As off today, I’m out-of-office-ish.

You see, I’ve walked under a sky made of Union Jack buntings. I’ve sipped through golden glasses of mint tea, served just like under that Moroccan tent I slept in years and years ago. I’ve eaten dim sum and soft shell crab with almonds toasted just so. And roasted chilli peppers too, a whole handful of it.

I also dropped by that little shop in the Carnaby neighbourhood. The one with neons that look like cameras. And cameras that look like neons.

So yes, I’m going to be “busy”. I’ll be back soon to share what my new bling-bling toy captured though!

Oh and since we’re talking about being “busy”, I thought I would share that picture my little sister (a #loveofmylife hashtag seems appropriate here) took last year when we were in Cornwall. By that lighthouse we fell in love with. One day under the mist, the other under a sky so blue it made her eyes look pale as diamonds.

What’s the reason you’re currently out-of-office-ish? Oh well, whatever it is, I guess a cheeky-smile ooops fits right in!

So it seems I’ve told you I’d see you soon with tips for the perfect scones. Apparently, soon can hold different meanings.

A birthday to the sound of drum n’ bass, and glow-sticks around my wrists. Days on a bed that has become my work place, writing the book I should tell you more about. Mess in my kitchen, cakes on the counter, and bread in the oven. It smells like a bakery around here these days. A surprise I can’t say too much about, but it should involve beach and pastis on a café terrasse.

But well, today is quiet. The clouds deaden everything we hear. And they muffle everything we see too. Not unlike living in cotton.

A perfect day to make scones. In fact, I have some in the oven right now. Getting golden-brown just so. The mascarpone is ready to be spread. And a jar of home-made cherry jam from last summer has been opened. It’s really more of a runny compote, but damn, it tastes of wild patches of sunflowers and bike rides by the ocean and sunsets made of rainbows.

I have the feeling my goûter is going to be pretty amazing.

I know many of you are on the quest for the perfect scone. I’ve been there too.

After years of research, I’ve come up with a go-to recipe. If you have a favourite too, just go for it, but try to follow the tips I’m giving just below. And you’ll see, your scones will have never looked that pretty!

1. Use cold butter, cut into smal cubes. This will prevent the butter from melting as you work it into the flour and will thus give that flaky texture we all love.

2. Mix until the dough feels JUST smooth. Undermixing will give a patchy scone, looking a bit rough. It will still taste great though. However, if you overmix, the scone will turn out very cakey.

3. After rolling, chill the dough for half an hour. Wrapped in cling-film and placed on a tray, with the bottom side still at the bottom (and I can’t stress this enough).

4. Flour your cutter. Dip your cutter into flour, then tap off the excess on your work surface. This prevents the dough from sticking to the cutter, and the cutter from squishing the dough. It makes for the neatest edges ever.

5. Place the scones upside-down on the baking tray, bottom-side up this time. Once you’ve cut the scones, the bottom side will always looks flatter and smoother. Trust me.

6. Glaze twice. With egg yolk only. And make sure to wait at least 10-15 minutes in between the two egg-washes. Over the years, I’ve found that egg yolk only gives the best results. Shiny and golden-brown.

7. Allow to cool down before eating. Because no-one likes a doughy scone.

Scones, scones, scones

This recipe might just be one amongst millions, but it’s my favourite. For the smooth and flaky little clouds – that some call scones – it makes.

I don’t have much to say about it, other than I can make it with my eyes closed, knowing I will have a perfect tea-time. Talk about instant gratification!
Butter gets worked into flour and baking powder. With a touch of sugar and salt too for good measure. Then milk and cream are added. Et voilà!

An hour ago, I took a whole – 1,5kg kind of whole – chicken out from the oven. Just for myself.

You see it started this morning when I first opened my curtains to a day where clouds blanket everything we see. I french-pressed more coffee than you could imagine and toasted some left-over baguette.

And the day went by. Word after word, coffee mug after coffee mug. I could hear the klaxons from trains passing by in the far.

It’s funny how those days when there is no rain but it feels like it can be productive. In a slow peaceful way. And also, how they invariably call for roast chicken, with plenty of root vegetables around.

I hadn’t planned to write about this. But somehow it felt right to tell you that it’s ok to roast a chicken whether you’re on your own or not. I mean, who wants to miss out on crispy salty chicken skin?

And you’ll have lunch for the days to come. And really, it made you feel warm inside-out.

Now, tell me all about the much decadent/generous/luxurious treat you make even if you’re eating alone?

I made scones today. Twice, because two seems to be a trending number these days. Same recipe, except for five extra grams of milk.

And somehow, no matter how long I have been a pastry chef for, I’m still amazed by how details matter. In those moments, pastry feels like a celebration of the ordinary. All those things we take for granted, all those things we often overlook are in fact what we should care the most about.
His lips brushing my cheek, the dance of falling blossoms, that instant when the sky slowly turns pink, the wishes we make for every blown dandelion.

And this is what gets me going really. The everyday magic.

Scones are all of that. The way they bond with clotted cream and jam as if they’d always been kindred spirits.

Yes, definitely everyday magic to me.

What’s your favourite topping for scones?

Now, don’t judge, but I’m partial to a thick layer of wholegrain mustard and a rustic brunoise of green apple. See you later with the recipe and tips to make the best scones ever!

I don’t know what just happened on ebay, but I seem to be the newest owner of - not one but – two Le Creuset cocottes. I guess the advices my friend Richard gave me on how to win a bid kind of worked!

Oh and by the way, if you want to save me from a life made of misery and every-single-day-pasta, please go over there and outbid me on that one.

Please. Thank you. From me and my bank account.

My weeks have been made of Sundays lately. And it really feels like walking with my eyes closed and crossing my fingers at every step I take.

Not unlike getting lost. Not unlike falling in love.

And to be honest, it was all making me a bit so-so. A bit outside of me; behind of me, really.

But I wrote into my moleskine. And I painted asparaguses (?) and a lonely beetroot.

And I had a gin and tonic, or two, but who’s counting? And I kissed him back of stairs made of stone.

And I talked to a friend over a glass of wine and a plate of manchego with those capers I’m so deeply fond of.

And I baked a loaf of brioche. And I fried some beignets too. And I’ve started writing the book that will keep me from feeling so-so ever again.

Yes, belated bonjour avril. And bonjour book. I love you already!

No list for this month. It’s a bit too late anyway, May is just around. And hopefully the beautiful days that are usually made of party confettis too.

Oh, just one more thing: I’m dying to try my friend Rachel’s chocolate mousse. One more thing on the to-do. One more gooood thing to be accurate. See you soon!

The end. Of this, that is.

I was writing when the timer went off. Upstairs, sitting cross-legged in front of my laptop.

It wasn’t as cold as the outdoors would suggest. Perhaps, from the oven. Or the sweater he must have draped over me while I was reading words that once were thoughts.

A cake getting plump, the syrup bubbling over. A distant bip. The sound of an opened oven door. The scent of just-brewed coffee and hot chocolate too.

Yes, it was all happening without me.

And before I knew it, we were burning our tongues. One spoon each. One half each. It felt like playing Battleships. With a small cloud of steam for each hit. No miss really.

After a chocolate war he won, we layed on the bed; our heads upside-down, looking at the rain pour. Yes, at times, it all does down to this. I told him I really liked the idea of the cake we just devoured. Those two layers which melt together and yet not quite at the same time.

In fact, as I think about it now, I can’t help but imagine a banana cake in a pool of caramel sauce. Or a chestnut flour cake, with some kind of green tea syrup.

Coffee and chocolate self-saucing cake
Adapted from Donna Hay’s Seasons.

As with most recipes I make on rainy days, this cake is almost instant. The syrup gets made in a little over ten seconds. And the cake batter can be made in one bowl (although I would usually advise to mix the powders separately, but, come on, we’re making cake for the sake of it today, not for a dinner party).

We actually made half a batch and it fit perfectly into our 20cm enamel pie dish. But I would understand if you don’t want to use half an egg, and have some leftovers, which we somehow regret now…
In case, you go the half way too, make sure you beat the egg before weighing out 25g (=half egg). And make sure to check your cake after 15 minutes in the oven. As soon as the cake feels baked and the syrup starts bubbling over, it’s ready. Get a spoon. And enjoy.

Do you have any great recipes for self-saucing cakes?

I look through the window. And this is all I see. Rain and trees that snow.

The very spectacle of April happening before my eyes. But no matter how breathless it makes me feel – every single year – I somehow wish for more.
A more I can’t quite define. A more that is so far and unreachable I sometimes wonder if it was real.

I have a cake in the oven. Of the self-saucing kind. It promises all sorts of wonderful.

See you in a bit.

It’s been oh-so-quiet around here lately. Perhaps, that’s what happens when I have too much to say, too much to do, too much to look forward to.

But last night, I saw the dark sky turn into fireworks. And I heard the thunder grumble. And I smelled the earth get damp through a window that has been open – if ever so slightly – for weeks now.

And I might have been half-asleep when that happened (so much for non-drowsy cough syrups) but it felt like the most beautiful dream. Only it wasn’t one.

It was there, around me.

Thunderstorms are a thing so rare in London they become treasures you remember like a first kiss.
And while I could tell you about how he made me forget everything I thought I knew, I’m here with a soup instead.

As a reminiscence of cold winter nights and unspoken words. As a celebration of the smell of rain, which we might disregard now that pims-and-lemonade days are ahead of us.

As my winter comes to an end – for good this time – so many other things do too. Bruises on my legs and cuts on my fingers; journeys over the Thames, late at night…

But I have the feeling you’re going to see a lot more of me these days.

To new beginnings!

I’ve felt raindrops running through my hair; and my dress too. I’ve made a cake. And another one too.

I’ve seen blossoms on every tree. I’ve walked in empty avenues, with my eyes closed and his hand on mine. I’ve had dreams I never knew I had.

I’ve lied in the grass, under a sun that felt like vanilla ice-lollies and pims and kisses of the French kind. I’ve listened to the trees hum until the sky turned pink.

I’ve barely slept, at least at night. And I’ve cried a little. At times with a reason, most of the times without.

Perhaps that’s the very essence of spring. Not unlike erasing a chalk board and making wishes for every flower that blooms.

A spring that’s going to be full of surprises.

And taming fears. And rhubarb.

Because let’s face it, only so many things taste as good as rhubarb does.

The not-so official rhubarb favourites.

1. One pot rhubarb cordial, compote, and sauce.
2. Rhubarb curd.
3. A rhubarb ice-cream, made of chunky rhubarb compote and cream. It doesn’t get any easier. Oh yes, don’t forget to churn.
4. The prettiest milkshake.
5. Rhubarb and custard kinda soufflé.
6. A tart with orange blossom custard and stewed rhubarb. With its juices, of course.
7. Inside a madeleine. Or on top of a chewy meringue cloud.
8. A crumble, with fennel too.
9. Wine-stewed rhubarb. To try with rosé or champagne, perhaps.
10. On a cake, with a custard glaze. Or maybe, in a doughnut would be even better.