Fig season, this year, coordinated rather well with my learning how to make pasta. Well, you can probably see where this is going right? Here’s a couple of recipe simple ideas that I can heartily recommend.

Simply boil pasta for around 4-5 minutes until al dente, remove from the saucepan and drain. Meanwhile, cut figs into slices of eighths and grill for a few minutes to release their juices.

Add a lump of n’duja to the pan in order to warm through and melt a little, then return the pasta and toss with the torn mozzarella and basil leaves and three quarters of the grilled figs.

Add the remainder of the figs to serve as they’ll have retained their shape more pleasingly than those that have been smooched with the pasta mess. Season with plenty of cracked black pepper.

Gorgonzola, fig and cacao nibs – I like that this is a delicate balance between sweet and savoury; the creamy but piquant gorgonzola has enough saltiness to win the tussle though.

As before, boil pasta for around 4-5 minutes then drain, meanwhile grill the eighthed figs lightly.

Return the pasta to the pan, add a large chunk of broken up gorgonzola, a knob of butter, seasoning and most of the figs, then toss to coat.

Finish with the remaining pieces of fig and scatter across the cacao nibs.

Oh, and here’s a cheeky little toastie. Well, just because; who doesn’t love a toastie? N’duja, lincolnshire poacher & sliced fig; it was GOOD.

You might also like: Greengage, Cobnut and Stem Ginger Cake

The post Of Pasta & Figs first appeared on The Faerietale Foodie.

Sprouts and marzipan. Both pretty divisive festive ingredients – I imagine those little sprouts made of marzipan are enough to turn many a stomach while at the same time reducing others to wobble knee’d joy. I bloody love them both – perhaps not together, mind – and will eat either at any opportunity whilst they’re readily available.

I recently stumbled across purple sprouts (well, they’re actually labelled ‘Redarling brussells’ – but you know – PURPLE) and as such they immediately trump all other brassicas. They were damn delicious doused in David Lebovitz’s Pistachio Aillade but even better with my fridge staple; nduja. A mess of sweet, fried shallots, halved purple sprouts, a handful of toasted hazelnuts, generous spoonful of n’djua, all topped with a Burford Brown egg; it’s a very smile inducing, easy dinner indeed.

When people say they don’t like marzipan, I’m inclined not to believe them. I think most have been permanently scarred by the memory of those cloyingly sweet, modelled fruits. But honestly, what’s not to love about sugar and almonds? I just don’t get it. I adore the stuff in every guise, from frangipane and all levels of sickly sweet to the more restrained, less saccherine homemade versions, I guess you’d call them nut pastes.

You might also like: N’duja, Goat & Ewe’s Cheese, Truffle Honey & Sage Toastie

I very, very rarely eat any of the sweets and puddings associated with this time of year, but I do make a lot of time for marzipan. One of my ultimate breakfasts over Christmas is a thin slice of sourdough toast, liberally anointed with salty butter and then finished with slivers of marzipan. This pistachio paste is a fragrant and fancy version, in keeping with the season. I only make small amounts at once, partly because it’s a pain pummelling too many pistachios at once, but also because I can’t be trusted not to eat it straight from the bowl until there’s not a scrap left.

Pound around 50g of pistachios in a pestle and portar until mostly ground but with plenty of texture, add around 25g ground almonds, 50g golden icing sugar, enough egg white to bring together as a paste, a good pinch of salt, clementine zest and a drop or 3 of maraschino liqueur.

Spread on buttered, sourdough toast and serve with the best coffee you can lay your mitts on for an insouciant take on the serious matter of breaking fast.

The post Of Sprouts and Marzipan first appeared on The Faerietale Foodie.

I’ve been to some great restaurants this year and some terrible ones, some fancy and some more basic, but I’m a simple creature at heart and quite often all I really want is something comforting betwixt two slices of bread. You’d think finding this whilst out and about wouldn’t be a problem, especially since toasties are having a bit of a moment around town. But, as I’d previously found with doughnuts, they’re all too often to be found lacking, tear inducingly dull and badly assembled. Toasted sandwiches are not hard to get right, but it appears, diabolically easy to get wrong. I mean, who really wants a clump of ham and cheddar? Soggy tomato? Really? I know simple is sometimes best but NOT ALWAYS and only when the ingredients are outstanding (as they should be quite frankly) – at least put something else in there, even if it’s just some herbs, chutney, freshly cut tomato, spring onion, whatever. Also, fill evenly, I expect spreads all the way to the edges and I want an equal amount of filling in each and every bite – no-one wants naked toast.

You know that’s why I started making doughnuts don’t you? Because I was so bored and disappointed with everything else out there; just jam or custard; where were the curds, the pistachio creams and boozy jams? It remains that my favourite toasties are still the ones make at home.

I’m being overly ranty. Of course Kappacasein do an extraordinary beast, the bench mark for toasties, Sager and Wilde always have a great one on at their wine bar and the ones at Embassy East are very much worth a try. I just mean that on the whole toasties are disappointing when they should be a delight, small details too often ignored and SO uninspiring.

I wrote an ode to them once – well, sandwiches, but nearly.

So, I’m seeing 2014 off with this one and, as with many things, I’ll likely overdose on the combo till I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than eat it again. I’m like that – addictive personality and all that.

N’duja, Goats Gouda & Ewe’s Cheese, Truffle Honey and Sage Leaf Toastie

Cut two slices from a soft white loaf and butter the exterior sides.

Spread n’duja onto the unbuttered side of one, drizzle with truffle honey then pile on great handfuls of grated cheese, much more than looks decent. I used a combination of a sweet and tangy goats gouda and a semi soft ewe’s cheese, you could go regular goats cheese but you won’t get the alluring cheesy dribble and stringyness that I love in a good toastie. Finally add a couple of sage leaves to the top before putting in a sandwich press, they fry up all pleasingly crisp in the external layer of butter.

(I bought my n’duja and truffle honey in the foreign section at M&S but you can get both at various farmers markets and Borough Market and the n’duja at L’Anima Cafe is pretty unbeatable)

Always leave to toast for longer than you think it needs, till the n’duja melts and the cheese oozes out of the sides into molten pools.

Happy New Year!

The post N’duja, Goat & Ewe’s Cheese, Truffle Honey & Sage Toastie first appeared on The Faerietale Foodie.

One of my favourite places to take brunch these days is Salon in Brixton Village. I hear they do a cracking evening service but, well, brunch is where my heart is, and after a tough session at the gym, the likes of nduja strewn scrambled eggs on toast is just the thing. An nduja pain perdou was a stroke of genius and, as you can imagine, right up my street.

The setting is as pretty as a provincial picture; a well stocked bar dominates a room filled with wooden furniture, dusky blue walls, old bottles and dried flowers. I love that seating is upstairs, on a slightly wonky floor, above the bustle of the market, an airy room that matches the external eclectic chaos with an equally boisterous, if middle class, brunching crowd. Best spot in the house is at the far end of the room, next to the window for people and market peering.

They often declare of a weekend morning their ‘special’; one of nduja focaccia with roasted tomatoes speaks strongly to me often, but never at a time I’ve been available to catch it. Until I do, I’ve stolen the idea myself and rather than a focaccia stuffed with chunks of the spicy Calabrian sausage, as I assume they do, I’ve mixed swirls of the paste-like version into the dough itself. Fiery ribbons and seams of chilli strewn sausage paste that licks the dough with it’s orange tongue.

My first instinct was to serve with roasted tomatoes, sweet and blistered, a soft mozzarella and some smoky prosciutto. I ate it again for brunch the following day as a beast of a sandwich, filled with more roasted tomatoes, smashed avocado and an nduja fried egg. Oooof.

It’s definitely a recipe I’ll be making again.

Focaccia is a super quick and simple bread to make, this time I followed Paul Hollywood’s recipe as it was one of the first to pop up in Google, but it’s much the same as recipes I’ve used in the past with success.

For the Focaccia

• 40g olive oil plus extra
• 250g strong white bread flour
• 180g chilled water
• 5g salt
• 1 sachet fast action yeast
• Fresh Rosemary
• nduja paste – I use one from M&S’ foreign grocery section that comes in a small jar
• sea salt

Put the flour into a large mixing bowl and add the yeast to one side and salt to the other.

Add the olive oil and then water slowly to incorporate all of the dough until you have a fairly wet, rough dough.

Lightly oil a work surface, turn the dough out and knead for 5-10 minutes until it starts to become smooth and elastic. It should still be quite wet and sticky so don’t panic and add lots of flour, just keep scraping down and cleaning your hands.

Once it has a smooth consistency, push a dip into the centre and dot a good tablespoon of nduja onto the top. Fold the corners of the dough roughly back into the centre, then repeat once more so the nduja starts to become ripples throughout the dough, but gently and stop before you get a completely orange mess! Pick it up gently and place into an oiled bowl, fold side facing down.

Cover and leave for 1 hour until doubled in size.

Oil a baking tray. Lift the dough carefully out of the bowl and very gently stretch it out before placing onto the tray and pushing it into shape without letting too much of the air escape.

Cover and leave for another hour to let it rise again.

Preheat your oven to 220 degrees. Push deep dimples evenly apart into the surface of the dough, drizzle liberally with olive oil, sprinkle with rosemary and flaked sea salt then bake for around 15 minutes until the surface is golden and the bread sounds hollow when tapped.

Allow to cool before serving.

The post N’duja Focaccia first appeared on The Faerietale Foodie.