My lunch is better than yours

For a living I go around all these offices trying to teach fully grown men and women English. It’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it, kinda, and it pays the bills, so I’m not complaining. Plus, I get to hang out in some pretty interesting places where I’d never go otherwise.

Some days of the week I actually head out of town and go to this giant IT complex out in the middle of nowhere. It’s lodged in between a bunch of motorways, so you can only arrive there by car or by using the shuttle bus for employees. It feels pretty remote in there because of this. It’s also impossible to nip out for a quick coffee, sandwich or anything, unless you want to risk ending up as road kill on your way to the nearest supermarket.

Because you can’t possibly leave 2000 people to starve within a complex that you can only enter and exit in motorised vehicles, there’s a giant canteen where people go for lunch. I don’t go to the canteen for lunch. I hate the canteen. It’s not only the fact that walking around with a tray of food looking for a place to sit makes me feel like a lost schoolgirl, although it does. It’s mostly the fact that they charge me extra because I’m not an employee, despite their employees actually making way more cash than me. It’s not even subtle. It’s right there, on your receipt: pasta €4.99, apple €0.50 OUTSIDER SURCHARGE €1. Well fuck you too, canteen. I’ll bring my own food.

Although a sandwich is always a fine meal, fit for kings, sometimes I want something slightly less bready. In those cases I usually bring fried rice. Last time I made Chinese egg and tomato rice, which is delicious and definitely much nicer than anything they sell in the stupid canteen. I’m not sure my preparation is the traditional Chinese one (I’ve understood that it exists in many varieties), but it works for me.


For two lunches, use the following:

  • 2 cups of boiled white rice
  • 10 cherry tomatoes (or 4 normal ones if you don’t have cherry tomatoes), chopped
  • 4 spring onions, thinly sliced and white and green parts separated
  • 4 eggs
  • 2 tsp of sesame oil
  • a generous splash of vinegar (I use some funky ass vinegar from the Chinese shop – you decide)
  • some sugar, salt and pepper
  • some frying oil

First of all, you need to beat your eggs and add a little bit of sesame oil and salt. Now grab a frying pan, heat some frying oil in it, then add the egg. Be careful: you don’t actually want the egg to go all that hard. Every 5 – 10 seconds or so, when the egg on the bottom of the frying pan is about to go solid, you quickly scoop it all up and sort of flip it over. Repeat this three or four times, until you’ve got a fairly liquid mixture with some more or less solid chunks of egg in it, like maybe about 50/50 solid and liquid.

Now remove your eggs from the pan, chuck them back into the bowl where you beat them, add some more frying oil to the pan if necessary and chuck in the tomatoes and the whites of the spring onions. Add the vinegar and the sugar, a little more than what you’d feel comfortable with, probably, and fry on high heat for a couple of minutes.

Once the tomatoes have released most of their juice and they’re pretty sweet and sour, add the rice and mix well.Then add the egg, remove the pan from the heat and stir well. The liquid egg will coat the rice in a delicious eggy layer. Now either serve up straight away, or leave it to cool and have it the next day for lunch, in either case topped with the green of the spring onions.

I have my lunch surreptitious IMG_2937

Posted in chinese, cooking, Food, recipes, rice, Vegetarian | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

All the firsts of spring

As I said last week, the arrival of spring is possibly the most exciting time of the year. People coming out of their houses scantily clad, fruit coming back in season, animals copulating furiously everywhere. I love spring. In Scotland you always had to wait until May or June for spring to come, but here in Italy the 21st of March actually brings you sun, not just false promises.

Spring is a time of firsts: first sunburn of the year, first insect bites of the year, first time of the year you wake up with your eyes swollen shut because you forgot what a bitch hay fever can be… First bare-legs day of the year, first time going to work without a jacket, first outside drinks… And of course, the first barbecue of the year!

We had ours last weekend and it was a grand success. Lobster-red shoulders galore. Sore muscles because after a full season of inertia, playing frisbee for 20 minutes feels like top-sport. Asking your barbecue neighbours in the park for a bottle opener 3 times an hour because you forgot yours. I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I actually love love love all these things. They’re signs that life is going to be mostly outside again, in the sun, in the heat, in the park.

Of course as is traditional when barbecuing, we bought waaaay too much food. Because it had been out of the fridge all day, we couldn’t just freeze it, and instead it had to be cooked first. That is why on Sunday evening I was standing in my kitchen, half wasted, skin glowing red, insect bites itching, roasting a kilo of chicken and frying up another half kilo of sausages. The sausages were fried with broccoli, stuffed in a tupperware, and classified as lunch for the next day. The chicken was thrown in the oven just like that, cooled down overnight and stuffed in the freezer the next morning, except we didn’t have enough space in the freezer, so I was left with two chunks of chicken that needed to be eaten soon. No problem.

You can only eat so much meat and carbs (barbecues tend to be bread-heavy) – we want fibre. What to do? I figured I’d just use some of the chicken for a salad. Kind of like a Caesar salad, except in the meantime I’ve done some research and I’ve discovered that a Caesar salad isn’t meant to contain chicken at all. So just like a chicken salad, then. Chicken salad it is.

chicken on a stick with the dictatress you rarely get sick

For this thing here you will need, if you’re with a friend:

  • Some lettuce of your choice
  • 12 small tomatoes (like, cherry tomatoes or something)
  • 2 stalks of celery
  • a piece of chicken that you have left from the barbecue, roasted in the oven
  • 2 eggs
  • some parmesan
  • some bread to make croutons
  • some olive oil

Boil the eggs. Wash all your vegetables, cut your lettuce into strips, quarter your tomatoes and thinly slice your celery. Put them in a bowl. Grab your chicken and tear it apart into more or less bite-sized chunks. Add them to the vegetables. Grab a slice of bread and slowly roast it in a frying pan without oil, turning occasionally. Take a knife to it and cut it up into crouton-sized bits. Add them to the salad. Now add some parmesan (thin slices, use a cheese-slicer if you have one). Top with olive oil and you’re all set to enjoy a responsible, low-carb, high-fibre, leftover-based lunch.

IMG_2917 IMG_2910 IMG_2915

Posted in barbecue, chicken, cooking, Food, Meat, recipes, salad | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

All year should be Easter

All that build-up to Easter, and then in just a couple of days, it’s over. What a shame. I’m gutted. Easter is my favourite holiday. Better than Christmas. Better than Halloween. Better than Valentine’s. What can I say, I just really like tiny bunnies and coloured eggs, and more than anything, I like the fact that it’s spring and therefore almost summer. Easter is the best by association, mostly.

Easter is just so good because it announces better times. I’m not too bothered about Jesus, I’m talking more Eostre, dawn, new light, new life, fertility and all that jazz. I’m talking about no longer being cold and miserable, and just celebrating that we can start sitting outside again.

Here in Italy they’ve got some pretty funky outside-sitting Easter traditions, ranging from eating fava beans and cured meats in a field to having barbecues just about anywhere, of course all of it accompanied by copious amounts of wine. I’d love to join my new compatriots in this grilling business, of course, but for me Easter equals eggs, so I headed up North for the weekend and got colouring. Every year, my parents hide Easter eggs around the garden for me and my (equally adult) siblings, and I’d missed out on it a couple of years, so this year I had a catch-up.

Normally I let my mum take care of the dirty work, but this year  I felt a strange urge to try some natural dyes that have been doing the rounds on the internet, so I took to colouring the eggs myself. They didn’t turn out as bright as usual (or as expected), but I actually kinda liked them. They looked pretty artsy and I’m contemplating dyeing eggs like this year round. I mean, why not? Dyeing eggs is ridiculous any time of the year, so why should it be acceptable one weekend of the year, but not the other 51? Try this, have some fun, and then amaze everyone with your artsy eggs.

IMG_2875 IMG_2854 IMG_2877

So, apart from about twenty (preferably white) eggs, you will need:

First colouring:

  • some flowers and small leaves
  • a bunch of onion skins
  • some string

Second colouring:

  • a soup bowl of boiling water
  • 4 tsp of curcuma
  • 1 tbsp of vinegar
  • some rubber bands

Third colouring:

  • 3 beets, root and leaves
  • a pot full of water
  • some vinegar
  • some string

First of all, prepare your kitchen surface or wherever your working like so.


Make sure you’ve got everything handy – eggs, flowers, leaves, water, onion skins, string.

Soak the onion skins in water, they’ll be easier to work with later. Now dip your egg in the water – the flowers will be easier to stick to the shell this way. Cover the egg in flowers and leaves, then cover those with onion shells. Keep them in place with copious amounts of string. This is a bit of a pain but you’ll get it with a little bit of swearing and determination.

IMG_2845 IMG_2851

Boil the eggs in their onion skins for about 10 minutes, then drain them and rinse them with cold water. They’ll look awesome!


Next colouring:

Boil some white eggs in about 8 minutes, drain and rinse. Don’t pour the boiling water down the drain, instead mix it in a bowl with the curcuma and the vinegar. Mix well. Wrap the eggs with some rubber bands, creating a funky stripy pattern. Carefully drop the eggs in the mixture, and leave them there for at least 3 hours, or just overnight, what do you care.

IMG_2863 IMG_2877

Last colouring! This one is a bit of a pain, but you get funky violet eggs.

Peel the beets, cut them into slices and boil them in about 12 minutes. Don’t chuck them out, you can use them for beet and goat’s cheese salad which is not my favourite thing ever, but still pretty good. Make sure you use as little water as you can possibly get away with.

Now when you drain your beets, again, save the water. Add some vinegar, and leave some white eggs to colour for at least 3 hours.

As for the beet leaves, you can put those to the same use as the onion skins before. Stick a bunch of flowers and leaves to an egg, wrap it in beat leaves, then boil them like that for about 10 minutes. The effect will be much more subtle, as the beet leaves give off far less colour than the onion skins, but they’ll still look really cool.

IMG_2862IMG_2879 IMG_2880 IMG_2870 IMG_2883 IMG_2882

Posted in cooking, eggs, Food, holidays, recipes, seasonal, snacks, Vegetarian | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

The post-Venice blues remedy

Last weekend I was in Venice, and now I’m depressed. (By depressed I mean ‘a little sad’.) It’s a strange cause and effect, at first sight, but it’s easily explained: I’m depressed because I live in Turin, and I don’t live in Venice. This reality kind of sucks for me. It’s not that I necessarily want to live in Venice – it’s more that I’ve come to realise that maybe I don’t want to live in Turin. Not Venice specifically – just somewhere else.

Turin is like the Sweden of Italy. Everything costs a fortune. People never want to leave their goddamn houses. Half the year the weather here is fucking miserable. As I rode the train back to my adoptive home town, I realised that hardly any of my friends here are locals – almost all of them are from other Italians cities, or they’re plain foreign like me, because will the Turinese hang out with you? Will they fuck.

Maybe I sort of knew all of this already, but it took a visit to a different city to point it out to me, because I hadn’t thought of it before. And so it never bothered me before, but now it suddenly does. Suddenly I also want to stand about small streets and drink tiny glasses of wine. Suddenly I also want to pay no more than 2,50 for a spritz and drink it from a plastic cup on the side of a canal. I want to do all that, and I want to stand about in the sun and smell the water everywhere, and watch people saunter past, enjoying the day and the view and life in general. It’s just the general way of life that I saw there (and in most other Italian cities, for that matter) that seems to be completely absent from Turin. Around here, people enjoy other things, like working and paying their mortgages – things I don’t give a rats arse about.

It’s cool. I’ll feel a lot better by next week, I’m sure. It’s just the post-holiday blues that I’m feeling. And as long as it lasts, I’ll just do what normal girls do when they’re feeling down: I’ll drink. Spritzes, because that’s what they drink in Venice. Spritzes, made with Aperol and sparkling white wine, with an olive on a stick. That’ll perk me right up.

Yep, this will do nicely.

For any spritz you will need:

  • 3 parts of prosecco
  • 2 parts of aperol
  • 1 part of soda water (or just sparkling water, what do you care)

Then you’ll also want some ice cubes, a green olive and a stick to impale it on.

I could try to make this recipe sound more interesting than it is but really, all you have to do is chuck the ingredients in together. If you want to funk it up a little bit, instead of Aperol you could use Campari or Cynar.

I love my spritz.

Posted in alcohol, cocktails, Drinks, Italian | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Living like a pauper

Sometimes I really pinch the pennies. I don’t really know why, I just seem to do it. I live as if I’m really poor, but I’m not really that poor at all, so I guess at this point I’m just stingy. I explain my odd behaviour with those 5 years of university in which I never had money to do anything because if you spent too much early on in the week to buy cheese and, you know, food, you didn’t have enough towards the weekend to waste on alcohol, and God forbid you had to stay in over the weekend, or even worse, go out without drinking. After five years of taking penny pinching to extreme heights, I guess it’s just still ingrained in my system. I can’t not do it.

I don’t really need to pinch the pennies. I have a job, and rather than only spending money, I actually make some. Rich isn’t quite the right word, but I have enough to pay the rent and the bills, and still have enough left for cheese, which is really all you need. But I still pinch pennies. I skimp on socks (“no one will know my socks have holes in them as long as I keep my shoes on”). Half the stuff in the flat is hanging on for dear life with copious amounts of industrial tape. I reuse food containers instead of buying tupperwares. I don’t have wifi. And I never make meatloaf, because meatloaf requires so much mince and surely that’s really expensive.

And then I go out and I spend 15 quid on cocktails, never eating meatloaf.

It’s completely irrational, I know. I spend money on other types of food that I don’t really need. Clearly I realise I’m not actually poor, and yet meatloaf always seems like something so ridiculously meaty and unnecessary, that I won’t splash out on it. Well, something is going to have to change in my. I want meatloaf. Meatloaf is great. Meatloaf is happening, right now!

Meatloaf has some pretty funky names depending on where you get it. Here in Italy, they call it “huge meatball” (or polpettone), whilst the Dutch call it “mince bread” and the Flemish “meat bread”. The Italians tend to go for a large oven dish, making it into a large, meaty brownie, but I really like the idea of making a loaf of bread out of meat, so I make mine in the same tin that I use for actual bread. This one is a meatloaf with a surprise inside, or really just three hard boiled eggs. It’s kinda eastery and I suggest you make some soon to get into the spirit.

kickass meatloaf

For one big-ass meatloaf, use:

  • 200 gr bacon (those thin long slices, the sort of pancetta type)
  • 1 kg of mince
  • 1 onion
  • 2 slices of white bread
  • half a cup of milk
  • 2 tbsp mustard, grainy is better but smooth works, too.
  • four eggs – three boiled, one raw
  • to taste: salt, pepper, and nutmeg

Preheat your oven to 175°C.

Crack your raw egg into a bowl and whisk it. Cut your slices of bread in pieces, put them in the bowl and cover them with milk. Leave to soak for a minute.

Meanwhile, put your onion in a food processor or blender and obliterate it into pulp. Add it to the bread mixture, along with the mustard, and mix well so that it becomes a bready, oniony paste. Now add the mince and the spices, and mix it all up. Use your hands, don’t be afraid.

Grab a bread tin and line it with pancetta. This part is a bit of a pain unless you have to super straight, perfectly rectangular slices of bacon. Anyway, line it so you have a bit of bacon hanging over the sides, that way you can cover the top of the meatloaf later.


Grab about half the meat, carefully put it in the baking tin, push down gently. Now put the three boiled and peeled eggs in lengthways, then top with the remaining mince. Now fold the bacon over the top so that the whole thing is wrapped up in bacony goodness, then shove it in the oven for about 50 minutes up to an hour.

IMG_2796 IMG_2809 meatloaf yeahhh

Posted in Food, Mains, Meat, recipes | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Carnivalesque ravioli from Ascoli Piceno

When people say “Italian food”, they often conjure up an image in their mind that is actually something quite different from what Italians tend to eat. The main offender is pasta with the wrong ingredients. Spaghetti and meatballs is a great American (Italian) classic, as is chicken with pasta.

Italians like to scoff at these dishes, taking the rip out of all the ignorant philistines who would come up with these ridiculous recipes, and then have the nerve to claim they were Italian, too. Around here, there’s nothing more risible than the idea of combining chicken with pasta, as if chicken was somehow a condiment. Imagine therefore my astonishment when I learned about ravioli incaciati, a type of ravioli that are stuffed with, surprise surprise, chicken.

I heard about ravioli incaciati from a student of mine who had them when he was in Ascoli Piceno, a town in the South-East of Italy, and apparently the only place where they’re commonly made. These ravioli are eaten only in the Carnival period, and maybe it’s for that reason that they’re a little bit unusual: the stuffing includes chicken, pork, cheese, and then the really weird stuff starts: cinnamon, sugar, even sultanas according to some recipes. I know it sounds insane, but the ones I made actually turned out so nice that Blenderman described them as ‘divine’, so go figure. Carnival’s over now, so I’m a bit late with this recipe, but what do we care, if we can suddenly combine chicken with pasta, surely we can have these ravioli outwith their designated period.

Seeing that it’s such a specific dish – only made in one town during a certain period of the year – I found it kind of difficult to find a reliable recipe for them. A search on the internet gave me only a handful of recipes, mostly from privates, each with slightly different ingredients. Seems that this, like many other dishes, is one of those every-family-has-their-own-version type of dishes. I decided to go for a combination of all of the ones I found, picking and choosing the ingredients I liked best, and admittedly, those I found easiest to come by.

As for the name, my student told me ‘incaciato’ is a word that is related to caciocavallo, a type of cheese, and that essentially means ‘served with caciocavallo’. None of the recipes I found involved any caciocavallo, but at this point I was too committed to the cause to back out, having bought a piece at the market, so we’re gonna use it anyway. It’s really good, I promise.

ravioli incaciati ascoli piceno

ravioli incaciati ripieno ascoli piceno

As for the ravioli themselves, turned out that last time I posted ravioli made with my kick-ass pasta machine, people felt I was cheating a little bit. You know, dirty cheater and your pasta machine – which, just to clarify, is totally hand-powered, but never mind. I made these ones by hand so that you could see how it works. If you’re not making too many, I’d actually argue that this is a little bit easier, and you can choose whether you want to make ravioli, or something else like these half-moon-shaped things up here.

So, for a bunch of ravioli, you’ll need to make some fresh pasta:

  • 500 gr flour
  • 5 eggs
  • a pinch of salt
  • a little bit of lukewarm water, if you need it

And now the most important part! The filling:

  • one small chicken
  • 2 pork cutlets
  • 4 stalks of celery
  • 1 big onion
  • enough water
  • 1 tsp (more or less) of cinnamon
  • half a tsp of nutmeg
  • some plain, white bread – about two or three slices
  • 2 egg yolks
  • about 200gr of caciocavallo

This recipe comes with a shittonne of notes!

Note on the quantities: These quantities will make you enough pasta for the whole family, and to be quite honest with you, I only made half as much as this, then used the left-over ingredients (chicken, pork, and stock) for other projects.

Pasta technicalities: if you have a pasta machine, thickness 7 seemed about right for these. If you have a rolling pin: good luck, brave soldier.

Cheese detail: if you find it hard to find caciocavallo around where you stay, but you’re absolutely determined to make these ravioli, see if you can get another hard, seasoned, but not too wild cheese. Caciocavallo is pretty salty, but not very strong in flavour, by which I mean it’s not very sharp or cheesy or pungent. A mature cheddar might make a decent substitute.

So here’s the recipe!

Make the pasta as described here. When you’re ready to start the filling process, roll it out to a size where you can easily cut ravioli out of them without wasting too much pasta. Use a ruler if you have to. Until that time, leave it to rest.

When you’ve made your pasta dough, seeing that it needs to rest for about an hour or so, start preparing your filling.

The meat needs to be boiled. This means that you can use this fantastic opportunity to make chicken stock: you’ll only need a couple of espressocupfuls of stock for the ravioli, so you can make soup out of the rest, make risotto alla milanese, or freeze it until you need it. The pork stock you can use the next time you’re making stew or pea soup!

ravioli incaciati ascoli piceno stock brodo

So: take two pots and fill them with water. To each pot, add a couple of carrots (peeled and quartered), two stalks of celery (washed and cut in large chunks) and half an onion (peeled). Then add the pork cutlets to one, and the chicken to the other. Add a bit of salt, bring to a boil, and leave to simmer for at least an hour. The chicken will need more time than the pork, but anyway, neither will be ruined by longer cooking times. Au contraire. Don’t be afraid to leave them to simmer for a couple of hours. The pork one might get a bit greasy – leave it to cool then scoop off some of the fat that will have congealed on the surface if it seems a bit much.

As I said above, the quantities are a bit exaggerated, but who buys half a chicken, right? You’ve probably got a whole one swimming around in your stock and that’s OK – you can use all of it now, or only half if you think it’s gonna be too much. Anyway, remember that if you’re only using half a chicken you’ll have to halve all the other ingredients, too. I’m gonna assume you’re using the whole thing.

So grab your chicken from the stock and start plucking it – remove all the meat you possibly can and chuck it in a food processor. Include the skin, what do you care, it’s going to get puréed anyway. Do the same thing with your cutlets – remove them from the liquid and harvest as much meat as possible and add it to the food processor. Add an espressocupful of stock, and start grinding. It has to be fine enough for you to be able to stuff pasta with it.

Meanwhile, grab a large bowl and put in a couple of slices of white bread that you’ve cut up into smaller bits. Add an espressocupful of stock, and soak the bread. Once the meat’s more or less homogenised, put it in with the bread, then add cinnamon, nutmeg, egg yolks and caciocavallo. Mix it all up with a fork, taste it, add anything you think is necessary (but be aware that the cinnamon flavour will get a lot stronger when you boil the pasta!).

ravioli incaciati ripieno ascoli piceno

Now you’re ready to start filling your pasta. Grab a sheet, decide how many ravioli you can get out of it, then put a corresponding number of balls of filling on the sheet. Now cover it with another sheet (or fold this one back on itself as I did, see picture). Now you’ll have to make sure that all the ravioli are closed properly, so that they don’t open while boiling. Press down hard on the pasta with your fingers or something like the back of a wooden spoon, trying not to trap air inside. Once you’ve got a sheet of tightly packed ravioli, use your pasta-cutting rolly-wheely (you know, the thingy) and cut out squares, or, if you prefer, half-moons!

Boil the pasta for about 5-6 minutes, then serve them with more caciocavallo and a little bit of mild olive oil.


IMG_2736 IMG_2738 IMG_2739 IMG_2740 IMG_2743


IMG_2750 ravioli incaciati ascoli piceno

Posted in cooking, Food, Italian, Meat, pasta, recipes | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Wanna hear a juicy story?

The Queen of the night graces our flat ever more rarely with her presence, and when she does, it’s normally at such hours of the day that Blenderman and I barely notice. Normally we only realise she has even been home because she’s left something or other in the house that hints at her presence – generally dirty dishes in the sink, a lifetime supply of strawberry flavoured yoghurt in the fridge, or possibly a load of freshly washed laundry on the airer.

Last month was different. She physically appeared in the kitchen with something way more exciting than a lifetime supply of yoghurt: she’d bought a juicer! It was to have its new home in the kitchen. The juicer was more than welcome in our modest household, and Blenderman and I promised to take very good care of it. It was a bit scary at first (there’s a lot of separate pieces to assemble), but once you get used to it, a juicer is just about the coolest thing you could have in your kitchen. Fresh fruit juice is just the best thing ever, and fresh fruit-and-vegetable juice is out of this world. The exciting combinations are endless. Will the fun ever stop? Possibly, but not any time soon.

As for the juices that we’ve been making, we went a bit overboard at first, but I quickly decided that I don’t like to put too many flavours together – my maximum is four different ingredients. I wasn’t sure which vegetables to combine with which fruits, either, but there’s a very simple golden rule: if it works as a salad, it’ll work as a juice. Here are some fruit juices that you can make it you have a juicer, or some salads that you can make if you don’t! That way no one needs to feel excluded. We’ve got orange-fennel-lemon, fennel-apple-lemon, and apple-carrot-lemon. OK go!

Left to right: orange fennel, fennel apple, apple carrot.

Left to right: orange fennel, fennel apple, apple orange.


For the juices:

  • 1.5 fennel
  • 4 oranges
  • 1 lemon


  • 1 big fennel
  • 4 apples
  • 1 lemon


  • half a kilo of carrots
  • 4 apples
  • 1 lemon

For the salads you will need the same ingredients, but maybe go for one fennel and one orange or apple each, then add the juice of half a (small) lemon. Additionally use some salt and a sprinkle of olive oil.


If you have a juicer, you probably already know how this works, but anyway: Cut the leggy bit off your fennels, remove the hard bit in the centre, then chuck them pieces into the juicer. Peel your oranges, add them one by one. Peel your lemon, add it to the juicer, too, and there you go, that’s one juice done.

If you’re making salad: cut the hard leggy bits off your fennel, halve it, remove the hard bits, and now grab a cheese slicer or a peeler and cut very thin slices of fennel. Grab an orange, peel it, and slice it into thin slices as well. Dress with some lemon juice, olive oil and a pinch of salt.

IMG_2705 IMG_2722

Next juice! Cut the leggy bits off your fennels, remove the hard bit in the centre, then chuck the pieces into the juicer. Quarter the apples, remove the seeds, and juice them. Peel the lemon, add it to the juicer, and another juice done.

If you’re making the salad, go through the same procedure as with the previous one. Instead of adding orange, add cubes of apple and dress with lemon, olive oil and salt again.


Final juice! Peel your carrots, remove the endy bits and juice those fuckers. Quarter your apples, remove seeds, and juice. Peel your lemon and juice. Done.

Now if you’re making the salad, this one’s slightly different: grate your carrots, then your apples. As ever, dress with some lemon juice and oil. Alternatively, this one goes really well with yoghurt and parsley instead of oil and lemon. You decide.

So healthy!

IMG_2701 IMG_2709 IMG_2695

Posted in Food, recipes, salads, Vegan, Vegetarian | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment