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Sophie B's avatar

Goodness that lamb looks utterly FILTHY in such a good way. I think Marmite has rather eclipsed Worcestershire sauce as the magic ingredient in everything. I love the way it restores the salty fatty loveliness of the peanut butter of my youth. Honestly, just try it.

I love my mandoline beyond words, though I accept that there has to be more wastage left than I am happy with to save my fingertips. Potatoes I usually slice with a knife, but carrot ends go into a bag in the freezer, along with withering bits of celery, those half and quarter bits of onion you have when it’s more than you need etc etc, leftover parsley stalks, and other desiccated herbage, to go into the stock pot. I feel like I am absolutely nailing this life when I can literally throw a carcass into a pot and empty a bag of frozen good things on top of it, chuck in some water, peppercorns and a bayleaf and flick a match at it.

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Judi Popplewell's avatar

My Durham grandma always made this salad for Sunday tea. She was a brilliant but underrated cook and baker, making bread every Saturday until her later seventies. I used to be sent early to pick up the Sunday papers for the family, the Observer for us, Sunday Times for my grandma Shaw who lived next door, and the News of the World for grandma Pop, who exchanged it for a bag of fresh bread buns. Sunday breakfast was bacon sandwiches and the bread buns with marmalade.

Thank you for your reminder of my childhood.

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