• Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Snapchat
  • Twitter
  • YouTube
  • Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar

MsMarmiteLover

  • Food
    • Recipes
    • Vegetarian
    • Vegan
  • Travel
    • France
    • Italy
    • Spain
    • UK
  • Wine
  • Gardens
  • Supperclubs/Events
  • About
    • Press
    • Books
  • Shop
    • Cart

The Wild Girls Food Camp in Sweden

September 20, 2017 13 Comments Filed Under: Travel, Uncategorized

Nyrupps Osteria

Pure food camp
Pure food camp

Day One


Awake at 5am after 1.5 hours sleep. I hosted a supper club the night before and was cleaning up until 3.30am. I run for the coach from Finchley Rd to Stansted, coffee at ‘Spoons’, then take Ryanair to Copenhagen. At one point I think I’m not going to be able to squeeze my carry-on luggage into the metal suitcase measuring rack. A Ryanair woman looms over me. I remove my Wellingtons from my case, then the bag fits. I carry my rubber boots onto the plane in my hand.

I sleep through the flight, mouth open, snoring. Arrival at Copenhagen airport. My instructions say take a train to the meeting point in Sweden, in the Skåne area, where I will be picked up at 3pm by the organisers. I punch in ‘Hoor’ on the ticket machine. No such place exists. I ask for help and the young man with fluent English says you need to put the ö (those strike throughs and umlauts aren’t just alphabetic garnishes), it’s ‘Höör’.

In the wood panelled waiting room at Höör station, two smudge-eyed teenage girls are conspiratorial. I find a plug and charge up my iPhone. We will be staying in a forest with no electricity. I need every percentage point on my battery as I won’t be able to recharge for two days. 

At 3.15pm I phone Charlotta: ‘I’m here’.

‘We’ll be there in five minutes, the others had problems catching the train.’

Lotta Ranert is a tall carrot-haired woman who has created this trip ‘Pure Food Camp’. She’s with Mia Klitte, a small blonde who runs a supper club venture called ‘A Slice of Swedish Hospitality’. We drive to Nyrups Naturhotell. At the entrance there is a dairy, Nyrups Osteria, run by Cecilia. She has laid out samples of her cheeses on a small cloth-covered table outside. As we walk through the forest to the camp, I slip. I’m wearing clogs. I’m told to change into my wellies.

Nyrups naturhotell yurt, Sweden

The accommodation is yurts, with two red wooden beds in the middle under a central skylight under a green canopy of leaves. I’m given a separate yurt because I snore. 

Camilla Jonsson is the owner of the Naturhotell. Her hair has become curly due to the menopause. We commiserate with each other. She shows us the compost toilets, separate ones for number 1s and number 2s.

‘But for number 1s, we pee in the forest.’

I like peeing outside. I don’t poo the entire time I’m there.

Camilla teaches us how to light the oil lamps and the paraffin heater. I think I’ll remember how to do it but not sure. I use the other bed to lay out my suitcase then walk to the motherlode yurt, which has a wood-fired stove, a dining table, kitchen equipment and supplies.

 
We sit at a sun-dappled wooden table on top of a hill, eating ‘fika’, Swedish for teatime except you have coffee and cinnamon buns. We do a ‘go around’, talking about ourselves. I talk too long. I’m very tired and functioning on automatic. I make myself instantly popular by saying I can’t stand cookery TV, the way it’s become a game show. Then I realise that two people at the table are involved with competitive cookery TV. 

The other women

Gabriella Ranelli, 40s, of Tenedor Tours. She’s American but has lived in the Basque Country in Spain for 30 years. She’s a food writer, runs tours of the Basque region and is helping chef Elena Arzak to write a book. She often wears a black beret.

Regula Ysewijn, 34, from Flanders, is better known as Miss Foodwise, a food writer, photographer and currently judge on Belgian Bake Off. She is married to talented artist Bruno Vergauwen.

Helen Mol, 30, is from Berlin but ‘born in a Chinese restaurant’. She’s a wine expert and sommelier. 

Emily Brown, 27, from England, can’t cook at all, she says. She organises tours with Martin Randall Travel that cater mostly for elderly people. She is learning Swedish and is planning to move to Sweden in a couple of years. Her biggest fear is one of her clients dying on a tour. 

Keri Moss, 46 (but looks about 30), was a joint winner of Professional Masterchef UK in 2012. ‘I did it to prove that women chefs are just as good as men. People at my catering job laughed when I applied.’ She’s very close to her cats. She’s British from a Trinidadian heritage.

Sarah Krobath, 30, is from Vienna in Austria. She’s a food writer, author and journalist.

The head chef is Titti Qvarnström, 39, is the first female Swedish chef to gain a Michelin Star. Now between restaurants, she is heading up this project with Lotta. From Malmo, she tries to encourage a food community in the region.  Titti is tall, slim with burning blue/green eyes depending on the light. Apparently Titti is a normal name in Sweden. 

Titti’s husband Andre Qvarnström is here. He’s German and a chef, they met while working in Berlin. He’s taken Titti’s surname as his. Titti is filming an American TV show and so he helps with the camp cooking when she can’t be here. Andre and Titti don’t have metal wedding rings, they have triple tattooed bands on their marriage fingers, which is more practical in the kitchen.

We also meet Anna, 24, a young Swede, who is helping Lotta organise the camp. She’s a pescatarian too so I’m glad I’m not the only dietary difficult person at the camp.

The ingredients for my meal

After fika, we are given baskets of food to cook, either in teams or alone. I’m given halloumi and beetroot and told to do something with it. I hate beetroot. But you are always on beetroot duty when you don’t eat meat. It’s just a fact of life.

The beetroot is roasted until black in the fire. I slice up the Swedish halloumi with nigella seeds, made by local Palestinians, called Nablusi. It’s extremely salty (and I like salt); I later read that you are supposed to soak it in water. 

swedish halloumi

There are several cooking fires, everybody is preparing a course. I grill the halloumi with rapeseed oil, crushed garlic and cider vinegar. We are only using Swedish products, so no olive oil. As darkness falls we gather around the candlelit table in the motherlode yurt. Each of us presents our meal, I’m apologetic about the saltiness and the charred messiness of my dish. People assure me it tastes good. 

Regula has made perch en papillote and Keri has made a fire-grilled pudding, which was supposed to rise. Keri stands at the head of the table with an embarrassed smile, holding a dish containing a flat bubbly blackened mess. We divide it amongst us – it tastes fantastic, especially with custard.

As the night draws on and glasses empty, Regula mentions that she hasn’t cut her hair since she was 12 years old. She carefully undoes her red tresses from their complicated twirls and ringlets. The auburn hair falls to the back of her knees. This feels so intimate, as if she has stripped off naked. 

Later she goes outside to pee, she returns almost immediately:

‘I’m scared.’
‘Do you want me to go with you?’ I offer.

She nods gratefully.

Outside, under the velvety canopy of the forest, we squat either side of a large oak tree and pee while chatting companionably. I return to my yurt, which I find due to the yellow glow from the centre window. The paraffin fire is lit, so is the lamp. Once I extinguish them, the yurt stinks unpleasantly of paraffin so I open the door wide and leave it open all night. I get up twice in the night to pee. In the pitch dark I can’t find my clogs so I go out to the forest in my bare feet. There was a rumour of Northern Lights tonight, so I look up, but there are too many trees to see the sky. In the morning I hear Regula and Keri, who are sharing a yurt, barely slept because they were afraid of zombies and bears.

Day Two

elderberries, foraging, Sweden

A Polish Swede called Pontus, who informs us he was named after a Greek god, is taking us on a foraging walk. He forms a circle and does physical exercises with us while we sing a silly song which lodges in your head, ‘Vi Kan dansa labado, lapado, lapadoo’, an ear worm.

cows, skåne, sweden

We walk along the road to forage:

‘You must use your mouse eyes’ whispers Pontus ‘to see the small things’.

We collect stinging nettles. After pinching off a few stalks, I have a tingly finger. We use the seeds and the leaves. We collect hazelnuts, acorns, Spanish chervil, plantain leaves, chickweed and wood sorrel for salad. We deposit our finds back at the camp and set off again immediately through the forest.

wood sorrel, foraging, naturhotell, Sweden

It is a damp, autumnal season perfect for mushroom picking. I’ve never seen so many mushrooms, brown and fairy-tale red with white spots. I find some cep mushrooms, one bright yellow. The leaves are mustard; we see a coiled black and white diamond pattern viper, cloven deer tracks, horse shoe imprints, khaki toads. The walk is mostly uphill and I’m starting to feel tired.

mushroom which produces latex, Sweden

At the top, Pontus does some focussing exercises; now we are encouraged to have ‘owl’ vision or peripheral vision, where patterns emerge. We stretch out our arms and listen to the silence. Pontus thanks everyone: trees, nature, people.

Cecilia of Nyrups Osteria, Skane, Sweden

Cecilia Timner,the cheese lady, has set up a picnic. I immediately drink a beer. Now I’ve stopped walking, my body is cooling fast, I feel wet and cold. They’ve provided fish for me as a pescatarian, some sea bass carpaccio, but to be honest I rarely eat fish. It’s all a bit real. I eat cheese, fig chutney, crispbread and tomatoes.

The way back is much faster. I’m better at downhill, which might sound obvious but some people are terrible at going downhill and this is one of my specialities. We go to the motherlode yurt and sit on wooden low chairs with sheep skins and flop around the wooden stove. I can barely move. I’ve done 12k steps. That’s a fuck of a lot for a long morning. Eventually I stagger back to my yurt and write a piece on tomatoes, due tomorrow.

Cooking flat breads on the fire, pure food camp, Skane, Swedenusing a beer bottle to roll out flat breads, pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Then I come back out to the camp fire. I’m asked to make flat bread with nettle seeds and buttermilk. 

‘Roll them out as thin as possible,’ says Titti.

chef Titti Qvarnstrom, making butter,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Chef Titti is making butter in a tall wooden tube, using a wooden plunger, up and down. The butter is delicious and we keep the buttermilk for the breads. Emily cooks my flatbreads on the open fire; they bubble up and blacken in spots. I roll some more salt into them, scatter the seeds on top. They remain soft and pliable when cooked, like chapatti. 

surstromming,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

We try a Swedish speciality, ‘surstromming’, fermented fish. The orange and red tin looks innocent enough, then Lotta opens it and the juice squirts out all over her sweatshirt. The smell is overpowering, I can smell it from 50m away. It’s ammonia and corpse-like and the smell of rotting death. Regula cuts small fillets of it on a board. I take one and eat it. Ugh. It’s a little like pickled herring but with an odour of rotten egg. The flavour continues. 

I walk away into the forest swearing, ‘Fuck!’ ‘Oh my god!’ and ‘This is just wrong’. 

My brain is all messed up. We are supposed to eat this stuff in the flat bread. Fortunately there is some Kalix roe, one of Sweden’s protected foods (DOP). I spoon this, with sour cream, red onion and lemony wood sorrel, into my flat bread. It’s good. I don’t mind eating babies.

chef Titti Qvarnstrom, grinding acorns for burgers,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Pontus has been leeching shelled acorns since Saturday, changing the water every few hours. The soaked acorns now look like brown plastic or small fake Easter eggs. Titti puts them through a food grinder. I taste a bit. They don’t taste bitter but are very dry and tasteless. Acorns have carbohydrates and some protein. All of our food is local or foraged. Pontus intones:

 ‘Wild food is not put there by man. Acorns mean no fields of wheat.’ 

soaked acorns, foraged,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Night falls. For the main course, back in the cosy mother hut, we eat acorn burgers, buttery mashed swedes with potatoes, wild leaves and for the meat eaters, coiled sausages. Andre tells us to inspect our bodies for ticks with the torchlight in our yurts. I have a few bites on the back of my legs. I have no one to look at my body for ticks. I worry about Lyme disease. 

Some people leave but some of us talk into the night: about the royals, about Lady Di, about illnesses, children, ambition and creativity. We drink Belgian sour beer and Austrian liqueur.  Eventually I go to bed and sleep 8 solid hours without waking. This is good. It rains outside.

Day Three


I awake at 7.30am and, as we are leaving this place, leave my orange suitcase outside my yurt, ready to be collected. Regula is making Belgian pancakes on a cast iron pan on the fire. We are eating breakfast outside, the table laid with a blue cloth. The table looks like something from a Swedish lifestyle cookery book: pretty tea cups, local yoghurt with fruit compote, slices of cheese, fish, meat. A bowl of fresh butter. Coffee made the old fashioned way, the grains left in the kettle which settle at the bottom of your cup.
We walk through the forest back to the dairy.

The coffee and the walk have made my bowels move. I dash to the modern toilet in the dairy. We take a minibus to Elisefarm, a golf hotel with a spa. On the ride Lotta explains that Skåne is Sweden’s larder, where most of the food is grown. The owner of Elisefarm, smiling Ingrid, was a high-powered lawyer from Stockholm who fell in love with a local farmer from Skåne. They set up this business together. 

‘What is this whole thing about golf?’ I ask.

Ingrid laughs.

‘I get the feeling that it’s about nice walks and drinking.’ 

She doesn’t disagree. I go up the wooden stairs and see my beautiful room, with two boat-like beds. I have a hot shower. The first time I’ve washed since Saturday. 

We drive to a berry farm, café and farm shop, Brånneriets Gård, where we eat an excellent vegetarian lunch: leek and potato soup which the Swedes call Potatoleek soup – potatoes get top billing in Sweden. I pick raspberries, blackberries and seabuckthorn berries, the latter are like golden jelly beans. The owner Margitha Nillson teaches us to make seabuckthorn jam, pickled cucumbers and schnapps.

making seabuckthornberry jam, Branneriets farm,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

We are given a selection of ingredients from which to make our schnapps for our meal tonight: Spanish Coriander, Artemesia, Yarrow flowers, Chokeberries, Rowan berries, frozen Elderflowers (browned but still fragrant). I choose chokeberries, sweeter than the others and white yarrow flowers. Later we will fill our bottles with vodka. 

On our way back to Elisefarm, we stop at a castle and look around the rooms. One room, small and narrow is totally filled with books and, next to the window, one perfect armchair. I want this room in my life.

Back in my bedroom I think I’ll write up my notes. I lay on my bed for a few minutes then wake up two hours later. Fuck. I wanted to swim. 

I stumble outside to the heated outdoor swimming pool, the steam curling off into the cold. Twenty lengths then over to the spa for the Jacuzzi. There is also an outside jacuzzi containing rather drunk Swedes; mini wine bottles and beer are scattered carelessly around.

pealafel,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Tonight is meatball night. But chef Titti makes a vegetarian option for me, Swedish falafel or ‘Pealafel’. Målmo is famed for the falafel; it’s an immigrant food that they’ve taken to their hearts. Peas are very Swedish, so Titti has made a dried pea version of falafel, which is bright green and very good.

Titti Qvarnström’s face is all eyes, large pools, peeking out from a headscarf tied pirate-style, or a dark green hunting hat. She is as good looking, tall and lithe, as a model. But she’s got no attitude, no swagger or arrogance. No awareness of her beauty either. A rare woman. 

Tonight we try Swedish wine, which is not bad at all. In fact I’ve often wondered, why the obsession with grapes when it comes to alcohol? Wine can be made from berries too. We walk in the dark, looking up at the stars, to the lake, where we will set the cages to catch crayfish. August and September is crayfish party season.

I hammer a stake into the grass and clutching a rope, chuck the cage into the lake. I manage not to let go of the rope and tie the other end to the stake. In the morning we will check the cages. The air smells of wood smoke. It’s not cold. For pudding we have berries and French toast. I sleep next to an open window and watch the full moon filter through the swaying trees, casting a silvery light.

Day Four

crayfish in cages,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

I wake up just before 7 with a dry mouth. First we collect our crayfish cages: I have quite a few. I now know the difference between male and female crayfish: the females are darker, browner. The males have two penises.

This morning we are going duck hunting.  With tall hunters, clad in camouflage country clothes, one wearing corduroy knickerbockers, we stride along the blowy golf course, toward trees surrounding a lake.  Golf grass is different: you can tell it is high quality and costly: tightly seeded bright, almost fluorescent green grass, I peer at the men and imagine them as Vikings, their descendants. One man has the complexion and wild eyes of a person who lives outdoors, and is swearing an orange high viz jacket. He has a dog, some kind of Labrador.

 ‘He’s very popular on hunts because he has a clever dog’ says one of the hunters.

He bustles around in the bushes and rustles up the ducks. He wears a bright jacket so that he doesn’t get shot. But ducks have good colour vision, so the hunters try to blend in. We are told to keep quiet.

Titti's hunting passes,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Titti is wearing her hunting gear and carrying her father’s gun. She spent her childhood outdoors with her father. 

‘I got my hunting license when my father died. Before I hunted on his license.’ she says.

The dogs are well trained, staying still during the shooting and running to collect the duck bodies in their mouths when directed. We remain silent, and every so often there is a call from the trees, some kind of human duck sound. The hunters tense, the ducks fly through the air and then shooting. At the end there are a dozen ducks laid on the grass, their peacock coloured necks stretched out. Those that aren’t properly dead have their necks snapped. 

I don’t feel anything. I don’t eat meat but I don’t feel bad. I feel interested. 

clay pigeon shooting,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

The only shooting I can try is with ‘clay pigeons’. I’m handed a gun, a beautiful gun with polished wood and engraved curlicues on the pewter metal. This is a ladies’ gun, with two barrels side by side, meaning you can shoot one bullet after another. Inside brightly coloured plastic cartridges, there are dozens of little pellets which used to be made of lead and are now made from steel. I’ve never seen a gun before which wasn’t behind a glass case in a museum. I’ve certainly never touched one or held one. 

clay pigeon shooting,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

I am given bright pink headphones. Another man sitting at a machine a couple of metres away, catapults a clay object into the air. I watch the hunters hit the clay with ease. The noise is so loud, like dynamite. You can’t stop yourself from flinching.
I go to the line and stand with my legs apart, one in front of the other. Keep the gun tight to your cheek and your shoulder/ just above the armpit, I’m instructed. Look along the barrel, that’s how you direct your shot accurately. Take off the safety. When you are ready say ‘pull’.

‘Pull’

The weight, the length, the blast, the kickback. My whole body rings. It’s shocking.

‘Again?’
‘Ok.’

I step up. 
Bang! I miss again.

‘Not far off’ says a hunter, smiling encouragingly.

I try a third shot.
Then I have to stop, to rest a while. It’s so physical. It’s both tiring and exhilarating. I feel exhausted and alive.
After a long pause, I shoot more. You can’t do many though, it’s too overwhelming, stupefying.

me shooting,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

We have lunch with the hunters who are all local farmers. One, opposite me, looks very Viking, with pale blue eyes and white thick hair, strong teeth and a big grin. 
It starts to rain and I’m offered a golf cart to drive back to my room. This is fun, like a toy car.

crayfish confetti,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

That night it’s the crayfish party which often takes place outside as it is a messy business. Elisefarm has a summer house with a fireplace in the corner, it’s perfect. The long table is decorated in red and white: small pointed cardboard hats, large bibs draped over the back of each chair, crayfish candle holders, crayfish confetti, crayfish streamers and crepe paper cutouts. On each plate, a little pair of pliers and a knife. 

crayfish,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

A large bowl of fire engine red crayfish is delivered. We are shown how to eat crayfish: you crack the claws, break off the body, extract the meat and suck the dill stock from the head. I don’t eat any. I stick to the smörgåsbord of cheese, crispbread, herring, salad, Västerbotten pie. 
Every so often we sing songs, one to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Then a swig of schnapps and:

‘Skål’! Cheers.

My chokeberry schnapps has turned dark purple. Our faces are bright and cheerful in the flickering candlelight. 

crayfish party,  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

That night, in my sleigh bed beside the open window, I have a restless sleep. My body cannot relax, I feel so tired but invigorated. The wind and the rain batter the window, like lead shot.

Day Five:


When showering I notice a large purple bruise on my arm from the kickback on the gun. This makes me feel pretty tough. I want to go on more survival type adventures.
Pack, meet at the hunting lodge for breakfast. 
We see Pontus Dowchan, the singing forager, has joined Instagram and is commenting on all our photos. This makes us giggle. We joke that he will give up foraging to become a social media addict. 
We meet back at the spa to give feedback on the trip.

‘It’s the best food trip I’ve ever been on’ I say.

Lotta Ranert and Titti Qvarnstrom, leaders of  pure food camp, Skane, Sweden

Pure Food Camp will be operating commercially from 2019.  
This article, how to type umlauts on a Mac, has been very useful in writing this piece.

Recent posts

Emily O'Hare serving pasta at an al fresco dinner in La Torre Alle Tolfe, just outside Siena in Tuscany pic; Kerstin Rodgers

Visiting Tuscany, Chianti, sommelier Emily O’Hare and the world’s most famous butcher

August 4, 2022

The Palio in Siena, Italy: curses and horses

July 28, 2022

Local vegetarian recipes from Naples and Campania

July 23, 2022

Previous Post: « The hundred ingredient gut microbiome supper club with Professor Tim Spector
Next Post: What to eat and do in Malmö, Sweden »

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. rhona

    September 20, 2017 at 8:34 pm

    I love the way you write. It makes me envy you on your trip to lovely Skåne. I felt that I could hear your laughter and sense the tastes and smells. gorgeous

    Reply
    • Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover

      September 20, 2017 at 8:50 pm

      Thank you Rhona, there was a lot of laughter!

      Reply
  2. Tyson Harold

    September 21, 2017 at 9:36 am

    Nice

    Reply
  3. Sally - My Custard Pie

    September 22, 2017 at 5:17 pm

    I always enjoy your writing but this is one of your most vital and beautifully crafted pieces. Absorbing, informative, candid, immersive and poetic. Should win an award.

    Reply
    • Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover

      September 23, 2017 at 1:23 pm

      Thanks Sally, your comment has put a smile on my face. Makes the work worthwhile to get this kind of feedback. x

      Reply
  4. Kavita Favelle | Kavey Eats

    September 22, 2017 at 5:51 pm

    Beautiful writing, felt like I was right there with you. Such a personal and intimate style. ?

    Reply
    • Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover

      September 23, 2017 at 1:24 pm

      Thanks so much Kavey. Must chat to you about Japan as I'm planning my trip there. x

      Reply
  5. Bridget Blair

    September 23, 2017 at 6:54 am

    What a wonderful five days you had! Foraging for food, the camaraderie between you all and the sheer variety of activities….all described with such brio. Loved this piece….

    Reply
    • Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover

      September 23, 2017 at 1:24 pm

      Thank you Bridget. I hope to get the chance to do more of this sort of thing. x

      Reply
  6. asharpknife

    September 24, 2017 at 8:23 am

    Everyone else has said it but *wavey agreement hands* on the compliments. The trip sounds so cool, I'm gonna keep it in mind if I can afford it ever 😀
    x

    Reply
    • Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover

      September 24, 2017 at 6:44 pm

      You would love it! And thanks for the compliment, frankly you can never get enough. The positive feedback inspires me!

      Reply
  7. Regula Ysewijn

    October 7, 2017 at 1:42 pm

    Loved reading your account, though only have done so thoroughly today as I did not want to be influenced for mine! Great piece Kerstin, and yes so different from mine yet not so different! Unforgettable trip!!

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Die pure Lust an Schweden - Sarah Satt | SATT GETEXTET e.U. says:
    January 21, 2021 at 3:30 pm

    […] am 17.11.2017)Mehr Eindrücke von meinen Mit-Camperinnen findet ihr bei Miss Foodwise und MsMarmitelover. perfect setting for a Fika © Sarah Krobath Foraging © Sarah Krobath picking seeds, nuts […]

    Reply

Leave a Reply to Kerstin Rodgers aka MsMarmiteLover Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Recipe Rating




Primary Sidebar

MsMarmiteLover aka Kerstin Rodgers.

Chef, photographer, author, journalist, blogger. Pioneer of the supperclub movement.

This is my food and travel blog, with recipes, reviews and travel stories. I also stray into politics, feminism, gardening.

Subscribe to my mailing list

msmarmitelover

Kerstin Rodgers/MsMarmiteLover
Grilled Manouri cheese (like halloumi but not rubb Grilled Manouri cheese (like halloumi but not rubbery and less salty) with watermelon, spruce oil and tarragon. #salad #summervibes
I went to @hide_restaurant in Piccadilly, they are I went to @hide_restaurant in Piccadilly, they are now doing breakfast & brunch. The restaurant design is stunning in itself, from the gaudi-esque central staircase, to the table decorations, to the uniforms of the waiting staff. Chef @olliedabous has developed an incredible menu: from standards like avocado on toast (beautifully presented with edible flowers & 2 lightly poached eggs), pain au chocolat (buckwheat), french toast with blueberry compote ( cloud-like, soft, light), British @exmoorcaviar with sourdough, mango with kefir lime zest, an extraordinary tea & coffee menu ( Brazilian single estate coffee) Yuzu indigo tea. You can spend a lot. Or a little. Worth it for the design, the baking, the feeling of experiencing a rare treat. #london #breakfast #brunch #review #invitation
My niece @rachaelrodgers wedding to Luca Venezia @ My niece @rachaelrodgers wedding to Luca Venezia @cursesforever. It’s been featured in US vogue. Style, good food, great music, stunning backgrounds of mount vesuvius & Naples were the order of the day. Or should I say 3 days which is how long it lasted. The bride wore white but it was a vintage @viviennewestwood corset (one of only 5 existing, the other 3 are in fashion museums), and a flowery bikini to cut the delicious rose 🌹 and cherry 🍒 cake. Hawaiian barbie & La Cicciolina were inspirations. The guests were equally stunning. #naples #wedding #bridestyle
Air fryer recipe: aubergine sticks with yoghurt an Air fryer recipe: aubergine sticks with yoghurt and tahini sauce. Aubergines 🍆 soak up a lot of oil so an air fryer is a great way to minimise the calorific content. They tasted just as delicious! Recipe here: https://msmarmitelover.com/2022/06/air-fryer-recipe-aubergine-sticks-with-yoghurt-tahini-sauce.html I only used a couple of tablespoons of olive oil rather than a gallon. Going to play about with some other recipes. #airfryer #recipe I got my air fryer here: https://www.very.co.uk/electricals/cooking-appliances/fryers/e/b/4571.end it’s an extra large with 2 drawers.
This is a new dish I’ve invented called, ahem, p This is a new dish I’ve invented called, ahem, patatas nachas. Underneath is a layer of potatoes fried in olive oil. On top nachos with cheese, salsa, guacamole, creme fraiche, rajas. It’s a mash up of patatas bravas and nachos. There is a brilliant book out with 75 nachos variations by @tfimb called nachos for dinner. Nachos are quick tasty & if you add other elements- filling. #nachos #dinner
Ciambotta which is an Italian version of ratatouil Ciambotta which is an Italian version of ratatouille but with fried potato. Recipes here: https://www.hamhigh.co.uk/things-to-do/food-reviews/three-neapolitan-vegetarian-recipes-9147040 #naples #recipe #vegetarian
Aqua Sale, a fisherman’s meal in campania. ‘Yo Aqua Sale, a fisherman’s meal in campania. ‘You take dry bread, put it in a colander, put it in the sea, drain it, add tomatoes, oil, oregano and this is a meal. Every family had a dried bread drawer.’ I was told. I used basil and made my own ‘sea water’ by adding salt to fresh water. Recipe in the @ham&high and on the blog soon. #aquasale #breadsalad #cucinapovera #tomatoes #heatwavefood
Zeppoline, deep-fried pizza doughnuts with seaweed Zeppoline, deep-fried pizza doughnuts with seaweed - a Neapolitan dish I had in a local trattoria in a sweltering narrow street. Served hot in a basket, I tore them up and dipped them in oil & lemon juice. Recipe in the ham and high and on the blog soon. #recipe #naples #fried
Being silly at last night’s picnic for my sister Being silly at last night’s picnic for my sister in laws birthday in waterlow park. A rolypoly race. 
I’ve not been feeling great the past few days, sniffles, headache, sore throat. I took a test after the picnic just to be on the safe side & sure enough I finally caught the dreaded covid. 
When I feel better I’ll return to Italy.
This vegetarian met the worlds most famous butcher This vegetarian met the worlds most famous butcher @dariocecchinimacellaio whose shop is located in Panzano, Tuscany. He trained my favourite food writer @bill.buford in butchery. I told him I didn’t eat meat & he twinkled ‘to beef or not to beef’. He has a Clark Gable elegance: moustache, slicked back hair, charm, & a designer shirt depicting cows from @cotondoux paris. I instinctively wore a red & white striped dress which matched the colours of his shop, the red & white of the surgeon. They serve you glasses of Dario’s own Chianti Classico complete with straw bottomed ‘fiasco’. Now where else do you get that? When I return I will try the vegetarian menu at his restaurant opposite. #butcher #panzano #tuscany #chiantishire #chianticlassico #foodsiena #foodreportage
On a very steep street in siena, Tuscany. They’v On a very steep street in siena, Tuscany. They’ve had to be creative with the table legs. We went to the Palio horse race in the shell-shaped piazza where the passion & downright enmity of the different contrada or districts, each represented by an animal or mascot, was on display. The riders go bareback. It’s the horse that wins not the jockey. A riderless horse can win. There are many false starts, a massive explosion going boom in the square each time which led kids to cry. We waited for hours in the cheap seats- the burnt ochre brickwork of the centre. While tourists at windows paid 600 euros for the privilege. I loved the singing, like football chants but operatic- lots of finger pointing at each other. After I went to a contrada dinner on the streets of Siena, a rare opportunity. For 35 euros you attend the largest ‘supper club’ ever- 800 people, 4 courses, generous helpings of chianti. The servers are local teenagers. I wore my ‘Oca’ or goose scarf around my shoulders, looking like a girl guide. A bucket list item ticked off. I only wish my daughter @siennamarla was with me. #travel #food #italy #chiantishire #siena #palio #supperclub #oca #contrada
Looking at vegetables in Italy. Photo by @loredana Looking at vegetables in Italy. Photo by @loredanaparisi72
My piece in the @hamandhigh about the 3 day @heat My piece in the @hamandhigh about the  3 day @heathostile training course. Incredibly interesting & challenging. Link: https://www.hamhigh.co.uk/things-to-do/hostile-environment-training-9037980 to read more #hostileenvironmenttraining
Supper club dishes from Saturday: pickled beetroot Supper club dishes from Saturday: pickled beetroot eggs, cheeseboard, stracciatella & cucumber, tomato/strawberry/peashoot salad with real balsamic & spruce oil, home cured dill gravlax, smoked salmon, homemade sourdough crisp bread, potato salad with wild fennel & lots more! #supperclub #midsummer #eattherainbow (miss you @linnsoederstroem)
Last nights supper club. My first supper club in 2 Last nights supper club. My first supper club in 2 years was great fun. I’m pleased with my food, the guests were lovely, it looked magical in the garden. But the weather! I even had to bring my duvets from the bedroom out. They looked like refugees. But this brought even more laughter! Next event September
My first supperclub in two years will take place t My first supperclub in two years will take place this Saturday 18th June starting at 7.30pm. Tickets are £50 byo you can book here: https://msmarmitelover.com/product/midsommar-supper-club there are still a few places left. Pescetarian menu. Scandi and botanical influences. #gettingbackonmyfeet #postpandemic #smallbusinesses #supperclub #london
I recently completed the 3 day @heathostile train I recently completed the 3 day  @heathostile training course. On the last day I was kidnapped by ex-special forces for a few hours & learnt how to deal with compliance training & a hostile environment. It was one of the most interesting experiences of my life. 3 intense days of combat first aid, navigation & how to survive in a war zone. I handled short, long guns, mortars, grenades, bullets, and tourniquet & bandaged an amputee. I learnt where to sit in a car, where to hide from a bullet, where to protect myself if in a car. It was brilliant. Highly recommended for any journalists, photographers, cameramen, charity workers, paramedics going into any difficult environment say a disaster or war. The stories from the tutors & the other participants were so interesting. My piece on it out soon. Book a course: https://hostile-environment.co.uk/  They also do jungle & desert training. I’d love to join the Antarctic expedition. Anyway that’s me hooded in the front. #adventures #het #hostileenvironmenttraining #experiences #travel
Bundoran beach, Donegal. I spent a week knocking o Bundoran beach, Donegal. I spent a week knocking on doors, going to libraries, searching through graveyards for my Irish forebears. It’s really hard to find information prior to 1850. I found this in last years trip to Arbroath in Scotland. Headstones wear out, records are lost or burnt in a fire, everybody has the same name and are known by nicknames, successive children have the same first name, that usually means they died and the next one is called by the same thing. Women did have children out of wedlock, and people remarried more often than you’d think, plus families fall out & never see each other again. I learnt that my Irish great grandfather michael went to Glasgow & met a woman who came from a similar place: somewhere wild & beautiful by the sea. Then they and their children came to london. Chasing the work & the money always. Politics and economics matter for they push people around from rural to city. And now we rodgers are Londoners. #ireland #scotland #family #travel #roots
How some of us celebrate the Queen’s jubilee! My How some of us celebrate the Queen’s jubilee! My sister & a random Irishman come for the Rory Gallagher festival in ballyshannon. Sis has pulled already!  #getyourcoat #sexpistols #ballyshannon #rorygallagherfestival #ireland
Tullaghan, county Leitrim, Donegal, where my grea Tullaghan, county Leitrim, Donegal,  where my great great grandfather john Rodgers was a postman, then a tailor, then a pawnbroker. #irishheritage #donegal #myancestry #irish #rodgers #travel
Load More... Follow on Instagram

Archives

Copyright © 2022 msmarmitelover