Mascarpone butter beans, sausage and gremolata

A blue and red patterned plate of sausages and beans on a white painted background

Although this is the kind of rhetoric one usually saves for significantly-numbered wedding anniversary speeches, sometimes you lock eyes with a cookbook from across the crowded marketplace of ideas and think “aha! yes!” and immediately foresee many happy years of culinarily monogomous bliss together. In this case it was not one but three Claire Thomson cookbooks, all borrowed from the library but destined to become for-life fixtures. And though this recipe begins with manhandling sausage to coax their insides out; the results is shockingly fast and lovely, and so perfectly formed that I didn’t need to tinker with it materially at all—and which I now humbly present to you: Mascarpone butter beans with sausage and gremolata.

And I do mean humbly. I don’t even know what food blogging means as we sink into a war-fuelled fuel crisis on top of the ongoing cost-of-living crisis, neither of which the government care about. It’s a weird dichotomy, where I obstinately don’t want a group of psychopathic men’s multi-pronged greed-trips to be a reason to stop blogging. I also don’t want to be laminating croissant dough while Rome burns. I honestly don’t know; and while I’m mad about this, it pales in comparison to other things I’m mad about and we’ll work out what’s the most important thing to be mad about as and when it happens. Either way, it probably won’t be this food blog.

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Pappardelle with roasted carrots, hazelnuts and dill

a fork resting on a pink and white plate of pappardelle with roasted carrots

Having emerged this week from major dental surgery into recuperation mode, I am finally afforded some time to write this blog post. I am also, unfortunately, still firmly quagmired in the soft-food-only stage for another couple days so the act of crunching or chewing anything is but a poignant memory. Which perhaps will add a yearning piquancy to my description of this pappardelle with roasted carrots, hazelnuts and dill. I was joking with a best friend that I shouldn’t be this excited to have ‘me time’ via major surgery, but such is modern life! This anticipation also distracted from fear of the real and present risk of permanent nerve damage, which, I am relieved to inform you, didn’t come to pass. One day I shall enjoy this pasta again. Luckily for you—although I assume everyone cool is probably also suffering dentally in some regard, there’s a lot of crossover—it’s so quick to make, that you could enjoy it within about half an hour if you hop to it.

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Carrot granola muffins

A tray of carrot granola muffins with two butter knives

Though all baking has ebbs and flows of what makes the process appealing and easy for the baker, the muffin stands alone—I believe—in not being weighed down by visual pressure. By which I mean, muffins are the baked good least susceptible to yassification. Muffins should look sturdy and muffin-shaped, adorned at most with a snowfall of sieved icing sugar. No more, no less. Couple that with the necessary under-stirring and a quick oven time and they not only alleviate any baking-related stresses, muffins go so far as to alleviate other, unrelated stress you may be undergoing with their eagerness to make life easier. These carrot granola muffins do involve grating carrots, which is mildly annoying, but their flavour rewards all efforts and as you can see from the photos, you really don’t have to worry about how they look.

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Spiced Pearl Barley Pilaf

A red casserole dish of barley pilaf with a serving spoon and sprigs of thyme in front of it

If you’re not convinced that eating barley is a great way to spend the summer, think again—unless it’s winter where you are, in which case, I guess you can just continue thinking steadily. My mother got me a second-hand Lynn Bedford Hall cookbook for Christmas—Ms Bedford Hall, the author of one of my already most-beloved, most-1980s cookbooks, and this new-to-me volume was every bit as full of camp panache and gelatine despite being published in the futuristic year of 1993. Rocket is a “trend-setting herb”, tuna mousse is “ubiquitous” but “impressive”, while chilled broccoli and apple soup has “a quiet dignity”. It’s all charming stuff. It’s also surprisingly practical, and by and large alluring to both cook and eater—even the light-refracting wobbly solidity of gelatine starts to call one’s name after some persistent repetition and my desire to “add a splash of drama to a ladies’ luncheon”. From this volume, I’ve lightly adapted her spiced pearl barley pilaf recipe and in turn, urge you to adapt it further as you see fit. This pilaf is a stunningly bolstering dinner or packed lunch, and so delicious (and cheap, or as Ms Bedford Hall would say, “economical”) that it overcomes all unphotogenic shortcomings.

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Pea, mint and feta dip

A blue dish of pea and mint dip with pretzel crackers and mint leaves

A new year is upon us. And like so many before it, we once more stand upon the precipice of a fresh 365 where things are ALREADY dreadful, globally-wise. I myself am no stranger to the minor inconveniences that can feel like they’re setting the tone for the year ahead against your will: wisdom teeth (that I thought had been removed! At great expense!!) dancing a merry ceilidh directly into my nerves, a will-they-won’t-they of trying to find the singular nice affordable apartment to rent in this city with my girlfriend only to have previously accepted offers retracted, like riding a rollercoaster directly into a brick wall. One only has to glance at the internet briefly to put all this into stark perspective and I was still blessed with a charming and delightful Christmas and an antic-filled, if woefully brief, summer break. While I feel neither rested nor organised, I nonetheless have spatula-d myself together for 2026 to bring you this recipe for pea, mint and feta dip. Much like the summer break, it’s quick.

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Chicken, red grape, pecan and brie salad

A top-down shot of a leaf-shaped bowl of salad with a fork on a dark wooden board

Now that my debut novel Hoods Landing is past-tense launched in Wellington and Auckland, normal transmission must resume, and yet! Every time I blink an hour has passed and it’s next Thursday and a certain flat the-party’s-over malaise threatens.

Nonetheless I’m clambering onwards like a self-absorbed and energetic goat with a food blog, and bring you a salad of such glad tidings that it could only be inspired by a hedonistically carefree Silver Palate cookbook, whose authors address the reader as if we all have holiday homes in Portugal and the Hamptons, and let’s face it, the government still hasn’t worked out a way to privatise and flog off one’s personal vicarious thrills so you might as well get them while you can. And although it has a lot of words in the title, this chicken, red grape, pecan and brie salad is more or less practical, and can make quite a lot out of a little lux-ness.

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Basal bil Sumac (Sumac quick-pickled red onions)

An open jar of pickled red onions on a blue and white cloth with a pink spoon

If you don’t consider yourself a great condiment-maker, you could at least pause to consider the condiment as a magnificent concept. In Boustany: A celebration of vegetables from my Palestine, Sami Tamimi discusses Mooneh, or ‘pantry’ in Arabic—“preserving seasonal goods”, which “plays a significant role in maintaining the region’s cultural tradition”. Taking something fragile and making it last, to feed many mouths long after the emphemeral ingredients should be occupying the realm of memory; the condiment is both practical and beautiful. In the case of this Basal bil Sumac, it’s also monumentally quick—just chop some red onions, pour some water-diluted vinegar and salt over them, spike with sumac, and try not to watch the clock for an hour or so while the carmine cellular bitterness breaks down.

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triple tomato beans

Triple tomato beans and a gold spoon on a black and white striped plate, sitting on a blue and white cloth
Mariah Carey has taught us many things: gratuitious vocabulary words, chopping the top off your jeans with scissors so they’re more low-waisted, and of course, the art of the creatively honourable remix. For the true of heart, riffing on an existing idea doesn’t mean simply swapping out a teaspoon of this or that—it’s about giving a recipe another reason to live. In this case, I suspected that my triple tomato risotto could also be lavishly excellent when pulsified with beans instead of rice. I was correct—and it took quarter of the time to make.

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Sha’aktoura (rice and lentil pilaf)

a gold plate of sha'aktoura with mint leaves on a floral patterened fabric

One of the more lamentable ways I begin sentences these days is “I saw this in a screenshot of a tweet on Instagram”. Now, to be fair, I could try receiving information in more highbrow, or at least more trustworthy formats and sources but those formats and sources are mostly decaying and I haven’t quite shaken the time-corrupting doomscroll muscle memory just yet, so here we nevertheless find ourselves. To that end; I saw a screenshot on Instagram of a tweet by cowboypraxis that said “i tried to make two plans in one day. as if i were god. as if i were literal god.” and I understood completely; My weekend comprised two such that-way-lies-folly plan-filled days, and yet! This Sha’aktoura from Sami Tamimi’s new cookbook Boustany is so breathtakingly calm and accommodating to cook that it can both be a plan and fit around your plans and make you feel really rather godlike in the process. Or, at the least, like someone who doesn’t begin sentences by referencing screenshots on Instagram.

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Tallarines verdes

Tallarines verdes on a black and white plate on brown and red fabric

I love examples of everything-old-is-new-again. Take the—admittedly, likely apocryphal—Socrates quote about young people being disrespectful of authority, or ‘Tiffany’ being a perfectly contemporaneous first name in the 1600s. And I can now add the delicious Tallarines Verdes to my list; this literal Green Spaghetti presents as an exceptionally 2020s recipe and yet it originated in 1940s Peru, fusing the incoming food of Ligurian migrants with the existing Peruvian cuisine.

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