The Vicar’s Wife’s Cook Book

Back at home, I showed the Vicar the article. Written by Nigel Slater, it put out a plea for a new food writer; someone who could give even him a run for his money. (Yeah, right.) The Vicar, bored silly of years of my dreamily droning on about writing a cookery book, literally begged me to enter. Here, at last, was something to galvanise his unmotivated little wife into action.

A few months and a fair few recipes later, I found out that I’d won – and I haven’t stopped pinching myself since. Untrained, I only learnt to cook because marrying the Vicar necessitated some sort of culinary provision for passing guests. However, I beg you, do not misunderstand me here; I didn’t have to learn. The Vicar is a very gentle man and he would never have forced me into an apron and frog-marched me into the kitchen, but, somehow, being with him did propel me towards the stove.

For a start, we couldn’t afford to buy take-aways for all our many visitors; and secondly, I wanted to make him happy and look after him a bit. The poor man married me the year my father died, and he was a triumph at mopping me up and patiently being there as I struggled to cope. The very least I could offer in return was a nice hot dinner at the end of a long day. However, whilst my initial forays in the kitchen may have been altruistic, I confess it didn’t stay that way for long. Very gradually, from being someone who counted Fruit Pastilles as part of her five-a-day, food and cooking began to excite me. I didn’t have a house packed with cook books; I didn’t have the best kitchen gadgets or the finest fridge-freezer; but I did have eyes to explore the delights of fresh produce, a nose (and mine is quite large) to sniff and savour, and hands to explore, examine and touch. Over time, and very many little messes, I began to understand the beauty of marrying different flavours: how chillies and limes are a match made in heaven, and that when cumin met lamb it was love at first sight.

Not only that, I found that whilst cooking made me happy, it made others happy, too. As someone who is indecently protective of friendship and relationships, this was addictive stuff. Having people over and letting them know through the food that I prepared for them that I loved them and cared for them, was, and is, a wonderful thing. I am not the most practical of people, and at times I forget to return calls or write a thank-you note, but I can manage to put my mind to the person who is coming to my house and ponder what this friend would really like to eat.

Unlike animals, food is more to us than mere fodder: meals feature in those memories we have that evoke a passion, a sense of comfort, or a feeling of calm. And I confess that when I cook for friends and family, my longing is to provide something that will ignite a spark. I want to give them something personal and say, on a dinner plate, ‘I love you, you know.’ It might be grazing food for a love-sick friend or sausages and mash for a hearty lad, but in everything I cook, I want it to send a message.

As a result, this book is quite personal. I talk about people I know – and love – very much. And, yes, I have planned the recipes around them. As you turn the pages of this book you will undoubtedly pick up that the Vicar loves lamb and that I do try to find out my guests’ food likes and dislikes before they arrive at my table. As eating is, for me, inextricably linked to the people I shared it all with, I have also included a few anecdotes along the way. If you want to skip them and move on to how many onions you need, I won’t be in the least offended. I offer it all, not to be prescriptive (how dare I?) but, hopefully, to inspire.

Your friends and family may be different from mine, but we all need to remember to relish the people we love and, dare I suggest it, enjoy the delights of feeding them. I hope these recipes will help you to do just that, even a little.

Sunday Lunch (#ulink_7944cc75-37d8-5eba-9e6c-8c712e5d5137)

Since ditching vegetarianism some time back, Sunday lunch has come alive for me. Strange, really, that it’s eating dead animals that has had this enlivening effect, but there you have it. Every week, as I open the front door on my return from church, I’m transported to a state of salivating expectancy as I get the first sniff of the meal to come. Then, just as I’m finishing the last mouthful of my present lunch, I’m already musing on what meat I will serve next week and wondering which vegetables will be in my mid-week organic delivery box that will both act as the perfect backdrop and the subtle enhancer of my yearned-for protein punch.

Whether we are alone or have guests, the Vicar and I ‘do’ Sunday lunch with gusto – there’s no wimping out for us. It may seem extravagant to buy a whole chicken or a joint for just the two of us and our two small children, but the leftovers can not only provide the wherewithal for a couple more meals in the week ahead, but also a supply of stock for the freezer. Besides, Sunday lunch is a time when it feels especially right to feast as a family around the table: not only does it build mealtime memories in the children’s minds that they can (hopefully) treasure in the future, it also, in the present, has the power to hold back, for a few more hours, that gloomy end-of-the-weekend depression.

For myself and the Vicar, though, Sunday lunch is also the time when we have to recognise that, to our confusion and shame, we do indeed have a touch of the churchy stereotype about us. The Vicar may have recently switched roles (after many years in a parish he has now taken up the challenge of conference directing), but nevertheless, as I cook we still pour ourselves and, yes, really enjoy, a small glass of sherry.

Spring and summer (#ulink_58a406f7-d129-5c17-bf59-894539dfec39)

It’s easy to think that Sunday lunch has to mean hearty, steaming plates of red meat and crispy roast potatoes on cold, wet days, however, the warmer months still lend themselves to a good old Sunday feed-up – albeit cooked with a lighter touch. It’s time to leave behind the earthier flavours of winter and embrace the sprightlier tastes of spring: time to feast on Jersey Royals, hunt for baby broad beans and eschew nursery puddings for airier, berry-laden concoctions. Mind you, our so-called seasons can never be relied upon, so if, on a cold and rainy June day, a plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pud is just what the doctor ordered, then go right ahead and take your medicine …

A lemony lunch

This year the weather has been a hoot: it’s only just turned May and it’s as though spring has taken a sabbatical and the man behind the weather has fast-tracked us straight into summer. I dreamt up a suitable lunch for this climate – food full of zest and zing, lemons and light – so, brimming with anticipation, I woke up this morning, went downstairs, opened the front door and … it was cold. Freezing cold, in fact. Nevertheless, hopeless optimist that I am, I cooked what I had planned and, wonderfully, by the time that we had reached pudding, the sun had come out. Afterwards, as the Arsenal game kicked off, we all hung out of the front door and watched everyone troop past in the warmth. We even spotted a minor celebrity amongst the red-topped fray – and he smiled.

I really enjoyed making this lunch, for one rather contemptible reason: it made me feel like the person I, regrettably, am not. That is a tidy, clean-up-as-you-go kind of person; an organised, calm, collected type of cook. For once, I felt this way because this lunch was so pleasurably easy to put together. So if you are naturally a messy little pig like me, make the following for a spritz of zen-like kitchen calm.

The tart needs to be made first to allow time for it to chill: you could even make it the day before.

SPRING-SCENTED CHICKEN (#ulink_61d5de5f-3405-556c-a8c8-37a8dbe8dec7)

HONEYED BABY CARROTS (#ulink_bf6fedcc-cb10-5898-9ed2-515c9182d44f)

JERSEY ROYAL POTATOES IN CHIVES AND BUTTER (#ulink_6d154b8d-2e4c-5264-899e-7d720b979e88)

A WARM SALAD OF SUMMERY BABY GREEN VEGETABLES (#ulink_6d538e28-b7a4-5d69-87f6-4f2eef807ac1)

LEMON AND RASPBERRY TART (#ulink_19982526-a0ff-5034-9e2c-8a18fb1a098b)

Spring-scented Chicken (#ulink_3c7556d8-c946-5105-8b61-64f8d88c3712)

1 organic or free-range chicken, about 1.5kg

1 lemon

2 tablespoons lemon oil (or ordinary olive oil if you don’t have any)

salt and pepper

8 garlic cloves, peeled but left whole

120ml white wine

Preheat the oven to 200°C/Gas Mark 6. Take your bird, stuff 2 halves of a lemon up its bottom, and anoint its skin with 2 tablespoons of lemon oil and lots of salt and pepper. Pop it into a roasting tin, tummy-side down (that is, breast-side down). I like to start the bird off in this position as I am fanatical about the breast being as moist as possible, and laying the chicken this way down encourages the juices to run down into it. You will need to cook the chicken for around 20 minutes per 500g, plus 30 minutes. Do try and baste it as and when you remember, too. About halfway through the cooking time, turn the chicken over so it is tummy-side up.

Meanwhile, take the garlic, put it in a pan of boiling water and let it bubble away for about 10 minutes or until soft. Drain, reserving the cooking water to make the sauce, and set aside. Add the garlic to the roasting tin with the chicken about 20 minutes before it comes out of the oven. When the chicken is done, lift it onto a big platter, cover it with foil, and put it somewhere warm to rest.

For the light sauce, put the roasting tin on top of the stove and heat it until the meat juices that are left in it bubble frenetically, and scrape up any sticky bits stuck to the bottom with a wooden spoon. Crush most of the soft garlic down into the juices and add the white wine and about 120ml of the reserved vegetable/garlic water. Let it bubble away until it is reduced and well flavoured and then add salt and pepper to taste. Keep warm once it’s ready.

Honeyed Baby Carrots (#ulink_d7e5d641-7976-5975-8e3a-87b74155bcd6)

about 250g baby carrots

20g butter

1 tablespoon runny honey

salt and pepper

Top and tail the baby carrots and parboil them in boiling, salted water for 5 minutes. Drain, keeping some of the cooking water and adding it to the reserved garlicky water from the chicken.

Put the carrots into a small roasting tin, dot them with butter and sprinkle with some salt and pepper. When the chicken has 40 minutes left of its cooking time, put the carrots in the oven for around 50 minutes, drizzling them with the honey 5 minutes before they are done. This allows time for the carrots to finish cooking while the chicken rests, and gives you a chance to make the light sauce to go with it.

Jersey Royal Potatoes in Chives and Butter (#ulink_34523692-ed61-51b0-80bf-540f252d6912)

500g Jersey Royals, washed thoroughly (I like the skins left on, but if you dislike that papery feel, scrub the potatoes thoroughly or peel them)

30g butter

2 tablespoons chives, chopped

salt and pepper

Put a pan of salted boiling water on top of the stove, add the potatoes and leave them to cook for 20–25 minutes, lid on. When they are cooked, drain them and put them back in the hot pan with the butter, chives and lots of salt and pepper.

A Warm Salad of Summery Baby Green Vegetables (#ulink_bf4f29f1-d841-5946-b070-c2e76e89f562)

100g green beans

about 20 stems of thin baby asparagus, trimmed

100g sugar snap peas

For the dressing: