.
• Sprinkle with salt and cover the pans with lids.
• Cook on a very gentle heat for 10 to 12 minutes or until the eggs are just set.
• Sprinkle with coriander and serve with some crusty bread.

Breakfasts like this are what make me miss lie-ins even more. Oh well, off I go to the café to finish the painting and start decorating the bathrooms. If I get enough done today, maybe I can have a lie-in followed by some shakshuka for breakfast tomorrow. Now there's a thought to inspire a girl to work harder.

Ugh is for aubergines. Or is it?

Ugh. 
Isn't there anything else to eat?

I've lost count of the times I've heard this reaction when I've told people we're having aubergines for dinner (if you're scrunching up your nose and wondering what aubergines are, you probably call them eggplant). It seems as though this plant - often served up brown and mushy - isn't the most loved in the veggie patch.

I'm on a mission to change this. I've got several aubergine recipes which have become hugely popular in my house and if you try them, I'm sure they will restore this vegetable to its rightful place up near the top of your list of favourite foods.

I'm sharing the first of those with you today. It's adapted from Yotam Ottolenghi's fantastic cookbook of Middle Eastern inspired recipes 'Plenty'.


Serves 4
Ingredients:
2 large and long aubergines
80ml olive oil
1 and a half tsp lemon thyme leaves, plus a few whole sprigs to garnish (I often substitute ordinary thyme here)
Dried pomegranate seeds (the original recipe asks for 1 whole pomegranate but when I couldn't find any in the shops, these were just as good. Crunchy too.)
Salt and black pepper

1 small bunch of coriander (about 10 sprigs)
1 small bunch of basil (about 10 sprigs)
Half of a red chilli
2 tbsp olive oil

140ml buttermilk
100g Greek yoghurt
1 and a half tbsp olive oil
1 small garlic clove, crushed
Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 200 C/Gas Mark 6/400 F.

Cut the aubergines in half lengthways.

Use a small, sharp knife to make three or four parallel incisions in the cut side of each aubergine half, without cutting through to the skin. Repeat at a 45-degree angle to get a diamond shape pattern.

Place the aubergine halves, cut side up, on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Brush them with olive oil. Keep on brushing until all of the oil has been absorbed.

Sprinkle with the thyme leaves and some salt and pepper.

Roast for 35-40 minutes, by which point the flesh should be soft and nicely browned.

While the aubergines are in the oven, pluck the leaves from the coriander and basil, chop the chilli roughly and place in a food processor. Slowly add the olive oil until you've got what resembles a spicy pesto. (If you don't have a food processor, you could chop the chilli into smaller dice and crush the pesto in a pestle and mortar.)

Next, you need to make the sauce. Whisk the buttermilk, yoghurt, crushed garlic, olive oil and salt together. Taste for seasoning.

Now, it's just a question of assembly. Spoon plenty of the buttermilk mixture over the aubergine halves. Sprinkle the pesto and pomegranate seeds over the top.

Serve this with crusty white bread, pitta or rice.

Taste this once and you'll never say 'ugh' to aubergines again. That's a promise.

Pancakes: they aren't just for Tuesdays, you know...

My boyfriend went to boarding school in England. As a result, he has a tendency to say things like 'jolly' and 'horrid' in a completely unironic way. This is something I've always been aware of (and frequently joke about) but I learned something entirely new yesterday, something which means his memories of Pancake Tuesday are completely different to mine.

"We used to have to get up early in the morning and go for a ten-mile run," he told me, with a wry smile. "It was called the Pancake Race. All I remember of Pancake Tuesday is running through mud in the cold. We didn't even get pancakes when it was all over."

I know the aim of English boarding schools used to be to make men of whimpering little boys but depriving children of pancakes is grim. It's also a total contrast to my memory of Pancake Tuesday.

I remember coming home from school to find my mum standing in front of the range, a huge pitcher of pancake batter in one hand, a hot frying pan in the other and an ever-increasing pile of pancakes by her side. On the table, there would be lemons and caster sugar.

Us greedy children would help ourselves to a pancake, sit at the table, sprinkle on some sugar, squeeze over some lemon juice, roll the pancake, gobble it down and then line up for another one. We'd do this over and over and over again until the batter had been used up, our mother was exhausted and we were delightfully stuffed with pancakes.

To compensate my boyfriend for his lack of such warm memories of pancakes, I was going to make him American-style pancakes with bacon and maple syrup this morning. However, he needed to leave for work quite early and thought they'd be too heavy for breakfast. In fact, he said he'd prefer to have pancakes as brunch at the weekend.

"Can we put Pancake Tuesday off for a few days?" were his exact words.

I may have told him we could but I didn't really mean it. I'm not going to have pancakes for breakfast and I won't have pancakes for dinner but I didn't say anything about lunch. For lunch, I'm going to have the most amazing pancakes of all.

I'm not going to have pancakes the way my mum used to make them. This is because today I want spicy food instead of sweet. I want food that challenges the taste buds instead of comforting them. I want something excitingly exotic instead of reassuringly traditional.

You may think that pancakes couldn't possibly provide what I'm looking for but according to Yotam Ottolenghi and his wonderful cookbook Plenty, they most certainly can. This is his vegetarian version of Vietnamese Bánh Xeo; traditionally sold from family-run street kitchens. It's full of fresh flavours and crunchy textures. It's spicy. And it's absolutely what I'm looking for.

Serves 4
Pancakes:
200g rice flour
1 small egg
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp turmeric
400ml canned coconut milk
A little bit of sunflower oil

Sauce:
40ml lime juice
1 and 1/2 tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp rice wine vinegar
1 tbsp kecap manis (sweeted soy sauce)
2 tsp grated fresh root ginger
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 fresh red chilli, finely chopped
1/2 tsp salt





Filling:
1 large carrot, peeled and shredded
1 mooli, peeled and shredded *
4 spring onions, sliced at an angle
1 fresh green chilli, sliced into long, thin strips
80g mangetout, sliced into long, thin strips
15g coriander, roughly chopped
15g Thai basil, torn
15g mint, roughly chopped
100g mung bean sprouts
100g enoki mushrooms*

*I was unable to source the mooli and enoki mushrooms at short notice and made mine without. It was still delicious.

Begin with the batter. Place the rice flour, egg, salt and turmeric in a large bowl. Slowly add the coconut milk, whisking well to avoid lumps. You want a thin pancake batter with the consistency of single cream. Add more coconut milk or water if necessary.

Set aside to rest.

Make the sauce by whisking together all the ingredients and adjust the chilli to your liking.

Prepare the vegetables and set aside.

Heat up a large non-stick frying pan to medium hot. Add enough sunflower oil to coat the bottom of the pan.

Pour in about one quarter of the batter and swirl around the bottom of the pan.

Once the underside is golden, turn the pancake over and cook the other side.

Finally, it's just a matter of assembly. Place a warm pancake on a plate and pile the vegetables and herbs on top. Drizzle some sauce over the vegetables and tuck in.

My boyfriend is really missing out by not having these. But I'll make up for it by making him pancakes with bacon and maple syrup on Sunday. I'm also craving some blinis with smoked salmon so I might just make those at some stage too. Pancakes aren't just for Tuesdays, you know. There's one to suit every day and every occasion.