Healthy food

Kitchen notes, not a diet club

Short notes from the hob: calories, shopping, salt and oil, sugar, freshness.

Topics

Oil

My sweet potatoes live in a cool cupboard, not the fridge Quince isn’t for biting — it wants a slow pan Every chestnut gets a cut before it goes in the oven Squash seeds go in the oven, not the bin I cut a pumpkin calmly, I don’t wrestle the knife Pumpkin in my oven, not in a slogan Next to the Halloween sweets, I put a bowl of orange faces The pumpkin I carve goes into soup the same day Creamy pumpkin soup with seeds and croutons Nutmeg I actually grate Salmon skin side down, until it lets go How to prepare and store fresh seafood at home The cinnamon I actually use I finish the open jar of pickled onions — I don't collect jars Ordinary eating apples I keep in a bowl on the table I leave the kitchen quiet at night I hang the tea towel to dry, not in a heap by the sink A baked apple on a weekday, not just for special occasions Milk that has turned goes into pancakes, not down the sink Leftover mash I fry into cakes Why I don’t put the wet tea towel over the hot hob A quiet jar of juniper berries How I keep half a kohlrabi from drying at the cut Leftover cooked cannellini beans — tomorrow’s mash on toast Why I loosen the lid on the pressure cooker only when the Why I don’t stack hot pans in the sink A quiet jar of allspice berries How I keep half a celeriac from going soft Leftover cooked black-eyed peas — tomorrow’s salad Why I rinse the thermos before I fill it with soup Why I don’t leave the wooden spoon soaking in the sink A quiet jar of cloves How I keep half a celery stick from going limp Leftover cooked kidney beans — tomorrow’s chilli Why I wipe the rim before I put the lid on the jar Why I don’t put hot glass on a wet cloth A quiet jar of star anise How I keep half a leek from smelling the fridge Leftover cooked black beans — tomorrow’s quesadilla filling Why I dry the salad spinner basket before I put it away Why I don’t wash the non-stick with metal A quiet jar of cardamom pods How I keep half a swede from drying at the cut Leftover cooked yellow split peas — tomorrow’s soup Why I heat the empty pan before the oil Why I don’t open the oven door on a rising cake A quiet jar of nigella seeds How I keep half a turnip from going woody-dry Leftover cooked red lentils — tomorrow’s dal pan Why I rest the soufflé batter before the oven Why I don’t stir the risotto every second A quiet jar of poppy seeds How I keep half a beetroot from staining everything Leftover cooked green lentils — tomorrow’s soup Why I chill the pastry before I roll it Why I cool the jam before I lid the jar A quiet jar of caraway seeds How I keep half a fennel bulb from drying Leftover cooked pearl barley — tomorrow’s stew Why I wet my hands before shaping wet mince Why I taste the soup with a clean spoon only A quiet jar of coriander seeds How I keep half a radish bunch from wilting Leftover cooked wild rice — tomorrow’s soup Why I oil the knife before sticky dough Why I skim the foam off the stock A quiet jar of rosemary How I keep half a chilli from drying out Leftover cooked rye — tomorrow’s salad Why I flour the board before the dough Why I save the pasta water before I drain A quiet jar of thyme How I keep half a courgette from going soft Leftover cooked amaranth — tomorrow’s breakfast bowl Why I line the tin with baking paper, not just grease Why I tip the frying oil into a jar, not the sink A quiet jar of chilli flakes How I keep half a tomato from going soft Leftover cooked spelt — tomorrow’s soup thickener Why I grease the tin before the batter Why I rest the batter before frying A quiet jar of fennel seeds How I keep half a cucumber from going limp Leftover cooked freekeh — into tomorrow’s grain bowl Why I warm the serving plates before the stew Why I prick the jacket potato before the oven A quiet jar of oregano How I keep half a pepper from going soft Leftover cooked bulgur — into stuffed peppers tomorrow Why I toast the nuts before they go in the salad Why I dry the meat before it hits the pan A quiet jar of cumin seeds How I keep a cut mango from drying out Leftover cooked millet — into tomorrow’s porridge bowl Why I bloom the gelatine in cold water first Why I don’t wash raw chicken under the tap A quiet jar of mustard seeds How I keep a cut pear from browning Leftover cooked polenta — into the breakfast pan Why I warm the milk before the yeast Why I let the dough rest before shaping A quiet jar of raisins — soft, not rock-hard How I keep a cut banana overnight for porridge Leftover cooked buckwheat — into tomorrow’s salad Why I finish the pasta in the sauce Why I don’t crowd the frying pan A quiet tin of cocoa — lid tight, cool cupboard How I keep asparagus upright in a glass Leftover cooked barley — into Monday’s lunch Why I rinse rice until the water runs clear Why I start the soup with cold water for bones A quiet jar of sesame seeds — lid on, cool shelf How I keep ginger in the fridge — so it doesn’t shrivel Leftover cooked quinoa — into tomorrow’s bowl Why I dry the herbs before I chop them Why I brown the mince before the liquid Leftover cooked chickpeas — into hummus or salad tomorrow Fennel in a jar of water — so the stalks don’t wilt A quiet bowl of walnuts on the table — not a warm cupboard Why I rest the roast before carving Why I toast the spices before the onion Leftover cooked lentils — into tomorrow’s salad, not bin Soft cheese after the cut — foil pressed so it doesn’t dry A quiet tray of shallots — cool and dry, not in the fridge A cut lime — cut-side down or jar, not drying on the board Why I salt the cabbage and wait Yesterday’s couscous — into tomorrow’s salad Dressing at the last minute — not in the morning “ready” A jar of peanut butter — oil back in, lid wipe, nose Cut squash I keep dry and cold — not slimy in a wet bag Blackberries the same day — before they mould On Sunday I fill the oven once — not three empty heats Courgettes at the end of the glut — freeze or fritters? How pears tell you: eat today or stew tomorrow Half a squash after the cut I keep in the cold — tomorrow’s traybake, not on the hob I don’t drown the traybake in oil from the bottle neck — a spoon is enough UK apples on the board are still good — while firm and fragrant, not soft Last tomatoes I roast on the tray — I don’t bin them as “no longer salad” Yesterday’s roast veg go into Monday’s pot — not reheated “as if still Sunday” Leftover cooked beans I cool and box into the cold, not in the pot overnight After the roast I stand the roasting tin on its edge to dry, not flat with water in the corners A quiet cup of stock I keep in the cold for gravy and rice, not only “when there are bones” After dressing I wipe the wooden salad bowl dry and leave it open, I don’t soak it overnight A bunch of parsley in a glass I keep by the board — so the hand takes leaves at the last moment I keep the kitchen towel dry in sight, not in a wet heap by the sink Leftover roast chicken meat I strip into a box and put in the cold After washing I leave the baking tray slightly ajar to dry, not wet under another A jar of mayo I put on a fridge shelf, not in the door and not by the hob After batter I rinse the mixing bowl at once and dry it apart, not nested with flour After the oven I hang the gloves dry, not in a damp drawer Leftover Yorkshire batter I cover and put in the cold After washing I stand the chopping board on its edge to dry Opened jar of tomato paste I shut and put in the cold A bowl of garlic I keep dry on the board, not in a wet jar I keep the pepper mill dry and shut Yesterday's roast pork I slice cold from the fridge After fish I rinse the fish slice and dry it Opened jar of pickled cucumbers I keep under the brine in the cold Yesterday's boiled potatoes I cool and put in the cold A bunch of bay leaves I keep sealed and in the dark Opened jar of capers I keep under the brine in the cold I keep the microplane with its cover on — the teeth don’t live bare in the drawer Leftover cooked pasta I cool and oil lightly before the fridge After the roast I wipe the thermometer probe and dry it Roast veg from the tray I put in the cold, not leave on the hob I keep the honey jar on the shelf, not by the hob I empty the salad spinner and dry it open From Sunday's chicken bones I cook a quiet stock I rinse the potato ricer while the mash is still soft After the roast I put a quiet salad on the side After the table I close the Dijon jar and put it in the cold After zesting I wash the zester at once — I don't leave the teeth in shreds Yesterday's roast beef I slice cold from the fridge I rinse the kitchen scissors, I don't leave the blades in fat A bowl of lemons on the table — to hand, not in a far drawer Yesterday's cooked rice I reheat until it's steaming hot I rinse the pastry brush while the butter is still soft Why I keep the stock cube tin shut tight Yesterday's mashed potato I put in the fridge I rinse the garlic press, I don't leave the holes clogged

Start here

How many calories a day — a calm number, not a diet

UK advice often starts at about 2,000 kcal a day for women and 2,500 for men. That is a starting line, not a sentence. Here is how to use it in a home kitchen.

How to choose

Watermelon, melon, potatoes: how to choose so you are not cross at home

The same rule at the market and in Tesco: look, listen, smell. The potato variety decides the dish more than dear versus cheap.

Potatoes

Potatoes: when they are still good

Potatoes live in the dark. In the light they turn green and decide it is time to grow.

No meat

A plate without meat — not a vegan manifesto, just supper

A fast, the purse, guests who do not eat meat — ordinary on this hob. Protein from eggs, beans, mushrooms, curd. Flavour from onion, oil and patience.

Freshness

How to tell with your eyes that food is still alive

The date on the pack is a hint. Nose and eye are kinder. Especially eggs, herbs, milk and fish. Throwing food away hurts; being ill hurts more.

Bunch

How I choose greens at the shop

At the shop near home I do not look at the price first — I smell.

Meat

How I tell if meat is fresh

I am a woman who fries cutlets at home and does not want the kitchen to smell of doubt.

Fish

Fresh fish without a market stall

A fillet should shine like a wet stone. The smell — sea and cucumber, not ammonia.

Dairy

Milk, cream and yoghurt in the fridge

Milk, cream and yoghurt live in the cold. The nose often knows before the date on the pack.

Soup

A pot on the hob makes the house lived-in

When it is grey outside, a pot on the hob makes the house lived-in at once.

Plate

A plate with colour: veg next to the cutlet

A cutlet alone on a white plate looks orphaned.

Berries

How I wash berries and greens

I do not hold berries under a strong tap the way I hold a pot after borscht.

Onion

Onions and garlic that haven’t died in the bowl

Onions in my house do not live in a closed bag in a damp kitchen.

Eggs

Eggs — what I look at

In the shop I look at the shell: clean, no cracks, no slime. Freshness matters more than brown or white.

Salt

Salt — to taste, not by the packet

In this kitchen salt is neither enemy nor medal. A pinch in the potato water, a pinch in the mince, and a spoon on the table so each person finishes their own plate.

Oil

Which oil for which pan

Sunflower for a hot pan. Olive for salad and a finish. Butter for eggs and cake. A tablespoon is already a portion, not a splash.

Storing

How to store so you are not binning it

The date on the pack is a hint. The fridge, a jar and your nose decide more. Bread in a bag sweats; herbs without water wilt overnight.

Bread

Bread that is still alive

Living bread smells of crust and warmth even when it has cooled. Dead bread smells of paper and fridge.

Sugar

Sugar in a cake is not only sweetness

In dough, sugar feeds the yeast and keeps the crumb soft. In jam it also keeps. In tea it is your choice: a teaspoon is a teaspoon.

Water

Why I keep a jug of water on the table

If water is not in sight, a hand reaches for a sweet bottle. A jug on the table is part of the furniture of the meal, not a poster rule.

Leftovers

Yesterday's roast chicken — tomorrow's pot, not a sad fridge shelf

After Sunday's roast the shelf holds a carcass and odd pieces. I do not turn that into a diet. I simmer stock while the kitchen still smells of onion.

Freezer

A bag from the freezer — not a shame, just Tuesday on the hob

In Tesco I still take the peas and the mixed veg. Not because I failed the market. Because at six the children are hungry and the pan is already hot.

Herbs

Dill in a glass of water — a bunch by the hob, not a bag in the drawer

From the shop near home I bring dill and parsley in plastic. Straight into a glass at home — otherwise by Wednesday they are limp and smell of fridge.