One of these is in my top ten books of all time, one of these I have had to bin because of an inability to take it seriously. Compare and contrast: "I have adapted the method of Herr Baedeker, and firmly marked what I consider to be the finer passages [of my book] with one, two or three stars. In such a manner did the good man deal with cathedrals, hotels and paintings by men of genius. There seems no reason why it should not be applied to passages in novels, too." "The pause symbol [symbol is inserted] after certain passages is a suggestion that you may want to stop reading for a moment, become still, and feel and experience the truth of what has just been said." You will just have to guess for yourself which passage comes from which book. x
DM journalist: Thanks for the multi-dating piece you wrote to publicise your new book. PW: No problem. DM journalist: Before we run it I just wanted to clarify a few things. How many men would you say you've dated in the last six months? PW thinks, truthfully about six, but for purposes of this article on multi-dating must exaggerate wildly: Fifteen? DM journalist: It would sound better if it was fifty. PW: Erm, I don't know. Fifty sounds a bit mental. DM journalist: Come on, it just makes for a better story. PW, against better judgement: Well, okay.
And then, of course, they made that the headline. Ah, the things we do for publicity.
x
Come Easter Sunday I can drink again - oh my, it has been too long. Had I had any idea, ANY IDEA, how long Lent is, I don't think I would have vowed to abstain from alcohol for its entirety. I have spurned those who told me Lent ended on Palm Sunday, and those who said you could drink on Sundays because they didn't count. I've tried to do this properly. I will admit to giving myself a few 'wild cards' - there was no way I wasn't going to toast the publication of my new book - come on! And the day I lost 5000 words of the book I'm writing, and went to meet my friends, who were drinking wine & the waiter said the only soft drink he could serve me was tap water - well, I cracked then too, to the tune of two glasses of red. But apart from that I have been the very measure of sobriety for seven long weeks. Now, I'm not an especially big drinker, but I am a terrible terrible lightweight. My nickname, Trois Verres, comes courtesy of a former colleague who rightly observed that I am practically insensible after three glasses of anything. That doesn't mean, of course, that I don't exceed my trois verres at times. Knowing you shouldn't do something is not at all the same as not doing it, I think we all know that. But the arrival of the two-day hangover in my life means I cane it pretty rarely these days. However. I had heard all the stories from previous booze-abstainers of the dramatic effects of giving up alcohol. My dad told me he lost a stone and a half on his last Lenten fast. Other friends told me of their glowing skin and uninterrupted eight-hour sleeps. I was quite looking forward to the health benefits of it all. Plus I am on deadline for my next book and thought total sobriety would make me all the more productive. So it pains me to say, that after all this time, I have noticed NO difference at all. None! I look the same, I feel the same - except for a vague annoyance at the unfairness of it all. The book has been written no faster (I suspect a wine or two would have speeded me up, quite honestly). And I expect the only legacy of my alcohol-free Lent is going to be that I'm even more of a shandy-drinking lightweight than ever. Oh well, this bottle is chilling in the fridge right now and I hope it will be worth the wait.
Happy Easter! x
Last night I had a dream that I was lying in bed reading my own book - how meta? The best thing about the dream is how much I was enjoying it, really thinking, 'Gosh this is great stuff'. When in reality I can't bear to read anything I've written once it's published as I mostly see all the mistakes and the bits I wish I'd done better. But obviously somewhere in my subconscious I think I'm really rather marvellous, which is hilarious. Here is a picture of my actual bedside reading a few weeks ago. Well, a girl never knows what she's going to fancy reading at bedtime - best to have a bit of choice, I think. But please note my own book is not there and never ever will be. Take that, Dr Freud. Though if you would like to add Unsuitable Men to your bedside reading, it came out last Thursday - hurray!
Back to recipes, just as I promised. I got an email from my friend Kate yesterday, begging me to urgently send her ‘the chicken recipe.’ I knew exactly which one she was after, not just because I’ve sent it to her before – Kate, you scatty mare, this is for you with love – but because it’s my default recipe when I’ve got friends coming round and everyone I know has had me feed them this at one time or another. It’s everything you want from a recipe for friends – it pretty much cooks itself in the oven while you get on with more important things like chatting to your chums (there’s a mere five mins of gentle activity at the end). It doesn’t require any fancy ingredients, yet it magically tastes like more than the sum of its parts. Adults like it, but so do children, so no having to cook separate meals to keep everyone happy. And everything cooks in one pot, so there’s hardly any washing up. Just a few things. The chicken matters. Sorry, but it does. I buy chicken pretty rarely these days what with my ‘eat less meat’ resolution, so when I do, I splash out on a posh one from the butcher’s (the ones he has are called Label Anglais & I swear they are raised somewhere close to heaven). It’s worth it, honest. The cider matters, too. I expect you could make this with a can of White Lightning if you had to, but I suggest you ask yourself quite sternly why there is a can of White Lightning in your house in the first place and then admit that the cloudy West Country or Breton cider isn’t all that hard to track down. Also you may actually want to drink the leftovers. I’m not a big cider drinker so I usually just freeze the rest to use next time I make this recipe. I wish I could remember where I got the recipe from originally so I could give credit where it’s due – I think it might have been Easy Living magazine. So thanks, mystery chef, for the ur-recipe, of which this is my version. Serves 4 with leftovers, 6 if you boil up some rice to stretch it all a bit further. 1 free-range chicken, about 2 kilos (don’t buy a massive one as you have to cook it whole in a pot & beyond 2 kilos it won’t fit) 2 tablespoons olive oil 8 small, peeled carrots 8 leeks, sliced 4 rashers of smoked streaky bacon (you can use unsmoked, but the smoked makes a way better sauce) 2 cloves of garlic 300 ml cider 4 sprigs of thyme 2 bay leaves 150 ml single cream Half a tablespoon of Dijon mustard (it really does have to be Dijon, this isn’t worth freestyling on, trust me) Heat the oven to 180 degrees. Then heat up the oil in a big ovenproof casserole dish and cook the bacon, garlic and leeks until the leeks have softened up. Put the chicken on top, breast-side up, and pour in the cider. Tuck the herbs and carrots in so they’re submerged, and then sprinkle over a bit of salt & pepper. Then cover with a lid or – if the chicken’s too big for the lid to fit – a bit of foil that you’ve secured fairly tightly. Put it in the oven for 1 hour 15 mins. Then take the lid/foil off and cook for another half hour to brown the chicken. Easy no? The recipe says to baste the chicken occasionally with the cider. I can honestly say I’ve forgotten to do this every single time and it’s always been fine. So don’t bother is my advice. Five minutes before the chicken’s done, put a big serving dish in the oven to warm up. When the chicken’s ready, transfer it to the serving dish and spoon the vegetables around it. Cover it all with foil while you make the sauce. Put the casserole dish back on the heat & boil up the sauce for about five mins – it should get a bit thicker. Remove the thyme & bay leaves. Add the cream & mustard. Taste. Be amazed at how good it is; truly amazed. Put the sauce in a jug and serve the lot at once. Then be prepared to email this recipe to your friends forever more.
I cannot quite believe I managed to keep it a secret since before Christmas - especially as I am known for being completely unable to keep anything to myself - but at last I can share some Exciting News. Lizzy Harrison Loses Control has been nominated for Romantic Comedy of the Year. This makes me very happy for many reasons, not least the excuse to go out and buy a new dress for the awards lunch (though when will the sales ever end - I want new stuff!). And there happens to be a Kindle promotion at the moment for Valentine's Day where you can get Lizzy H for a rude-not-to-really 99p. Which is a total bargain unless, like me, you don't own a Kindle. In which case it's £89.99. Still - worth it at twice the price now that it's been nominated for an award, surely? I'll stop showing off now. Back to the sharing of shonky recipes next time. x
So the start of the year, ey? I hope you don't have too many resolutions. I've kept mine pretty low-key this year, and tried to remind myself of good things I did in 2011 instead of beating myself up over the things I should do in 2012. After all, feeling rubbish about yourself is all too easy when you're skint, and cold and a little too full of the last of the Christmas Quality Street. One of my low-key resolutions is to eat less meat. I was a vegetarian for years and years and, believe it or not, even lived on an ashram for a while where we were forbidden not only meat but supposedly stimulating things such as onions or garlic. Or mushrooms, 'because they grow in the dark'. But once I embraced meat again (not literally, ugh) I went full-on carnivore. Chorizo in my scrambled eggs, rare steak with bearnaise sauce, calves' liver with sage. Weirdly though, I still get the guilts if I eat mushrooms. I'm pretty careful about what meat I buy, and where it's from and all that. But still, it felt like eating less of it would be a good thing for all sorts of reasons. The animals, firstly; hello animals. My health, secondly - I don't think meat's necessarily bad for you, but no-one ever got sick from eating more vegetables. And bank balance thirdly; have you seen the price of a free-range chicken lately? So I've been experimenting with veggie dishes and this is one of my new favourites. I had something similar at the Town Mill Bakery in Lyme Regis back in November, and I've been making it ever since as it's cheap, healthy and most of all, totally delicious. There's cheese in it, but not an awful lot per portion, so I think it still counts as virtuous. It's a sort of lasagne without the pasta; and like lasagne it takes a bit of time. Not one to swiftly rustle up after a day at work, but maybe one to make at the weekend & reheat throughout the week. Cauliflower cheese with tomato & kale sauce (bear with, I know the kale makes it sound way too worthy) Feeds three to four depending on how greedy you're feeling 1 cauliflower, broken into florets & steamed or boiled until soft but not falling apart 1 tin of chopped tomatoes 1 onion, chopped 1 clove of garlic, thinly sliced 1 tablespoon of olive oil Four handfuls of kale or cavolo nero or spinach, ripped into shreds 3 tablespoons of plain flour 40g butter 200ml milk 100g cheddar, grated 1 heaped teaspoon of grain mustard (Dijon's fine if you don't have it, English isn't) breadcrumbs (if you have them, I usually don't bother) Preheat the oven to 190 degrees. Tomato sauce. Cook the onion and garlic in the olive oil on a gentle heat until they go soft & translucent - don't rush it, this is going to take about 15 mins. Then add the tin of tomatoes & a generous seasoning of salt & pepper. Simmer it without a lid for another 10-15 minutes, until it's thick, not watery. Add the shredded kale and cook for another couple of minutes, until the kale wilts. The Town Mill Bakery adds cooked cannellini beans to their tomato sauce - so do the same if you want something a bit more substantial. Put a lid on & leave it while you get on with the cheese sauce. There are about a gajillion ways to make this sort of cheese sauce, but this is mine and it depends on two things. A whisk - seriously, don't bother with a spoon; that way lies lumps. Your constant attention for about ten minutes. This is not the time to get distracted by Twitter, or take that phone call. The minute you look away it will go horribly wrong, guaranteed. Put the butter and flour in a heavy bottomed pan on a low heat & whisk until the butter's melted and it's turned into a golden paste. If you're really worried about lumps, you can heat the milk up before adding it, as that helps. Add the milk slowly to start and whisk as if your life depended on it. Lumps will appear, but keep whisking and they'll go away, I promise. If the lumps get you really panicked, or seem to be taking over, just take the pan off the heat & whisk until they're gone. When all the milk's added, keep whisking over the low heat until the sauce starts to thicken. Then add half of the cheese, and keep whisking. Are you bored of whisking yet? Stir in the mustard if you're using it. Keep whisking until the sauce is about the consistency of custard - thick enough to coat the cauliflower, but not so thick it's just going to sit there in a solid lump. Taste the sauce before you add salt - the cheese is pretty salty already. Add salt & pepper to taste. Then it's just a matter of assembly. First into an ovenproof dish is the tomato sauce - spread it evenly over the bottom. Layer the cauliflower over the top, and pour over the cheese sauce making sure everything gets covered. Sprinkle on the rest of the grated cheese and the breadcrumbs if you're using them. Here's a picture of mine just before it goes in the oven. It tastes better than it looks, honest. Bake, uncovered, for about 30-40 mins, until the top is golden brown. There you go. Four of your five-a-day in one bowl. And rather a lot of washing up - sorry about that. x
I'm a bit of a festive party pooper when it comes to Christmas food - I don't like Christmas cake, Christmas pudding or mince pies. Which makes me a great guest at this time of year - all the more for everyone else. Also, I love brussels sprouts. Seriously. I'll eat yours. Like I said, great Christmas guest. So when I got asked to make some mince pies for a party this year I had to beg a recipe from Nell, my best friend's mum. She's made the only mince pie I've ever thought was nice. Not as nice as a sprout though, obviously. But according to everyone at the party on Saturday, they were the best mince pies in the world ever (I had a bite of one and, whatevs, back to the savoury canapés). But if YOU like a mince pie (weirdo), then here's the recipe. Nell's best mince pies in the world ever Orange pastry 400g plain flour 200g butter 100g Trex or Cookeen (that weird solid hydrogenated vegetable fat stuff. The original recipe calls for lard if you can bear it) Grated rind & juice of one orange Filling 400g jar of mincemeat (or make your own? Kudos to you if you do) 200g full fat cream cheese (I know! But this is the secret ingredient. Trust) little bit of milk Cut the fat into the flour in little pieces and then rub it in with your fingertips until it resembles breadcrumbs. This is an inescapably boring task which takes ages & I recommend it's done in front of the telly watching something distracting - for me it was Elf with Will Ferrell. Stir in the grated zest & make sure it's all mixed in & not just in a few giant lumps. Add the orange juice and use your hands to mix it into a ball of pastry - you might need a bit of water at this stage, but careful you don't make it too sticky. Wrap the ball of dough in cling film or foil and put in in the fridge for at least half an hour. Preheat the oven to 220C/425F/Gas 7, ie really hot. Roll out the pastry fairly thickly - it's v crumbly so don't make it too thin. Grease a patty tin. Using a fluted 7cm pastry cutter, cut out rounds for the bases & use them to line the patty tin. Put a teaspoon of mincemeat on each round, and then top with half a teaspoon of cream cheese. Keep the faith, they will taste great. If you like that sort of thing. Then cut out the mince pie lids with a 5cm pastry cutter. Moisten the underside of each pastry lid with a bit of milk & top the pies. Cut two little slits in the top of each pie to stop them exploding in the oven. Brush the top of each pie with a bit of milk (this will make them shiny). Bake for 15-20 mins. Leave the pies to cool in the patty tin as the pastry will fall apart while it's hot. Then offer to your friends and reap the compliments.
I've nearly done my Christmas shopping already - I know, don't hate me. My mum's had hers done since October, so I consider myself pretty restrained in comparison. I thought I'd share with you my Christmas letter to Father Xmas when I was six. My mum framed this the year I wrote it and still puts it up EVERY YEAR. I've gone through the teen mortification long ago and now I just think it's hilarious. I like the fact that six-year-old-me is smart enough to know that a baby squirrel doesn't have fur, but not quite smart enough to understand that it can't be invisible. Or that it doesn't talk. I am sorry to reveal that I got neither a baby squirrel nor a fairy's suit that year. Fingers crossed for this year. x
When I was doing interviews for my first book, I got asked more than once, ‘Which was the most fun part of your book to write?’ The first time – naïve debut novelist - I wrote the honest answer: None of it, I find writing really really hard. It is not fun. Then I had a proper look around the websites where these interviews would appear and realised this was not at all what the readers wanted to hear. So, in the interests of shameless publicity-whoring, I deleted the original answer and wrote something light-hearted and TOTALLY UNTRUE about how I’d loved writing a particular character because he was such FUN. And so I perpetuated the lie. Even to myself. Let me not perpetuate it any more. WRITING BOOKS IS HARD. I’m sure there are some writers who find it marvellously easy and creatively satisfying and spiritually sustaining day after day – fun, even - but if they are smart they will not tell other writers this for fear of being beaten up. For most people it’s about hard graft, sitting down to write even when you feel you’ve got nothing to say, forcing yourself not to go off and defrost the freezer or pick up the cat poo in the garden or any of the other million unappealing tasks that suddenly seem much more interesting and urgent than opening up your work in progress. You’ve just got to get on with it, no matter what. And then, if you’re very very lucky, you might have a moment – just a moment, don’t be greedy - where it all comes together. Stephen King and Rumi both say the same thing about this. That the bolt of inspiration is so rare and fleeting that you can’t wait for it to hit you in order to write. You’ve got to write so that when the moment of inspiration arrives, you’re there at your desk, ready to grab it. And not in the garden picking up the cat poo. I find it’s good to remind yourself of this when you’ve spent all morning writing only to delete 2000 words and be back where you started. Bolt of inspiration? Now would be a great time to strike. x
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