Autumn really is in full, blowy swing here in the Shropshire countryside. Plant life that was, until just a few weeks ago, greener than green, has been ripening to red and increasingly turning to toasted nut brown by degrees each day.

In tune with outdoor growing matter, as is our style, the Bred by Fred marketstall yesterday was awash with autumnal colours and flavours. We had (in varying sizes) chocolate & squash tarts, slices of pain d’épices (French-style gingerbread to you and me), apple & elderberry crumbles, red onion & sage tartlets, damson frangipane tartlets (since our tree is still clinging on to the last of those now plummy-tasting fruits), blackberry jam mini tartlets, red grape & rosemary sweet ladies’ tongues, as well as soda bread and Fred’s oh- so-chewily-good sourdough.

We did still have one item reminiscent of longer, possibly sunnier days, though. Our lemon and rose meringue tartlets.

Despite the onset of chilly breezes and the inset golden hues to the landscape, our garden is still pocketed with flashes of colour from our rose bushes. In between the odd downpour a few days back, I broke free of the kitchen long enough to poke my nose into a few of our roses and to steal the blooms from the more fragrant ones. These were carefully picked over for insects, separated into petals and upended, with the other necessaries, into a pan and turned into lemon & rose curd.

Unfortunately, the curd didn’t stay harlequinesque, since I always strain mine for consistency purposes, but it did look (and smell) beautiful while it was being made. Once it was finished, I left it to cool before tasting.

The rose flavour was subtle, but there.

Sadly, the amount I made was just enough to fill my 6, heart-shaped tart cases, so I had none left to play around with. Next time I make this though, it will perhaps be to sandwich some dainty little pistachio cakes, or to dollop onto some warm, orange butter scones.

Can someone please remind me I said that next summer? Tell me that I’ll find the recipe here. Thanks.

Lemon & Rose Curd

Unsalted butter – 75g

Caster sugar – 165g

Finely grated zest and juice of 3 large, unwaxed lemons

Eggs – 3

Egg yolks – 2

Rose petals (the most fragrant you can find) – a medium sized bowlful

In a bowl, beat the eggs and egg yolks together very well. Melt the butter over a low heat. Add the sugar, rose petals, lemon juice and zest and stir  until the sugar has dissolved, then add the beaten eggs.

Stir carefully over a gentle heat until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. (Be aware that this can take a long, long time. We’re talking in excess of half an hour.)

Make sure that the pan is not allowed to get too hot during this time. You should always be able to place your hand against the side of the pan without burning yourself.

Once the curd has thickened and coats the back of a spoon, remove it from the heat and strain through a sieve into a bowl. Allow to cool (and it will thicken further as it does so), before covering with clingfilm and putting into the fridge, where it should keep for a week or two.

Back in June my eldest brother got married. In style. New England style, that is.

We’re talking New England reds (pink chinos to you and me), water taxi rides to the lighthouse reception and a steak & clam-bake feast.

And now the wedding party buck has passed to us. The U.S. side of our new-found family is popping across to celebrate, Shropshire Style.

This is what we’re proposing:

Golly gosh. Haven’t Fred and I been busy lately?

Here are some highlights of all the tasty things we created over the last month.

1. One of the latest bestsellers on the Bred by Fred stall: our Courgette Tea Cakes. These little sweeties are sandwiched with a blop of tangy lime curd, which seem to go down a treat with our customers.

2. My latest, greatest Favourite Breakfast Ever: a banana sourdough loaf. Nothing to do with new-found commercial baking necessities. Purely for my own breakfast pleasure. (Adapted from here.)

3. Possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever created in my life (although, during the process of its making, it did resemble something akin to a meat grave): my rabbit and ham hock terrine.

4. And finally, one to watch out for at the next Local to Ludlow on Thursday 24th September: our Apple, Fennel and Rapeseed Cake.

Bred by Fred’s next appearance at the Local to Ludlow market will take place on Thursday 27th August.

One of our seasonal cakes of the month is going to be hazelnut.

My advice? Get there early, because this baby – she’s going to be a sell-out.

Glorious thanks to all the wonderful folk that attended the Bred by Fred Launch Party last night.

Colossal thanks to all those that unwhipmeringly pitched in and made it run (to all outward appearances) without hitch. It truly wouldn’t have happened without your help.

For all you non-attendees, here’s what you missed:

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Lavender, raspberry or rose bubbles

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Homemade Pork Scratchings

Pea’d Broad Bean & Mint on Fadge*

Little Urn Ewe’s & Sorrel Frittata

Chicken Liver Pâté on Fred’s White Toast

Onion and Marjoram Tartlets

Egg Mayonnaise on Soda Bread

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Lemon & Blackcurrant Leaf Curd Tartlets

Rhubarb Jelly & Orange Thins

Rose & Pistachio Marshmallows

Chocolate Truffles with Crystallised Fennel Flowers

*Or, plain old, non-Irish potato cake.

Breakfast this morning was pretty darned special.

Yesterday I made two things (well, actually I made rather a lot of things – but there were two in particular) that I was really quite pleased with.

The first was a batch of twelve teeny Fredspawn (sorry, that’s the not-so terribly attractive name I’ve taken to giving the offspring of Fred) and the second was something of a fluke.  Well, a semi-fluke.

It began with a daydream about cakey possibilities for my next market stall.  My mind, as is often its wont, had become fixated on a flavour: rose.  And so off stormed my thought processes, examining potential methods of adding said flavouring to this hypothetical cake.

My mind made itself up.  It was going to be a syrup cake.  A cake drenched in rose syrup.

Excellent.  My mind congratulated itself.

This just left me to come up with a recipe.

After a spot of internet research and a fairly extensive cookbook trawl, I hatched my rosey plan.  It went like this:

Rose petals (the most fragrant you can lay your hands on) – half a large bowlful

Boiling water – enough to just cover the rose petals (in may case, about 600ml)

Caster sugar – 500g

Water – 300ml

Lemon juice – half a lemon’s worth

Carefully wash your rose petals, removing all the insects you come across (and there will be many).  Place the petals in a clean bowl and pour over enough boiling water to just about cover them.

Cover the bowl with clingfilm and leave until the liquid has cooled completely, then drain the petals, reserving the liquid (but ditching the soggy floral matter).  Place this liquid in a small saucepan and warm over a low heat, while you make a sugar syrup.

In another pan, add the water, sugar and lemon juice, and place over a medium heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved.  Once this has happened, turn up the heat (don’t stir it anymore) and simmer until the syrup has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon.

When the syrup reaches this stage, add the warm, rose-infused water and bring back to the boil.  Then remove from the heat straight away and strain the syrup through muslin into a bowl, or jug.

Again, cover the receptacle with clingfilm and allow to cool.  Once cold, pour into bottles and refrigerate until needed.

“So you had Fredspawn and syrup for breakfast?” I hear the masses balk.

No, no, don’t be sill… well, actually, in a word: yes.

I had the best toast in the world (which can only be made from wonderful, chewy sourdough bread) with my raspberry jam and some leftover lemon curd, and then I rounded off with this. (Or, at least, my version of.)

Oh, happy day.

I am very excited to announce that Fred and I have gone public: we’ve started a catering business!

Currently, we’ve signed up to sell tasty wares at the Local to Ludlow market (which we’ll be attending on the 4th Thursday of the month only) and we’re looking into a couple of other farmer’s/local produce markets in the area too.

However, markets will only be the customer-facing side to Bred by Fred. We’re hoping to get our name out there (by me force-feeding customers business cards, as well as baked goodies), so that the private catering events will eventually become the main element of the business.

So, to last week’s market.

Fred was a sell out.

Oh yes. We sold:

- Sourdough loaves

- Soda bread loaves

- Cornish splits (the original and superior accompaniment to Cream Tea)

- Cocoa and hazelnut meringues

- Mini lemon meringue tartlets

- Mini rhubarb and ginger tartlets

- Chocolate and raspberry cake

- Small raspberry heart tarts

- Small fruit tarts

- Blackcurrant crème brûlées

- Mini onion and marjoram tartlets

- Mini beetroot leaf and Little Hereford (a local, unpasteurised cow’s milk cheese) tartlets

- Raspberry ‘Sweet Ladies’ Tongue’ biscuits

- Gooseberry and elderflower ‘Sweet Ladies’ Tongue’ biscuits

I’m now brimming with ideas for the next one, so I’ll see you there – stall (this time) overladen with treats. Be there or be, um… hungry.

As anyone who has known me for longer than five minutes will tell you, I get excited about food.  But what my five minute friend will also tell you – what gets me ridiculously excited – is seasonal food.  The kind that’s here one week, gorged upon, and then gone the next.

I’m fairly sure I have a condition (there’s probably a name for it, in fact) which makes me twitchy if I know there’s a foodstuff ripe and brazen in our garden or secretly blooming in the woods, and I’m not cooking with it.  I could spend hours, quite literally, trying to invent ways of working multiple seasonal ingredients into a meal, before coming to my senses (realising that no-one could possibly want to eat the number of courses that would ensue if I were to go ahead and create such a masterpiece) and cutting back to just a couple.  Or three.

Today I’d got a proverbial bee in my bloomers about sorrel.  You see, if my Dad wasn’t quite so fond of his ride-on lawnmower, our field would be full of the stuff.  However, I recently found a secret stash, untouched by Dad and his favourite toy, and the knowledge of this culinary treasure trove had been niggling away at my subconscious until now.

This was my fix:  Sorrel and Goat’s Cheese Pouffed Frittata (for want of a better title).  Feeds four.

Sorrel and Goat’s Cheese Pouffed Frittata

Sorrel – 2 good handfuls

Mint leaves – a few (8 to 10, if you feel like counting)

Parsley – 2 small sprigs

Eggs – 6, free range

Semi-firm goat’s cheese* – 75g

Parmesan – 25g, grated

Butter – 2 tbsp

Salt and Pepper

Chop all of the greenery, but not too finely.

Whisk together the eggs, parmesan, a decent pinch of salt (bearing in mind you’ve got some cheese in there too) and a good grinding of pepper in a fairly large bowl, so that all ingredients are well combined.  Whisk in the herb and sorrel mixture and then crumble in the goat’s cheese, so that it remains in largeish chunks.

Place a frying/sauté pan on a medium to high heat, add the butter, and once it begins to foam, pour in the egg mixture.  Allow this to cook for one minute, so that the base is set, and then reduce the heat right down and place a lid on the pan.

Cook the frittata for 15 minutes, until it is well pouffed and the base is golden brown.  (Just jiggle a spatula underneath to check, if needs be.)

Lift the frittata out onto a heated plate, cut into wedges and serve warm.  The greenery will have been boosted to the top and the warm goat’s cheese will be nestled, dotted here and there, beneath it.

*The cheese I used was Delamare’s Mature Goat’s Cheese, which is pretty widely available throughout the UK, and was perfect for this recipe.  It had the ‘grrrr’ of a well-aged Cheddar, but with the unmistakeable, er, musk, of a goat’s cheese.

My brother turned 30 last week.  We decided that this was reason enough to get drunk and throw a few things on the barbeque.  (Although thankfully for him, not quite in that order.)

If you’re me, these few things can range from anything like roughly minced steak to soft, wobbly pigs’ ears, so as such, his birthday menu went like this:

Canapés (Served with elderflower fizz)

Chicory leaf boats filled with capers, sorrel and parsley, topped with crispy pigs’ ears.

Herbed goats cheese on homemade wholemeal bites.

Mains

Homemade chuck steak burgers, served with sweet cucumber pickle, mustard mayonnaise, good ol’ Heinz tommy k. and Alan’s green tomato chutney, on homemade burger buns.

Grilled feta and marjoram-stuffed vineleaves (pilfered from our vine in the greenhouse) with orange and mint salad.

Also on the Table:

Seasonal leaf and herb salad.

Sourdough loaves.

Dessert

Four-stack gooseberry and elderflower cake.  (With candles.)

I have a new foraging hero: my dear old Dad.  He walked into the kitchen a couple of weeks ago, sidled up to me with a wry smile on his face, and placed what looked like four small muddy pebbles on the slate counter in front of me.

“Pignuts.”  He grinned.

“Pardon?”  I replied.

“Pignuts.”  He repeated.

“I see.”  I said.  “What are they?”

There’s a trick with my Dad.  In order to get the particular information you require from him, you have to ask the correct question.

This apparently was not it.

“Try them and find out.”  Were my instructions.

And then he left.

So I promptly washed, peeled and scoffed all four.  Very nice they were too.  They almost had the consistency of very fresh, wet walnuts, with a delicately nutty flavour.

Upon receiving word from Pa that such little treats were hiding in our field, I decided that I’d hunt some down to incorporate into canapés for my brother’s birthday barbeque at the weekend.

The pignut is a white umbellifer and is related to ground elder and cow parsley, the main difference (as far as I can tell) being the shape of its leaves.  To find the nut itself, you have to dig up the entire plant and rifle carefully through its roots.

After a good two hours’ worth of searching and having overexcitedly dug up far too much cow parsley, I returned home with my beauteous bounty of a single pignut.

Being unable to stretch the poor wee mite to make canapés for fifteen, I washed, peeled and scoffed that one too.