Have you seen Treme? It's co-created by David Simon, the man behind The Wire, and quite a few of the actors from there appear in Treme as well. There's a fourth season due later this year.

If you've not yet seen it,  you're in for a treat - particularly if you love food and music. Because that's what this love letter to the city of New Orleans and its second-line culture is mainly about - many of the characters are musicians (with several legends, like Dr John, playing themselves), chefs or restaurant owners. Although the storylines don't have quite the same dramatic heft as those in The Wire, I love it.

You can read about the second line parades here. Better yet, have a gander at one in action:

Watching a few episodes again recently made me kick myself that I never went when I had the wherewithal so to do. But I could go and get the fixin's to make myself a po-boy.

Along with gumbo, ettouffee, muffulettas, jambalaya, red beans and rice, and beignets, the po-boy -  a messy, overstuffed giant sandwich - is one of the classics of New Orleans' cuisine.  Apart from shrimps and oysters there are innumerable different fillings offered, including catfish, soft-shell crabs, roast beef, chicken and sausage, okra and remoulade, turkey and gravy, and meatballs. The classic toppings to complete the sandwich are mayo, shredded lettuce and pickles, with hot sauce on the side.

I'm breezily telling you all this as though I'm some authority, whereas, not only have I never been, I've also never eaten a po-boy before. Neither of these facts, seemingly, were of sufficient import to deflate my insanely confident belief that I could make a version worthy of sharing with the world. This medication lark really is a tricky thing to get right.

The birthplace of the po-boy sandwich was, by all accounts, the Martin Brothers' Coffee Stand and Restaurant in the French Market (opened in 1922). Before opening the restaurant, the brothers had worked as streetcar operators. In July of 1929, what turned out to be a bitter, divisive and violent strike was begun by the city's motormen and conductors.

The two brothers, Clovis and Benjamin, in support,  offered the strikers the chance of a free meal while the strike lasted -  a sandwich filled with gravy and beef trimmings, or gravy and potatoes.

Bennie Martin said, "We fed those men free of charge until the strike ended. Whenever we saw one of the striking men coming, one of us would say, 'Here comes another poor boy.'

Because "the traditional French bread's narrowed ends meant that much of each loaf was wasted", the Martins began working with a baker, John Gendusa, to develop a 40-inch loaf of bread that had a uniform, rectangular shape from end to end. They'd served sandwiches with the same fillings before the strike, but the size of these "poor boys" was something new.

It's a lovely story. It also appears to be true.

So that's what a real dirty food place is like. And, great God almighty, look at the size of those sandwiches.

Now, 'dirty food' is the big thing at the moment. It seems there's a new high-end burger, fried chicken or BBQ joint opening up every other day. Some are brilliant (Pitt Cue), others less so. That they serve working class food mainly to an achingly hip gastroscenti, though ironic, isn't an issue for me - it's just a sad but inevitable result of our ridiculously class-ridden food culture. No, the big problem, as with any imported food trend, is that you can end up with the vision of hell that is Jamie Oliver's Diner - do read Chris Pople's withering review.

Of course Britain has long had it's very own indigenous, and distinctly unhip, dirty food scene: greasy spoons.  Although, as it turns out (according to the O.E.D.), even that phrase is imported from America:

Po-boy aficionados emphasise that using the right bread is crucial (as with any sandwich really); a French baguette, they'll insist, is not the answer here. The characteristics of New Orleans po-boy bread are, as I understand it, a soft and airy interior with a slightly crisp crust.

There isn't, to my knowledge, any bakery making po-boy bread hereabouts. But there is, just down the road at the Elephant & Castle, a Longdan Express which sells Vietnamese bánh mì, with a crumb as delicate and insubstantial as an angel's fart. Probably half the width and far less robust, I'd say, than the po boy loaf. I doubt it could handle a big sloppy mess of that roast beef served at Crabby Jack's, for example. But it'll more than do for me.

They sell two sizes of bánh mì, the larger being 10" in length, as well as a loaf in the shape of a hedgehog. No, I don't know either. The lot in the photo below cost me £2.70.

I think if I hadn't been able to buy bánh mì I'd have gone for what the supermarkets call a french stick, rather than a baguette. If any one has had the good fortune to have eaten real po-boy bread (i.e. from the Leidenheimer or Gendusa bakeries) and bánh mì, I'd be interested to know how, if at all, they compare.

This may well be considered, across the pond, a goddamn pinko, limey, pansy-ass travesty.  All I can tell you is it was really good. This is what God has for tea instead of a fish finger butty.

I couldn't resist, while at Longdan Express, buying a 150g packet of tempura flour (ingredients: wheat flour, rice flour, starch, baking powder and salt) for 50p. You may want to use your own batter mixture - just keep it light.

I fancied quick-pickling the half a cucumber that I had in the fridge, which I did the day before. Otherwise, I'd have used dill pickles from a jar.

Lettuce -wise, keep it simple: iceberg. Failing that cos or romaine (which is what I had). Definitely not rocket.

serves one rather hungry person
16 raw, peeled and de-veined prawns
salt + black pepper
flour for initial coating
vegetable oil for frying

for the dill pickle:
half a cucumber
90ml white wine vinegar
1 tbsp of caster sugar
1 tsp of fine salt
small clove of garlic, peeled, whole
½ bayleaf
a good pinch of mustard seeds
1 tbsp of chopped, fresh dill

for the batter:
50g tempura flour
½ tsp of salt
½ tsp of ground cumin
½ tsp of ground coriander
½ tsp of smoked paprika
approx. 80-100ml cold sparkling water

mayonnaise
hot pepper jelly or dijon mustard (optional)
a handful of shredded, crisp lettuce
1 x 10" bánh mì, or equivalent length of french stick
a bottle of hot sauce

If you're making the dill pickle: scrape the tines of a fork length ways all around the cucumber to form a pattern then slice it, not too thinly. Heat the vinegar, sugar, salt, garlic, bayleaf and mustard seeds in a pan to boiling, then remove from the heat and add the cucumber slices. Stir, then allow to cool. Add the dill, stir again and transfer to a kilner jar or similar. Bung in the fridge until required.

Make the batter just before you're going to fry the prawns: mix all the dry ingredients together in a bowl and then whisk in 80ml of the water, adding more as required up to 100ml - you want a thin batter about the consistency of single cream. Don't worry about a few lumps.

When you're ready to make the po-boy: pour vegetable oil into a pan to a depth of no more than a third of the height of the pan. Heat to 175C. Season the prawns and coat lightly in flour, then add to the bowl of batter and coat thoroughly. Drop the prawns into the pan one at a time and fry for about 4 or 5 minutes until crisp and golden. Depending on the size of the pan and the amount of oil you've got, you can do this in several batches. Remove the prawns from the oil with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Prepare your po-boy: Split the bánh mì in half length ways. Spread mayonnaise generously on one half, and spread (if you fancy it) either hot pepper jelly or mustard on the other. Strew the lettuce onto one half, pile on the prawns, and top with pickled cucumber slices.

Cut the sandwich in half, arrange on a plate, and serve with a bottle of hot sauce on the side.

This was quite the nicest Sunday lunch I've made myself in a very long time. I'm not normally one to fuss over presentation, but that looks a bit flippin' Masterchef-ish, don't you think? I don't know what came over me.

We all have our favourite ingredients. Take a gander at the recipe archive and you'll see I use thyme quite a lot, love sherry vinegar, and am rather partial to the odd splash of Henderson's Relish. Well now you can add hot pepper jelly to the list. Specifically Jules & Sharpie's. Sainsbury's sell it at £1.99 for 220g. Ocado sell it as well, at £3.49 for the larger size of 300g. They (Jules & Sharpie that is) also have a section on their site where you can enter your postcode to find your nearest stockist. Any road, I've been using it to enliven many a sandwich/toastie but yesterday had the frankly inspired idea to use it in the gravy for this recipe, rather than the dollop of redcurrant jelly I'd have normally used. It made for a luscious jus. Yes, I did just write jus.

Wood pigeons are, bless the little buggers, available all year round. And if you are delicate of nature and have not tried game before, they are a perfect introduction - just gamey enough, but not overpoweringly so. It's a piece of piss to remove the breasts, but you can, of course, ask your butcher to do it for you.

This recipe might seem ever so slightly fiddly, but it's all dead simple and you can do the majority of it well in advance.

serves two

2 pigeons, breasts removed

for the gravy:
carcasses from the pigeons, roughly chopped up
a splash of olive oil
500 ml chicken stock
2 heaped tsps hot pepper jelly
2 sprigs thyme
2 garlic cloves, peeled but whole
1 knob of butter

for the potato cakes:
425g potatoes, in chunks (I used the waxy Cyprus)
knob of butter
4 rashers of fairly thick pancetta, diced
4 spring onions, finely sliced
pinch dried sage
1 egg, beaten
plain flour, for forming

250g baby leaf spinach
knob of butter

butter and oil for frying
salt + black pepper

Boil the potatoes until cooked, drain, allow to dry off and then mash, adding a knob of butter. Put the diced pancetta, along with the onions and sage, in a dry pan and fry until golden. Add to the mash, together with a beaten egg. Season and beat with a wooden spoon. Allow the mixture to cool, then put into the fridge to firm up.

Season the chopped up carcasses, throw them into a roasting tin and drizzle with a little oil. Roast at 220C/200C for about 15 minutes or so, until nicely browned. Then transfer to a pan and add all of the other ingredients for the gravy, except for the butter. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer until the liquid has reduced by roughly a half.  Strain the liquid, then return to the (wiped clean) pan and put to one side.

Dust your work surface and hands with a little flour, then form the potato mixture into two flat, round patties. Fry them in a little vegetable oil until crisp and golden on both side then transfer to a shallow dish in a low oven while you finish the rest of the cooking.

Wipe the frying pan clean, heat it up again and add a little oil and a knob of butter. Season the pigeon breasts and fry for around 4-5 minutes, turning several times. Remove and leave to rest while you finish the rest of the cooking.

Bring the gravy back to the boil, and let it simmer and reduce even more. Keep an eye on it - you don't want it to boil away to nothing - and, when it's intense enough for your liking, taste and add a little more hot pepper jelly if you think it could do with it. Whisk in a knob of butter and season to taste. Meanwhile, add the spinach and a knob of butter to a pan and wilt. Season and gently drain.

Have two plates ready. Place a potato cake on the centre of each one, followed by the spinach. Rest the pigeon breasts on top. Pour a little of the gravy around the potato cakes and serve the rest in a jug.

It's times like this that I really wish I could take a better photograph - because this looked, as well as tasted, absolutely gorgeous. The peerless Soper's are selling wild Irish trout at the moment for £9.95/kg. Hard to resist. The fish I bought cost £5.12 and produced two nice sized fillets.

Fresh garlic is now in the shops. If you're unfamiliar with new season garlic, a whole head shared between two might seem like a lot, but it's not - it is much milder than the dried variety, especially after roasting.

Panzanella is normally a rough and ready affair, pungent with sharp and rustic flavours. But for this dish I've come over all elegant, omitting the capers and onion, adding the sweetness of roasted pepper, and chopping the ingredients into tiny dice.

I'd like to emphasise that you need really good olive oil for this - the best you can afford. Otherwise I'd suggest making the mash with potatoes, butter and milk , and frying the trout in butter instead of oil.

serves 2
2 trout fillets, each cut in two
olive oil for frying
½ lemon for squeezing over

for the panzanella:
25g sourdough bread
1 roasted red pepper, peeled and de-seeded
6 cherry tomatoes, peeled and de-seeded
100mm length cucumber, peeled and de-seeded
12 black olives, stoned
a pinch of dried chilli flakes
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp red wine vinegar
4 basil leaves, cut into thin strips

for the garlic and bean mash:
1 head new season garlic
240g (drained weight) cooked cannellini beans (i.e. one 400g tin)
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp lemon

salt + black pepper

Cut the sourdough up into tiny dice and make into croutons - I prefer to roast rather than fry them. Cut up the red pepper, tomatoes, cucumber and olive flesh into equally small dice. Put everything into a bowl. Season and add a pinch of dried chilli flakes. Make a dressing with the olive oil and vinegar - easiest done in a small jar - and pour over the panzanella. Add the basil strips and stir.

Cut the top off the fresh garlic head (and trim the base, if necessary) and place on a small oven-proof dish. Heat the oven to 190C/170C fan and roast for 45 minutes to an hour, until lightly browned and soft. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out the paste from the cloves. Add this, the beans, the olive oil, the lemon juice and seasoning to a food processor bowl and whizz briefly. Taste - add more lemon juice and seasoning as required.

Season the fish pieces on both sides. Heat a frying pan until almost smoking. Cover the base with olive oil and add the fish, skin side down. Fry, pressing the fish down with a metal spatula, until the skin is golden brown, then flip and cook for a further 30 seconds. Squeeze over a little lemon juice and remove from the pan.

Place a mound of bean mash onto the centres of two plates. Rest two fish pieces on the top of each mound. Spoon the panzanella over and around the fish.

I can't tell you what a buzz it is to be back in the kitchen and rattlin' those pots and pans again. This would make a great brunch, although I had it for my tea this evening.

I bought one of those Bury Black Pudding Co. packets of four slices from the supermarket for £1.25 - ideal for this recipe.

serves two

for the salad:
2 tbsps olive oil
200g chestnut mushrooms, quartered
1 garlic clove, crushed
a good pinch of thyme leaves
3 spring onions, finely sliced
2 handfuls lamb's lettuce
1 dsp red wine vinegar
a few shavings of parmesan

for the black pudding:
100g taleggio
4 x 75ml rounds of black pudding

8 rashers pancetta
2 poached eggs
salt + black pepper

Poach the eggs beforehand, as per the instructions on this page, so you only have to warm them up briefly when assembling the dish.

Likewise, prepare the salad in advance: heat the olive oil in a frying pan and sauté the mushrooms with the garlic and thyme. Season, leave in the pan and allow to cool completely.

Divide the taleggio into four and form into flat patties roughly the same diameter as the black pudding slices.

Heat your grill, and grill the black pudding slices for a couple of minutes a side. Grill the pancetta at the same time. When the pudding is cooked through, lay a taleggio patty on top of each pudding slice and allow to melt under the grill. Now make two 'sandwiches' of the black pudding.

Finish off the salad while you warm up the eggs: add the spring onion and lettuce to the frying pan, toss with the mushrooms and drizzle over the red wine vinegar. Add some parmesan shaving and toss again, briefly. Pile the salad onto two plates. Place a black pudding 'sandwich' in the centre of each pile of salad, then top these with the (well drained) eggs. Season. Add the grilled pancetta to the plates and serve.

Well that was fucking boring. I mean, really boring. I'd almost have preferred waking-up-naked-on-a-traffic-island batshit crazy; or end-of-days-slash-your-wrists-(up-not-across) technicolor melodrama; instead it was just eighty-odd days of unremitting, listless tedium. [Before we go any further, a big thanks to all those of you who took the trouble to ask after this miserable sinner, only to be met with a stony silence - I will try and reply to you all.] Anyway...

Needless to say, there's been precious little cooking going on, although occasional forays to the Asian Takeaway, Frog On The Green and Bambuni have somewhat lightened the gastro-gloom.

One place I haven't yet been to is the new fried chicken outlet on Evalina Road. This isn't, I hasten to add, the latest in the hip, 'dirty food' wave of openings. Oh no, we'll have none of that in SE15, thank you very much. No, this is Monley's. That's MONLEY'S. As opposed to MORLEY'S. No disrespect to the latter but, as far as ripping off someone else's idea goes, that's hardly reaching for the stars is it?

Not that the owners seem overburdened with any particular sense of shame. On the contrary, inspired no doubt by the example of Danny Boyle's endeavours at last year's Summer Olympics, they opened with no little fanfare:

These last several months, when I've managed to drag my sorry arse out of the front door, I've been able to function just about like a 'normal'. Which means that I have, more or less, been able to keep up with the volunteering - albeit with little distinction. And, on that front, there's been a rather fantastic development:  the project I've been working on at the Maudsley has been awarded funds for the next three years. Which means, praise be, that South London is going to get its very own Recovery College. Here's me on hearing the news. 

The first mental health recovery college to open was South West London's. They made this short film about it, which gives a really nice flavour of the inspirational nature of this approach to recovery:

God knows what they were thinking, but Grazia magazine saw fit to give up four pages to your humble scribe in a recent edition. The interview and photo shoot were done ages ago, before this current psycho-slump; it was weird seeing it when it came out.

All on one handy page, all the cheese boards I've posted about over the previous year. Twelve in total, one for each month. It's here. I'm hopeful that normal service re recipe posts will be resumed soonest.

Recently, the American film critic Roger Ebert passed away after a long illness. As per his wishes, the film festival he founded, Ebertfest, went ahead a few weeks afterwards.

His widow was joined onstage by Tilda Swinton, whom God preserve. They then led the audience in a dance-along to Barry White's  'You're My First, My Last, My Everything'. Wonderful.

That cheered me up no end.

Sausages and mash with onion gravy: words to stir an atavistic yearning in the hearts of all stout yeoman throughout this fair isle. And me. They're also words to be found on pub lunch menus beyond counting, a seemingly reassuring presence amongst all the Thai curries, lasagnes, burgers, pesto pastas (V), BBQ chicken wings, risottos, pies of the day et al. Sadly, however, what you tend to end up with gravy-wise is an unedifying, overly sweet, gloopy paste (see also 'French onion soup').

Neither, it must said, have I liked the stuff whenever I've tried to make it (once every couple of years). Until very recently. Until circumstances (the purchase of two majestic faggots from Flock & Herd a month or so back) forced me once again, heroically, to have another bash at it.

And, fuck me, this time it was really delicious. I have to attribute my stunning success to the frankly inspired decision to include in the recipe these two beauties:

Now you might think Marsala to be an expensive indulgence; but this bottle, from Morrison's, was £4.49 for 375ml. So the 45ml called for in the recipe costs not quite 54p. More than reasonable for the price of success I think you'll agree.

As a Lancashire lad I bow to the ancient foe in one respect only - Henderson's Relish is made there. Fair do's. If you haven't got any, use Lea & Perrins.

I never make beef stock, do you? Probably not. I've no problem with using MPW's beloved Knorr stock pots. Well just the one - they are only a grain or two away from being too salty. I wish they'd make a no salt version. Still, they work here - but you won't need to add any more salt, just pepper.

I almost always cook sausages by coating them in oil and then roasting in a 200C/180C fan oven for about half an hour, turning once or twice. You get a more even colour to them that way.

serves two
a splash of vegetable oil
25g butter
approx 300g red onions, thinly sliced
45ml marsala
300ml beef stock (made from a Knorr stock pot or similar)
a good splash of Henderson's Relish (or Worcestershire sauce)
black pepper

Splash a little oil into a large frying pan set over a low heat, add the butter and melt. Add the sliced onions and cook, stirring now and then, until they are meltingly soft and have taken on colour but are not burnt at all - I left mine for about 45 minutes.

Add the marsala and let it reduce to almost nothing. Now add the stock, a good splash of Hendo's and a couple of grinds of black pepper.

Bring the gravy to a low simmer and let it bubble away happily for half an hour or so (i.e. while you cook your sausages).

I was given a kilo bag of calasparra rice last Thursday (birthday gift, valentine's day - don't, I know, very fucking hilarious).

The previous evening I'd written out the next week's menu (my 'week' tends to start on Thursday, because that's when the money comes in) which, dinner-wise, read:

Thu: onglet + gratin dauphinois
Fri: macaroni cheese
Sat: sausages + peppers
Sun: spaghetti + broccoli
Mon: rice + chicken
Tue: cod + lentils
Wed: omelette + salad

I had intended to use this recipe for the rice and chicken, but the gift of calasparra prompted a change of tack away from a risotto and more towards a kind of paella (and I've always got a chorizo sausage or two in the freezer and a tin of spanish paprika in the cupboard).

Then at the weekend, as if by celestial decree, the Guardian featured a recipe for arroz con pollo y chorizo from the estimable Nieves Barragán Mohach, executive chef for Fino and Barrafina. Here's a lovely little (1 min 23 secs) film about Barrafina to make you ache with longing to go there NOW (or at least buy the book):

But that dish, stupendously delicious and authentic no doubt, has sixteen ingredients and I wanted a midweek-simple kind of a recipe. Also, my home-made chicken stock was already flavoured with carrot, celery and bay (NBM uses water).

So here's the (also delicious) result, made with just these eight ingredients:

serves two (or one greedy person)

1 chorizo cooking sausage (approx. 75g), in small chunks
approx 180g chicken meat (thighs or breast), in bite-size chunks
½ onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 tsp thyme leaves
¼ tsp of Spanish sweet smoked paprika
100g paella rice
200ml chicken stock
salt + black pepper

In a suitable pan, fry the chorizo over a low heat - so most of its oil leaches out into the pan by the time it's cooked. Remove with a slotted spoon onto a plate (not kitchen roll, because you'll want to pour back any juices that collect into the pan later). Increase the heat and fry the chicken pieces briefly. Remove these from the pan onto the same plate as the chorizo. Now add the onion to the pan and, after a minute or so, the garlic and thyme leaves. When the onion has softened, add the paprika, stir, add the rice and stir again. Pour in 200ml of chicken stock, and add back the chorizo, chicken and any juices. Bring to a simmer and cook over a low heat, covered, for about 20 minutes. After about 5 minutes season to taste and stir again. Stir a few more times while it's cooking to ensure the rice doesn't stick to the base of the pan. If all the stock has been absorbed before the rice is cooked (though this shouldn't happen) add a little water. The finished dish should be moist but not sloppy.

A minute or two ago I googled 'macaroni cheese' and got 22,300,000 results. Room for one more do you think?

I love the combination of pasta and cheese. One of my favourite quick suppers is spaghetti tossed in butter, a spoonful of cream and plent of grated parmesan and black pepper. But I have issues with most macaroni cheese recipes; well two issues to be precise.

Firstly, I have an irrational dislike of béchamel sauce. Not a phobia exactly (is there a word for a fear of this culinary wallpaper paste? Probably) but such that I find it difficult to make the stuff. No doubt this stems from some maternally inflicted childhood dinner trauma. Although I have no specific memory for this, I do remember her once force-feeding me butter beans until I spewed them all out again. 

Secondly, a lot of versions of this dish are singularly lacking much in the way of one of the two main ingredients, viz cheese. And whatever you might think of the recipe below it certainly doesn't fail on that score. It is rammed with cheese. It is cheese-ageddon as far as the macaroni is concerned. But no more of a quantity than you might easily polish off from a cheeseboard at the end of a meal, or in a supper of welsh rarebit.

Speaking of the macaroni, I used cavatappi (a type of elbow macaroni) from Morrison's at 95p/500g (or two for £1.50):

Anyway, here's my version: rich, filling, comforting, simple: cheese, pasta and cream.

serves one

1 litre water
1 dsp table salt
75g macaroni
50ml milk
150ml double cream
1 rounded tsp dijon mustard
15g pecorino, grated
40g mature cheddar, grated
50g gruyère, grated
a splash or two of Henderson’s Relish (or Worcestershire Sauce)
black pepper

Bring the water and salt to a boil in a large pan. Add the macaroni and boil until cooked but still firm (i.e. ‘al dente’).

When it's cooked, drain the pasta then rinse in cold water to stop the cooking process and wash the starch off (so the macaroni won't stick together).

In another pan, bring the milk and cream to a simmer. Add the dijon mustard and all three cheeses. Season with black pepper and stir constantly until the cheese has melted. Add a splash or two of Henderson’s (or Worcestershire) and stir.

Turn the cooked macaroni out onto some kitchen roll and pat dry. Mix it into the cheese sauce. You could have a little taste just to check for seasoning, but it really won't need any salt adding, . Leave in the pan for at least 10 minutes (so the pasta can soak up the flavour from the sauce) or until you're ready to finish off the dish.

Transfer the mixture into a small baking dish, reserving two tablespoons of the sauce, cover the dish with foil and bake in a 180C/160C fan oven for 15 minutes. Remove from the oven, discard the foil, pour over the reserved sauce and place under a hot grill for a minute or so until the top is bubbling and golden (keep an eye on it all the while). A bowl of salad leaves with a mustardy dressing is all that's needed as an accompaniment.

For a wildly different, down 'n' dirty, bonkers brilliant, PORK-TASTIC version, check out this recipe from the lovely Helen of Food Stories.

That's from Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. Unless the timings in a recipe allow for otherwise, I always like to have all the ingredients of a dish prepared and set-up before starting to cook. At no time is this more crucial than when making an omelette. At the risk of appearing condescendingly pedagogic can I ask: do you know how to make an omelette? Here's no less an authority than Michel Roux Sr cooking a perfect example in a matter of seconds:

This recipe is a riff on the simple cheese omelette that Elizabeth David used to eat at the restaurant Molière in Avignon, as immortalised in her marvellously evocative 1959 article 'An Omelette and a Glass of Wine' (which begins with a lovely tale of Gallic omelette obsession from before the first World War).

Comté is a gruyère-like cheese from the Jura region of France; the creamier, unpasteurised Beaufort would be superb here too. Otherwise, of course, just use Gruyère.

Whenever I've previously made this, I'd oven bake the croutons in a little groundnut oil (olive oil would be too overpowering for this recipe). But I happened to have a spoonful or two of leftover chicken fat, used it instead, and the result was glorious. If you've got a jar of goose fat left over from Christmas I reckon that would make for a fabulous crouton too.

serves one
3 eggs
1 tbsp finely chopped chives
salt + black pepper
a knob of butter
3 tbsps finely grated comté
1 tbsp double cream
a small handful of tiny sourdough croutons

If you keep your eggs in the fridge, remove and allow them to come to room temperature. Crack them into a bowl, add the chives, a pinch of salt and a good grind of pepper and whisk briefly with a fork. Get a small (about 200mm in diameter) non-stick frying pan nice and hot. Add the butter and allow to melt and froth, then pour in the eggs and cook as per the video above. When the omelette has barely set (the point in the video where M. Roux says "I like my omelette a little runny in the middle"), scatter the cheese all over it, then pour on the cream and then strew with the croutons. Fold and tip onto a plate and serve immediately, accompanied perhaps with nothing more than a salad of lightly dressed cos or romaine leaves.

Moreish and toothsome delights.

makes 20 little cakes
3 egg whites
125g caster sugar
30g plain flour
100g ground almonds
100g melted butter
75g raisins
icing sugar for dusting

Whisk the egg whites and caster sugar together until frothy, but not stiff. Beat in the flour, then the ground almonds, then the melted butter. Fold the raisins into the mixture.

Grease twenty of the holes of a 24 hole non-stick mini muffin tray with a little melted butter and spoon the mixture into them. Bake in the oven at 190C/170C fan for about 18-20 minutes - I'd start checking them after 15. Remove from the oven, dust with icing sugar and allow to cool before removing from the tray - they'll pop out without any trouble.

The classic flavouring for burnt cream (A.K.A. crème brûlée) is vanilla - add the seeds and the pod to the cream as it heats - but I didn't have any. I've always got a bottle of elderflower cordial though (Bottle Green ideally), and I now think I prefer it to vanilla for this - it adds a delicate, fresh note to the burnt cream.

makes enough for 4 x 100ml ramekins
3 egg yolks
20g caster sugar
250ml double cream
2 tbsps milk (or 3 tbsps if your cream is especially thick)
3 tbsps elderflower cordial
4 heaped tsps of demerara sugar for the 'burnt' topping

Heat your oven to 150C/130 fan. In a bowl, whisk the egg yolks and caster sugar together. In a small pan, heat the cream, milk and cordial, stirring the while, until just about to simmer. Remove from the heat and pour into the egg/sugar, whisking all the time.

Place four ramekins in a roasting tray and pour the custard into them.  Open the oven door, slide the tray onto the middle shelf, and then pour cold water into the tray until it comes about halfway up the sides of the ramekins. Close the oven door and bake for 40 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely, then chill in the fridge for an hour or so.

When you are ready to serve them, heat your grill to blistering hot, sprinkle the tops with the demerara sugar and slide the ramekins under the grill for a minute or so. Keep watching and remove the moment the tops are nicely golden and blistered (even better, if you have one, use a blow torch). Allow time for them to cool (and the burnt sugar to form a brittle shell) before scoffing.