Me ‘learning’ (drunkenly grappling) how to ‘play’ (make a noise like a cat with bronchitis) the accordion. 

I’ve moved house. I’m going to go on about this. You’ll see. I used to live within spitting distance of Frog on The Green which is one of my favourite places to eat in Peckham, if not in SE London. I’ve raved about the sandwiches already. Goats’ cheese fondue. I mean, get in. Now I have to sit on the bus for like, a whole 5 stops or something.

While I’ve been lurking/hanging about/eating everything/semi stalking around this place over the past couple of years the owner John has become my friend. This is because, aside from being a talented chef, he is quite possibly the nicest man in the world. He’ll really cringe when he reads that, which is kind of why I wrote it. Ha. The time I saw him before the supper club I popped in for a ‘coffee and a chat’ and left three hours later, several courses of food and a few bottles of wine down. He also has a cat.

I had been a guinea pig for some of the dishes he was to serve at his new ‘Balkan dinners’. I remember being served the most exquisite round courgette, soft and striped and stuffed and surrounded by my one of my favourite things in the whole wide world – yoghurt. I am obsessed with the white stuff. It was such a perfect little plate of food, so simple and cooked with such obvious care; I remember looking up at my companion, eyes wide. The bowl was wiped clean, feverishly, with too much fluffy bread.

So when I heard the first dinner was to be themed around yoghurt, I did a gleeful cackle which could be heard all the way to The Old Kent Road. Yoghurt, aside from tasting dreamy, is a bit like cultural glue. As Florian of co-organiser ‘Food Trips’ put it, ‘yoghurt is a food that binds a fragmented region together, split in multiple ethnicities, religions and a plethora of states: The Balkans.’

We started with a ‘tarator’, a traditional balkan dish and the kind of light, silken bowlful that makes me clap my hands together and squeal like a Californian college girl on spring break.

‘Chicken, yoghurt, hazelnut butter and mint’ was, simply, one of the most enjoyable dishes I’ve eaten in a very long time. So perfectly balanced, expertly seasoned and a powerful reminder of John’s calibre as a chef; he’s worked at The Square don’t forget.

There’s stuffed baby gem and veal schnitzel next; it’s like someone phoned me up a week earlier and asked me exactly what I wanted to eat and I replied, ‘SHITLOADS of yoghurt! Cooked lettuce! Fried things!’ They just keep on coming. Then it’s that globe courgette, filled with minced pork and pine nuts and as perfect as I remembered it, surrounded by soured yoghurt and olive oil.

By this point I was getting full, and I had trouble finishing the spring lamb and yoghurt gratin, but the idea of a yoghurt gratin is genius, quite frankly, and I shall be stealing it as soon as possible. Lighter than a dauphinoise, with characteristic tang.

The fried ball on top of the gratin contains brains, which I think must have been put there to spare John’s blushes over my raving on and on about how much I loved the food because brains, I just can’t get along with. I’ve tried and tried, it ain’t happening. I’ve moved on.

Dessert was ‘yoghurt, corab, sesame and pistachio’ which I can’t remember in the finest detail as I was inebriated on Greek and Macedonian wines. The cosy atmosphere and soothing notes of the accordion floating around the room between courses meant the evening passed by in a blink. The next thing I knew I’d made two new best friends and invited them to my birthday party. Then it was 3am and I was ordering a taxi.

John is as much a lover of Peckham as I and we often talk about how the area is changing, and what is happening in terms of food. I’m excited to see how these Balkan dinners pan out. I mean, who else is cooking this kind of food? Certainly no-one else in the area. I’m excited. I recommend you go very soon.

I may have moved down the road, but my heart remains in Peckham.

The Balkan dinner was frankly a stupendous bargain at £27.80 for 6 courses and more food than I could eat, which is saying something. Wine isn’t included but was available to buy on the night at very small mark ups. The dinners are in association with Food Trips (the organisation I did the South London food tour with), so watch the website for details. 

Sometimes life just throws you a bone. In fact, I think life must just be throwing me whole skeletons because I am one lucky lady when I sit back and actually think about it. The amount of really cool, properly geeky food people I know is just awesome. Florian is one of these people. I believe we first met over dinner at The Ten Bells. We then proceeded to organise a food tour of South London together in which we took 21 people (some coming all the way from Germany) to see the best of Peckham, Camberwell and Brixton. We did a restaurant crawl, cooked a meal together using ingredients we’d bought at Brockley Market, Persepolis and on Rye Lane. We lunched at Frog on The Green, visited the Brickhouse Bakery and had a tour of Brixton Market. Phew!

So anyway now Florian is involved with a company called wearethesauce.com, importing some incredible produce from around the world; at present, Campania (I WANT HIS JOB). He proposed we cook an Italian feast with the ingredients from one of the boxes and so of course I said yes please let me at it now now now now NOW.

We started with mozzarella in carozza, which didn’t quite work because I couldn’t bring myself to use shitty plastic bread with the awesome mozz. I know, I never usually have a problem with these things, right? Should have trusted my instincts. Good quality bread is way too sturdy and the mozz wasn’t able to melt inside. Still, bread and cheese, innit. Pretty tasty. I made a thinly sliced courgette salad (very seasonal, ahem), topped with chilli, basil, olive oil and the most incredible ricotta I’ve ever tasted. It had a slight smoky flavour and was rich and creamy; a far cry from that thin tasting shite we get in supermarkets.

We ate slices of cured meats alongside. A salsiccia spiced with fennel and a soppressata with an amazing core of pure milky white neck fat. Florian told me that he ‘almost cried with joy’ when he first cut into it.

Then, pasta with bagnoli truffles, mushrooms and shitloads of butter. Healthy. The truffles are different to more familiar truffs and are likely to divide palates. Raw, they smell like petrol and need cooking to mellow them down. We beefed the dish with portabella mushrooms. Intense.

Grilled sea bream for the main course, baked in the oven with spring onions, lemon and herbs, salsa verde and fennel on the side. For dessert, a lemon and ricotta tart with more of that incredible cheese and the juice and candied rind of fragrant Amalfi lemons; they really are famous for a reason. We burnt the top of the tart but hey, it was fluffily gorgeous underneath. I’d love to make an Amalfi lemon sorbet in the summer.

We ate and drank and ate and drank and laughed and chatted until late (Ish. Look, it was a school night, okay?). Good friends are the ones who bring you boxes of stunning ingredients from Italy, no? Oh, and let us not forget THE LARGEST LEMON IN THE WORLD*

* It is called a procida lemon and can be used to make BOOZE! The pith can also be eaten in salads! It’s a beautiful freak to be sure.

Visit wearethesauce.com to get your very own box of hard to obtain and truly exciting ingredients.

Courgette Salad with Ricotta and Chilli

2 young slender courgettes
1 red chilli, de-seeded and finely chopped
Approx 200g ricotta di bufala
Handful basil leaves, finely sliced
Lemon juice (preferably Amalfi), about half a lemon
Extra virgin olive oil

Slice the courgettes very thinly and lay out on a plate. In a small bowl, whisk together the lemon juice with 4 tablespoons of the olive oil. Sprinkle the courgettes with coarse salt and pepper. Sprinkle over the chilli. Crumble over the ricotta. Drizzle with dressing. Sprinkle over basil leaves. Serve.

Tagines have always been something I’ve viewed as having great potential to be really tasty, but I’ve never eaten a good one. What I imagined in my head to be a thick, rich, aromatic stew with complex flavours always arrived as a thin, watery bowlful bearing way too much dried fruit.

Because I am a spoiled and lucky girl, I received a magnificent tagine for chrimbo; a chance to turn things around and make the tadge I’ve always wanted, Pecknam stylee.

The tagine is heated on a little metal thing that looks like a ping pong bat with dimples in it, which helps to distribute the heat evenly across the base. It’s important that the tagine is heated slowly, otherwise it will crack and spoil all your fun before you’ve started.

The base was thickly covered with a bed of onions, the idea being that they would cook down, becoming silken and lush and absorbent of everything above. This being Peckham (bruv), the meat had to be goat, which is very easy to come by here. Its ballsy mutton like flavor is perfect (you could obviously substitute mutton if you can find goat) and it loves long cooking to become properly tender. For veg, some of those little white baby aubergines, which also need a good simmering into submission (they remain stubbornly bitter otherwise) and some small turnips, diced.

For the fruit, which for me is potentially the making but most commonly the breaking of a good tagine, I bought dried fruits from Persepolis, ending up with a kind of Moroccan/Persian hybrid recipe. There are many similarities between the cuisines. In went a dried lime, which the Iranians add mostly to stews where they bob about, gradually releasing a flavor which is like a lime essential oil, emerging at the end shriveled and spent. Apricots went in too, but not those horrible overly sweet and sulphurous supermarket ones but fragrant perfumed Persian fruits. A few scarlet barberries flecked the top, adding sourness, like tart cranberries.

For heat, I couldn’t help whacking a scotch bonnet in. I’m sorry. If I didn’t I’d be betraying Peckham. It was left whole though and just pierced, to contain heat but leach flavour. Having impulse bought a bag of African hot peppers, a couple of those went into a spice paste with loads of garlic, two types of paprika and a shed load of ras el hanout. It could have blown our heads off but didn’t; a bit on the hot side for a tagine, but with an enjoyable slow build.

After three hours of simmering and steaming what emerged was the tadge I’d always wanted; deep and complex, sweet then spicy then sour, lips were sticky from slow cooked onions and goat fat. A scattering of mint and spring onion freshened things up at the end.

This is, as you would imagine, even better the next day and again the day after that. I served it with flat bread and Sally Butcher’s Borani-ye Esfanaj (spinach with yoghurt – from Persia in Peckham), which is one of my favourite yoghurty arrangements of all time.

Peckham Goat Tagine (serves 6)

500g diced goat meat (or mutton)
4 small turnips, peeled and cut to the same size as the aubergines
6 small white aubergines, halved
3 onions, sliced
1 scotch bonnet chilli, left whole but pierced
250ml water
1 dried lime
5 dried apricots
1 scant tablespoon barberries
Mint leaves, finely sliced
1 spring onion, finely sliced

For the paste

5 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon salt
2 African hot pepper dried chillies (optional)
2 tablespoons ras el hanout
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 teaspoon smoked paprika (smoky paps)
1 tablespoon water

Ideally I would have marinated the goat overnight in the paste then added it straight to the tagine without browning. I didn’t because I wasn’t organised enough so I’ve set out the method below as I cooked it.

Start by heating the tagine slowly. Add some olive oil, the onions and scotch bonnet chilli. Let the onions cook down gently while you brown the meat.

Cover a plate with flour and season it with salt and pepper. Dust each cube of the goat meat in it. Heat a frying pan and add some oil. Brown the meat on all sides. This will need to be done in several batches. Add this to the tagine, followed by all the other ingredients, including the paste. Season with salt and pepper and cook on a lowish heat for three hours, stirring every now and then after the first hour or so. After two hours, I’d advise you pick out the scotch bonnet chilli, because it’s only a matter of time before it bursts and you get a lot more heat than you bargained for.

Scatter over the mint and spring onion and serve with plenty of flat bread for dipping.

Right now listen up, because this is pretty cool.

From 7th – 9th December, I will be teaming up with Food Trips to present a weekend of eating, cooking, shopping and exploring around South London. The idea behind Food Trips is that a load of like minded people get together and pack as much culinary fun into a weekend as is possible.

I think we have some of the most exciting restaurants, markets, food shops and producers down here South of the river and the  trip will take in the best that Peckham (woo!), Brixton, Camberwell and Brockley have to offer. It’s going to be a lot of fun. Check out the plans below:

Friday, December 7th
Travel to London, check in at Victoria Inn Peckham, our modern and unfussy lodgings for the weekend.
Meet Helen and Florian for a welcome drink.
Dinner Crawl of SE London. From hipster Thai in Peckham to Xingjiang chinese in Camberwell and back again by way of Turkish charcoal grills and South Indian chilli assaults.  Lots of places, lots of food to try.

Saturday, December 8th
Markets of South East London: Start with a coffee from the quantum physics nerds at Brockley Market, move on to scotch eggs and charcuterie and haggle for yam on Rye Lane. Meet the wonderful local producers and try their food.
After a little lunchtime digestion break  we move to Anderson’s in Peckham and take over their restaurant and kitchen.
We’ll turn our loot into a beautiful dinner and Helen will give you a bit of insight into Peckham stalwart recipes like jerk chicken, muhammara or bobcat slaw.
The bar at the Victoria Inn will hopefully be able to answer all questions still open after dinner.

Sunday, December 9th
To round proceedings off the will be an extended breakfast at Brixton Village on Sunday. Kick start your day with a scotch bonnet vodka bloody mary at Seven at Brixton and then nibble your way through the holy hallways of one of the most exciting food locations in London.

Ticket prices:
£160 without accommodation
£240 in shared accommodation
£280 with a single room
All tickets include all activities, all food but no alcoholic drinks during meals.
There are 25 seats only for this event. Please send an email with your ticket request to florian.siepert@gmail.com. We will let you know as soon as possible if we managed to accommodate you.

Your eyes do not deceive you. You did just see the words ‘Peckham’ and ‘tapas’ next to each other. The Rye pub has reopened in SE15 and with it comes a menu boasting the above. Peckham. Tapas. Let’s take a moment to unpack that, shall we?

(deep breath)

So you know that Spanish thing, tapas? That thing the Spanish bars do where they serve small snacks to nibble on while you have a drink, in Spain? Yeah well let’s take that concept, but make it all Peckham, like. A plantain here, a jerked chicken there, a scotch bonnet bleedin’ everywhere.

The idea of using locally available ingredients with the aim of creating a menu that really represents for Peckham (innit blud *finger whip*) is a nice one. The intentions behind the er, concept (wince) were probably good, which makes it all the more tragic that the food itself is beyond shit.

Bad things happened before the food even arrived, actually, like when the waitress brought condiments to our table – ketchup, mustard and – CURVEBALL – a shot glass of mayonnaise. Okay fine, serve your mayo any way you like but do not serve a shot glass of mayo which is sporting a crust. The thing had clearly been dutifully presented at many tables that day and probably many tables a couple of days previously; truly rank. It looked like bog standard shop bought mayo so I’ve no idea why it got this special shot glass treatment while the ketchup etc. did not. Here’s a tip though guys: bottles keep stuff fresh.

So from the tapas menu (shudder) we order onion bhajis with, wait for it…date and plantain relish. We also order salt fish fritters with, wait for it…smoked garlic aioli.

(deep breath)

So, onion bhajis, those famous Indian snacks and plantains those er, plantains. Interesting. I’m thinking, this sounds like a right car crash but let’s hold back on the judgement until I’ve tasted them. Benefit of the doubt and all that. I’ll tell you how that worked out in a moment. First, you must look at them. I demand it. Go on, have a good look…

Look like they’ve been varnished, no? That’s one thick mother funking mahogany skin on those bhajis, let me tell you. It had the texture of fruit leather. I think they may have been deep fried at some point, that point being several days before they were reheated and served. We decided to push on with having a taste, my companion and I, despite their alarming appearance giving rise to a nagging expectation that a tiny alien may burst out of each one at any moment. We rip through the skin to find that, despite having the appearance of things which have seen the fires of Hades, they’re not cooked in the middle. Wicked. Let’s try the plantain chutney then…a whack of vinegar first, then a piece of plantain. That isn’t cooked either. Ace.

Moving on. The salt fish fritters come with smoked garlic aioli, or, more accurately, shop bought mayo with some smoked garlic mixed into it. That’s not aioli and also, why? Salt fish and mayonnaise is a horrible combination, but it does have the advantage of distracting us somewhat from the bizarre, gluey texture of the fritters. Jamaican style salt fish fritters with French aioli. A pile of rocket on the side. There’s a reason no-one else is doing this.

Our ‘jerk chicken burger with avocado salsa’ does not come from the Peckham tapas menu but instead ‘from the stove’ which is of course where all good jerk comes from. What do you mean nothing has come from the stove since 1901? You cynical old sod, you.

Now at this point I move from finding the meal hilarious to feeling deeply sad and mentally scarred. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m rather a fan of jerk. This wasn’t jerk. This was a piece of chicken rubbed with ready made jerk seasoning (and not much of it), cooked until perfectly dry and shoved in a bun with the saddest blob of salsa ever dolloped with no care or attention. Behold the most tragic food photo ever taken…

I take no responsibility for your mental health post viewing. In fact I’m sorry for inflicting this upon you at all but you must understand that I need to get some closure.

This menu should be used as an example every time someone wants to know the definition of ‘style over substance’. Everything comes on wooden boards, by the way. Plates would be too straightforward and anyway, they clash with the shot glasses. I’m going to stop now. I’m going to stop because I’m having flash backs but mostly because I want to go and get a beer from the fridge. This has been remarkably cathartic but now all I’m left with is the memory of last summer, when The Rye was serving Meatwagon burgers, buffalo wings and pigs cooked in a pit in the back garden. Two minutes walk from my house. Gutted.

I should add that The Rye did apologise and they invited me back for drinks ‘on the house’. They also say they are working on improving the food. 

The Rye
31 Peckham Rye
SE15 3NX

If you’re not intrigued by the title ‘mummified cockerel’ then we’re not going to get along, basically. First up, did you even realise cockerels were for eating? Me neither. I thought they were just for strutting about and waking people up with what is, frankly, one of the funniest animal noises ever. When I used to spend a lot of time out in the sticks, the noise of a cockerel never failed to make me giggle, even at 5am; they just sound so ridiculous and desperate.

I spent 15 minutes laughing at videos of cockerels crowing on youtube while writing this post, and that’s before I’d even started referring to the cockerel I cooked as ‘the cock’. So many jokes… ‘I cooked a cock today’. ‘I’m just mummifying a cock’. ‘Anyone for some hot cock?’ (sorry mum).

Enough.

So the Ginger Pig have started doing er, chickens. They’ve started selling these hulking beasts that are a cross between a Cornish game cockerel and a Sussex or Dorking hen. They’re 100 days old (as opposed to 65 for the average commercially grown free range British chicken), they’re dry plucked and then hung for a week to bring out the flavour. That’s a special bird. A special cock. You’re not going to find cock of that quality elsewhere (snigger). They’re massive too, with obscenely plump legs. I’ve always been a thigh woman…

I was sent a cock in the post (giggle), to play around with (smirk), along with some advice to cook it ‘low and slow’. This would ideally happen with some liquid; in a casserole or pot roast for example. Problem is, I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to do something silly like smearing the cock with a kick ass spice paste, wrapping it in flatbreads and cooking it for four hours. So I did. And it worked. Ha! I do this all the time with regular chickens by the way, it’s a Middle Eastern recipe I found in one of my favourite cook books – A Tale of Twelve Kitchens by Peckham based artist Jake Tilson.

So you sacrifice the crisp skin with this recipe, let’s face up to that right now, but what you get instead is meat of super succulence and a load of bread that has spent 4 hours soaking up chicken fat, juice and spice and let me tell you, it’s off the hook. I witnessed an actual fight over the last piece of that bread between two people that have been friends for quite some years. Be warned.

I made the spice paste by slinging the following into a blender: two onions, 3 cloves of garlic, 2 tablespoons za’atar (a mixture of thyme, sumac, sesame seeds and salt), hot chilli flakes and a splash of oil. I then slapped it all over that cock. Intense. After the slapping part it’s the wrapping part, which is pretty much a case of doing your best to get it all enclosed. I always use a packet of khobez from Persepolis in Peckham (3 or 4 to a pack), which split apart nicely and are the perfect thickness. It’s widely available in London but if you can’t get it I suggest you just do your best with whatever you can find. Don’t use anything too thin like lavash however, as it will crisp up too much and burn.

So what of the cooked cock? Well, I was worried about it to be honest; the drawback of this cooking method is that it’s impossible to check on the progress of it once wrapped. I cook a regular chicken this way for 3 hours at 175 degrees. This seems like an age of course but the bird stays very juicy due to the wrapping. I’ve no idea why it’s cooked for so long but that’s what Jake told me to do so I don’t argue. As I’d been warned the cock would take even longer to cook, I gave it 4 hours to be on the safe side which was probably totally unnecessary (although it did no harm). As a friend advised me at the time of cooking, ‘I’d say 4 hours at 175 degrees would cook fucking anything to be honest.’ Well, quite.

This dish is all about the big reveal. Wang it in the middle of the table and crack the crust to release the fragrant spicy meat puff. Ooooh! Aaaaaaah! Once the steam dissipates, the cock is revealed; the drama of de-mummification. At first I was a little taken aback by the funk of the bird; it smelled a little more high than the average chook. In the mouth though, that translated to chicken flavour to the power of 100 days + hanging for 1 week. It’s aged for a reason…

I served my bird on Persian style rice; basmati steamed with cardamom and streaked with steeped saffron. The shredded meat was dabbed with bits of the spice paste and then, then, scattered with what is possibly the best garnish ever: chopped dates fried in butter. They’re really high in calories, what with all that natural sugar and the liberal addition of saturated fat, which is why they taste incredible. If you’re not into the savoury/fruit thing which I know weirds people out sometimes, try them as a topping for ice cream. I wouldn’t want anyone to miss out.

Okay so it’s not the prettiest of dishes but it tastes incredible, it’s fun and it’s always possible to panic garnish with out of season pomegranate seeds, to give it some colour and make it look better in a photo…a little tip for you there. Damn, I could charge for this shit.

The cockerels are available to buy from Ginger Pig now. They cost £8.50/kg, which isn’t cheap by any stretch, but is only a couple of quid more than a standard free range bird and they’re pretty unique. A 3kg bird will feed about 6 people, or greedy me for 3 days.

See here for Ginger Pig branch locations. 

Mummified Cockerel

1 x 2.75 kg (or similar sized) cockerel
2 average sized onions
3 cloves garlic
Hot chilli flakes (about a generous tablespoon I suppose)
3 tablespoons za’atar
Salt
A splash of oil
3-4 khobez flat breads (or similar), for wrapping

Preheat the oven to 175c.

Whack the onions, garlic, chilli flakes, za’atar, oil and some salt in a blender. Blend it. Smear it all over the cockerel, inside and out, but mostly out. Split one of the flatbreads so that it is still joined on side; you basically want to tuck the chicken into a bready pocket. Do that. Then keep doing it until you’ve mummified the cock. Just do your best to make sure it’s all wrapped up.

Wrap it loosely in foil and put it in the oven. Cook for 4 hours. Every 45 minutes or so take it out and brush the top of the flatbread liberally with water; this should stop it from burning. You won’t be eating the top bit anyway but burnt stuff doesn’t taste good so don’t skip this bit.

After 4 hours it should be ready; who knows, it might even be ready after 3. Anyway, crack the flatbread crust and get stuck in.

Rice Iranian Stylee (these are Sally Butcher’s quantities from Veggiestan, which means they cater for Iranian – meaning large – appetites. This is also her method for cooking rice, which never fails)

600g rice
800ml water
Generous knob of butter
Pinch saffron strands steeped in a little boiling water
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
Pinch ground cinnamon
A few dates, chopped
More butter for frying the dates

Wash the rice well. Put the water and butter in a pan with some salt and bring it to the boil. Add the rice and let it come back to the boil, then turn the heat down really low. Tie a clean tea towel around the lid of the pan, then put it on and let it simmer very gently for 20 minutes. After this time, lift the lid, stir in the cardamom and cinnamon, put the lid back on and steam for another 10 minutes.

Melt some butter in a pan and fry the dates in it for a few minutes.

Streak the saffron through the rice and serve with the chicken and dates on top.

Many of you will know about my love for Khan’s Bargain Ltd. It’s one of the best shops in Peckham; so good in fact that I felt moved to write a whole post about it. Recently, a reader left a comment on that post saying that Mr. Khan has sadly passed away. I went down myself to verify this and sure enough, there was a sign behind the counter. The man who gave his name to such an endearingly chaotic shop is no longer with us.

I considered ways to pay tribute to Mr. K and his Emporium of Random and it seemed fitting to create a sandwich à la Khan’s because there have been oh so many over the past few years. I’ve stuffed them with various bits of cheese or vegetables depending on my mood; creamy labneh with slender crisp slices of baby cucumber perhaps, a slick of muhammara or a dollop of baba ganoush. Always a big handful of fresh herbs.

The sesame speckled flat breads they sell are incredible, so soft and moist. I split one and layered it with aleppo pepper paste (a spicy blend made almost entirely from aleppo pepper and chillies), silky fried aubergine slices, pan scorched halloumi and plenty of coriander. It was a cracking sandwich; base chilli heat, juicy aubergines and salty cheese is a winning combo. Some of the best Khan’s ingredients all together. I didn’t know Mr. Khan personally, but I know his shop inside out; it’s one of the reasons I fell head over heels for Peckham 5 years ago and it’s one of the reasons I continue to relish shopping here. Rest in peace, Mr. Khan, your customers remain loyal and your shop, the most charming ramshackle arrangement of groceries, home wares and plastic animals on Rye Lane.

Sandwich à la Khan’s Bargain Ltd. (makes 2)

2 round soft flat breads
Aleppo paste (if you can’t get this, use another spicy paste, such as harissa or make a paste with red peppers, chilli and oil)
1 packet halloumi cheese
1 large aubergine, sliced into 2cm sliced
Very finely sliced red onion
Plain flour
Oil, for frying
A handful of fresh coriander leaves

Heat some oil to a depth of about 1cm in a heavy based frying pan. Spread some flour out on a plate and dust each aubergine slice in it, then drop into the hot oil. You will need to do this in batches so as not to crowd the pan. Keep the cooked aubergine slices on a plate covered with kitchen paper in a low oven while you finish cooking the rest. When all the aubergines are cooked, keep them all in the oven while you fry the halloumi.

To fry the halloumi, slice it thickly then drop into a dry pan until golden on both sides.

Warm the flatbreads briefly, then split them in half and spread with pepper paste. Layer on the halloumi, aubergines, onion and fresh coriander. Serve immediately.