This spelt tarte tatin with caramelised pears, vanilla and cinnamon labneh is a pure taste of crispy, layered, puff pastry indulgence. Full of buttery richness and finished with a sweet cinnamon labneh, this is a dessert which I simply can’t get enough of. It’s also simple to make, there’s a tarte tatin in everybody that the Tatin sisters would be proud of, if only you’ll let it out!
I fucked off my lactose intolerance last week with a massive dose of butter, entwined with sugar, flour and the heat of the oven to create this beautiful dessert. Occasionally I can’t handle the burden of my virtuous lifestyle (hah!) and have to stab myself in the foot, or perhaps stomach, and cause some pain with something that will give my digestive system a kicking. Harming myself, regardless of how small the act, is one of the things in life…
Today’s post is full of childhood reminiscences of gorging on piles of syrup soaked pancakes, and how despite this gorging, we never ate savoury pancakes. I’m redressing that balance in my life by creating simple, flavourful pancake recipes such as these rocket and goat’s cheese pancakes, topped with a rich, powerful pomegranate molasses and olive oil dressing. Once these goat’s cheese pancakes are taken care of, you can start the main job; sweet pancakes!
Best Day of the Year.
In every calendar year, there exists a small handful of very special days, which most children hold with a spectacular cachet, or at least, I did.
Christmas day was the highlight of the year with it’s magical myths of reindeer drinking the saucers of milk left in the garden, and father Christmas having hastily consumed the mince pie and brandy left for him on the garden table. Alongside the abundant presents…
Today I’m making wholemeal ginger cookies, using spelt flour and trying to curb the sugar content. These are lovely, light cookies with a deep flavour and soft bite, perfect to go on the side of some hot milk to warm you up on those winter days.
What is Going on?
I’m in a mess. Existentially. Everything I do leaves me in an existential mess these days. Maybe I need to stop saying that word so much. The world is just a mirror of what I put out, so if I say I’m a mess, it’s a self fulfilling prophecy, I’ll always get back what I put in.
Nonetheless, my mind is befuddled and discombobulated, a tangled labyrinth of misdirection. I want to write so desperately, I desire the construction of lucid torrents of letters borne through raging passion which evoke sheer ecstasy in my soul. But my mind gets hoodwinked,…