Sunday, 28 July 2013

Banana fix


Quick fixes are favourites round our house at the minute. I was warned, with baby twins, I would be drinking lots of cold cups of tea. It's not quite that bad, actually. But if I want to have my dinner before 9 pm, short cuts have to be taken.

Today, on what has to be the hottest day of the year here in Berlin (no sign of that torrential rain that's tormenting a large part of Europe just yet), we opted for a Schiller burger outside, and a dessert that I read about on Chocolate and Zucchini, instant banana sorbet. It's amazingly simple, superbly delicious and yes, dead quick.

The only thing that would make it even quicker is to peel your (blackened and overripe) bananas before placing them in the freezer. But apart from that, what could be easier then tossing them in the Magimix, pulsing, scraping the slush down, pulsing again, scraping the slush down again (do not attempt to do this while the blade is running like me, queen of all shortcuts, or you'll end up with a spatula looking like this:)


and hey, presto!



Dinner, dessert and baby bedtime all over and done with before 9pm. Priceless.


Sunday, 14 July 2013

A rhubarb kind of day


Yesterday my man and I took the in-laws and the twins to our latest favourite Berlin spot. I REALLY don't want to tell you about it as it is like a slice of heaven on a summer's day: dappled sunlight, large leafy trees to lounge under, a quaint little laden nearby selling artisan bread, pickles and, strangely enough, home knitted hats that look like giant strawberries. As nobody apart from the odd busload full of botanical enthusiasts seems to have discovered the place yet, we are treating it as our private back garden and go there, babies in tow, oh... about twice a week.



Anyway. It became a rhubarb kind of day. When we arrived, there were babies to be fed, so to the café we went, to grab the last shady table and a slice of rhubarb streusel pie. Not many do streusel like the Germans but this one was particularly nice. Crumbly, quite hard bits of, well, crumble, and a rhubarb slush that wasn't too sweet nor too tart.

My son, with all his six months, had a little flirt with the lady from the laden. I didn't want him to miss this opportunity to practise his winning crooked gummy smile, and really, you can't have too many people drooling over you even at that age, right? So into the laden we went, to have a mosey round. We came out clutching a bit of straw from one of the decorations (son) and a wee bottle of rhubarb cordial (me). I envisioned myself having a few drops in my prosecco one evening very soon.



Then we did the dappled sunlight under the trees bit, while eating a mountain of packed sandwiches. Once back home and out and about in the kiez, we came across a woman who grows vegetables on a farm just outside of Berlin and sells her vegetables in a weekly box type scheme. To advertise her wares she gave us, of all things, two stalks of rhubarb. It wasn't much to work with, but after the streusel experience I was keen to make a crumble. This is the result — the culmination of a very rhubarby day indeed.



Rhubarb, apple and ginger crumble

2 stalks of rhubarb, trimmed and chopped
50 g demerara sugar
2 apples, peeled and chopped
2 pieces of stem ginger, chopped
100 g brown sugar (I used a mix of demerara and palm sugar)
100 g flour
100 g cold butter, diced
50 g oats

Preheat the oven to 180˚C. Place the rhubarb and demerara sugar into a saucepan and add a splash of water. Bring to the boil and simmer until softened. Put the butter, brown sugar, flour and oats into a bowl and quickly rub together until you have a crumbly topping. Put into the fridge until you need it.

Spread the apples in an even layer into an oven dish. Mix the ginger with the rhubarb and spoon it sort of evenly over the apples. Top with the crumble mixture. Bake in the oven for 40 minutes until browned and bubbling. Serve in bowls with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or some (unwhipped) cream.


Späth-Arboretum der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Späthstraße 80/81, 12437 Berlin, website


Friday, 5 July 2013

The opposite of food envy


It's not all that unusual. And it's not just me, either. You'll recognise it too. You'll have cooked a promising, grand scale new recipe. Perhaps it's for a dinner party with the in-laws or long lost friends, or a cosy dinner for your man. Whichever way, you will have poured your love into it, slaved over it and licked your lips at the prospect. But then you sit down for it, have a bite and think: oh...

It's the opposite of food envy, it's food disappointment.

Yesterday, while tidying away a stack of old magazines, I came across a booklet full of sweet treats in aid of a cancer charity. I leafed through, and got all salivatory over this cake, thought out by a London cake-maker-to-the-stars. I won't mention names, as I am sure she (normally) makes quite lovely cakes. The thing was, she boasted that this was one of her favourites and would taste divine. It had apple, rosemary and not a lot of sugar in it. I got excited. I baked the cake. I ate a slice right when it came out of the oven. I ate another slice when the cake had cooled (maybe the flavours would come out better). But all I could think was: oh...

Looks nice enough, doesn't it?