The one secret sauce you'll use all summer

Want a simple sauce you can use on just about anything? Look no further. This stir-together sauce takes about two minutes to make and enlivens all kinds of dishes. It's good with cold chicken, as a side sauce for fish or prawns. You can also try it with very cold soft tofu or soft-hard boiled eggs. There's just one piece of advice: don't share this sauce recipe with anyone, or you'll be drowning in it by the time summer ends. It's THAT good.

Secret spicy sauce

The trick to this is using good quality curry powder. Other than that, there's not much to it.

1 Tbsp hot curry powder

1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

1/2 cup Greek yoghurt

1/4 cup mayonnaise

salt and pepper

Put the curry powder and lemon juice in a bowl and mix to a paste. Beat in the yoghurt and mayonnaise, then taste for seasoning - it may need a little salt, or a little more lemon juice. Store, covered, in the fridge for up to a week.

Have a great weekend everyone x

Five ways with cheese

Smile, it's National Cheese Month! I know these things (National Donut Day, anyone?) are spurious at best, but if the New Zealand Specialist Cheesemakers Association wants us to dedicate October to the noble activity of eating cheese, I'm not about to argue.

Instead, I humbly offer you five of my favourite cheesy recipes...

 Secret cheese and onion bread - soft, white, pillowy dough, with a molten cheese middle. Blissful.

Roasted cauliflower cheese - exactly what it says, but with spices (and optional potatoes, or greens, or both).

Jenny's cheesy potatoes - an absolute Corry family classic (no one can make them like Jenny can, but with practice, you can nearly reach cheese and potato nirvana).

Bermuda salad - a Moosewood Cookbook number, in which cheese plays an important but not overpowering role. I was dubious too, but it's very good.

Sara Lee cheesecake - looks just like a bought one, tastes a million times better (and is about as easy to make as pulling one out of a packet).

What's your favourite thing to do with cheese?

Five fab ways with beetroot

I have one plan for my winter vegetable garden. When - or if - the wind drops and the rain stops - I'm going to plan beetroot by the dozen. Their beautiful green and crimson leaves will look quite fetching on grey winter days and the roots will be protected from the wild weather, packed in cacao husks and zoo compost. At least, that's the plan. In the meantime, I've made a list of my five favourite ways with beetroot, including a truly addictive dip. If I don't get my own harvest sorted, I'll be doing my bit to support local beetroot growers.

1. Beetroot, Feta And Wasabi Dip
This dip is super easy to make if you use vacuum-packed ready-cooked beetroot (now finally widely available in New Zealand supermarkets - look for the LeaderBrand packs near the salad vegetables in your supermarket). I dollop it on crostini or crackers with a bit of cream cheese or strained Greek yoghurt, then sprinkle something green on top. The only other thing you have to do is not tip it down your front, especially when wearing anything white.

250g cooked beetroot
1 clove garlic, squashed to a paste with 1/4 tsp salt
100g feta, diced
2 Tbsp Greek yoghurt
1/2 tsp wasabi (or horseradish)
1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

Put all ingredients in a food processor and whizz until a smooth puree forms (stop to scrape down the sides of the processor as necessary). Taste for seasoning, then scrape into a bowl and serve. Makes about two cups - store any leftovers in the fridge for up to three days.

2. Shocking Pink Beetroot Bread
This is a true 'do not adjust your set' representation of what this Beetroot Bread looks like in real life - it really IS that pink. It doesn't have any discernable beet-y flavour, but the pinkness is pretty fun.

3. Raw Beetroot With Caraway, Fennel And Feta
One day I sent my beloved to the shops to buy caraway seeds - and he helpfully came back with a 500g bag. I've resisted the urge to make endless seed cakes, but I have found a use for them in this salad, which combines caraway with raw grated beetroot, fennel and feta.

4. Raw Beetroot Bliss Balls
These Raw Beetroot Bliss Balls are another pretty-in-pink flight of fancy - the colour is all-natural. Think of the anti-oxidants! If you're trying to get your children (or other friends and family) to eat more vegetables, this is a very easy way to do it.

5. Big Bold Beetroot Soup
Beetroot is a key ingredient in this hearty winter soup for people who don't like following recipes (particularly husbands, I have found). It's big, bold, red - and delicious.

What's your favourite thing to do with beetroot?

Iceberg lettuce with spicy buttermilk dressing

It's hot. Not to hot to eat, but definitely too hot to cook. Last night I made the mistake of turning the oven on and nearly had a heat-related meltdown while cooking dinner, despite being fresh from a swim in the school pool and still being in my togs. If you're basking in similar temperatures at the moment (as I write, it's 6am and already 18C), then I suggest you forgo the oven and the stove for a dish that requires a bit of standing in front of the open fridge.

Iceberg lettuce with spicy buttermilk dressing and pickled onions
This is a homage to something on the menu at Wellington restaurant Charley Noble - I've become slightly obsessed with it and when I first worked out how to copy it we ate a different version for four nights in a row. If you can't get hold of iceberg lettuce, try Little Gems.

1 red onion, peeled and thinly sliced
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 iceberg lettuce (or two Little Gems), washed and kept whole,
For the dressing:
1 clove garlic, crushed to a pulp with 1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup mayonnaise (preferably home made, otherwise, try Best Foods')
1/4 cup plain yoghurt
1 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1/4 cup fresh dill, finely chopped
1 tsp Sriracha or other hot sauce

Put the onion and red wine vinegar in a small bowl, cover and set aside while you get everything else ready (this can be done in advance).

To make the dressing, put all the ingredients in a screwtop jar with a lid and shake well. Taste - add more hot sauce, lemon juice or salt as necessary. This can also be done in advance and stored in the fridge.

To serve, put the whole lettuce on a serving platter. Cut out the hard central stem, then cut through the middle into eight wedges - like you're cutting a cake. Drain the onions and scatter over the middle, then drizzle about half the dressing over the lettuce. Any remainder dressing can be stored successfully in the fridge for up to three days.

What's your go-to hot weather dish?

Five last-minute festive fixes

At this stage in proceedings - with less than 36 hours to go until C-Day - there's not much point in sharing complicated Christmas recipes that involve harried phone calls to the butcher, baker or chocolate candlestick maker. If you're the sort of person who likes adding culinary stress to your festive preparations, I figure you will have planned it out already.

Instead, here are five fast and easy fixes for the person who has everything except ideas for last-minute things to eat and to give over Christmas, using some of the excellent products available via Alison's Pantry.

1. The emergency present

I've already tried this one out and it went down an absolute treat. Scoop a handful of Alison's Pantry Mega Mix - macadamias, hazelnuts, dried cherries, jumbo raisins, fudge pieces, cranberries and almonds covered in yoghurt, milk or dark chocolate - into a cellophane bag. Add a sprinkle of edible glitter, tie on a ribbon and label 'Reindeer Poo'. Kids love it, adults look mildly appalled (until they hit a choc-covered macadamia).

2.The spruced-up salad

This is for everyone who has to turn up with a salad on Christmas Day - or at any festive gathering - especially those who are low on energy, inspiration, aptitude or all three.

For six servings: Take one and a half bags of baby salad greens - baby spinach, rocket, mesclun - and sprinkle over two-thirds of a cup of Alison's Pantry Savoury Sprinkle (a blend of roasted chickpeas, karengo, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, almonds and goji berries. Drizzle with three tablespoons of vinaigrette and serve. Everyone will think you're a genius.

3. The tropical breakfast

In lieu of any other suggestions (or requests dressed as suggestions), this is what we are having as part of our breakfast spread on Christmas Day, along with some fizz (elderflower kombucha and some champagne) and some kind of yet-to-be-determined baked good. Someone will have brought me a cup of tea in bed first, of course. Or, they will have if they know what's good for them. Anyway - this easy fruit salad is a good fallback if you miss out on berries and cherries.

For four-six servings: Take one cup of Alison's Pantry Tropical Fruits mix (dried star fruit, coconut chunks, papaya, mango, peach and cantaloupe) and put in a large bowl. Add 1/3 cup boiling water and squeeze over an orange. Leave to stand for four hours (or overnight), then add a tin of drained lychees, half a fresh pineapple (diced) and a few finely shredded mint leaves. Stir gently and serve with some good Greek yoghurt or whipped coconut cream. 

4. The Santa snack

I have heard that Santa wants a Garage Project beer and some crisps on Wednesday night but I'm planning to leave him a pile of Alison's Pantry Raspberry and Cacao Nougat and a glass of icy cold dessert wine. This nougat is soft, chewy and not too sweet - just the right pick-me-up after a night wrapping presents.

5. The cook's perk

The thing about cooking at Christmas is that the house is often full of food, but there's nothing to eat Right Now. Let me introduce you to my new addiction - Alison's Pantry Horopito Cashews. I'm not a savoury snack person as a rule; crisps don't thrill me and I'm not a fan of those orange-dusted polystyrene things either, but these nuts are something else. Horopito, also called bush pepper, is a native New Zealand herb with a fiery kick. It has all sorts of health-giving properties, which must explain why I can't get enough of these nuts. Buy yourself a secret stash of these to help keep you going in the days ahead.

* Disclosure: Alison's Pantry sent me a selection of products to use in this blog post - I am happy to recommend the ones mentioned here.

Random recipe: Tofu mayonnaise

You know what gets me about fancy houses in interiors magazines? They never, ever, have anything stuck to their fridges. Oh, sure, there might be some artful magnetic chalkboard,  or a designer decal, but there are never any library book notices, or 'art' or torn-out recipes. They are neat, tidy - and soulless.

By contrast, the outside of my fridge is extremely busy (and a direct reflection of the chaos inside). Magnetic newspaper headlines, school notices, drawings, business cards for builders and a motley collection of recipes ripped from newspapers or magazines. I was just about to add another one to the pile last week when I remembered this month's Random Recipes, which celebrates those torn-out clippings. So instead of consigning the recipe to the fridge door, where it would probably be lost forever, I made it that night instead. I should really do this more often.

Tofu Mayonnaise
I knew Aaron Brunet would win Masterchef in 2013 - right from the start he had that look about him. This mayonnaise recipe was from a recent newspaper column he wrote about the pleasures of eating with your hands - in which he endorsed plate-licking. Now, I had a flatmate once who licked her plate after eating and I don't ever want to see that again, but his recipes are definitely finger-lickin' good. Aaron uses this mayo in a chicken caesar-ish wrap - I used in our Friday night fishburgers and to lie beneath some hot smoked salmon on crackers. I've now lost the clipping somewhere, but this is the recipe from memory (ish). It's dead easy, good for you and adding some fresh herbs gets rid of any tofu flavour. You should try it.

300g block silken tofu
2 tsp Dijon mustard
2 tsp Kikkoman soy sauce
salt and pepper
½ tsp pepper
1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
Fresh herbs - finely chopped parsley, chives, basil (optional)

Put all ingredients, except the herbs, in a blender and blitz until smooth (I use a stick blender and a jar). Taste for seasoning and sharpness - add more salt or lemon juice as desired. If you're planning to use it all immediately, add the herbs and blitz again. Otherwise, this keeps in the fridge for a week.

Really good peanut salad dressing

I'm not sure it's the sort of thing Oprah writes in her gratitude journals, but every day I thank my stars that no one in my household has a nut allergy. Quite apart from the threat of anaphylaxis, I can't imagine life without peanut butter. Actually, I can barely imagine a day without it. 

Peanut butter - especially proper peanut butter, like the excellent varieties springing up everywhere in New Zealand now - is a major food group in my house. Peanut butter and banana on toast is my hurried breakfast (and sometimes, lunch) of choice. It's a handy tahini replacement in homemade hummus, works well in a marinade and is a major baking ingredient. It's also a nifty addition to a salad dressing to perk up broccolini and other assorted bits and pieces. Add this to your weeknight repertoire for those nights when peanut butter and crackers seem like the only viable dinner option.

 

Really good peanut salad dressing

This is child's play to make and it's really useful. I think it's good with steamed broccolini, but you could add all sorts of crunchy greens and some cooked chicken or tofu for a very family-friendly dinner. 

1 clove garlic, crushed with 1/2 tsp flaky salt

2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar

2 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 Tbsp good quality peanut butter

1/2 cup good quality peanut oil

Put all ingredients in a screwtop jar, attach the lid and shake well until emulsified. Makes about 1 cup - easily enough for a substantial salad for 4-6 people - and stores well in the fridge.

If you prefer your peanut butter treats to be a little more decadent, then this peanut butter pie should fit the bill (though you won't be fitting much after eating it). 

*My clever friends at Kiwi Mummy Blogs have teamed up with the nice people at Pic's Really Good Peanut Butter to collate some Really Good peanut butter recipes. You can get more peanut butter inspo here.*

Five easy spring meals

It's spring! Proper spring - with balmy temperatures, early rising birds and new buds appearing in the garden. Well, it was like that a few days ago. Now we're back to tempestuous winds, lashing rain and that horrible greyness, but I've got high hopes.

It's too soon for asparagus and the little lambs arriving in paddocks near you are too small for the cooking pot, but there are lots of other spring-y things to eat. Here are five easy spring dinners to add to your repertoire...

1. Superfood Salad: It's got quinoa, broccoli and other spring-y, crunchy things to make you feel like frolicking in the sun. What more do you need?

2. Tray-baked Lamb and Potatoes: This is really good for those 'I can't think what to have for dinner' evenings, which occur in our house at least once a week. Everything goes in the oven in one dish and there's minimal cleaning up (even the non-cooks can make this one).

3. Spring Cauliflower Soup: Cauliflower has had a bit of a renaissance of late, thanks to the craze for turning it into a pizza crust, but I think it's unbeatable in this simple and healthy cauliflower soup.

4. Simple Smoked Fish And Rice: This is another one-pot wonder, handy when you've been out in the garden tackling six months' worth of weeding.

5. Little lamb burgers: If you're blessed with a beautiful spring day, cook these outside on your (long-neglected) barbecue. If it's 'sit inside by the heater weather', they can be baked or pan-fried indoors.

What are your plans for this spring? 

How to make the perfect viniagrette

Q: Why did the tomato blush?
A: Because it saw the salad dressing.

I've always loved that joke, partly because it's about the only punchline that I can remember. But all jokes aside, some people should blush with embarrassment at their salad dressings. Paul Newman, I'm looking at you. Whoever makes the salad dressings at several Wellington restaurants that I've visited recently should also take a good look at themselves.

The thing is, you don’t need to be a super chef to make a good salad dressing, but plenty of people do a great job of making bad ones. If in doubt, remember that condensed milk is best saved for baking and that no amount of secret herbs and spices will disguise cheap oil and nasty vinegar. A lot of people ask me how to make a basic vinaigrette (that's vin-AY-gret, not vinegar-ette - which sounds like the sort of perfume worn by sour little French women) so I've devised this handy guide. Here's how...

How To Make Vinaigrette
Jamie Oliver once put out a special sort of gadget for making salad dressings but all you need  is a clean and empty jam jar, or a small bowl and a fork.
You can vary the acid and the oil to suit your preferences, your pantry supplies and what you're going to use the vinaigrette for. I most often use lemon juice and apple cider or red wine vinegar with extra virgin olive oil. A good pinch of cumin seeds can be a good addition, or finely fresh herbs. If you're using herbs, the vinaigrette is best used that day. Otherwise it will happily keep in the fridge for a couple of weeks.
Having a jar of vinaigrette in the fridge makes that after-work dinner dash much easier. Even though it only takes minutes to make, knowing you can pull some salad leaves out of a bag (or the garden) and dress them with something you've prepared earlier makes dinner time seem less daunting. I also use vinaigrette on steamed beans and carrots, shredded beetroot and new potatoes.

First, peel a clove of plump, juicy garlic and put it on a chopping board with a good pinch of salt. Using the blade of a knife, crush the clove with the salt to form a smooth paste. Scrape this off the chopping board and put it in a clean, dry jam jar (or a small bowl).
Add a teaspoon of honey (or brown sugar) and a teaspoon of mustard (Dijon for preference, English for wow factor).
Add 2 1/2 tablespoons of vinegar/lemon juice and six tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, then screw the lid on the jar and give it a good shake. Taste it for seasoning and sharpness - does it need more salt? more oil? more vinegar? a pinch of sugar to balance the flavours? - before using.

What's your favourite salad dressing?

Halloumi, peach and pepper salad

Late last year I got my arm twisted into a podcast interview with the lovely Natalie Cutler-Welsh from If Only They Had Told Me. Now, this is nothing against Natalie, but it was probably a mistake to do it after a very long, stressful day at work. It was probably even more of a mistake to do it while reclining with a glass of wine. I'm hoping that's the reason why I sound like a garbled fool who can barely remember her own name. If I sound like that all the time, well, I guess I have a voice best suited for print.

But every cloud has a silver lining and one of the best bits about recording the podcast was that Natalie, a non-cook, told me about a salad her friend had made that night involving halloumi and peaches. I can't bear to go back and listen to the podcast, but I've managed to make my version of the salad. Without a hint of shame, here it is.

Halloumi, peach and pepper salad

We always have a packet of halloumi in the fridge. It's a guaranteed insta-meal for those times when there seems to be nothing else to eat. Peaches and red peppers are both in plentiful supply at the moment - and this salad is the perfect combination of sweet, salty, soft and crunchy. 

250g halloumi, patted dry and sliced into 1cm-thick pieces

2 ripe peaches, washed and sliced into wedges

2 red peppers, washed, deseeded and sliced

a handful of fresh mint, shredded

a good squeeze of fresh lemon juice

2-3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Panfry the halloumi in a non-stick pan until golden brown on the outside. Remove from the pan and slice each piece into two, lengthways. Let cool briefly.

Put the peaches and peppers in a bowl, then toss through the mint, lemon juice and olive oil. Drape the halloumi on top. Grind over some black pepper and serve. Makes a small side salad for four or a light lunch for two.

The food of love

If you believe everything you read, St Valentine's Day is all about candle-lit dinners in restaurants full of couples gazing lovingly at each other while the singletons sit at home, weeping into boxes of chocolates.

Well, not in our house it's not. The last time we went out for dinner on Valentine's Day it was because I needed to review a restaurant and that was the only night they could get us in. That in itself should have been a sign. The food was absolutely appalling and the service was bizarre, but we had a hysterically good time laughing at how bad it was and how desperately unhappy all our fellow diners looked.

I'm not a Valentine's Day denier by any means, but I do think there are better ways to show someone your undying love and devotion than a slightly desperate night out.

If cooking is an act of love - among other things - then surely the greatest thing you can do on Valentine's Day is cook something that the recipient will really love. But what if that happens to be something that you can't stand?

After more than a decade of eating together, my beloved and I still don't see eye to eye on some things. When I think about it, the list of foods we agree on is small: Chardonnay, strongly-flavoured hard cheeses, scallops, free-range chicken and eggs, good bread, olives, sriracha sauce, dark chocolate, champagne. Of course, we still debate the various merits of these things - and what he thinks is good bread might not match my criteria - but these are not insurmountable differences. It's not like he likes his steak well-done. That would be a deal-breaker for sure.

I love quinoa and barley and other so-ancient-they're-modern grains; he thinks brown rice is fit for animals. I love carrot cake and inch-thick cream cheese frosting; he'd rather go hungry than eat a slice. He doesn't like watermelon or cucumbers, claiming they taste 'like dirt'. He eschews butter (butter!) for olive-oil spread on his toast. He says Marmite is the answer to life's woes; I say I haven't met a piece of bread that can't be improved by peanut butter. He loves ice cream cones and the way they taste of communion wafers; I think he needs counselling. 

He doesn't like chicken livers, lentils or salmon; I just eat them when he goes out. He is happy to spend a lot of time (and money) searching for his favourite craft beer, good olives, the freshest fish and whatever strange ingredient I might have asked him to look for. This is a quality that cannot be underrated.

And so I've learned to live with the fact that he doesn't believe walnuts belong on the top of afghans. It's fine that he doesn't share my love of soft, stinky cheeses. I wear my 'I told you so' face when he feels guilty for binge-eating disgusting chicken-flavoured crisps, but that's as far as it goes.

But the thing I can't get over, the thing that really makes me wonder if we belong together, is his love of white pepper. The smell of white pepper makes me feel ill. To me, it smells of boarding school, and hospitals, and rest homes. White pepper smells like old people. It is the smell of death, ground into tiny, sneeze-inducing particles.

To my beloved, the scent of white peppercorns takes him back to his childhood, to Saturday lunches of sausages and chips at his grandparents' place. To him, that slightly medicinal smell recalls a time when there was nothing to do but ride his bike, play backyard cricket and catch whitebait. Even talking about it makes his face light up. Last week, when we were out of black peppercorns, I found a box of white ones at the back of the cupboard. When he realised I'd put them in the pepper grinder he looked like he'd won the lottery. 

I love that he loves to eat. I get frustrated by the fact that he doesn't like some of the things that I love to eat, but I would rather we ate together and had a robust discussion about whether the steak was rare enough than not. If he has to put white pepper on it, then I guess that's the price of love.

I wish you all a very happy Valentines Day x

Random recipe: Russian Salad

It's not often that I reach for the vodka bottle on a Sunday lunchtime, but when you're making an iconic Soviet salad in a half-functioning kitchen, needs must. When that salad is a melange of cooked vegetables and hard-boiled egg bound with a sour cream-enriched mayonnaise - and you're making it while your daughter clamours for her lunch and your husband is attacking the counter-top with a hack-saw - you're more than justified to pour yourself a large glass. At least, that was my excuse.

Actually, I blame Dom of Belleau Kitchen for driving me to drink. This month's Random Recipe challenge asked us to cook something from a Christmas present cookbook - and since I didn't get any cookbooks for Christmas (sob!) I chose the Salat Olivier described in Anya von Bremzen's memoir, Mastering The Art Of Soviet Cooking.

If you have even a slight interest in food, family, social history and the absolute craziness involved in growing up in Soviet Moscow, this is a must-read. Von Bremzen's own story of growing up in a communal apartment in Moscow (she and her mother fled to the US in 1974, when she was 10) is swept up in the epic history of 20th century Russia. It's the sort of book that you want to read out loud to other people - like Heston Blumenthal's quote on the front of my copy says, it's 'heartbreakingly poignant and laugh-out-loud funny'.

He forgot to add that it also has recipes - and the Soviet party classic, Salat Olivier, is one of them. First invented by a French chef 'who wowed 1860s Moscow' with an over-the-top platter of grouse, tongue and crayfish tails with potatoes, cornichons and a secret Provencal sauce, it morphed over the years into a rather more proletarian combination of vegetables and chicken bound together with mass-produced mayonnaise. Now can you see why I was reaching for the vodka?

Salat Olivier
I took some liberties with Anya's recipe, leaving out the suggested white crabmeat or crabsticks that her mother usually used in place of the traditional poached chicken or beef. I also used homemade mayonnaise rather than Hellmann's and lightly cooked frozen peas rather than the tinned variety. Anya's mother Larisa, who plays a key role in the book, insists that the key to success is chopping everything into very fine dice.
Truth be told, I don't think I'll make it again - that diced potato, carrot and pea mixture reminded me too much of boarding school mixed frozen vegetables - but the tangy, creamy dressing was eat-out-of-the-bowl gorgeous.

3 large waxy potatoes, cooked, peeled and diced
2 medium carrots, peeled, cooked and diced
1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored and diced
3 large gherkins, diced
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded and diced
4 spring onions, finely sliced (white parts and some green)
1 1/2 cups peas, blanched and drained
3 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
4 Tbsp dill, finely chopped
salt and pepper

Dressing:
250 ml mayonnaise
80 ml sour cream
2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp white vinegar
salt and pepper

Put all the salad ingredients in a large bowl and stir together gently. Season well with salt and pepper.
To make the dressing, put all ingredients in a small bowl and whisk together until well blended. Taste and adjust the seasoning - you want it to be quite tangy and zesty.
Fold about two-thirds of the dressing through the salad - add more if necessary - and transfer to a cut-crystal bowl to serve. Serves six as a side dish. Vodka optional, but advised.

Christmas confetti salad

There have been two unexpected spin-offs from my post about delegating when entertaining over the festive season. First, two of the guests we were expecting for dinner on Saturday night cancelled their appearance. They claimed to be stuck in New York and unable to get back, but I have my doubts. Was it the email I sent suggesting they bring something?

Then, a few days ago, my mother-in-law sent me an email about Christmas. In the middle of what my colleague calls 'a compliment sandwich' (that's when you disarm someone by saying something nice, stick the knife in, then say something nice again) she cleverly outsourced the cooking of the turkey and the dreaming up of some salad ideas. To me.

It didn't take me long to realise that I'd been outplayed. Friends, I have so much to learn. But, after a weekend of thinking deeply about what to make, I've come up with something fresh, festive and extremely easy. Now I just have to delegate the making of it to my father-in-law.

Christmas Confetti Salad
Making this salad is the sort of job you can give someone who walks into the kitchen and says 'what can I do to help?' - on the basis that a) they have basic knife skills and b) you have delegated out all the other jobs, like washing dishes, setting the table and corralling the children/elderly relatives. As long as you're not having to do all those other things, or have had a glass of festive bubbles, it's quite soothing to stand still and do a bit of chopping. It's great with ham and turkey and tastes great the next day when you need something cold and refreshing to eat. You could also pile little mounds of it into avocado halves for a appropriately red, white and green starter.

2 pomegranates
2 red peppers
1 small red onion
4-6 small radishes
half a telegraph cucumber
a small bunch of mint, finely shredded

Dressing:
a clove of garlic, smashed
a good pinch of salt
a pinch of sugar
2 Tbsp lemon juice
5 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp sumac

First, make the dressing. Crush the garlic and salt together with a knife until it forms a paste. Scrape this into a small screwtop jar, then add the lemon juice, sugar and sumac. Shake together until well mixed, then add the oil and shake again. Taste for sharpness - add more oil or lemon juice as necessary. Set aside.
Cut the pomegranates in half and scoop out the seeds. The Ottolenghi-endorsed way to do this is to bang them with a wooden spoon, but I find this squirts juice everywhere. My preferred method is to winkle the seeds out with a knife.
Chop the rest of the vegetables into pomegranate seed-sized dice. Tip everything into a bowl. Pour over the dressing, scatter over the shredded mint and stir gently to combine. Serves eight as a side dish.

For more herby, salad-y goodness, you might like to check out Karen's Cooking With Herbs round-up for December. If there's ever a time of year to eat your greens, this is it!

Do you delegate out parts of your Christmas dinner preparations, or do you prefer to be in sole charge?

Middle class coleslaw

I am a terrible snob. I'm not proud of this shortcoming but since there's no point in denying it so I may as well be bold. I know I am a terrible snob because I once told someone that his mother made white trash coleslaw. In my defence, he said (and did) much, much worse to me. And that coleslaw was disgusting - tinned pineapple, cabbage, carrot and condensed milk dressing - so I don't think I was completely out of line. Plus, his mother used to look at me like I was something she'd trodden on. Harrumph.

Anyway, that's all ancient history and I'm over it, truly. But earlier this evening, when rustling up an impromptu salad to go with the remainder of Monday night's roast chicken, I realised I was essentially making coleslaw too. Not posh coleslaw, not even an exotic Asian-ish one. Is there such a thing as a middle class coleslaw? I think I've just made it. But in good news, this is a coleslaw that transcends all barriers. Young, old, rich, poor, we can all eat and enjoy with impunity. But if you even think of putting tinned pineapple in it you deserve to choke on each mouthful.

So good to eat, so hard to make look good to eat!

Middle class coleslaw
This is the sort of thing you whip up in 10 minutes while wearing your running kit and making increasingly firm requests to your daughter to get out of the bath so you can get into it. Quantities are approximate - this much makes enough for four. Any leftovers are good in a lunchbox the next day.

1/4 of a cabbage - Savoy if you're posh, ordinary if not, shredded
2 carrots, peeled, then grated
2 ribs of celery, destringed, then finely chopped
100g tasty cheddar, grated
1 tsp caraway seeds (optional)

For the dressing:
1 clove garlic, mashed to a paste with a pinch of salt
2 tsp Dijon mustard
a good pinch of sugar
4 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
8 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Make the dressing first. Put the smashed garlic, mustard, sugar and vinegar in a screw top jar. Screw on the lid and shake well. Add the oil, reattach the lid and shake again until emulsified. Taste - add a little more oil or vinegar to suit. It should be slightly on the sharp side to balance out the cheese.
Put the cabbage, carrot, celery and cheese in a salad bowl and toss together to mix. Sprinkle over the caraway seeds, if using, then pour over two-thirds of the dressing. Toss well, adding more dressing if necessary. Serve immediately or cover and refrigerate until needed.

Are you a food snob? Does it get you into trouble?

A chic French carrot salad

When it comes to seemingly effortless chic, you have to hand it to the French. It's evident in what they wear, how they act, what they eat - whatever you think of their politics or their pop music, they've got it all over the rest of us. Only the French could make shredded carrots and vinaigrette seem chic, n'est-ce pas?

Last month in Paris (see how I just slipped that in there?) I fell back in love with carrottes rapees - which must be the simplest of all salads. It doesn't sound much on paper - just shredded carrots dressed with a mustardy vinaigrette - but it's sweet, crunchy and refreshing, just the thing for a hot summer night. It's about 20 degrees cooler here than it was in Paris in late July, but I made a batch of this up the other day and can report that it's equally good in the southern hemisphere. The views aren't quite the same, but you can't have everything.

Chic carrot salad
A bowl of this manages to be quite satisfying, which is probably handy if you're having a French Women Don't Get Fat sort of moment. It's a good accompaniment to fish, or rice, or rolled into sushi, or tucked into a peanut butter and alfalfa sprout sandwich. Just one thing - I think it's best made with carrots shredded in a food processor or with a mandolin. Using a box grater doesn't quite yield the same result - like having a Chanel couture dress made in a factory.

4 medium carrots, peeled and finely shredded
For the dressing:
1 clove garlic, crushed
a good pinch of salt
4 Tbsp lemon juice
1-2 tsp Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp honey
8 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

To make the dressing, put the garlic, salt and lemon juice in a lidded jar (I use an old Maille mustard jar for extra authenticity - and because we have dozens of them) and shake well. Add the mustard and honey and shake again. Add the oil and shake until it has emulsified. Taste - it should be slightly sharp.
Put the shredded carrots in a large bowl and pour over half the dressing. Toss gently, then drizzle over the rest if you think it needs it. The carrots should be damp, not drowned.
Serve at once or keep well covered in the fridge for a day.

What's your favourite French food? Nul point for whoever says 'French fries'...