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Leek crumble and Hugo’s story
by Hugo, Canine Correspondent
I’m not a naughty dog. I do have my limits though and when Bossy and Noisy recently loaded their bags into the car and made it clear that I wasn’t going to accompany them, I reached mine. I dragged my rug out to the car and made myself a little nest amongst the suitcases, but they ended up leaving without me all the same. The trouble is this: no Bossy, no proper meals! (He gets invited to eat with the neighbour). Worse still, no camembert at lunchtime (I have my own special supply). So I ran away. Actually I ran further than I meant to and ended up getting lost. Apparently I was about 6 kms away. A very nice lady found me and made me a big bowl of pasta — I must have looked very thin, sad and hungry, which was almost certainly due to ACD (acute cheese deprivation). 🙁 The kind lady also took lots and lots of photos of me and kept stroking me and saying how handsome I was. It took her quite a long time to track down Bossy’s husband, because I’d also lost my collar with my ‘phone number on it. Anyway, Bossy and Noisy reappeared quite soon after I had arrived back home and, going by the look on Bossy’s face, she’ll think twice before heartlessly abandoning me in a camembert-free environment again *manipulative snigger*.
This savoury crumble is an adaptation of a Marcus Wareing recipe. It’s a meal in itself really, although it could also be served as an accompaniment.
Ingredients (serves 4)
2 red onions, quartered
1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed
4 leeks, washed and sliced into 2 cm rounds
4 mushrooms, peeled and sliced
50g butter
50g spelt flour
200 ml chicken or vegetable stock
200ml milk
50g roquefort cheese, crumbled (any blue cheese will work)
1 tablespoon French mustard
Sea salt, freshly-ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon paprika
For the crumble topping:
100g spelt flour
75g chickpea flour
25g butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
100g comté cheese, grated (or another hard cheese)
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Preheat the oven to 180°C. Gently fry the onions, garlic, leeks and mushrooms until lightly cooked (about 5 minutes). Place in an ovenproof dish and set aside. Melt the butter in a medium-sized saucepan and then add the flour, combining well to form a paste. Gradually add the stock and then the milk, whisking well all then time to prevent lumps from forming. Continue to cook until,the sauce is quite thick and then add the mustard, seasoning and cheese. Mix well until the cheese has melted and pour over the vegetables.
To make the crumble topping, mix the flour and seasoning together and rub in the butter and then stir in the olive oil. Add the grated cheese, mixing well and spread over the leeks and sauce. Bake for about 25 minutes until the topping is golden brown. -
Plum honey cake and one-way city
We went to San Sebastian (Donostia) during the recent school holidays. San Sebastian, just over the border from France in Spain’s Basque country, is home to the first University of Gastronomy and boasts an exceptionally high concentration of Michelin-starred restaurants, as well as some of the best tapas — or pintxos — bars to be found.
We stayed in a hotel on one of the hills dominating the bay. The views from the balcony were absolutely stunning and this was, as I later found out, the best way to appreciate the town. I am no wimp when it comes to challenging city driving: I learned to drive in London and then for many years enjoyed regular and complicated tangos around the insane Arc de Triomphe ‘Etoile‘ roundabout with 70 other highly strung Parisians. But, after a number of near misses, San Sebastian’s complex one-way system got the better of me and I ended up conceding defeat. Léo took great delight in keeping a tally (with a rather abrasive running commentary) of my hugely illegal manoeuvres, details of which I would rather forget. And then, as if the stress at the idea of never ever being allowed to turn left again as long as I lived wasn’t enough, I got a call from home to say that Hugo had run away. More on that next time – my nerves are still in shreds! 😉
This cake is another little gem from Amber Rose’s book, ‘Love, Bake, Nourish’. The honey makes it deliciously, fragrantly soothing and I recommend you never drive anywhere without a large slice for arduous traffic situations.
Ingredients (serves 8)
180g spelt flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
130g ground almonds
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground cardamon
5 large free-range eggs
120g butter
120g organic coconut oil
180g honey
400g plums, stoned and quartered
Preheat the oven to 180°C and prepare a 22cm loose-bottomed cake tin. Mix the dry ingredients and set aside. In a separate bowl, beat the egg yolks, softened butter and coconut oil and honey until thick and smooth. Gently fold into the dry ingredients. Whisk the egg whites in a clean bowl until stiff and then fold into the mix making sure they are fully incorporated. Finally stir in the plums and transfer the mixture to the greased tin. Bake for 45 minutes or until a skewer poked into the centre comes out clean. Leave to cool before serving.
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Guest post: Patient, heal thyself (part 3)

I had intended to continue sharing my recent benefits from switching in April to the ‘Eat Right 4 Your Blood Type’ plan, when last weekend put my intentions on hold. However, there was the added benefit of an experience important to all of us who need to watch what we eat, so I will share some of what occurred in this post.
While helping my partner erect an aluminum (aluminium, for those northwest of here) and plexi winter garden house, I suffered what appeared to be the beginnings of a heart attack. Germany has one very important aspect to their health care which I applaud: if the call is of a serious nature, an ambulance with a doctor on board is also dispatched to the scene. I won’t take you through the hooking up of a colourful assortment of tubes and such, and just say that after Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through the German countryside, I arrived at a hospital with a highly-regarded cardio unit, where I spent several hours on monitors and bleeding into little glass tubes, on demand.
Upon determining that I was not in immediate danger, I was sent upstairs to a room, where they brought me the evening’s repast. Before continuing your digestion of this post, I suggest making certain that you are in a comfortable chair, as what I am about to share will stagger the imagination of most, and might even cause one to stagger in a literal sense. A caution has been made.
Dinner, for a person who has just arrived in the hospital’s cardio wing, and was under strict monitoring, was: two slices of bread, a slice of Emmentaler cheese (like Swiss cheese), three assorted slices of cold cuts, including salami, bologna and one that was unidentifiable, to me, and three tablespoons of watery yogurt. There were also two packets of mustard and a small cube of butter. No, I didn’t miss anything and I even looked under the tray, to be certain of this.
If you are a Type A person and you have already started the program, and know what the dos and don’ts are, you would recognize only the yogurt as being of any benefit, while the rest of the lot are absolute ‘don’ts.’ I mentioned this to the night nurse who remarked, ‘Everybody gets the same. No special treatment.’ Having passed two very elderly women in wheelchairs, as they were bringing me to my room, I wondered how they expected these two souls to be nurtured back to good health on such a meagre and very unhealthy diet.
Serving the least amount of food, with no regard to nutrition, is endemic in German hospitals and I have personally witnessed this in three other medical establishments. I have also asked physicians how they expect their patients to heal without proper nutrition, but they just shake their heads in a ‘it’s not my problem’ way. It is not a German attribute to rock the boat, so it is likely the insurance plan most patients are subscribed to determines costs for such things. It goes to prove the point that when bean-counters enter the picture, all compassion disappears. But, I digress.
Due to many issues, I had a sleepless night, one of which was being denied a sleeping pill, because, as the night nurse put it: ‘You are asking too late.’ Had I known my roommate could rattle the rafters with his snoring, I might have asked when I came to the room. But, unarmed with such important information, I was left without the necessary tool to overcome this obstacle and spent the night awake.
In the very early morning hours, nurses came to take blood and chose to poke a new hole in my other hand, although all previous blood samples had been taken from the hand with the nifty accoutrement that had been attached to me in the comfort of my best chair, the day before. Then, a young male nurse came to take my blood pressure, after which he presented a needle. When I asked what it was for, he told me it was to prevent thrombosis’ to which I replied: ‘No.’ I saw no need to have this additional toxin in my body, when I was still ambulatory and was not bedridden. He was perplexed, but he didn’t force the issue.
Later in the morning, one of the cardio doctors came to see me and spent some time telling me that I had not suffered a heart attack, stroke or anything severe enough to leave a telltale message in my system. The numbers they were giving me were the same as I had received from my cardio specialist, during my annual checkup in June, so I breathed a sigh of relief, and told her I wanted to go home. I was immediately counseled on the possible ‘consequences’ of such a decision, in view of their desire to keep me for observation and further tests, all of which I had experienced in June, and passed with flying colors. I then told her about my sleepless night, which seemed to go right past her, without reaction or comment.
The young doctor was adamant that I stay put, so I shared with her the details of my morning meal, which was: a slice of what looked like a mixed deli meat, two bread rolls, two packets of processed jelly, a cube of butter and three tablespoons of yogurt. I then continued with a description of the all important mid-day meal that had been brought to me, which was a vegetable consume, including remnants of carrots, potatoes and beans with a long, beef sausage placed in the middle of the bowl, a packet of mustard and two pieces of stale bread. After sharing these details with her, I told her about my eating plan and how it had cleared up two issues for me, which all of the ingredients the hospital had offered were sure to bring back to the fold. She shrugged in a kind of ‘what do you want me to do about it’ way, although I surmised that she was already thinking in her mind that there had to be some prescription that would do the trick rather well, in place of nutritious food.
When I asked her how she felt about serving the kind of food that was presented, to a person presumed to have a heart issue (after all, the did want to keep me for observation), she changed the topic back to the issue of ‘the possible consequences of going home.’
I thought about it and came to the realization that if I stayed there for the recommended period of time, taking the drugs they wanted me to ingest, in spite of showing no symptoms requiring drugs, and eating their food, I would have other serious issues returning to my life. I opted to leave, after telling her that I would much prefer to expire at home, eating healthy food, rather than in a hospital’s cold, dispassionate environment, while slowly being poisoned. She was not amused.
There were forms to fill out, more cautions expressed and then I was able to step outdoors, in the cool, dark afternoon, accompanied by my partner, who had brought one of our fun cars as a treat, in which to bring me home. The first breath of fresh air was rejuvenating and I continued to feel better during the ride home, in spite of my lack of sleep.
For that first meal upon my return to our home, I chose a breakfast meal of freshly chopped walnuts, Greek yogurt and blueberries. I also added a small dollop of maple syrup, which has been my sweetener of choice for more than thirty years. In the photo, you will see that I used frozen blueberries, as we are out of season for fresh, here, and I rather like having them year round. Frozen also allows me to vary the types of berries I use during the winter months, and allows me to thaw just what I need to avoid any spoilage, as well as providing a sugar-free juice from the thawing process.
I did see my GP this week and he reviewed the information about my adventure and came to the conclusion that, since this was a one-off event, that I should take it easy, lessen my work load some and give stressful situations a boot in the behind. I do have a tendency to work like I am still twenty-three, which is not to my benefit, now, and I had been overdoing it for a couple of weeks, even though I was experiencing a cold. My instinct tells me that it was just overloading the system with commitments and physical stress that caused my body to stop functioning at its optimum. When pressed for a reply, my GP begrudgingly admitted that leaving the hospital was a good idea, in this circumstance.
The point of sharing this experience is to demonstrate that in all cases, we will be responsible for our own health, even in an environment that is supposed to consider all aspects of our health its foremost concern. -
France : Chili Pepper Market in Basque Country ( 80 photos ).
I wanted to reblog this as it’s quite close to us and because I use ‘piment d’Espelette’ all the time.
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Sweden gets is right
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French lentil salad with egg and Feta and big noisy puddles
by Hugo, Canine Correspondent
Yesterday we went to visit a huge, noisy puddle. I don’t totally understand how the puddle came about as it hasn’t rained very much recently. Still, I’m only a dog – I can’t be expected to understand everything. They sometimes visit the puddle without me after the first time when I refused to get out of the car. Obviously I wasn’t frightened or anything (I’m a big black scary dog after all), but I didn’t see what there was to get excited about and I’m not a fan of loud noises.
Here is a photo of me in front of the puddle (if I look a bit sad it’s because I had just been told off for spraying sand into their lunch). I wanted to swim but, unlike the puddles near the house, this one moves too much and I find that annoying – it should decide where it wants to be and stick to it. I had great fun chasing away all the noisy white hens though (I assume they were hens – they made an awful racket)…

Everyone seemed to find this lentil salad delicious, although it’s not my bag at all. If dogs were meant to eat lentils they’d be born with big floppy ears and a fluffy tail.
Ingredients (serves 4)
250g Puy lentils, cooked according to instructions
2 tablespoon virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 red onion, finely diced
1 carrot, finely diced
8 cherry tomatoes, halved
1 stalk celery, finely diced
2 tablespoons of diced cucumber
100g feta cheese, crumbled
4 free-range organic eggs, softly boiled
4 anchovies
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon paprika
Place the cooked, drained lentils into a salad bowl with the onion, carrot, tomatoes, celery and cucumber. Add the olive oil, lemon juice and salt and pepper and toss well. Crumble the Feta cheese over the top, followed by the halved eggs and anchovies. Sprinkle with paprika and serve. -
Plum and polenta cake and hawk-eyed osteopathic surgeons

We went to hospital at the end of last week for a follow-up on Léo’s broken wrists. After the usual palaver of negotiating the maze-like corridors, locating the original x-rays (I now refuse to take responsibilty for images, having once turned up for a follow-up visit of my own armed with x-rays of my dog’s hip) and being on the receiving end of a particularly vicious swing door, we finally saw the surgeon who cheerfully proclaimed Léo’s right wrist to be healing beautifully. I assumed this meant that the left one wasn’t and anxiously enquired ‘and the left one?’ The doctor gave a classic double take and burst into peals of laughter saying ‘oh mon dieu! He broke BOTH wrists? How did he manage to do that? Who actually breaks both wrists at the same time?’ I had naively imagined that the fact that both wrists bore hefty casts might have been a clue as to the extent of his injuries, but apparently not. Tempted as I was to find out just how hilarious he would find a broken jaw, I resisted and, once again, poor Léo had to recount the story of the day he thought he could fly…
Ingredients
20g agave syrup
400g plums, pitted
130g ground almonds
150g spelt flour
150g polenta
1 teaspoon baking powder
pinch of salt
150ml honey
180g natural Greek yoghurt
4 large free-range eggs, beaten
180ml olive oil
Preheat the oven to 170°C. Put the plums and agave syrup into a saucepan and bring to a gentle boil, before lowering the heat and leaving to caramelise for a few minutes. Remove from heat and set aside. Blend the almonds, spelt flour, polenta, baking powder and salt in a bowl. In a separate bowl mix the eggs, honey, yoghurt and olive oil together well. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, folding thoroughly. Stir in the plums, transfer the mixture to a loose-bottomed cake tin and bake for 40 minutes. Leave to cool and serve. -
Crab, chilli and grapefruit salad and unfortunate associations
I used to hate grapefruit until my friend, Lucie, recently put me straight. One of the things I love about Lucie is her enormously resolute talent for ‘putting people straight’; now I’m Team Grapefruit, especially if served with crab. Crab and grapefruit is a marriage made in heaven, even more so with a bit of chilli for ‘zing’. I am big on harmonious combinations and for me one of the biggest culinary sins is the confounding Surf ‘n’ Turf. When I’m trying to decide if two ingredients will go together, I think about their natural habitats and how far-fetched it would seem for them to find themselves on the same plate. Lobster and beef? I don’t think so. As we plunge headlong into cep (porcini) season, I find myself once again skating on thin ice. Given the chance, my reckless anarchist of a husband will happily add ceps to absolutely everything. I sometimes have to resort to my ‘Flavour Thesaurus‘ to convince him that ceps and chocolate, coconut or crab do not, in fact, make for a palatable union.
Crab is a healthy source of protein, calcium, magnesium and selenium and grapefruit is rich in vitamins A and C. This fresh and fragrant salad is adapted from a Jamie Oliver recipe.
Ingredients (serves 4)
2 pink grapefruits
200 g white crabmeat (I used tinned)
1 tomato, chopped
2 fresh red chillies, deseeded and finely chopped
6 fresh basil leaves, torn into pieces
extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 handfuls crispy green salad
Carefully peel and segment the grapefruits. Place the crabmeat in a bowl with a tablespoon of grapefruit juice, the chopped chilli, basil leaves, salt and pepper and olive oil. Mix well. Add the salad and tomato to the bowl with the grapefruit segments, add a little more olive oil and salt and pepper, tossing well. Arrange the mixed salad and grapefruit segments in a bowl with the crab over the top. Sprinkle the remaining basil leaves and serve.
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Guest post: Patient, heal thyself (part 2)

Following on from his previous post, I welcome back KJ to share more of his ‘eating according to blood type’ journey.
To begin our trek through my experiences of late, Fiona suggested I share some of the challenges I was facing before beginning the Type A eating plan. To begin, I feel compelled to mention that, for nine years before I moved to Europe, I was under the care of one of what I believe to be the greatest naturopathic physicians of the last and current centuries, Dr. N. V. Tyree, who has since retired. He never prescribed a drug for my ailments and his treatments were everyday ingredients found in most homes. I also might add, just to see those eyebrows rise up in unison, he and I never met. The breadth of ailments he treated for me are numerous and his diagnosis was never flawed, no matter how many ‘carrots’ I threw into the soup. However, the details of this history are better suited for another topic, so I shall get back on track.
After several experiences with physicians on this side of the pond, I came to realize that my personal health was just that: personal, and if I wanted to maintain my health, it was going to be up to me to do so. We could spend hours on this topic, but the most recent events that were left hanging were my inability to get a skin condition properly diagnosed, a sleep pattern that was erratic, the need for a cane when walking (three years after my second hip replacement – on the same side), which was having a profound impact on my attempts to exercise to lose weight. I was significantly overweight, at the time I began the Type A plan, but my heart, was apparently, as the cardiologist said, ‘perfect.’ He also stated that diabetes was not in the cards, which was a relief. This good health report I attribute solely to eating properly. I believed that I had the basics down, from my previous experience with Dr. T.
So, with Fiona’s assistance, I began the plan with the hope of tackling at least one of the issues at hand: the skin issue. This problem was where my skin became inflamed by reasons other than mosquito bites (to which my body responds very negatively). In one instance, my skin was so red and began to swell, that the doctor who was looking me over called for an ambulance. This issue was present for a year, off and on, before ‘specialists’ prescribed a fourth-generation antihistamine and high doses of cortisone, which I took for a year. Anyone who has experienced cortisone knows that it is a soul-altering concoction that can cause even the most saintly among us to metamorphose into a Beelzebub with the ability to invoke unknown levels of terror. I sorted this out when I realized that the cat was spending an inordinate amount of time hiding in the flowerbed at the end of the patio. My partner just retired to his den, while shaking his head. His natural instinct for survival comes in handy, on occasions such as this.
When I began the plan, I vowed to follow Fiona’s advice: ‘if you call it a diet, you are doomed to fail.’ She’s right. Following a plan such as this will require a lifetime of commitment, not six months to make ready for the bikini season (they don’t wear well on my body type, anyway). During the first week, I was surprised by how much the Type A plan paralleled the very information that Dr. T. had suggested for me, years ago. It goes to show that truth is truth, no matter when and where you find it. I took this as confirmation that I was now on the right track.
What I learned from the Type A eating plan was that I had some of the basics, but there was much more to address and this plan provided the necessary information for me to expand my knowledge and increase my self-reliance.
Within two weeks of beginning this plan, my skin appeared to lose some of its sensitivity to heat and the small red spots began to disappear. Within four weeks, my skin was almost normal, and by the sixth week, the redness had all but disappeared. Within eight weeks, I began to gradually – and continually – reduce my intake of cortisone, until I could stop it altogether. Within ten weeks, I was able to cut my intake of the antihistamine down to half. Within twelve weeks, I was able to cut it down to weekly doses, or as-needed, depending on how sinful my cooking was at the time. Fiona may appear to be an angel, by most accounts, but she does prepare concoctions that would tempt most of us to sin.
My current physicians – all of them, specialists included – say that this change came about by time and good medicine. When I explained to them that this was a new eating plan, and had nothing to do with their prescriptions (which I would still be taking, if not for this eating plan), they scoffed and – to the man (and woman) – they discounted the eating plan as having any direct benefit. I should have screamed in the face of such ignorance, but it caused me to only shake my head in disbelief. One has only to understand that students of medicine in Germany are taught: ‘natural medicine does not work.’ This was told to me by a recent graduate from medical school and it explains much about the current attitudes in medicine. If you take up an eating plan that is based on the blood-type eating plan, you will have to prepare yourself for this reaction from your physician.
However, one should keep in mind that eating according to one’s blood type is not a ‘medical treatment of an ailment,’ but a change in what we take into our bodies for fuel. The reality that it just might help diminish some of our health issues is a bonus – although not an unexpected one, for those who have experienced this change.
One aspect of this new direction (no, it has nothing to do with those singing lads from the UK, sorry) which causes me to smile to myself – and my partner to frown with worry, that this might finally be time for the white-coat-brigade – is that the food I am preparing is simple, easy and rather tasty. From looking at the photos of my meals you may question this, but don’t be put off by the imagery. The food is very tasty. Case in point:
Dinner tonight was chicken breast sautéed in walnut oil with a clove of minced garlic, an abundance of chopped chives and poached for a few minutes in Prosecco, before draining out the remaining liquid and then gently browning the meat. The broccoli florets were steamed and then dressed with the liquid drained from the chicken/chives/garlic and then topped with finely grated (and aged) goat cheese, while the chicken was topped with the sautéed chives and minced garlic. A sprinkling of sea salt on the lot added just a bit more flavour to the meal. A glass of chilled Prosecco was a necessary complément, of course. While the photo may not be complimentary, I assure you my taste buds thoroughly enjoyed the event. -
Sardine and tomato tart and terribly vain dogs

We recently bought Hugo a new collar and since, he has become more conscious of his appearance than might normally be expected of a dog. He keeps creeping upstairs, which is not really allowed. At first I thought he was coming to remind me to take him for a walk, but quickly realised that he wasn’t looking for me at all; he was looking for the big handsome dog in the mirror at the end of the upstairs hallway. Who knew that a new collar and a mirror could provide so much entertainment? I must hide my camera from him or he’ll be doing ‘selfies’ next! 😉
We still have a steady supply of tomatoes and this was a delicious way to use some up.
Ingredients (serves 6)
Pastry
80g spelt flour
50g chickpea flour
50g butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
Pinch of sea salt
Roughly 6 tablespoons of cold water
Filling
150ml fresh tomato sauce (recipe here)
1 onion (sweet if possible), peeled and sliced
2 tomatoes, sliced
2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced
6 sardine filets
6 anchovy filets
Freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon paprika
15g parmesan, grated
Fresh rosemary to garnish
To make the pastry, begin by cutting the butter into small cubes. Sift the flours and a pinch of salt together into in a mixing bowl, also adding the cubes of butter. Rub in and blend by hand until the mixture becomes crumbly. Add the olive oil, combining well and then add the cold water, mixing rapidly with a spoon. Remove the mixture from the bowl onto a lightly floured surface. Knead until you obtain a ball of pastry (if the mixture isn’t ‘sticky’ enough to form a ball, you may need a drop more water). Wrap in a clean cotton tea towel or some cling film and leave to ‘rest’ in the fridge for about two hours. This relaxes the dough and makes it easier to use.
Preheat the oven to 180°C. Roll out the pastry and line a tart tin . The pastry will be quite crumbly so you’ll need to be gentle and patch up the holes. Blind bake the pastry for 12 minutes and then fill with the fresh tomato sauce, onions and sliced tomatoes. Add the sardine filets and anchovies on top. Finally sprinkle with the parmesan, black pepper and paprika and and bake for about 20 minutes. Remove from the oven and add a little fresh rosemary. Serve hot.




