Summer thoughts…


The laziness of summer days can be deliciously enervating. Only the bees are immune to this lassitude. August brings the humming noise of quietness to the garden which means that the last delinquent fledglings of this year are preparing to leave. In the winter ennui of January and February I’ll be chastising myself for not drinking up enough of this peaceful warmth. The truth is that this happiness cannot be tasted or consumed as it would be far too rich a dish. It is enough to be aware of its passing; of the fleeting moments of its existence.

The pleasure I enjoy from making food to eat, and taking pictures of it, allows me to have these extravagant thoughts that are as full of hot air as the cushion of puff pastry beneath this carnal pile of gaping tomatoes oozing gobs of oil mixed with their own sweet juices. When we eat food, like this, in our garden on a perfect summer evening we ingest some of the moment which will remain with us as an unspoiled memory, maybe even gaining in flavour over the passing years. To add to that flavour, we had white peach tarts for pudding.




Posted in 2014, Baking, buffalo mozzarella, Cheese, Cooking, desserts, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, French countryside, Fruit, Mediterranean food, Memory, Peach Tart, peaches, Photography, photography course, puff pastry, tart, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 56 Comments

Harry Covair…the third bean


I’ve had to quickly write another post owing to the lack of clarity of my previous one which was intended to be read as a universal cautionary tale of the pitfalls of everymans’ summer vacation rather than a declaration of my own holiday going down the toilet…which it isn’t, as I’m not on holiday: my current life just seems to be one continual holiday which state I have searched for all my life  and, happily, appear to have found. So I thought I’d write about a gift of green beans which cannot be misunderstood.

The beans appeared yesterday. They were proffered, cupped in the huge earth movers that my neighbour calls his hands, from which they were tipped into my cooking apron. Haricots verts, I must confess, have been a disappointment to me in recent years but, in the spirit and giving and receiving, I was determined that something good should come of this unexpected bean wealth and so turned to Nigel Slater. My cursory research suggested that the secret to a tender and delicious haricot vert lay in steaming rather than boiling…..there was also a suggestion that parmesan is a good partner. These particular beans have sunk low in the bean pecking order which order is topped by haricot blancs (mogettes in this part of the world), and  broad beans  making haricots verts the third bean who slowly turns on a virtual Riesenrad, ignored and mumbling about cuckoo clocks and chocolate. Today, or yesterday to avoid any misunderstanding of today’s post, was the moment for Harry to get in the steam room and come out a new and delicious bean….which he did. I’m converted and the haricot vert has climbed to the top of the bean pile. All memories of limp,dark green bottled beans or stringy, vegetal dental floss have been erased.


These beans, when cooked in steam for about 10 minutes, become firm yet fondant bean flesh. There’s a bite to them rather than a collapse. Salad…a bean salad came to mind as the day was hotter than the beans. The hot beans drunk the olive oil and cider vinegar with a thirst akin to a parched legionnaire who has crawled for days across the burning sands of the Sahara and the bean taste was sharpened by sea salt and ground black pepper .Today, I’m going to try them with slightly blackened, oven roasted tomatoes…another excellent idea from Tender by the inimitable Nigel Slater.

Posted in 2014, beans, Cooking, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, Humour, Nigel Slater, Photography, photography course, sea salt, summer, Uncategorized, Vegetables, Weather, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 37 Comments

Waking to the dream….


Today should be all right. After all, it’s only the first day of the holiday which means that holiday world is fresh and new and free from stings and arguments. This is the first morning of waking to a sparkling blue pool and breakfasting on warm croissants in the warm sun with apricot jam under blue skies. On this first morning there are no thoughts of time or packing or only three more days to go before this ends or feeling that three days more may be too much and can we get the hell out of here now. This is still a virgin holiday which means that it hasn’t been fucked yet… to keep to keep everything crossed.

Posted in 2014, Digital photography, Dreams, Expectation, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, French countryside, Humour, Photography, photography course, swimming pool, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

Big name hunting in Lyon..

Five days of five courses has led me to believe that the current medical sound byte of “five a day for a healthy lifestyle” has been misinterpreted by the Lyonnais. The five pieces of fruit are replaced by five easy pieces …of offal. Cocks combs, calves heads, tripe, brains and udder things are all on the daily menus of the plethora of wonderful cafes, bistrots, bouchons and  restaurants étoilés. For those who can’t stomach stomach there is always a good range of noses, ears, feet and tails. I am of course writing this tongue in cheek, which is also very good and on the menu today.


I am smitten by this amazing city that is analogous with good eating and drinking and I should mention simultaneously that I dislike the term “fine dining” as much as the word “moist” which I dislike a lot.The people of Lyon know how to eat and they know how to enjoy themselves as they are eating. This joy is reflected by the people who produce the food for their enjoyment, who are all masters of their trades and crafts whilst those who cook and serve these delights in the proliferation of wonderful eating places are, many would declare, the very best at producing French food.If that sounded a bland term it shouldn’t have. French food is hard to come by because, at it’s best, it is uncompromising and therefore not acceptable to many palates. The fact that Lyon has so many places that produce virtuoso examples of this cuisine at every different delicious level, and that these places are full morning and night, is a tribute to the gastronomic tradition that is part of the life blood of France. I cannot remember eating and drinking as well, ever, in my life.


Posted in 2014, Digital photography, Excellence, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, Humour, lifestyle, Photography, photography course, Uncategorized, wine, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 49 Comments

I got the bleus..du ciel, de la mer..the summertime bleus.

It might surprise you to hear that I’ve been ranting quite a lot over the last day or two, although surprise may not be first among the emotions felt, by those of you who know me well, on hearing that unsurprising news. I’ve been ranting over’s user unfriendliness only to realise that it was this user who was being unfriendly to something that he hadn’t fully understood so I had to rant, quite vigorously, at myself. Self ranting is not half so much fun as self abuse so I must try to stop. A reduction in self ranting can result in airy calms which is something that I currently need, so I’m going to think about nice things and not about my photography website that now has no pages.


I’m going to think of summer lunches, under cloudless blue skies, in an elegant courtyard on a tiny island off the coast of the Vendée..of butter basted, herb filled roast chicken with good bread, well dressed salad and chilled wine under the kind shade of a huge parasol…of pink slices of crisp skinned, garlic and anchovy spiked gigot served with thinly sliced potatoes that cooked beneath it and slowly soaked up the juices like we soaked up the sun….of family and good company…and of sea, sun and all the other good stuff…..and


of Edward Hopper who was the influence for these pictures. I feel an airy calm coming on…..

Posted in 2014, anchovies, Art photography, Chicken, Cooking, Cuisine bourgeoise, Digital photography, Emotion, family, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, French countryside, gigot, harmony, Humour, Ile d'Oleron, Mediterranean food, Memory, Photography, photography course, summer, Uncategorized, Vendee, wine, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 46 Comments

Who called the cook a cunt?

Which knotty question is traditionally answered with the pithy response of: ” Who called the cunt a cook?”. The first time that I encountered that profane but apposite riddle was whilst making a television commercial for Nescafe in Athens in 1971APC (Ante Political Correctness)  when smoking was de rigueur and obscenities were the jewels that studded a well formed sentence. It was uttered in priestly tones by the lighting camera man, the response being taken up like Gregorian chant by the rest of the film crew sitting around the table in a mistakenly chosen restaurant in Athens. At that time I found it a very clear criticism of the plates of dreadfulness that had been placed before us and I still find it so in similar situations. Yesterday was such an occasion. I have opened this post with a gentle image of a sculptural, but unusual for our house, bunch of gladioli which our neighbour passed over the wall as a present for Jenny yesterday evening. Gladioli are forever Dame Edna Everage in my mind, but this morning they looked wonderful and not at all reminiscent of Moonee Ponds. But I digress. Back to the nub of the matter which is an encounter of the bad kind with Martha Stewart. Martha and I don’t go back a long way and I think that it’s going to stay that way. I first met her yesterday in the guise of her recipe for Nectarine Upside Down cake. Aside from deciphering the colonial measures of sticks and stones and cups and spoons, the recipe itself had all the twists and turns of Chinese political reform or implementing Obamacare. This might be a harsh judgement, but harshness is my middle name when I look upon the mistake that is this cake. I’m in the mood for blaming my tools which is a sure sign of having crap tools. In the words of  Steve Martin before he stopped being funny : “Curse these cake tins….I curse thee cake tin”. The essence of the recipe is a crisp butter and sugar coating on top of the pieces of nectarine that will be on top of the cake later on but are at the bottom of the cake while it is cooking which meant that all the molten butter and sugar leaked out of my accursedly ill fitting cake tin resulting in there being no crisp candy coating on the cake but a perfect glassy layer of superheated sugar on the oven tray thus fucking it up for ever.  Even if she had paid her taxes I feel she deserved some time in the pen for thinking of such a cu..silly idea.



Posted in 2014, Baking, cake, Cooking, desserts, Digital photography, Emotion, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, Fruit, Humour, Martha Stewart, nectarines, Photography, photography course, Sugar, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 45 Comments

Aubergine the Über Gene….


Whenever I forget what’s for dinner or, more precisely, realise that I have forgotten to make anything for dinner, I pray for the presence of an aubergine to be in the near vicinity or, ideally, in our kitchen. It is unusual for there not to be some fresh tomato sauce and some mozzarella but aubergines, in the summer, putrefy at an alarming rate. The deep purple swollen bull’s pizzle that one carefully selected from the market’s phallic array will soon darken and soften if not used quickly. How true that is of life, but back to the kitchen. This holy trinity of ingredients will, in time, become one but melanzane alla Parmigiana is a very slow affair which is a very good thing for both taste and contentment. Cooking with sensual ingredients is a great pleasure. Slicing the aubergine into even slices that are just the right thickness, a thickness that varies with each person who makes this dish regularly, entails a sharp knife and clean, straight cuts to reveal the slabs of palest green flesh rimmed with darkness that collapse onto the chopping board. A favourite frying pan, large enough to hold three big slices of aubergine, is on the hob. The dark base of the pan is shining with a   shimmering film of hot olive oil upon which the slices will gently burnish. The tomato sauce needs to be highly seasoned with garlic, chilli, salt, pepper, red wine and an overdose of deep green olive oil to make it shine with silkiness. A thin layer of this sauce is laid in the base of the cooking dish and the first slices of golden aubergine are placed on top of it and are sparingly seasoned with a pinch of sea salt and some  ground black pepper. A couple of slices of creamy, soft white mozzarella are laid on top of these and so the layers continue until the aubergine slices are all gone. Parmigiana cannot be left out of melanzane alla Parmigiana so remember to be generous when grating this wonderful cheese over the surface. Generosity is the key to this dish…generosity in flavour, care and time. Put the dish in a hot oven for 40 minutes or until it looks right for you. I serve it with some spaghetti olio, aglio e peperoncino.


Posted in 2014, aubergine, buffalo mozzarella, Cheese, Cooking, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, Italian food, Mediterranean food, Olive oil, Parmesan, Parmigiana Reggiano, pasta, Photography, photography course, sea salt, spaghetti olio aglio, tomatoes, Uncategorized, Vegetables, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 65 Comments

…and thyme rich


In my previous post I had availed myself of a metaphor which placed me in a kitchen, vigorously removing the seeds from a pomegranate with blows from a wooden spoon, whilst dressed in a white Dior sheath dress and which, not surprisingly, engendered some searching comments, one of which suggested that I might be a mixture of Jamie Oliver and Conchita Wurst and, as such, could make a mint. This missed career opportunity made me reflect on my lack of “mint” and, equally, on my wealth of thyme. Before you, or I, could say cherry tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella on a puff pastry base scattered with small branches of thyme, there it was, on a table in the garden, enhanced by a profusion of lavender in the background and still sitting on the handsome cloth that had carried it outside, piping hot, from the oven . Breathless and dressless stuff.



Posted in 2014, baking, Baking, buffalo mozzarella, Cheese, Cooking, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, Garden, Humour, Kitchens, Lavender, lavender, Mint, tart, Thyme, tomatoes, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 52 Comments

Time rich…


I spent all of yesterday afternoon melting some onions and tomatoes for a tortilla. It takes time for onions to melt into an incomparable sweet savoury fondant and more time for tomatoes to transform into  a sticky palate stinging jam. Luckily I can afford it. Saving has never been in my remit but somehow I have amassed an enormous reserve of time. I have certainly wasted enough of it but but it seems to have been replaced by my high interest rate.


Melting onions can be very well behaved which good behaviour they displayed yesterday. Owing to these paragons I was able to avail myself of another slice of time savings to recreate a summer salad that had impressed me when I first saw it on a wonderful blog – – that I urge you to visit. Although the dish in Maple and Miso’s blog travels under the name of  Courgette with Tahini Yoghurt, it’s the fresh peas and broad beans that initially caught my fancy, along with the outrageously silky combination of greek yoghurt, tahini, sumac and olive oil. Over the passing years I had lost faith in fresh peas which, on each occasion that I had eaten them, never seemed to have retained the sweet pea taste of my childhood memories. However, I relented and bought a handful of fresh peas and the same of broad beans together with the first pomegranate that I have bought since God was a boy. A pomegranate in the hand is worth sending all your clothes to the dry cleaners in the vain hope of removing the stains. However, in the back of my mind rang clear the words of none other than Andy Harris, that doyen of pomegranate seed removal. “Cut the bugger in half and whack it on the back with a wooden spoon”. Unbelievably it worked like magic. The perfect little jewels shot out of their shell and landed harmlessly in the bowl beneath. I could have been dressed in a white Dior sheath dress and no one would have been any the wiser about my close encounter with the stain of pomegranate juice although pomegranates would not be the first concern if such an encounter were to occur.


This salad was so much more than I had expected. I strongly recommend that you go to the blog of Maple and Miso for the recipe….and for all their other delicious recipes.

Posted in 2014, Andy Harris, Art photography, beans, Cookery Writers, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, Fruit, Garden, Herbs and Spices, Olive oil, Pea Pods, Peas, Photography, pomegranate, Recipes, Shopping, Sumac, Tahini, Uncategorized, Vegetables, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 45 Comments

Hot day, blazing chillies, cold pasta…


Eating outside on a hot, still day, in the shade of the house is a pleasure that I keenly anticipate throughout the winter months. Most enjoyable of these moments are the impulsive, unpremeditated occasions when it just seems like the right moment. The preparation for the pre-arranged dinner al fresco is fraught with doubt and anxiety, whereas walking out of the door, into the buzzing silence of a summer’s afternoon, with a freshly prepared plate of something simply delicious in your hand is a confirmation that all is right within the small world that is today’s happiness.


Making the right amount of pasta is one of the great oxymorons. There is no right amount only a wrong amount. It’s always too little or too much. If some pasta is left over it will be because you made too much and if none is left over it will be because you made too little, not because you made the right amount. So, it appears that I made too much last night. A friend of mine, an Italian, gave me some good advice many years ago about left over pasta and the advice was to eat it cold as a salad.

Last night I had made a larder pasta sauce based on a small amount of good tomato sauce which needed using. A red pepper was close to giving in to the weather and had be sliced and very slowly cooked in a pan with olive oil. I didn’t skin it, but cooked the thick slivers until the skin side had burnt edges and the flesh had melted. In another pan, translucent discs of thinly sliced garlic together with a chopped bird’s eye chilli were infusing the warm olive oil that surrounded them. The peppers and tomato sauce were added to the garlic and chillies, along with the oil from the red pepper pan. The mixture sat over a low heat until the pasta was cooked, drained and stirred into it. A dish of fresh breadcrumbs from a cereal loaf were sprinkled over and stirred into the deliciously entwined pasta threads.It was a bowlful of this chillied delight that caught my eye as I opened the fridge. I moistened it with some more olive oil, left the kitchen and within a few moments I was seated at a shady table on my favourite terrace.

Posted in 2014, Art photography, Cooking, Digital photography, food, Food and Photography, Food photographer, France, Italian food, Olive oil, pasta, peppers, Photography, photography course, tomatoes, Uncategorized, Vegetables, Weather, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 38 Comments