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Yoghurt & honey mousse with strawberry jelly insert, strawberry gel & fresh Kent strawberries, coffee granola, cereal milk ice-cream and lemon balm.

If there was one word I could use to describe this crazy industry I find myself in it’s this: fluid.

When I started working as a professional pastry chef about 18 months ago (give or take), I never would’ve guessed that I’d have learned so much in such a short amount of time, met so many great people, or been given the opportunities to develop that I have; I also wouldn’t have guessed that I’d already be onto job no. 3.

I have incredibly mixed feelings about this. I come from an accomplished family who work in industries that value commitment and loyalty, values that were instilled in me from a young age. So moving around jobs so much as an adult leaves me feeling a bit torn – on the one hand, I feel disappointed in myself for not sticking it out or “going the distance”; on the other I know that the decisions I make are based on sound, logical (and sometimes medical) reasoning, and they’ve led me to the position I’m now in, which makes me incredibly happy.

Everybody told me (and still continues to) that this life that I’ve chosen is a hard one, that I will sacrifice so much to it and that’s why I really have to love it; the talk I gave last year repeated this sage advice. The normal rules of “life” do not apply in the professional kitchen: when you burn yourself you pick your cookies up, run it under cold water and slap some cream on it, then you continue; when you cut yourself you wrap it up and keep going, unless you’re bleeding over everything, in which case you might go to the hospital, but probably you’re just going to do something weird like using meat glue to stick yourself back together (side note: meat glue is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard of); racism, sexism, abuse and harassment are just kitchen banter and if you want to complain about it you’re going to be labelled as “that-person-who-bitched-about-everything”. In other words, any normal “work-place propriety” does not apply here and that’s something I’ve had to get used to very quickly.

I remember the first time I saw something I deemed “inappropriate” in a kitchen: a senior chef was bollocking a junior for something they had messed up, which he then followed up by grabbing him by his chef whites and practically shoving his head into the pot of food. I froze, felt my stomach rise into my throat and I remember thinking, “this is really happening, this isn’t on TV, this is happening right now“. It was terrifying but the thing that shocked me the most was how the rest of the staff did nothing. If anything, they sped up, terrified that they would be next (and now, having been on the other side, I know exactly why they did/said nothing). I was called over to a station and truffles were thrust into my hands with the instruction to hurry and put these away as fast as I could – I practically ran, my cheeks red, still hearing the shouting coming from behind me.
“Why am I doing this?!” My head screamed at me, “why am I here?!”

And yet I’m still here, still working, and I’ve finally grown that thick skin everybody told me about. But I was sick of the 16+ hour days, of coming home to find my partner asleep and leaving before he woke up, of not even having enough time to look after my health properly, of being so exhausted and stressed out that I was getting sick every two weeks. So after a year in a busy hotel and a few months in a busy restaurant, I needed to take a step-back, re-evaluate and find a job that would allow me to develop my own work and progress, as well as look after myself and my partner a little better.

Amazingly, I found that and I am now so happy in my work life it’s unbelievable.

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Life, recently, has been somewhat of a blur. My days consist of getting up early, commuting to work (a first for me!), spending all day in a kitchen, commuting back home and, mostly, passing out on the sofa before being nudged awake by TS and reluctantly trudging up to bed for a few hours until I have to do it all over again.

I don’t make it sound very exciting, do I? But it is, oh goodness, it is so great. I love the fact that I get to spend my days making food for others, that I learn something new every day, that I get to be creative and work with people I genuinely like – I just love every single moment. Possibly my enthusiasm for even the most mundane tasks will wane over time but I sincerely hope not because, honestly, I’m living the dream. Yes, it’s a fairly exhausting, muscle aching, finger slicing dream, but it’s my dream and that’s the important thing.

Take these strawberry chocolate tuxedos, for example – I learned to make these sometime in my second week at work and I instantly fell in love, despite the fact that most of the others who have to make them find them a chore. I even have a deal going with one of the guys in the kitchen that every time I make them for a guest I have to make him one extra – I know he’s just waiting to see my enthusiasm wear thin but I don’t think it ever will… I mean: it’s a strawberry. Wearing a tuxedo. Made of chocolate. A strawberry wearing a tuxedo! I don’t need to say much more. And it’s so easy because you don’t need to temper the chocolate – all you need is a microwave, some chocolate, some strawberries and parchment paper. That’s it. Easy or what?

So the next time you need a special little something to end your evening on, something just a little more fantastic than chocolate dipped strawberries, whip out the chocolate, get yourself some strawberries and suit ’em up. You’re welcome.

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So as we come to the end of summer I finally have a bit of time to sit down and write up everything I’ve had queued up. This summer’s been a funny one (and I’m still actually kind of hoping that it’s not done yet and September will see more sunshine and lazy days) but it’s been jam-packed full of amazing people, fun, travel, food and drink, a new house, new housemates and my loved one, then finished off (unfortunately) with a trip to A&E at the hospital this past week; regardless, it’s been fantastic. I’m only sorry that I’ve neglected my blog so much – I’ve been kind of busy trying to fit everything in before I start Leiths in October.

The kind folks at Focus PR sent me a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream, the British sherry that’s been around forever but is enjoying a new run in the spotlight and marketed as a Summer drink. I would never think of sherry as something for the Summer, especially Harveys, it feels more like something you have by the fire in the dead of winter, but perhaps that’s exactly why it needs a new image. Besides, the Spanish have been drinking sherry for years and my fondest memories of it are in the height of summer with a big plate of tapas and jamon! So why not?

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Last year I was lucky to be able to spend the first few months travelling around the world and meeting various bloggers and friends, staying with them when they generously opened up their homes (and kitchens) to me, eating out all over their cities and generally having a blast. It was the most wonderful experience and the sheer generosity and kindness that I was shown was overwhelming – friendships that had before this point been only electronic blossomed, Twitter handles became real people and those real people had a wicked sense of humour, amazing creative ideas and fantastic friends and families whom I was introduced to. It really was a fantastic trip and my inner nomad was deeply satisfied (my wallet, not so much).

When in Austin I was supposed to be staying with and meeting the fabulous Monet and Ryan of Anecdotes & Apple Cores, an amazing and talented woman who was my first ever blog friend (!), but due to circumstances out of their control last minute plans changed (as they do), they were no longer able to accommodate me and I instead spent those few days with the lovely Megan of Stetted. Sadly, just as I was leaving Austin with my friend Andres to visit his part of Texas, San Antonio, I had a text message from Monet asking me if I was free to meet that day but alas, it was not to be, we were already an hour outside of town and I promised her that at some point, somewhere in the world we’d connect.

Clearly I have prophetic qualities because this spring Monet and Ryan travelled to Paris for their 3rd anniversary and whilst they were there decided to hop across to London on the Eurostar and stay with me for a couple of days. Even better, London decided to cease its grey, wet weather (apparently it’s supposed to be May over here – somebody must’ve pissed off Mother Earth recently…) and give us a little sunshine so I got to show them my city at its best! Wonderful few days – come back and see me again soon!

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We interrupt these somewhat regular posts of late to bring you a guest post all the way from San Francisco! Introducing the wonderful Angi from Rice & Wheat!

When I was in San Francisco I had the immense pleasure of hanging out with Angi, her hubs Nathan and her kitty Toro and a kinder soul, whom I have bonded with instantly, I have never met; of course I asked her to do a guest for me. Not only did she agree wholeheartedly, she sent over this incredible looking trifle! So enough from me, let’s get to Angi and her trifle or, more specifically, her version of San Francisco’s Tartine Bakery’s trifle – yum. Thanks Angi!

When Jackie asked me to do a guest post here on I Am a Feeder, it didn’t take me long to decide to make a trifle because after all, doesn’t it just seemed appropriate to make my favorite British dessert for my favorite British blogger?? But hehe, I have to admit I also had an ulterior motive in mind. You see, I’ve had my eye on the trifle recipe from the Tartine cookbook for a while and well, just needed the perfect excuse to test it out. So… thank you Jackie! But hey, Jackie and I totally had lunch at Tartine when she came to visit San Francisco, so it’s totally 100% appropriate, don’t you think?

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Photo credit: David Mason.

The end of last year was one of the worst times of my life. My then boyfriend David had moved to Canada and I was mourning not just the loss of a relationship but of a close friend; I had completed formal education and in one swift move had gone from being the girl with the five-year-plan to the one drifting from day-to-day, unsure as to what direction my life should take; I was working two jobs at once, one as a private caterer and the other in retail, and though I adored my boss and my retail “family”, I wasn’t doing what I wanted and it was making me miserable.

My personality is such that when one aspect of my life is in jeopardy the rest of it goes completely to pot – it’s terrible but I simply cannot function when something is out of whack. Food was my escape – it didn’t judge, it was there, comforting me and the sense of satisfaction when I created something beautiful was almost better than eating it.

For David’s birthday that year I created this dessert which I named the Mason Matcha-Misu; it was my present for him even though he couldn’t taste it as he was in Canada. Based on David’s family mocha tiramisu recipe, I made the Matcha-Misu with matcha green tea powder, white chocolate laced with pistachios and even more pistachios, chopped roughly. It was a good first effort but it wasn’t quite there yet and so I didn’t share the recipe.

Fast forward a year and I’ve found myself making a living (or trying to) with food and words. David has also returned to London for the time being but we exist together solely as very good friends, a decision that is perfect for the both of us – I get to keep my best friend, mentor and muse with none of the drama that comes with relationships. It’s a tough world but I’m doing well, not the least because of my diagnosis and subsequent medication that is totally re-aligning all of my chakras, or whatever you want to call it. Yes, I’m single, yes, I’m still fighting to make a name for myself, yes, I’m living in a country I’d rather not be in and sometimes I wring my hands with despair at my situation, but for now? This is where, who and what I am and I’ve found a contentment in that. In other words: I’m happy.

And as for this Matcha-Misu? This year I not only perfected it, David finally got to taste it and give it his seal of approval.

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Entry #7! I know it hasn’t been that long since I posted #6, but I’ve actually got some time to get some cooking done and I’ve got a slight backlog of recipes to get through, so here you go! Deets are here if you don’t already know, so get reading and submitting!

This entry is brought to us by the fabulous Keely, a great friend and all-round pretty wonderful person. And she’s Irish, dontchaknow. I do a terrible impression of her. I’m sure one of these days she’s going to snap and beat me mid-oy-dee-oy or something, but for now she tolerates it and laughs. For now…

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Entry #2 in my new foodie project! Details can be found here and if you want to get involved drop me a comment or email me!

Over at Kudocities, the lovely cfalconer submitted her favourite summer pudding recipe which is both delicious and easy – no cooking required and can be prepared up to 36 hours in advance. Just the kind of recipe to bust out for a party – it both looks beautiful and tastes wonderfully rich, balanced out by the tartness of the fruit, and the crunchiness of the demerara sugar. I would recommend sprinkling a little more demerara before you serve, just to get that real crunch that can be a little lost in the cream/yoghurt overnight.

And, for a special extra twist, add a wee glug of an alcohol such as kirsch to your fruit before adding the cream/yoghurt. I used Rachel’s Organic honey yoghurt which gave it a really lovely extra sweetness, but you can use any yoghurt you like. Plain yoghurt is probably best, but I can’t pass up Rachel’s honey yoghurt when I see it in the shops!

Thanks CF for the recipe! It was divine!

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When I was a little girl I moved house from Bayswater to Chiswick, and so moved schools. Up until that time I’d been at Pembridge Hall where, at the time, lunch was a pack-your-own affair. The move to Bute House suddenly saw catered lunches, and of all the things I remember most about my time there, the food stands out most strongly in my mind.

We would sit along long trench tables which had been set up in the assembly hall, in form groups (in early years, later on you could choose whom you sat with), and a teacher would sit at the head of the table with two girls either side who would be their helpers. When we arrived there would be food set out on the table already, usually a big platter on the teacher’s setting, and two side dish bowls on the two girls’ settings. There would also be a stack of blue/grey plates. The two girls unlucky enough to be at the end of the table would be on clear up duty, which involved everybody passing their plates down to them, scraping the leftovers onto one plate and then taking all the plates (and leftovers) to the kitchen hatch. They would also then collect the pudding that was waiting, gently steaming at the hatch.

There were five options for asking for your portion – small-as-possible, small, medium, large and large-as-possible. You could ask for different sizes of everything, but the point was that you had to have one of everything on your plate. Don’t like peas? Ask for small-as-possible and get about four. This led to hilarious combinations of asking for food, such as, “Large-as-possible pie, medium gravy, and small-as-possible carrots, please”. Of course this was usually garbled very quickly by a fellow classmate as they started serving at the end of the trench table – either because they were eager to get their food or because they knew their food would go cold in the time it took to serve everybody else.

Lunches that particularly stand out in my mind were the Shepherd’s Pie and gravy (I’ve ALWAYS loved Shepherd’s Pie!), chicken vol-au-vents (I called them volleyballs), lamb curry and rice (not real curry, it wasn’t spicy and had raisins in it, but I loved it), vanilla ice-cream and toffee sauce, sponge cake and custard (it came as a giant dome in a big pyrex bowl), cheese, crackers and an apple (everybody got a slice of apple – that was the worst pudding choice at the time), and, of course, the ever-coveted Sunshine Tart.

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