Snow can fool us into believe winter is here. When really it’s not.

And even after it came and went, the sharp winds still  gives us goosebumps no matter how many layers of mittens, hats and scarves we’re wearing.

I’ve found a relief in the shape of a hot bowl of soup.

Slightly spicy, full of flavour, and damn good.

So good in fact, that I’ve made it four times in just a short eight days. Just when the sun goes down, my flat starts to smell of ginger and lemongrass.

Evidently, it’s always too dark to take a picture. But, who needs it anyway. You have my promise.

Make this – or as a matter of fact, any of the listed things below (which I see as a winter edition of my culinary obsessions chronicle). And feel better. Warmer. And possibly, happier.

Oh and while I’m at it, I’m wondering what are the foods that help you make it through winter? Please tell me. We can never have enough comfort in our kitchens.

And for the record, I realise it’s technically still autumn, but my frozen cheeks tell me it feels like winter. Hope you stick with me on this one.

One. Thai chicken soup. Grab a couple of chicken thighs, with all the trimmings: bone, skin and organic. Pan fry the chicken, skin-side down until golden, flip around and deglaze with a litre of water and a mini-can of coconut cream.
Add two spoonful of sweet chilli sauce, a dash of toasted sesame oil, and soy sauce. Squeeze the juice from one lemon, and bring to the boil. In the meantime, roughly chop the soft end of a lemongrass stick and grate a fat piece of ginger. Add o the soup. Simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the chicken thighs; then using two forks, shred the meat from the bones and skin. Place back into the pan and add a handful of each: frozen peas, rocket, and rice noodles. Divide in between two bowls, and top with chopped red chilli peppers, two sliced spring onions and fresh coriander. Eat with a spoon when still piping hot. Preferably with good company and a movie.

Two. Eggnog lattes. Be lazy and go to the closest starbucks. Order a venti eggnog latte. And burn your tongue while drinking it. Or make it at home. Bring 250g of milk to the boil along with 2 cinnamon sticks, a couple of cardamom pods and a little grated nutmeg. Add a dash of vanilla extract, the one with the seeds. In a bowl, mix 2 eggs yolks with 50g of caster sugar. Strain the boiling milk onto the eggs, mixing as you do so. Then place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook, stiring all the time until the anglaise reaches 84°C. Add a double shot of espresso or a heaped teaspoon of your favourite instant coffee. Drink. From the comfort of your own home. And perhaps, with a dash or two of rhum.

Three. Roast garlic. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Line a baking tray with foil. Take four heads of garlic and chop their top off by a centimetre or two. Place on the prepared baking tray. Drizzle with oil and season with Maldon sea salt. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 40 minutes. Make sure you have some bread close by.

Four. Gü chocolate banoffee. Walk to your kitchen. Open the fridge and reach the black Gü chocolate banoffee package. Open with your hands. Grab a spoon, preferably small. Lift the foild cover away. Eat the chocolate layer first. Then sink your spoon into the goo. And wonder if they’re is anything sweeter – literally and figuratively – in this world. Don’t even think about having the second one.

Five. Molly’s waffles. Before you go to bed, visit Molly. Read her words. Fell in love and in hunger. Then make the recipe. The first one, Marion Cunningham’s raised waffles. Except, switch the dry yeast for 5g of fresh yeast. Because your heart tells you to. Sleep. Wake up half and hour before your alarm goes off. Cook the waffles. And eat plain, thinking about sending Molly a thank you note later.

Thank you Molly. x

I can eat the same thing everyday: breakfast, lunch and dinner; and still feel happy about what I eat. Obviously, those things will change every now and then.

This habit must come from my dad who has been known to have paella for lunch for a month before enrolling in a mussel and chips extravaganza for another thirty days.

At the moment, I’m in love with the five listed below. Now I’m curious, what are your current five favourites to eat?

One. Guacamole. Slice a ripe avocado, place it in a bowl. Squeeze out the juice from one lemon. Mix in some finely sliced red chili pepper, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and rings of spring onions. Sprinkle with a little maldon sea salt. Top with fresh coriander leaves, slighlty torn.

Two. Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice-cream. Bike to the closest convenience store. Bike home. Grab a tablespoon. Open the tub.

Three. Salt and pepper prawns. Mix rice flour with a good dose of maldon sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Roll a handfull of prawns (with their shells on) into the flour. Heat a pan of oil. Deep-fry until golden brown. Top with sliced spring onion. Eat with your fingers.

Four. Banana pancakes. Combine 150g flour, a little sugar, one teaspoon of baking powder, half a teaspoon of baking soda. Mix in 250g milk (full fat, or I might as well go back to bed) and one egg. Fold in two ripe bananas, slightly mashed. Cook on a well buttered pan, flip over until lovely. Have with a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

Five. Find a watermelon, preferably ice-cold. Make sure not to drop it on the floor. Using a serated knife, slice a big fat wedge. Allow the juices to splash on your face.

Believe it or not, but I’ve made pâte à choux twice in the past couple of days; and nope, no flat little choux buns were involved. This might not sound special; but trust me – if you’re unaware of my choux-bun-helplessness – it is.

Choux pastry is something I love to make. I mean don’t you dream about not feeling your own arm anymore, because you’ve just beaten three whole eggs into a thickish dough, which tends to split as you do so? Come on! Admit it, you love it too.
Well, I do. But choux buns. Oh no; these definitely don’t love me back. They probably even hate me; and that’s a massive understatement.

We all know how the story ends. On a random day, I decide to overcome this feeling, persuading myself that choux buns do actually love me. After all, there just made of flour, milk, water, salt, butter and – breathe – eggs.
So, yes, I make pâte à choux. It looks sleek and pretty, and has the most wonderful smell. I gently pipe it onto a lovely baking sheet. And bake. And cry.

During my whole life, I might have gotten choux buns right once or not twice. Not a single time more. So well, after giving up for a year, I made it again. Thanks to the NY Times magazine – yeah, finally a two-way relationship!

When I spotted the recipe for herbed fritters, my heart felt quite excited. How could fromage blanc and chives folded into pâte à choux then fried could taste bad? And, perhaps more importantly, how could I possibly failed that?
Frying. This is like totally different from baking. Three different letters, and a couple of litres of oil later, I found myself dropping little balls of the most beautiful dough ever into some bubbling greasiness. It felt good. Quite dangerous –yes – but I’m wild and fearless, so that doesn’t count.

Anyway, since I got such terrific results, I decided to love the NY Times even more. And even got the idea to make one recipe from it every week. Oh, I know, those don’t looks as yummy as the frosted cake and luscious tart I got you used to; but well, they pretty much have the same calorie content!

Choux croustimoelleux au fromage blanc et à la ciboulette
Adapted from the NY Times.

This is quite straightforward a recipe. If you know how to make pâte à choux, then you’re done. And it happens to actually be true as well if you don’t know a thing about choux.

You first make the pâte à choux. Heat the milk, water and butter together, then throw in the flour and salt in one go. Now using a wooden spoon, mix the dough like mad until it forms a ball. Finally mix in the eggs, one at a time. Here I have a couple of things to add: 1) you needn’t a stand mixer, keep using your wooden spoon. And 2) you might not need the entire third egg, so what I advise you to do is to crack it into a small bowl, mix it with a fork until smooth and slowly pour half ot it onto the dough. If it feels right, add more. If not, throw the remaining egg mixture away.

Once the dough is made, it should be used immediately, so I can only recommend heating the oil before you even start making the dough.
Making the fritters is just a matter of folding: some fromage blanc – which you can substitute with ricotta, a handful of chopped chives, and freshly ground pepper.

Then comes the frying. Be careful. I decided to pipe the dough into the hot*hot oil. Basically, I filled my piping bags with the dough, squeezed it over the oil and cut it – using my tiny pair of scissors – to form little balls.
Oh and yes, while I’m at it. I don’t own a thermometer that goes high enough in temperature, so I just rely to the dip-it test; i.e. spoon a little of the dough and se it it pops up and float. If it does, the oil is hot enough; falling that just wait for an extra couple of minutes before trying again.

Before I start I should warn you. When I’m sick, I love to complain. And well, as my body temperature has now reached 39.7°C, I guess I wouldn’t be wrong if I said I am indeed ill. For the third time in less than a month.
I’m really starting to wonder where the heck my lucky-start has gone.
Note: you, yes you know who you are, who have stolen *my* star. Please bring it back. Right now.

Does anyone care about the fact that I’m so sick I can’t move from my bed (only slightly exaggerating here)? Hmmm not really. I know you want sophisticated desserts. And eye-catching entremets. And sweet tarts. And fluffy cakes. And trust me, I want them too. But right now only soups and savoury comfort food seem to be right. Foodbeam might turn into soupbeam. How yummy is that?

Today, while the pain killers were slowly making their job – giving me a couple of hours of relied, I made what appeared to be the best for me. Something with honey. To soothe my sore throat, you know. Something with rosemary. Known, along with thyme, as being a natural anti-bacterial agent. Something with cheese. Just because I love cheese.
It was good. And I’m sure that if I could smell, I would have referred to it as great. I might have to taste it again later during the week, when I’ll finally be better (although, I’m so pessimist right now that I feel like it’s never going to end – never).

By chance, the cake – or loaf cake, in correct English – was a doodle to make. The egg whites are whipped. The egg yolks, honey, butter, rosemary and flour are mixed. The egg whites are folded in. The cheese is eaten and what remains is incorporated into the batter. The loaf is baked and left to cool. The loaf is good.

Cake au miel, romarin et gorgonzola
Adapted from Elle à table.

This loaf is moist and flavourful. Egg whites, baking powder and baking soda are used as leaveners. But its fluffiness mostly comes from the egg whites, so you should take care to whip them until they for firm peaks.
The recipe calls for gorgonzola, but I decided to use gorgonzola-mascarpone cheese since that’s what I had in my fridge. But to be honest, I do think it added pleasing creaminess without cutting too much on the flavour.
The honey isn’t too noticeable. Just enough to bring a great contrast with the saltiness of the cheese.
As you can see from the picture, my loaf quickly became dark on top. SO do not hesitate to cover it with foil after 30 minutes.

Trust in me, just in me
Shut your eyes and trust in me
You can sleep safe and sound
Knowing I am around

Slip into silent slumber
Sail on a silver mist
Slowly and surely your senses
Will cease to resist

Trust in me, just in me
Shut your eyes and trust in me

No guys, I’m totally not trying to eat you. Human flesh just isn’t my thing. Please do not worry.
I need you to trust me though. You must fully trust me. The braised artichokes above might not look good, but believe me I could kill for them. Ok, now you can be scared.

I have to admit that those pictures – the one you see on this post – definitely aren’t my best. But I couldn’t not talk about these to-die-for treats (note: way too many death references here; but I’m fine people). I just couldn’t.

I mean, look at that lemony gooeyness. Now, we’re talking. Soft and fragrant artichokes, very slowly cooked until confits. Again, this is an easy one. Just throw some garlic and halved artichokes in olive oil, cover with boiling water and simmer. Drain. Generously drizzle with lemon juice and olive oil. Voilà.
The recipe which got me inspired is much more complicated; but having had a busy day, I took the effortless way. Rose Carrarini first cooks some carrots, onions and celery; then adds the artichokes and garlic. I told you: infinitely more complicated.

Hopefully, you’ve now trust in me and the next thing you’ll do after reading this will be to:
1. pick some artichokes from your garden (alternatively buy some)
2. peel them
3. halve them
4. cook them
5. eat them
By the way, I am absolutely not manipulating you.

Artichauts confits au citron et à l’ail
Adapted from Rose Carrarini’s Rose Bakery.

These braised artichokes have the perfect texture and flavour. You’ll never see me spend seven euros on preserved coeurs d’artichauts. Never ever.
Here I used some small provençal artichokes, called les violets de Provence [literally, purples from Provence] thanks to their lovely colour.

Honestly, I don’t know many cooks who don’t mind when they fail in the kitchen. But somehow, I think that every single person has une bête noire – something they don’t succeed in every time when cooking.
Well, I might just assume this because I have my own anathema. Indeed, it seems I can never find the right balance of texture for a number of batters. It tends to always be on the too-runny side; always!
When I whip egg whites, I get so panicked by the thought of a grainy mass (indicating that the egg whites have been overwhipped), that I just stop too early. And although, I am fully aware of this fact, it remains exactly the same, time after time. As you can imagine, this is a huge problem when making meringues, pavlova, tiramisu or macarons. Luckily, after a quick stay in an egg-whites rehab – otherwise known as Cloud-like Paradise -, I managed to overcome my fears and whipped up egg whites to perfection.
Still, the problem wasn’t solved as the pâte à choux-dilemma was still is the way. And to tell the truth, I had no intention whatsoever to beat that phobia. Having tried and failed in the past, I just decided that choux were simply not for me; I would say to people: ‘Oh you know, we don’t get along very well, that’s life’.

However, when I received a copy of Leçon de cuisine about pâte à choux, I took it as a sign, and decided to make some gougères.
Gougères are a classique in the French cook’s repertoire (seems I was/am the only person not to be able to make them – I was jinxed at my birth, I tell you). They are small savoury choux; usually flavoured with gruyère.

Do you have any bête noire in your kitchen? Please, say yes so I don’t feel lonely ;)

Gougères au piment de Cayenne et au parmesan
Inspired by Sébastien Serveau’s Leçon de cuisine – pâte à choux

These chilli pepper and parmesan gougères make for a somewhat original nibble and are delicious served with Champagne.
I did twist the recipe a little; first, I preheated my oven to 200°C instead of the suggested 150°C (never seen choux pastry baked at such a low temperature), then I incorporated some parmesan into the dough to give more flavour and added some Cayenne pepper flakes to give a spicy kick.
The end-result was more than satisfactory with the fifty puffs disappearing in less than five minutes (only four people involved there ;))

While I can’t say that I totally master the pâte à choux process, I am proud to have faced this fear. Well, as you can see, the choux are rather flat and not very puffy – maybe I should try using only water next time (although I heard Pierre Hermé saying that it’s the combination of milk and water that gives the best results) as I’ve seen some beautiful choux there and the recipe doesn’t call for milk. Any advice?