Arabian nights

The Menu

Cava, kir and pomegranate seed cocktail

Black and green olives marinated in lemon, thyme and garlic/pistachios

Dukkah and Olive oil

Home-made fresh pitta bread

Baba ganoush/hummus/tzaziki made with labneh yoghurt and cucumbers

Broad bean/feta cheese/artichoke heart/ mint salad

Home-made Falafel

Grilled halloumi cheese and roasted red/yellow pepper salad with pickled green peppercorn/chili peppers in balsamic

Filo triangles stuffed with courgette/butternut squash/pine nuts/za’atar

Dish of dried labneh goats cheese in olive oil and mint

Tabouleh on a bed of Romaine lettuce

Dolmas stuffed with rice/preserved lemons/mint dried on the Aga 

Baklava made with apricots/sour cherrys drenched in orange and honey syrup

Fresh mint tea with sugar and pine nuts

Apricot/pistachio/cashew/sour cherry mix

Baste each layer of filo pastry with plenty of butter

I saw that weird shredded wheat stuff in a Lebanese supermarket and bunged that in too

 Making the honey and orange syrup

Drying my own mint

Balls of dried labneh goat yoghurt with mint

Falafel

I’m afraid to say I made too much. People were clutching their stomachs at the end. No kidding. It was a real Arabian feast.

The lovely Lenny from Malmaison helped front of house. Dressed in acid lemon, turquoise and purple, with white blonde hair, she stylishly added humour and grace to service. She looks like a scene kid but knows her silver service. Loved her gritty Liverpudlian humour too.

I did say to her “This is a bit of a busman’s holiday for you isn’t it?”

In the afternoon Helen who has cooked for the Bonnington café, another cooperative restaurant, like Pogo café, springing from the squat scene, came to help knead dough. Together we felt like 19th century housewives, doing things the old fashioned way.

Later, oh yes my ‘help’ is top drawer, architect Mary Bowman, who helped design the technically advanced Princess Diana fountain amongst other projects, arrived with packets of vine leaves which I had found it almost impossible to find in North-West London. Having grown up around many Greek-Cypriot children, refugees from the war in the 1970s, I was surprised to realise that you can buy sushi nori almost everywhere but not vine leaves. Food fashion is fickle is it not?

Mary and her son Miles pressed tens of balls of pitta dough in the tortilla machine for me. Thank you!

My teen, her friend Saskia and Mary’s older son Red did front of house while Eva, who came to film, ended up with her hands in the sink. With 24 people last night, it was all hands to the deck.

One guest asked me “Who are all these children? Are they all yours?”

“Yes“, I replied. “And every kid has a different father!”

I’m all for anti-right-wing press single mum chic! Yeah we are slappers, spending our child benefit on Silk Cut and gin while our kids run around bare-foot with no tea. 

Oops have vague recollection of discussing anal sex with a woman who has a penchant for Brazilian men….