My recipe for ‘caponata’ - the classic Sicilian vegetable dish starring aubergine and tomato and flavoured with olives and capers

Here in London, summer has arrived with a sudden burst. The days are long and sunshiney, the lawns and trees dazzle with emerald green, and there are roses blooming everywhere. As I sit here at 9.30pm, I can hear the birds singing outside, a cool breeze is blowing in through the window and the twilight sky is turning a soft peach and mauve colour. England can be glorious in June, though it pays to make the most of it because the summers are often so brief and the next rainy spell can be just around the corner.

It’s time too for summer food. The queen of the spring foods, asparagus, is still in season but not for much longer, now that English strawberries and raspberries are making an appearance. There are also plenty of aubergines (eggplants) around. This is one of my favourite vegetables and should be bought firm and a glossy dark purple.

To me, caponata is a dish that screams summer. It’s great on pasta or toasted Italian bread, or as a side dish. It’s good when it’s first made but it’s even better after a day or two in the fridge and can be eaten cold or room temperature. It’s great for using up a glut of tomatoes from the garden or bought in bulk at a street market, but it works perfectly well with tinned tomatoes. There are endless variations on caponata - you can use peppers (capsicum) for example - and it’s really a matter of using what’s available and in season.

This is my version of a very simple caponata. I really love the flavours of the meaty aubergine and tomato, the earthy celery and the zing of olives and capers. Some caponatas are very oily - in this version the aubergine cooks mostly in the liquids of the tomato so it’s very low fat and really ridiculously healthy. But good.

Ingredients

2 aubergines
2 celery sticks
600g crushed tomatoes (1.5 tins)
1 onion
2-3 garlic cloves
1-2 tbs olive oil
Dried Italian herbs including 1 bayleaf
24 kalamata olives
1 tbs capers
Salt and pepper

To serve: 5 leaves fresh basil

Method

1. Chop the onions finely and crush or finely slice the garlic. Dice the aubergine into 1cm chunks and slice the celery. Pit and slice the olives (a cherry deseeder is useful or you can simply cut around the seed with a knife).

2. Fry the onion and garlic gently in a heavy pot with a little oil until it is translucent and soft. Add the celery and then the aubergine. Add a little more oil if needed. Cook until the ingredients start to brown slightly.

3. Add tomatoes, dried herbs, olives and capers. Leave to simmer with the lid on. The dish is not ready until the aubergine is extremely tender. It is essential that you don’t get impatient - rubbery aubergine is horrible!

4. Season with salt and pepper. If you have fresh basil, then chiffanade it by rolling the leaves up and slicing it finely. Scatter the basil over the dish to serve. If you have some wonderful ripe tomatoes, you could chop or slice them and add them to the dish as well (but don’t bother unless the tomatoes are especially good). Serve hot or cold.

Another aubergine idea: Simon Hopkinson’s Asian-style fried aubergine with chilli and salad onions. Not quite as healthy but very tasty!

When I was a child, my family had a vegetable garden. I can vividly remember the dark green feathery tendrils of the carrot tops and the paler green ripple of the lettuce leaves, poking out from their bed of straw and compost. I took it for granted as a normal part of life, though if the truth be told I don’t think I was especially interested. When I was very small we had chickens as well and one of my favourite jobs was fetching the eggs, which always seemed like a mini Easter egg hunt (though with less chocolate).

Having a garden is a virtuous circle because, as well as helping to feed yourself - lovely fresh food with an infinitesimally small carbon footprint - you also have a green way to dispose of food waste, whether by composting, keeping a worm farm, or feeding to chickens. Food waste sent to landfill is a major environmental problem because it rots anaerobically and produces potent greenhouse gases like methane. By contrast, food waste that is returned to the soil in the form of compost actually locks CO2 into the soil, in a natural form of carbon sequestering. Some local government areas have separate food waste collections but this is rare.

In yesterday’s The Guardian, Michael Pollan, author of In Defence of Food, has written a passsionate riposte to the ‘why bother’ brigade - the argument that our environmental problems are so insurmountable and the actions we take as individuals are so futile that we’re all doomed anyway and may as well just enjoy the time we have left. I really like Pollan’s piece firstly because it’s inspiring rather than just plunging me further into despair and secondly because I think it advances quite a strong argument for the difference that individuals can make. There is the ripple effect - the idea of inspiring other people and creating a chain reaction of individual responses - and also the salient point that, while fixing the problem takes laws and money, it also takes changes to the way we live. Governments won’t act in any meaningful way until we do. It reminds me of the old Margaret Mead quote* about changing the world that invariably gets trotted out in arguments like these but it’s no less true for that.

In particular, Pollan suggests that as individuals we should make a single, meaningful contribution to the solution, and goes on to make the case for a vegetable garden. Did you know that during World War 2, victory gardens supplied as much as 40% of the produce Americans ate?

I recommend reading the piece in full but I have extracted a few quotes. He writes:

“Measured against the Problem We Face, planting a garden sounds pretty benign, I know, but in fact it’s one of the most powerful things an individual can do - to reduce your carbon footprint, sure, but more important, to reduce your sense of dependence and dividedness: to change the cheap-energy mind.

“A great many things happen when you plant a vegetable garden, some of them directly related to climate change, others indirect but related nevertheless. Growing food, we forget, comprises the original solar technology: calories produced by means of photosynthesis. Years ago the cheap-energy mind discovered that more food could be produced with less effort by replacing sunlight with fossil-fuel fertilisers and pesticides, with a result that the typical calorie of food energy in your diet now requires about 10 calories of fossil-fuel energy to produce. It’s estimated that the way we feed ourselves (or rather, allow ourselves to be fed) accounts for about a fifth of the greenhouse gas for which each of us is responsible.

“Yet the sun still shines down on your garden, and photosynthesis still works so abundantly that in a thoughtfully organised vegetable patch (one planted from seed, nourished by compost from the kitchen and involving not too many drives to the garden centre), you can grow the proverbial free lunch - CO2-free and money-free.”

He goes on point out there are physical and psychological benefits as well:

“You will probably notice that you’re getting a pretty good workout there in your gardenburning calories without having to get into the car to drive to the gym. (It is one of the absurdities of the modern division of labour that, having replaced physical labour with fossil fuel, we now have to burn even more fossil fuel to keep our unemployed bodies in shape.

“Still more valuable are the habits of mind that growing a little of your own food can yield. You quickly learn that you need not be dependent on specialists to provide for yourself - that your body is still good for something and may actually be enlisted in its own support. If the experts are right, if both oil and time are running out, these are skills and habits of mind we’re all very soon going to need.”

Finally:

“The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.”

It’s been many years since I have been involved in growing my own food. The closest I have come in recent years has been keeping a few pots of herbs on my kitchen window sill that died when I went away for a month. However, it’s certainly a family tradition. My mother and several of my aunts keep extensive vegetable gardens and two of my aunts are trained designers and teachers of permaculture - a type of organic gardening that relies on design to mimic natural eco-systems and create self-sustaining systems. One runs an organic gardening supplies, Green Harvest, based in Queensland, while the other has a garden design business in Cardiff, Edible Landscaping. My aunt in Scotland also has a rather lovely garden near Inveraray on the West Coast and last year I went up north to pick blackcurrants and make jam.

Currently I live in a rented third-storey flat in London so the opportunities for me to either grow my own food, or avoid sending waste to landfill are limited. Friends of mine in north London have recently acquired an allotment, a UK scheme to give city-dwellers a patch of land for growing their own food. I don’t think I could devote the time to an allotment - it’s a major hobby - and I don’t drive so it would have to be literally around the corner from my house in order to make it feasible for me. But I am hoping that my next home might have a small courtyard garden or balcony so I can at least grow some herbs and flowers and keep a worm farm for my food scraps.

Sinc I don’t have a garden, I do possibly the next best thing, which is to buy locally grown, organic fruit and vegetables. I order a weekly box from Abel and Cole and I’ve always had a very good experience with them, both for fruit and vegetables and also for dairy, bread, coffee, meat and fish, cleaning products (I could almost do a complete weekly shop with them!). It’s very reasonable - we spend £25 a week with them and our total weekly grocery bill for two people is about £40. I particularly like that I can set likes and dislikes - useful in winter to control the amount of potatoes, parsnip and swede I let them send me! I’ve heard very good things about Riverford Organics as well

Do you have a vegetable garden? Do you grow any of your own food? What environmental factors, if any, do you consider when shopping for food?

* The Margaret Mead quote I am referring to is of course: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” I’m sure you’ve heard that one before.

Make the most of the all-too-brief English asparagus season by devouring the succulent green stems by the plateful - plus some cool trivia about ’sparrow grass’

It’s a foodie cliché to declare your love for asparagus, particularly here in Britain where asparagus lovers are so passionate they even have a two-month festival devoted to it. English asparagus is widely considered to be the best in the world - though I rather suspect the secret is freshness and it’s good anywhere as long as it doesn’t have long to travel from plate to fork.

But cliché or not, love it I do. And whether it’s the Englishness of the asparagus or its freshness, I won’t have any truck with imported asparagus in the depths of winter, because apart from the nasty business of food miles, it’s just not the same. At this time of year, the markets and shops are positively bursting with bunches of fat spears of asparagus. I buy as much of it as I can afford and eat as much of it as I can. I never seem to get sick of it but the asparagus hit is enough to keep me going until next May.

There are many recipes involving asparagus and of course it’s good with butter or hollandaise sauce (what isn’t?) but I usually eat it very plain - lightly cooked and sprinkled with salt and pepper, often with scrambled or poached eggs at breakfast time. I don’t really see the point of an asparagus steamer since it can’t be used for anything else (if you saw the size of my kitchen you would understand why). I either simmer it in a few inches of water, or if it is particularly thick and woody I cut it in half and cook the tips in a steamer and boil the bottoms in the same pot (which is basically what an asparagus steamer does anyway but without having to cut the stems). Asparagus is also good barbecued, which I only recently discovered at Sunday lunch at my friend Emme and Jon’s house. If you want inspiration for some fancier recipes, then look no further than May’s In the Bag seasonal cooking blogging event. There’s a further 26 asparagus recipes on the official British Asparagus website.

Now asparagus is never trivial but it is associated with some cool trivia:

• * Asparagus is also a member of the lily family, along with onions, and has been cultivated since ancient times. The name “asparagus” comes from a Greek word meaning “sprout”.

• * It’s also called ‘Hadley grass’ or just ‘grass’, particularly in Massachusetts. ‘Grass’ is sort for ’sparrow grass’, a 17th century corruption of ‘asparagus’. The best stuff was grown in the Mass town of Hadley (and still is, if you live in New England).

• * It can make your pee smelly funny. About half the population experience strange smelling (and sometimes green!) urine after eating asparagus due to sulphur-containing amino acids in the veg that break down during digestion.

• * Asparagus can be purple or white as well as green, but the white effect is achieved by growing it in the dark. The white type is popular in mainland Europe but can occasionally be found in the UK - be warned it takes twice as long to cook. I think the white stuff is nice but the flavour is more intense with the green variety, so it depends whether you prefer a more subtle or vibrant flavour. I prefer the green stuff, personally.

• * Asparagus grows from a crown planted a foot deep in sandy soils and in ideal conditions it can grow 10 inches in a day. Oh and it has virtually not calories or fat and is full of vitamins and minerals.

This is my version of pasta primavera - food to celebrate spring. You could make this at another time of year using good quality frozen peas and broad beans, or you could vary the recipe by using other spring vegetables such as leeks, spring onions, asparagus, snap peas.

This is vegetarian but if you prefer, you could make it with bacon and omit the feta. I prefer it this way as it tastes fresh and wholesome.

Ingredients

Penne, 2 cups
Olive oil, 1 tbs
Onion, 1/2
Garlic, 2 cloves
Peas, 1/2 cup
Broad beans (fava beans), 1/2 cup
Zucchini (courgette), 2 medium
Feta cheese, 70g
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Fresh mint, 2-3 tbs
Salt and pepper

Method

Cook the penne in boiling salted water until al dente, then drain. Transfer the penne to a bowl, stir in the lemon juice and set aside.

Meanwhile, chop the onion finely and crush the garlic. Top and tail the zucchini, then slice lengthways into thin, flat strips.

Heat the oil in a frypan, add the onion and garlic and cook on a low heat until translucent. Add the zucchini and keep frying on a low heat, stirring occasionally until it softens and browns. Add the peas and broad beans and cook for a few further minutes, until everything is warm and cooked. Mix the vegetables with the penne.

Chop the feta into cubes and chiffanade the mint (by rolling the leaves and then slicing to make long thin strips). Mix the cheese and mint into the pasta mix, season with salt and pepper and serve.

Serves 2-3 people.

I am keen to try out more healthy and diet-friendly recipes and also expand my knowledge of vegetarian cookery. I also love lasagne and believe that a good vegetarian lasagne is an essential dish in any cook’s repertoire. This recipe for lentil, mushroom and ricotta lasagne comes from The Low GI Vegetarian Cookbook by Dr Jennie Brand-Miller, Kaye Foster-Powell, Kate Marsh and Philippa Sandall. As the title of the book suggests, it’s both low GI and vegetarian. It serves six and the nutrition details per serve are: 1797 kilojoules (429 calories); 14g fat (saturated fat 6g); 7g fibre; 24g protein; 50g carbohydrate.

Lentil, mushroom and ricotta lasagne
Serves 6 * Preparation time: 20 minutes * Cooking time: 1 hour * Cooling time: 5 minutes

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 brown onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, peeled, finely chopped
1 stick celery, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon freshly chopped thyme leaves
1 tablespoon tomato paste
400g (14 oz) can chopped tomatoes
400g (14 oz) can brown lentils, rinsed
400g (14 oz) button mushrooms, sliced
salt and freshly ground black pepper
500g (1 lb 2 oz) low fat ricotta
1 egg
125ml (4 fl oz / 1/2 cup) skim milk
pinch nutmeg
4 (30 x 16cm / 12 x 6 1/2 inch) fresh lasagne sheets
25g (1 oz / 1/4 cup) finely grated parmesan

1. Heat half the oil in a large, heavy-based saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the onion, carrot and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6-8 minutes, or until the vegetables soften. Add the garlic and thyme and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the tomatoes and lentils and cook, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes or until sauce thickens. Remove from heat and set aside.

2. Heat the remaining oil in a large pan, add the mushrooms and cook, stirring, for 3-4 minutes, or until slightly soft. Season and remove from heat.

3. Preheat oven to 180C (350F / Gas 4). Lightly oil a 2 litre (2 quart / 8 cup) ovenproof dish. Combine the ricotta, egg, milk and nutmeg in a bowl.

4. To assemble the lasagne, place a sheet of lasagne in the base of the prepared dish. Top with a third of the lentil mixture, scatter over a third of the mushrooms and smooth over a third of the ricotta mixture. Repeat these steps. Then top with a third lasagne sheet, the remaining lentils and mushrooms, then a fourth lasagne sheet, and finally the remaining ricotta. Sprinkle over the parmesan.

5. Bake for 30 minutes, or until top is golden and bubbling. Set aside to rest for 5 minutes before cutting.

Road test
A note on ingredients: I used vegetable oil instead of olive oil and substituted dried Italian herbs in place of fresh thyme. I also used full-fat ricotta and semi-skimmed milk rather than the low-fat ricotta and skimmed milk specified, so my calorie and fat count would be slightly higher than indicated on the recipe. I cooked French brown lentils from scratch instead of using canned lentils, omitted the tomato paste and added a teaspoon of miso paste to enhance the tomato vegetable sauce. My fresh lasagne sheets were small, so I had to use two sheets per layer instead of one.

Method: The recipe was very easy to follow and it didn’t take too long, even allowing for an extra 20 minutes to cook my dried lentils. Most of the cooking time is in the oven and doesn’t require close attention. I followed the metric measurements.

Result: This is a satisfying and tasty dish - it’s hard to believe it’s diet food. The portions were more than adequate, especially when served with a garden salad, and the leftovers were great for lunch or a quick supper throughout the week.

Verdict
It’s great to find vegetarian recipes that don’t rely on fake meat for protein but still taste really good. I have tried vegetarian lasagne recipes before and this is definitely my favourite so far. What a bonus that it’s also so healthy! I would definitely make this again. Next time I would probably still add the miso to give it a very full flavour but maybe only half a teaspoon as I found it quite strong (though my partner couldn’t taste it).

Our champion for England is Julia from the A Slice of Cherry Pie food blog. She has made the Full English Breakfast and has even gone the whole hog (literally) with the inclusion of black pudding.

I was delighted when Caitlin asked me if I would represent England in her Global Breakfast Tournament and immediately I knew the dish I would have to enter would be the Full English Breakfast, or ‘the fry up’ as it’s also known. We’re very lucky in Britain to enjoy a wide range of breakfasts from around the world, whether a croissant and latte grabbed on the way to the office, a bowl of muesli or even kedgeree. Toast and a cup of tea features heavily in British homes at breakfast time, as does cereal, but ask most Brits what the ultimate breakfast is here in the UK and the answer will be a resounding ‘the fry up!’. Now I know what you’re thinking; “Greasy, artery-blocking, heavy fried breakfasts served in greasy spoon cafes, well they may be classically British but what’s so great about them?”. Well, read on!

The great British fry up has regional variances across the country; in Ireland you may find white pudding or soda bread, in Scotland haggis or potato scones are often included and in Wales lava bread may feature. But regardless of where you are in the UK, at the heart of this fantastic breakfast you’ll pretty much always find bacon, eggs and sausages. Being from England, I’ve cooked the Full English Breakfast for my entry. After the bacon, eggs and sausages, generally any combination of mushrooms, eggs, tomatoes, hash browns, baked beans, fried bread and black pudding are added, sometimes with toast on the side for the very hungry. Eggs are sometimes scrambled, but more commonly fried and served runny, and you can’t beat the delight of that first burst of the egg as you dip in a piece of sausage or toast into that gloriously yellow yolk. In my research for this entry I’ve found that black pudding is something of a contentious issue. Many people insist that a full English breakfast must include it but quite a few people really dislike it and many don’t even get as far as trying it, being repulsed by the idea of a sausage made from blood. I have to say I don’t usually include it in my breakfast, but as I continued my research and spoke to various people it soon became very apparent that I would be committing blasphemy of the gravest kind if I didn’t include it for this post. So I made an exception and there it is, right next to the bacon, tomatoes and beans!

As always, the best ingredients will give the best dish. If you use poor quality ingredients you’ll get a poor quality breakfast, simple. So choose large free-range eggs, preferably organic, fresh ripe tomatoes, flavoursome mushrooms, thickly cut bacon and good quality black sausage from your butcher. And now for a few rules, meant light-heartedly but taken seriously by many; baked beans must be Heinz baked beans, sausages must be British, fat and juicy, and whether you prefer brown sauce or tomato sauce the choice can only be between Heinz ketchup and HP sauce.

Let’s talk about fat content for a minute. Now I do concede that the Full English isn’t the healthiest of breakfasts, not by a long shot, and if you eat it every day you’re going to pile on the pounds and give your arteries a challenge. But it really isn’t eaten every day by your average Brit. It’s something to be enjoyed in moderation, a real treat, generally eaten on an occasional weekend when there is more time to potter in the kitchen and really enjoy this hearty breakfast, or when staying in a hotel or bed and breakfast somewhere across the country. Those very concerned about the fat content could grill instead of fry, and many people do, but if you’re looking for true authenticity only the frying pan will do. You don’t need much fat for frying at all; some will come out of the bacon and sausages, and olive oil is a good choice, being healthier than most fats. After frying place the bacon and sausages on kitchen paper to soak up the excess fat before serving it.

So just what is it about this part of the British institution that makes it so special and dear to the hearts of so many Brits? Well let me see, could it be the gentle sound of the sizzling in the pan, the smell of the bacon and sausages making your tummy ache or the oozing yellow egg yolk? Maybe it’s the taste of the mushrooms or the sweet, warm tomatoes that burst in your mouth, or the taste combinations, different with each mouthful. Could it be the way this hearty breakfast fills your tummy, warms you up and puts a contented smile on your face as you read the Sunday papers? Or perhaps it’s the fact that this breakfast reminds us so much of home and makes us proud to be British; after all, whilst there are many fantastic breakfasts all around the world, no one can do a fried breakfast like the British. Whatever it is, I really don’t think that there’s a better way to start the day.

Forced rhubarb is available in England at this time of year. It’s notable mainly for the stunning colour, which ranges from pale pink to fuschia. The main crop rhubarb, which comes later in spring, is a darker, cherry red.

This month’s In the Bag event, which focuses on seasonal eating, has forced rhubarb as the star ingredient, along with orange and sugar. (Last month, the theme was pears, almonds and lemon and you can see my effort here and all the other recipes over on the A Slice of Cherry Pie blog, which hosts the event).

There is a debate among cooks about the best way to cook rhubarb and what the desired consistency is. Some cooks go to great lengths to ensure that rhubarb holds its shape. Recently I had a rhubarb trifle at Alastair Little’s in London, which featured small, defined chunks of rhubarb. Angela on A Spoonful of Sugar recommends oven poaching rhubarb to ensure this effect.

“This is the only way to cook rhubarb in my opinion. It preserves the gorgeous colour of the rhubarb and also keeps the shape of each piece intact - I suspect that many a child has been put off rhubarb by being served stewed rhubarb which is generally a rather dubiously coloured puree with stringy bits in it.”

I don’t subscribe to this school of thought. There’s certainly an aesthetic difference and some people think it is prettier with the rhubarb intact. However, I think that it compromises the flavour. Rhubarb is very tart and requires sweetening. I believe the rhubarb needs to fall apart in order to blend properly with the sugar - otherwise you end up with chunks of tart rhubarb sitting in syrup.

To my mind, the best and simplest way to cook rhubarb is to slice it into small chunks about 2cm long. This counteracts the stringiness, which usually comes from the cook trying to stew huge long chunks of rhubarb. Then put it in a pot with the juice of half an orange, stirring occasionally to prevent it sticking to the bottom. Do not add any water as the rhubarb will release water when cooking. If you are not using the orange juice, you could add a couple of tablespoons of water but that’s all. When the rhubarb is soft and starting to lose its shape, add sugar. How much sugar depends on your personal taste and the flavour of the rhubarb, but I used about 50g (half a metric cup) for 400g rhubarb and that seemed about right. Adding the sugar at the end, rather than during cooking, helps preserve the colour (as you can see in the picture).

The cooked rhubarb is lovely served hot with vanilla ice cream or cooled and mixed with custard or whipped cream (or yogurt if you’re trying to be healthy!) to make a rhubarb fool. The blend of tartness and sweetness is sublime, and fruit and cream is a classic that is hard to beat.

Rhubarb & Orange Cream Pudding

The whole point of these events is challenge and innovation, so I decided to try something new. (It also requires the rhubarb to be puréed, thus side-stepping the whole texture debate). I based this dessert on my aunt’s orange flummerie but I had to alter the recipe to accommodate the stewed rhubarb, which is not pure liquid. I also decided to made this with agar agar rather than gelatine. Agar agar is a flavourless Japanese gelling agent made from seaweed and it’s a vegetarian substitute for gelatine.

This recipe is also surprisingly low in calories and fat. There is sugar and cream but the recipe serves 4, so each person is getting 12.5g sugar (50 calories) and 12.5g double cream (55.6 calories; 5.9g fat).

Ingredients

Forced rhubarb, 400g

One orange, juiced and half zested

Caster sugar, 50g (adjust quantity to taste)

Agar agar, 2 tablespoons

Water

Greek yogurt, 50g

Double cream, 50g

Blanched almonds or hazelnuts to serve (optional)

Method

1. Wash and chop rhubarb into 2cm chunks. Cook with half the orange juice, according to the instructions above, then stir in the sugar. Leave to cool. (This step can be done in advance).
2. Blend the rhubarb in a food processor.
3. Pour 1 cup (250ml) water into a small saucepan and sprinkle with agar agar flakes without stirring. Heat and then simmer for 2-3 minutes, stirring occasionally.
4. Add the rest of the orange juice and one teaspoon of orange zest to the rhubarb and top up with a little water to make 1 cup (250ml)
5. Pour the hot water and agar agar into the rhubarb and orange mix and stir thoroughly. Leave to cool.
6. Once it is tepid to cool, spoon in the yogurt and cream, and fold it into the jelly mix, which will be starting to set.
7. Transfer to 4 serving bowls or glasses, and cover with plastic food wrap before transferring to the fridge.
8. Serve with a garnish of blanched almonds or hazelnuts.

Notes

This was my first time using agar agar and it worked very well but it sets a lot more quickly than gelatine. You can’t fold in the dairy until it’s cool (or the dairy will curdle), but leave it too long and the jelly will already be solid. Check after about 20 minutes.

If you prefer to use gelatine, then you will need to read the instructions as the ratio of liquid to gelatine may be different. You will need to add enough gelatine based on the rhubarb being liquid, but dissolve the crystals in boiling water. You could also use packet jelly if you prefer but would suggest lemon flavour is best as it is not too sweet.

Results

The pudding was a pretty pale pink and tasted sweet and tangy. The texture was creamy and mostly smooth, with the occasional fleck of orange zest or titbit of rhubarb. It reminded me a little of the mango puddings you get in Chinese restaurant, though not quite as sweet (I believe they use sweetened condensed milk).

The Guardian yesterday devoted the cover of its feature supplement G2 and four pages within it to the fact that its women’s editor Kira Cochrane has decided to lose weight. The tagline on the cover is “the feminist dieter” and Cochrane is also going to be writing a fortnightly column about it.

I must admit, I’m a bit puzzled by this. Firstly, I don’t understand why the paper gave so much space to it. G2 is usually full of smart, interesting, topical features that tell me something new. And indeed the article by Rory Carroll on the Sandalistas in the same issue is a good example. To me, the headline ‘woman goes on a diet’ or even ‘feminist goes on a diet’ or ‘women’s editor goes on a diet’ is worth maybe a one-off column at best. But, hey, I’m not the editor.

The other thing that puzzles me is that after reading the piece I can’t figure out why there was an implicit assumption that it’s somehow un-feminist to diet. Cochrane writes well and I enjoyed reading her work but in the end it didn’t really say very much. I already know that if you eat a lot and don’t do too much exercise then weight gain is the natural result. And I already know that while it can feel liberating not to care about piling on the pounds, it’s a temporary satisfaction as life then gets harder in other ways (Cochrane talks about feeling “sluggish”, not being able to sit comfortably on public transport and not being able to go hand-gliding with her friend because she was worried about the size of the harnesses).

Feminism isn’t about being fat. There is nothing feminist about wilfully pursuing a path that leads to health problems and a curbed ability to take part in the many activities that life has to offer. What I would hope feminism offers is freedom from self loathing and a more a positive relationship with our bodies based on self nurture. We are not defined by our bodies but we are not divorced from them either.

I don’t disagree with anything Cochrane has said or the conclusions she has reached and I wish her well on the weight loss journey, which I’m sure will not be easy. However, none of it seemed particularly new or surprising to me. I’m still annoyed by it being given so much space - it implies that she is being some kind of rebel in being both a feminist and wanting to lose weight, and that’s just not the case.

The best and most simplest nutrition advice I’ve heard was Michael Pollan’s famous seven words: “Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much.”

This week’s recipe is for three bean soup, once again from Olive magazine’s 30 Low-Fat Recipes booklet, free with the February 2008 issue.

This doubles as an entry for the Well-Seasoned Cook’s My Legume Love Affair challenge.

Three bean soup

20 minutes * EASY

chicken or vegetable stock, 500ml

broad beans 2 handfuls, fresh or frozen

green beans 2 handfuls, trimmed and chopped into lengths

cannellini beans 400g tin, drained and rinsed well

basil a handful of leaves, roughly chopped

parmesan grated to make 2 tbsp

- Heat the stock in a saucepan until simmering, add the broad beans and green beans and cook for 2 minutes, add the cannellini beans and cook for a further 2 minutes. Season.

- Stir in the basil and parmesan.

Serves 2.

PER SERVING: 227 kcals, protein 18.7g, carbohydrate 28.4g, fat 5.2g, saturated fat 1.9g, fibre 10.8g, salt 2.31g.

Road test

A note on ingredients: I used Jürgen Langbein vegetable stock, Waitrose cannellini beans, and Waitrose parmigiano reggiano.

Method: This was exceptionally easy and quick - if anything, it probably took closer to 15 than 20 minutes.

Results: Simple and tasty, though not amazing.

Verdict

This was not very exciting but I might make this again, because it is so simple and most of the ingredients live in the store cupboard. It is also very wholesome and genuinely low fat. It is intended as a starter but it does satisfy as a main with some toast as an accompaniment, or perhaps a salad or a dessert.

This week’s recipe is for spinach, mushroom and lemon pilaf from Olive magazine’s 30 Low-Fat Recipes booklet, free with the February 2008 issue.

Spinach, mushroom and lemon pilaf

30 minutes * EASY

onions 2, finely sliced

garlic 2 cloves, crushed

chestnut mushrooms 150g, sliced

cinnamon 1 stick

cloves 4 whole

cardamom pods 4, bruised

basmati rice 250g

lemon 1/2, zested and juiced

vegetable stock 450ml

spinach 200g, washed and roughly chopped

- Cook the onion and garlic in the butter in a large shallow pan until soft and golden.

- Add the mushrooms and cook until softened. Add the spices and cook for 2 minutes, then stir in the rice, lemon zest and stock. Cover.

- Cook on a gentle heat for about 15 minutes until the liquid has been absorbed. Stir through the spinach and lemon juice, cover for 2 minutes until wilted and serve.

Serves 4

PER SERVING: 350 kcals, protein 8.1g, carbohydrate 56.6g, fat 11.7g, saturated fat 6.6g, fibre 2.4g, salt 1.45g.

Road test

A note on ingredients: All ingredients except the spices and the rice were organic. I used Yeo Valley unsalted butter, Joubère vegetable stock, Tilda rice, and Bart spices. I substituted crimini mushrooms instead of chestnut mushrooms.

Method: The method was very clear and easy to follow. It took slightly longer than 30 minutes when allowing time to prepare the vegetables.

Results: The lemon and spices provided tang and zip, the butter and mushrooms a full richness, and the spinach a slight sweetness and a nice contrast in colour.

Verdict

This was a big hit! I would definitely make this again, perhaps substituting swiss chard (silverbeet) instead of spinach or possibly adding some nuts. It works as a main but could also work well as a side dish with a nice piece of chicken. I am not sure that this fully counts as a low-fat meal given that it has 11.7g of fat and 6.6g of saturated fat per serve, but it’s certainly wholesome. You could probably experiment with reducing the fat but you would want to take care that it does not end up sticking to the pan and burning.