A few ways with broccoli; or a bit about living with depression

It's been a tense few weeks at Dodsley Towers, tbh. It's enough moving house - or rather waiting to move because the damn thing doesn't seem any nearer being built than in March, but to add in a few dollops of stress from other quarters and suddenly life borders on the near-despairing.

It's very hard when you hit despair. It's even worse when someone you love hits despair and there is nothing you can do. You watch them sink into themselves, a sort of right-way-round version of The Twits, disappearing from view; conversation becomes monosyllabic or downright emotional, an endless repeat of "why me?" and "what can I do?". You aim for staunch and supportive, bluff and stiff upper lip, but get accused of being actually unsupportive. You hug and cuddle and make myriad stupid, meaningless gestures they don't see anyway, like always doing all the housework, looking after the children, and end up feeling resentful and unsupported yourself. You veer away from making conversation - any kind - other than to relate something funny a child did today to lift their spirits, because conversation always ends in the same way: "I hate my job/my life," or "another shit day" or another rant about the new house not being built because that's something tangible to focus on. You can't actually face those phrases again so you choose to say nothing. You dread waking up because the day ALWAYS begins with them saying "Another shit day..." (It ends with it too). You find yourself tensing, waiting for the familiar soul-deep sigh that seems to emanate from them at almost minute intervals. You find your eczema, sensitive to mood at the best of times, appearing in places hitherto unexplored and want to yell "Why is your mood ruining my body?" (Remember: staunch and supportive at all times). You want to - and in fact do - repeat platitudes IN THEIR FACE like the one about the light at the end of the tunnel, but then see that they can't see that light; they're just stuck in the howling darkness with the freight train rushing down on them AND THEY CAN'T SEE THE DAMN TRACKS. You cry. A lot. Over nothing. And hide it. Or sometimes you don't in order to get a response, some notion you exist in their heads too.

We've been waiting for some news that will potentially change all this and finally, yesterday we got it. And it was good. So now, in theory, all this goes away. MCD Sr is bouncing away like Tigger on ketamines - suddenly all the despair has vanished, he found the tracks and is running, helter-skelter, towards the light. And I'm wondering why I still feel low, as if nothing's changed. And I think it's because it's become a habit. Because for months now, I haven't felt another way other than that of feeling my way blindly round a timebomb, constantly tiptoeing so that all that feeling, all that sadness, doesn't come surging out again like a tsunami taking us under again and again, leaving us blindsided and gasping and fighting to get to shore and security. Husbands, we are told, are not supposed to cry, are not supposed to be the ones making us feel unsafe and insecure just by being "a bit sad". They go manfully off and strive through their jobs, just as we do and crucially, get on with it. When, suddenly, they can't, when that MANLINESS becomes just a frightened child waiting on the hills for the wolves to come, you have to rush in on your charger, holding up the light so they can see it. And sometimes it takes a fucking long time before they can. Meanwhile, on you muster, a very pillar of wifely support, trembling, frightened, resentful, sympathetic, loving, hating, exhausted and wired. Because that's what you do. Because that's what marriage means. But no-one talks about that.

So every little helps and eating your greens at such times at least keeps your iron levels up when all you want to do is eat nothing but macaroni cheese. MCD Jr maintains he only likes broccoli "in stuff" so I've been exploring a few ways to get it in. Moronic, I know, but over-achievement has always been my byline.

3-veg Pesto:
This is dead easy: Take a big handful of spinach. frozen peas and broccoli and a peeled clove of garlic and cook in boiling water till just tender. Drain and bung in a food processor. Add a small handful of toasted pine nuts, a squeeze of lemon, olive oil and a good handful of grated Parmesan and whizz together to make a pesto consistency. Cooking the garlic with the veg softens the flavour if you've got, like me, a child with sensitive tastebuds that hates the heat of raw garlic.

Ham, Cheese and Veg Quesadillas
Blitz a good handful chestnut mushrooms and a few stalks broccoli with a clove of garlic in the food processor then add to a pan with a good lump of butter and a splash of water and cook until softened. Lay a tortilla wrap on a baking sheet and top with a slice or two of nice ham. Spread a thin layer of the veg over the top then sprinkle on grated cheese of your choice. Top with another wrap and bake in the oven until the cheese has melted. Cut into small wedges and serve.

Broccoli Cheese Sauce.
Blitz some broccoli again in the food processor then add to a basic cheese sauce, either the béchamel variety or cream with cheese stirred in. Use to coat pasta, cauliflower, leeks, chicory, anything really.

This blitzing is a great way with greens: I'm trying it with kale and leeks but would also work with cauliflower or even Brussels sprouts, which love cream and cheese.

Three great breakfasts

I can't decide which of these is the current favourite so I'm having them in rotation whilst also fitting in the odd bowl of muesli to keep my suddenly wayward IBS under control.

Breakfast idea no 1: A variation on the smoked mackerel theme, this time i mix together chopped tomatoes, avocado and smoked mackerel then souse the lot in lime juice and a good few shakes of smoked chipotle Tabasco. Pile onto lightly toasted sourdough.

Breakfast idea no 2: A slice of thick-cut honey-roast (or your choice) ham with a few sliced of halloumi, fried until patchily golden and dressed with a little lemon juice and a handful of lightly fried tomatoes.

Breakfast idea no 3: Bacon and sliced fresh tomato on toasted muffins. I had quite forgotted how delicious these are. Also excellent with sausages. Which in turn reminds me I had plans to make Nigella's Welsh Rarebit muffins to accompany sausages one weekend - I shall let you know.

You can quite see how time can get away from one when there are decisions such as these to be made...

Eating Notes

So still at home, still cooking... a few more ideas that I've played around with...

A splendid, adaptable, winter soup:

Sweat a chopped onion and sliced leeks in butter until meltingly soft. Add a quarter of a cauliflower, divided into florets and a good couple of handfuls of scrubbed Jerusalem artichokes. (Quantities are very much up to you, but this was what was in the fridge). Pour over a litre of vegetable or chicken stock (I used Marigold for the savouriness), add a couple of bay leaves and simmer for about 20-30 minutes, until everything is completely tender.

Blitz until smooth (removing the bay leaves first) and check the seasoning. I've eaten this in a couple of ways so far - try it with crumbled crisp fried streaky bacon; plain with a drizzle of extra virgin; topped with chopped parsley and grated Parmesan and a drizzle of olive oil. You might try adding in crumbled chestnuts (Merchant Gourmet do vac-packed ones that are indispensable) with the bacon, or use Parma ham.

A literary breakfast:

Not entirely sure why, but anyway I tossed cod's roes in a very little flour seasoned with a little paprika, mustard powder, salt and pepper and fried them in some butter. I added a couple of tablespoons of cream, a squeeze of lemon and adjusted the seasoning for a 'devilled' effect, then tipped the lot over a slice of home-made buttered granary toast. One for a cold morning.

A bloody mystery, frankly:

Tonight - depending on what the lump of defrosting red meat is (when, when will I learn to label freezer bags?) - we will be having either Nigel's recipe for lamb chops, where the onions are fried off with the meat, deglazed with some red wine and grain mustard and served with a chickpea mash; or steak stroganoff with cannellini beans and a pile of greens on t'side for our health.

PS: Contrary to all expectations, my own included, I made lamb stroganoff with cannelli bean mash and kale. It probably goes against all the rules, but lamb goes so well with the smoky notes of paprika and meatiness of the mushrooms that it worked. Just remember to keep the lamb pink-ish.

Recipe ideas to occupy the fridge-loving unemployed

Now that I find myself temporarily unemployed and home-bound, my main problem is staying out of the fridge. With time on my hands and constant flavour combinations suggesting themselves to me in my head, I find myself heading fridge-wards a little too often. The fridge and I - as my family will corroborate - have a long and symbiotic relationship; it's not so much that I pick out something to eat each time I pass by, but I find myself quite often opening the door just to check what's in there and spend a few minutes musing on what to have for the next meal, or the one after that, or even tomorrow. I spend a lot of time communing with my fridge. But it's also a tic of boredom and that way, as musings transpire into ever-more complex meal creations, fully-inflated dinghy-shape lies.

So what to do? I have found the best way to retain even a modicum of slenderness (I'm 5ft so really I do need to watch it) is a good 20 mins of walking a day, easily accomplished in my old life by walking to the station every morning and watching the carbs (not obsessively and madly, but being aware of my intake). Now there's no need to march to the station every morning and I don't think clocking up the yards to the kitchen is really any substitute.

For inspiration I dug out India & Nerys' Idiot-Proof recipe book which - co-written as it is with food writer Bee Rawlinson - is full of really good recipe ideas that are filling and interesting without containing carbohydrates. My main problem is breakfast. I love my muesli with yoghurt, but after 5 mornings a week it starts to pall and I find myself craving croissants, sausage sandwiches and bacon rolls - all of which are delicious, but not good on a daily basis. With a little more time on my hands, I can get a bit more creative and save the fry-ups for the weekend where they belong.

Idea no.1: Bearing in mind my recent lizard/piglet-ness and the fact that the weather seems to be sharpening its claws, I'm upping my good fat intake, This morning, I fried 2 strips of streaky bacon and a chopped tomato in a little olive oil. I then halved an avocado and spooned the tomato and bacon into the well and topped with a little Gorgonzola. It went into the oven for a few minutes to soften the cheese and breakfast was done. Tomorrow morning, I shall do something similar but without the bacon.

(BTW - for all of you remarking on the fat content - cheese, bacon, oil - I followed India and Nerys' diet a few years back when I was getting decidedly portly and found that for me , it worked. It is based on the Atkins diet, but what is ingenious is how you re-introduce sensible carbs. I found my energy levels higher, my mood dramatically changed and embedded deep within myself the concept of moderation (hence the continuation of my Sunday morning sausage sandwich).)

Idea no. 2: Similar but use large flat field mushrooms as a base for anything. Yesterday's lunch was the mushrooms baked in the oven with a little butter and garlic, topped with a round of goats cheese and then sat on a bed of watercress with a mustard-y dressing.

Idea no.3: Their idea for a faux-mash made with cauliflower may strike a hint of fear into many, but actually it's amazing and incredibly versatile. The basic premise is to steam cauli florets until tender, then whix them up with a little butter and double cream (or creme fraiche), seasoning and perhaps some nutmeg. Get the consistency right and it's lovely for spooning over shepherd's pie or moussaka; you can add cheese of any description to add bulk and in the recipe book, they suggest adding an egg yolk, whisking the egg white and folding it in and then topping a baked field mushroom, before baking until risen and golden, which sounds an elegant lunch.

One of their most striking points is that breakfast needn't be sweet. As someone utterly without a sweet tooth, I have never found the problem to be pastries and muffins and so on (I even find the fruit in my muesli too much), but rather the ingredients of a fry-up. They go on to suggest that you could pretend you've woken up in Bavaria and feast on meats and cheeses, smoked fish and vegetable-fruits such as tomatoes and avocados, which is an idea I'm rather taken by. Guten Appetit.

In which we go a little tomato crazy....

A few ideas on what to do with a glut of tomatoes, be they cherry, small like Sweet Million, or larger like Shirley or Gardener's Delight...

1. A light tomato soup. I was reluctant to make this, as I'm not a massive soup fan and even less of a tomato soup fan. However, it ended up quite well, as I was basing this on a Bloody Mary mix, (it sounded fun to me) even if I say so myself. Roast a roasting tin's worth of tomatoes in the oven until blackened. Meanwhile, sweat a diced onion, a couple of cloves of garlic, crushed and maybe 2-3 sticks of chopped celery in a little olive oil. (NB peel your celery otherwise the stringy bits are horrible). Add some basil stalks and leaves, then tip in your roasted tomatoes and 500ml chicken stock. I cooked it up a bit (I sound like Katharine Hepburn 'we gotta cook it up George') then stirred in a tbsp-ish of horseradish and some Tabasco and some chopped celery leaves. I then whizzed it up with a hand-blender and seasoned. You might want a squeeze of lemon juice or more spice - taste as you go. I then dolloped in creme fraiche for thickening it a little before serving.

This is by no means a thick soup, (and it occurs to me that it would be gorgeous chilled with or without creme fraiche), and you might want some bread - or better perhaps - a toasted cheese sandwich with it....

2. Ketchup. reduce 3kg of tomatoes down to 3 bottles... I am the anti-Jesus. I'm not going to copy it out here, but suffice to say, having perused a few recipes in the collection and ummed and err-ed between Hugh and Jamie, I went for Jamie's recipe in Jamie at Home (which is a good book), but left out the ginger as I felt it wasn't a flavour I wanted in my ketchup. Also, it's worth bearing in mind, although I did double the recipe, it took (and I know this because it was my birthday and this is how I spent it - god damn my dedication) near on 5 hours to make in total. Admittedly, the work involved is pretty minor as you're mostly reducing it down to concentrate flavours, but still it's a pot that needs watching.

3. Pasta sauce. I've given up - for the time being - sweating them in a pan with garlic and oil, as I got bored of the flavour. I now just roast them with lots of seasoning and rosemary and a drizzle of red wine vinegar, then when done to a turn, tipping them over the pasta as they are and drizzling with oil. I notice Nigel last week on t'telly did his with (aargh tinned) black olives and capers - I also like chopped melted anchovies, roasted garlic, lots of basil, etc, etc. Gently torn apart buffalo mozzarella goes well.

4. Roasting them around anything else - tonight grey mullet with cockles, tomatoes, garlic - sort of bouillabaisse flavours....

PS: roasting cockles in a tin like this with everything else makes them more savoury and punchier than you ever might expect. Not one for the faint of heart, but good.

5. Tomato salad - any which way you like, but a sprinkling of chilli flakes does wonders.

6. Green tomatoes - slice thickly, coat in cornmeal/polenta and fry till crisp. What about for breakfast with bacon?

The Settler's Cookbook by Yasmin Alibhai-Brown

We rely on food to give us a sense of place, of home. Nowhere is this more true than in the cooking of Britain’s immigrant population, where the rituals of familiar, native dishes re-affirm life’s rhythms and structures, when all else is lost.

In her memoir, The Settler’s Cookbook, Yasmin Alibhai-Brown traces the history of her ancestors, settlers from India brought to East Africa to build the railways, or lured by the promise of a flourishing wealthy society under British colonial rule in independent Uganda. The early chapters describe a ‘land of milk and honey’ – a riot of colour and sensory riches where the Asians found a life of some status, yet never quite letting go of their roots, culinary and otherwise. The tension, however, simmers under the surface, like a slow-cooking dhal, exploding every now and then as the three populations – British, Asian and African – struggle to define their own roles in a convoluted, pressurised system, clashing as they do so.

Idi Amin’s expulsion of many thousands of East African Asians from Uganda in the 1970s forced them to flee to an imperial ‘homeland’ many of them had never been to. Yasmin describes how once again the Asians became settlers, struggling to adjust to yet another culture struggle, another way of life where they were again de-valued, place-less in society and how – once more – food became the anchor as they found their feet.

Her recipes, passed down, thread their way through the book, binding the narrative, lending evocative colour, flavour and aroma. The recipes themselves are gorgeous and demand to be cooked, but a word of warning: the ingredients are not written in user order and it pays to read the whole recipe through first as little things might catch you out, like turning on the oven, or suddenly needing something finely chopped and quickly...

I love the idea of the wonderful combination of Zanzibari Prawns and Spinach Dhal, in fact I've copied so many recipes into my books, I don't know quite where to start, but I will be blogging as I go. There'll be no stopping me once I know my moong from my channa dhal...

Anyway, go buy. It's brilliant and has induced an almost insatiable need to get cooking.