Clack, clackity clack; I love the sound of mussels being stirred in a pan. It’s one of the best kitchen sounds in my opinion, up there with The Sizzle and The Plop. In fact, I don’t know why I’m not eating more mussels when they’re cheap (£3.50 per kilo from Soper’s in Nunhead) and they cook really fast.

I’m also drawn to them because they just love to be cooked with a bit of booze. I like that in my ingredients. A splash of white wine of course is essential in moules marinières but I wanted something different and one of my favourite beers immediately sprang to mind: Punk IPA by Brewdog. It’s an astonishing beer, really. The first time you drink it your eyes go wide with shock at just how different it is from all the others; at once bitter and sweet, it has a floral flavour that really works well with the mussels.

A big bowl of mussels is of course extremely good fun to pick through, made all the better by the knowledge that you’ve got a loaf of good bread to sop up those juices.

The very best thing about this recipe though, is that Punk IPA cans come in packs of 4, so you can drink the other 3.

Mussels with Bacon and Punk IPA

1kg fresh mussels
1 stick celery, finely chopped
1 white onion, finely chopped
4 rashers thick cut smoked bacon, diced (get some nice bits of fat in there)
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 can Brewdog Punk IPA (you can buy it from Sainsbury’s, Morrison’s and Utobeer in Borough Market for the Londoners. Also, online in bottles).
1/2 lemon
Small handful parsley leaves, roughly chopped

Crusty bread, to serve

Put your mussels in a colander and scrub them under cold running water to remove any dirt from the outside. Knock off any barnacles you can and remove any gritty beards by pulling them. Discard any mussels which do not close when you give them a sharp tap on a hard surface and also any that have broken shells.

Heat a little oil in a pan large enough to hold the mussels and add the bacon, onion, celery and garlic and cook, stirring until the bacon is beginning to crisp up. Add the beer and some black pepper and bring to the boil, then add the mussels. Put the lid on and cook on a high heat for about 5 minutes, giving the pan a shake now and then, until the mussels have steamed open. Discard any mussels that don’t open.

Sprinkle with the parsley, squeeze over the lemon, and serve with the bread.

After shops in Peckham were smashed, burned and looted during Monday night’s riots, the people here started sticking post-it notes on the front of a boarded-up Poundland. There are messages about why the people living here love Peckham so much and statements about the strength of our community. I went down to see it this morning and it brought a tear to my eye. This is the reason I love living here: the people. This really sums up our spirit; I’ve never felt more proud. Here are some more pics. I’m really glad someone (other than me) felt moved to mention the food…

Update: The people behind the wall sent a message via Peckham residents association saying, “Poundland replaced their window today but were so touched by the communities work that they paid for a new board to be put over the glass so that the people of Peckham could continue with a new Peace wall. The previous three boards, now all full of amazing post it notes, have been moved to Peckham Library for public display until a more permanent home/exhibition space is found for them.” Check out their website.

Apologies for the week long absence; work plus problems accessing the blog have made writing anything impossible. I actually made this a couple of weeks ago now, when the weather had just started to really turn. What better way to stoke the internal fire than with a big bowl of rich rendang in the belly.

The recipe comes from William Leigh (which you can find on Dos Hermanos) and I will come out right now and say it: this is the best rendang I have ever made. So perfectly balanced; fragrant and rich. There is something very satisfying and heart warming about putting a load of ingredients in just one pot and a few hours later plating up a thing of great beauty, the smell of which has been intensifying with every teasing minute.

Aside from whizzing up the paste, that is essentially all you do until you get to the end stage when things get a little hairy. The final step of the recipe involves the splitting of the coconut milk and I’ll admit to feeling slightly alarmed when I returned to the pot to find this unholy mess.

Don’t panic though – this is normal. As the liquid cooks out of the milk the oil is left behind and the beef then fries in it, resulting in that all important flaky texture. You need to keep a careful eye on it at this stage, as once it begins to dry up, you are done. I would also recommend using a solid, heavy based pan (or a wok) and be prepared to give it a good soaking afterwards. One final bit of advice: the method section of the recipe on Dos Hermanos does not tell you when to use the can of water so I added it to the pot with the coconut milk as I couldn’t see any other logical time to do it.

I was rewarded for my patience with a deep, sweet, tongue titillating rendang;  fragrant with lime leaves, galangal and lemongrass, with a tropical note of coconut and a good heat from the 10 Thai chillies I added. William acknowledges that his final seasoning of fish sauce and lime juice is a break from tradition but I agree that it lifts the whole dish and gives a very welcome burst of freshness. The meat flaked apart at the merest prod with an eager fork. I urge you to try this recipe.

I served it with a  raita (tomato, cucumber, coriander, lemon juice and seasoned yoghurt) and an onion salad, which I serve with pretty much all curries. Just plunge finely sliced onions into a bowl of icy water and leave for an hour or so until they turn crisp then season and add dried mint; I keep a pot of dried mint for no other reason. We scooped up each greedy gob-full with warm chapattis then sat back and rubbed our bellies in an appropriately satisfied manner. If I could, I would have purred like a cat. I made the rendang again the very next day.

Roast dinners, I think, are the sort of meals that allow you to practice the art of preserving every single bit of flavour and always get me thinking how I can squeeze the most out of every ingredient. Just the thought of cooking a meal with so many elements – all needing to come together at the same time but practice has seen fear dissolve into excitement.

Recent adventures in Yorkshire pudding making have led Chris to perfect his method. It seems that, whatever your recipe, allowing the batter to rest, heating the oil until very, very hot and definitely not opening the oven door during cooking are all crucial. These sound like tips I always knew about, so how come it’s only just started working? We’ve started cooking Yorkshire’s in the iron skillet instead of individually out of necessity but they work perfectly and are great for filling with sausages and onion gravy…In fact, putting the entire roast dinner inside is a very tempting idea.

The past few months, we’ve roasted pheasant, lamb, beef and quails. I recently learned that adding a small amount of water to the roasting tray creates some steam which helps to keep the meat moist (particularly in the case of pheasant, which can be dry) and leaves you with a nice amount of reducible juice for graving making at the end. I suspect this may not be news to everyone else…I love it when a good bird comes with heart, kidneys and maybe even the neck, a little gift for the gravy and a treat for the chef. The bones are then left for making stock, which we freeze for using in soups and sauces for example.

We like to bring elements of the meal together and get flavours running throughout so we might make a celeriac and apple mash for example and then continue the apple theme by making a cider gravy. If something is fried, maybe some bacon to combine with spring greens as a side dish; the fatty pan is waiting to impart flavour into the next part of the meal. We can get a little carried away, trying to preserve every last bit of flavour. 

And afterwards there must be something sweet (and often chocolatey!). The baked cheesecake in the picture is a Gordon Ramsay recipe from his book ‘Sunday Lunch’.

Sometimes I like to change the menu completely and hop to a totally different cuisine, perhaps serving a middle eastern buffet followed by a baklava. Tomorrow, I am told, it is my turn to put my feet up (it’s Saturday not Sunday but I kept my mouth shut) and Chris will be cooking for me. I feel this may be a more regular occurrence if only I would get the hell out of the kitchen once in a while and let the poor man in!

Anyway, what I am wondering is – what do you like to cook on Sundays?