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I write blogs, I make videos, I judge restaurants, I cook food, I eat food, I talk about food.
Sneaky lil lunch for two while the toddler is at nursery. Actually had a whole conversation although on the way home peak excitement was reached when we discovered an earlier dropped toy car on the side of the Sandown Road 😂
The new lunch menu at is incredible value. 10/10 recommend 🤸
Dinner a deux.
Onion and celery softened. Quarter of a teaspoon each of cayenne and paprika. Teaspoon of cumin. Two cloves of garlic. Half a bottle of passata. Tin of mixed beans. Simmer while you cook some couscous.
Topped with yoghurt, toasted almonds and coriander because I'm pretty chill about normal toddler fussy eating, but I simply cannot tolerate a child that hates my most beloved herb 🙈🙈🙈
A little dip with the book club girls to lift the spirits tonight.
Obligatory coffee and chats after, which is always the real treat. I made a frittata and you can totally find the recipe for that on my actual blog. Like it is indeed 2011. Not even a substack or anything 😂
1. I am currently so obsessed with the Olympics on social media that I ordered a chocolate muffin in Nero yesterday. Not sure if it was 11/10 but it scratched an itch.
2. Of course I don't have a picture because every single one of my senses is involved when I eat out with my toddler and photography is not one of those senses. I'm still laughing at this picture of our anniversary dinner at Il Pirata. I used to be an award winning food photographer who got invited to fun places and followed for hot new takes. LOL.
3. I don't want to show off, but after sixteen whole years of marriage, we have finally cracked 'splitting the housework' and I have had to accept that basically I am a massive control freak? A hard life lesson, but at least I don't have to clean out the manky shower drain any more, so I'll take it.
4. I chanced upon a bottle of cuticle oil this week, and have actually applied some to my actual cuticles. I expect some sort of special commendation when I next go to get them painted, please and thank you.
5. It's Friday. I've had a wine in the garden already. Hope you are having a lovely one, whatever you are up to x
💫 Sixteen years 💫
💫 Guru Purnima today, a Hindu festival to celebrate our teachers.
I'm so glad my daily practice is part of my life; I'm so grateful to for giving me what I need from it for the last 13 years.
My favourite picture, from my most intense study trip, featuring the tiniest yet mightiest teacher of all 💫
1. It's nearly 5pm. The dog is doing a dance in front of me that would put Michael Flatley to shame. If he keeps this up, I'll have to insure his legs. Or just give him his sodding dinner.
2. An unexpected perk of getting back to catering 'properly' is how immaculately clean my kitchen is. I (almost literally) dusted off the old cleaning schedule and let me tell you my kitchen kickboards are now SHINING. I only found one loose pea as well, sort of wedged between the fridge and a cupboard. Just call me Hyacinth.
3. This is me in lovely Di**le. Yes, I have worn this dress a million times but I brought it all the way back from India and sure isn't it grand? Let's normalise wearing things we love as much as we can get away with. Bonus of not even needing any sucky in pants and I could accommodate as many portions of sticky toffee pudding as I wanted in there. Win win, all round.
4. We went to the for some fish and chips last night. It was GLORIOUS and I can say no more on the matter. Smoked haddock, side of curry sauce, pot of tea, plz. They even have some bonus diggers outside at the minute which we all know is the only entertainment you ever need with a toddler so everyone was happy.
5. It's minutes past five. I best feed the dog. And if you are calling round to pick up some food, please just say nice things about my kickboards.
Sarah
It's been a hot minute since late night chopping and simmering and washing up. Back in my happy place, I guess 🥰
Butter chicken is on sale for next week, if you feel like you are missing out (you should). It's a tray of butter chicken, some crispy potatoes and everyone's favourite mango salad. You come pick it up and BOOM 💥, weekend dinner sorted 💥
Order on the website for next weekend. The rest of you, I'll see ya tomorrow 🤸
💫 BUTTER. CHICKEN. IS. BACK 💫
For all you fans of a Friday night treat of a dinner being made for you, the Friday night feast is BACK.
A tray of butter chicken or paneer, some spiced potatoes and a chopped mango salad. All you need to do is crack open the fizzy pop and whack it in the oven.
💫 Order from www.littlepinkkitchen.co.uk
💫 Collection from East Belfast this Friday between 4 and 7
💫 Each portion is enough for two
💫 Everything comes in oven friendly dishes
💫 There are no gluten containing ingredients
I know half the country has vanished, but I'll hopefully see some of you on Friday 🤸
1. I am in Di**le with my sister for a wedding tomorrow. It is so very, very beautiful. On the way here, we stopped at the Barack Obama plaza services and. Well. Quite the sight. Also a chance to stock up on Southern Cadbury so do call in if you are in the area.
2. Mr P ordered a new phone battery for this week and it looks like a Twilight mint. Does anyone else remember them? You got them with the bill after your bang bang chicken in The Grouse, and they were glorious. Bring em back, I say.
3. I am wearing my midlife crisis denim jumpsuit a lot because weather and it is perfect EXCEPT for when you are doing outdoorsy person things and need a wee. And it was supposed to be a new moon last weekend, not a full one. Sorry lads.
4. Do you the way I've barely mentioned the fact I was in India this year? Well, the voice on my Google maps unexpectedly has an Indian twang. It must have updated when I was out there or something. I almost feepmoile taking her for a dosa. Except I'm in Di**le, so maybe a spice bag instead?
5. We've had a swim, had a hotel room coffee, availed of the facilities. Time to go for a drink.
Have a good one lads!
Sarah x
Picked up some yellow-stickered mince while getting milk earlier.
Made moussaka for maybe the first time? Everyone loved it and an excuse to use the 🍆🍆🍆 emoji so double fun tonight 😂
🌱 Coming up with loads of salad ideas for customers who are having parties soon and it really is my favourite 🥰
🤸 Email [email protected] if you need something for your next gathering that will freshen up everything 💫
Nectarine. Fancy mozzarella. Basil. Toasted almonds.
Eating like it's actually summer, if nothing else 🌱
1. You asked. I listened. Here are five of the most bizarre things that have run through my head this week. A childhood picture, because they are always hilarious.
2. While I was 'away' I noticed that everybody and their cat was at Taylor Swift and I wasn't sure if I had actually heard any of her stuff because I listen to 'tragic old person who once had an asymmetric heaircut and a pair of those H&M squins that were so skinny you got friction burns' favourite 6music. I decided to recitify this on a dog walk this week and do you know what? I get it. It totally reminds me of the kind of music that soundtracked, like, Dawson's Creek or the OC or something when you were all teenaged and hormonal and thought your parents hated you.
3. I'm not entirely sure I can consider myself a full 'swiftie'. I mean, its only been three days and I barely have enough free time at the minute to shave my legs never mind make sodding bracelets, so I'll leave that to the yoof. And maybe listen to some Jamie XX.
4. This peanut butter needs to be on the grid. LOLz at that phrase, people usually reserve it for like a rig out at a wedding or something but this peanut butter is EVEN better than that. I obviously buy (too much of) my own, but if want to send any my way, I'll happily don the matching activewear sets and smoothie bowls of the peanut butter influencer. Except we all know that isn't true. So I'll just sit here in my M&S jeans, eating it out of the jar with a spoon. It really is THAT good.
5. It is Friday. I am working tomorrow and a bit boring on the old booze front these days in an extremely vain attempt to have some energy for when I wake up in the morning, but I might go mad and pour a glass of white. I'll be asleep on the sofa by 9.
Have a good one, all. It is so lovely to be back,
Sarah x
Big lunches all round yesterday (I mean, swipe for the 'small' chicken stack) which meant that this was all that needed to be done for dinner.
Twas a dream come true for the toddler, not going to lie 😂 Is the childcare bill or the strawberry bill higher? TBC.
🥔 Crisped up some potatoes, carrots and cashews then glazed them with soy, honey and a LOT of garlic 🧄
🧀 Whipped up some feta with sesame oil, coriander and spring onion 🧅
Salty cheese for a beloved DIP and crispy potatoes meant even the toddler was happy to overlook the green therein.
Which was good, because this was delicious and I am 💯% making again 🤸
Oh god. I did That Thing. That Thing where you aim for perfect so do sodding NOTHING.
That thing where I did not say one thing on here for a while because, well I was having some sort of post-India life crisis (turns out that when not accompanied by a toddler, I had a lot more time for navel gazing. I mean, who would have thunk?) Don’t worry, I was still stalking you all.
And then I must have been hanging out in some sort of Victorian workhouse because I managed to get pneumonia? Like, actually. Which is pretty brutal, what with the whole ‘not really being able to breathe and needing to sleep so much your Mother has to come and take your child because you simply cannot be responsible for another human’s life’ sort of a vibe.
And then, well, the quest for perfection meant I didn’t really post anything at all. I mean, not even any funny LOLz or anything. Although I promise there have been no further purchases of leather shorts. Although we all know around here that leather shorts=perfection so maybe I should have bought some in my quest for this illusive perfect. I could probably have made them a tax deductible expense and goodness knows they would be more wearable in this Northern Irish ‘Summer’ than pretty much any other type of short 🙈
Anyway it is the first day of a new month and it is a Monday and if I worked somewhere that meant I actually understood what a tax deductible expense actually was, I would be ALL BIZ about the fact that it is a new quarter. I might even be setting myself up for a ‘sprint’ or something. Perhaps involving Slack. Definitely involving Slack.
Alas there is no Slack, just me, Sarah, saying hi and reminding you all that catering is what I do here in the Little Pink Kitchen. Trays of food you can stick in your own oven as an (vaguely) affordable way to feed a crowd. Platters of sandwiches. Canapés. I can even go retro Little Pink Kitchen and do salad boxes for your office lunches. For butter chicken fans, watch this space 👀
(And for the absolute legends who slide into the DMs, comment and email about the writing with such kind words it makes me a bit weepy, I’m figuring that out, too. But progress, not perfection, right? 🤍)
Everyone else posting sunsets and glasses of rosé and I am FREAKING OUT that shorts szn, however brief, means my type 1 diabetes is there for all and sundry to see.
Never not a learning curve, this game 🎯
I was 40 on Friday, and if my week of celebrations was a reflection of what is to come, everything is going to be just fine. There was sea swimming and glasses of white burgundy and poetry and cake and singing at work; the culmination of all of these on my birthday itself, with the toddler taken to my parent's and us boarding a plane to Bordeaux.
We land late on Friday, a comfortable bed in a budget hotel with no tiny alarm clock the ultimate treat. We wake naturally, and Mr P charms the reception staff into delivering us coffee.
We walk to Marche Des Capucins, a coffee and a croissant on the way to line the stomach. At the market, we marvel at families eating steak frites for breakfast. We see pineapples, cod cheeks, cookies; all for customers to carefully place in their pull along shopping trollies.
More walking, this time to the square in front of the National Opera building. A glass of rose, a pleasant half hour watching the walks of holidaymakers of all shapes and sizes; daysacks with packed lunches and bottles of water, celebratory groups in matching t-shirts.
Then, to Place Du Palais, the lunch menu of an alleyway restaurant luring us to a little table on the side of the street. We eat tuna with grapefruit and cauliflower with chorizo, and onglet and squid. There is minerally white wine from stoney soil, then there is an afternoon nap. The toddler is not with us after all.
More walking, and this time a beer in a square absolutely full of young bordelaise. A woman at the table beside us breastfeeds her week old baby, her and her partner entranced by this new life they have created.
We visit Galleries Lafayette, and look at rows and rows of clothes in muted tones. I buy a denim jumpsuit. This might be the beginning of a midlife crisis.
We jump on a boat to dinner, a glass of champagne to sip as the sun sets perfectly between the spires of the Notre Dame. A group gather to celebrate a birthday. They spend so long greeting each other with kisses I worry that their carefully chosen white will be warm. We eat snails and mushrooms and slabs of pork, and we raise a glass to birthdays, to dinner, to us 🤍
The words. The writing. Yes, so much has come from my father. But so much has come from reading. In certain seasons, devouring whole books like a hungry teenager whose legs could not be filled. In other seasons, poetry. A page every few days, before weary eyes close to sleep.
In the biggest, most recent, most memorable of all the seasons, stumbling across the poems of motherhood written by and reading her words with an eight week old in his very own purple baby grow, tears streaming my cheeks.
Tonight, in Belfast, hearing her read her own words, and them being as brilliant and as funny as as poignant as when I read those words in my own voice.
What a treat 💫
I'm working today, as normal. I rush home as quickly as I can. There is reheated Bolognese sauce, and giant shells of pasta, and hastily grated cheese.
Unusually for a Tuesday night, there is also a glass of prosecco. We clink a celebration of these two years; two flutes of fizz, one stout water glass smeared by red hands, three delighted faces. We sing Happy Birthday, and you shout CAKE in reply. Cake for pudding really is the only appropriate response. It is only your birthday once a year, after all.
As we load the dishwasher, a procession of cars, and diggers, and tractors, and transporters follows us to and from the kitchen. I wonder how this fits into the Montessori rotation. I guess it doesn't, but then again, neither do we. The prize vehicle is selected to bring upstairs, and the journey up is punctuated by showing us where in this tiny yellow car Daddy sits. And Mummy. And even Sid the beagle.
The car and the toddler are washed of Bolognese sauce. Teeth are brushed, pyjamas and nappies and stuffed elephants are collected. You sit on your daddy's knee, shouting 'TIGER! TEA!'
And so the first story of the evening is chosen. A sloppy kiss and a tight squeeze for Mummy. A wave and a night night. As I close the door, another story with Daddy has begun.
Happy birthday my darling boy. Two years of turning ordinary life into something really rather extraordinary. We love you so much ❤️
Big birthday this week. The book club girls kicking it all off beautifully; running between on Portstewart strand, with a picnic and hot coffee and chats for after.
I am one lucky, lucky girl 😍
A rare night out. There are chats and some wine. Someone suggests going to see someone else we know sing. Some chats, another glass. It is time to head home.
I wait for a bus and seagulls circle overhead. I didn't realise they came out at night. Maybe the discarded chip wrappers at this time of night help.
Two women walk past, their silver high heeled shoes altering how they walk. You can see the effort that is going into this walking; the delay in getting the giant block heel to settle squarely on the ground before taking the next step, the stumble when it goes wrong. They giggle and help each other up with every single stumble. The smiles are infectious.
As the bus pulls up, there is a teenaged girl. Somehow the enormous platform trainers look small when compared to the eyelashes. She nervously taps at her phone. I hope she has a reason to smile soon.
We are on the bus, and three young lads board. They clutch plastic cups of cider, and smile, barely able to contain their glee.
There is a man beside me, his shoes shiny and his trousers shinier. I see the logo of a utility company on his branded coat. I too would need a drink after a day of sales. He points out a dropped pound coin to a man rummaging for his phone. Everyone smiles.
I get off the bus. Jamie XX is playing as I walk home. I smile. Life is good.
We leave India soon, it is barely more than a day. The words are too heavy; there are too many, about too many things.
The words I have written here have been for my own mental scrapbook, I quickly realised that looking after a toddler on my own meant I had no free hands for pictures, so instead writing has been for my own memories. I never ever want to forget our walks through the streets of Gokulam, or our trips to the shops, or our rickshaws through Mysore.
Yet I'm not sure I have written enough. There was that woman, older than my mother, dispatched for her day of street cleaning. There were the businessmen with handkerchiefs of silk tucked into their pockets, shaking hands and doing deals and smiling. There were the cups of tea and paneer butter masalas and supercars and cows in the middle of the road. There was so much.
But there was also a woman, on a ten hour flight, pushing a small yellow car for a delighted toddler. A few days later, this pair later shared a dosa and the woman drank a sweet lime soda while her child played with the straw. The two would repeat this scene. Often.
There was the woman who woke up at half past three every morning to go and practice yoga. There was the woman and her child waiting for friends in the park in the late afternoon sun. There was the woman making pasta, and toast, and cutting grapes in half.
There was the woman who dealt with stolen passports and broken blood sugar monitors and dropped contact lenses. There was the woman and her toddler outside conference at the revered Sharath Yoga Centre, unable to sit still, so instead playing with rickshaws and drinking chai.
Eventually, there was the woman and the man and the toddler, who slept in a hut by the beach, a hotel in the mountains, a train through the Indian countryside.
That woman was me.
What an adventure.
Thank you all, so much, for letting me share. These words have been my adult conversation, my downtime, my reassurance that I am not totally insane for doing what I have done. What we have done.
What an adventure. Thank you, again, for coming along for the ride 🇮🇳
We have three minutes. Three minutes to make sure we are getting on the right carriage. Three minutes to get six weeks of stuff on; the large suitcase, the travel buggy, the carrier, the beloved toy cars. Three minutes to get all three of us on.
But we dash, and we push, and we shove, and all of a sudden we have made it. Made it to the overnight train to Bengaluru. There is an eerie quiet in the carriage, yet still it remains chaotic; people and belongings and coming for a stare at the small white toddler. For whom exhaustion is creeping in.
I rock, I soothe, I settle. Mr P makes up a bed and we nestle in for stories and cuddles. Soon, there is sleep. Mr P goes in search of a chai, I open up the snacks we bought earlier. There are spiced chickpeas, and banana fritters, and banana chips.
Eventually it is time to use the squat toilet, brush my teeth, and contort my body into the remaining space.
As the train rolls through Kerala, and the toddler starts gently snoring, I smile. Train adventures, with a toddler. Anything is possible.
We walk down to the edge of the sea. The waves are choppy, we have been warned of sudden drops; this is not a sea to be swimming in. As we tentatively paddle, we exclaim at just how warm it is.
A keralan fishing boat is one of many at sea, this one painted red. Nets are cast, fish are sorted. A man squats at the back, smoking a cigarette.
An young Indian couple frolick in the shallow water. They take pictures of each other, checking to see that there is approval before sending on.
A group of workers hunch in the sand, unified in their dark green overshirts. They drop the scarves wrapped around their faces to smile and wave at the toddler.
The sun is there; glowing, orange. And all of a sudden it is not. We furiously try to store as much of this memory as possible. Tomorrow, Calicut.
We are in Kerala. I want to say we are in paradise, but the makeshift huts of blue tarpaulin in the village nearby indicate this perhaps isn't true for all.
Still, as we walk past those very same huts, smiles and waves and joy abounds. The welcome is like the final leg of a marathon, or something.
Back at our guesthouse, we occupy one of a handful of huts. A chilled glass of pineapple juice appears as we sit by the pool, marvelling at the Arabian sea. A colony of ants is there when some is spilled.
There is a security guard, who is accompanied everywhere he goes by a flock of birds. The birds are ready to sn**ch snacks. Maybe they too hope for some pineapple juice.
We walk the short distance to the sea hotter than the baths we gave the toddler as anxious newborn parents. As we pass people in hammocks, reading books and sipping from giant water bottles, there is a pang for a previous life. When we reach the water, the shriek of delight from the toddler is a celebration of this one. There are smiles and waves from everyone who walks past.
We are so lucky. Maybe it is paradise after all.
Madikeri is a small town full of agriculture, lots of people tell us we are the first white people they have ever seen.
We take an early morning walk through the town, the builders have started already, before the heat of the day sets in. We try and ATM, no cash is possible today madam. It wasn't possible yesterday, either. I don't hold much hope for tomorrow.
Coffee is everywhere; it is growing in the trees, it is drying in the sun. We stop for a cup, served sweet and milky. The toddler acts as our timer, indicating it is time to move on.
A band sound from the hall beside the wine shop. We walk over to take a look, and get invited in. A wedding. We are ushered to see the bride, who looks so young and so nervous. I think of the honeymooning couples we saw in our hotel lobby earlier, some of whom have only just met each other. I hope she is happy in her new life. I try to convey this through hugs and smiles.
We are paraded through the crowd, the women often wearing their own wedding saris. I like this tradition. We accept coffee, and cumin scented biscuits and walk out of the hall to the sound of the band playing.
We walk up the hill. Not even half ten, and already it is nearly 30 degrees. It is time to move on. Kerala is calling.
We leave Mysore. I'm almost nostalgic about my nostalgia; on trips of old there would have been many 'one last', this trip there is none of that.
Still, my goodbye to Mysore is the best of all, with buttery dosa at Hotel Mylari. It is the toddler's absolute favourite, and mine too, this meal a celebration of this adventure for all of us.
Vinay the driver arrives, and our bags are stashed into a Maruti Suzuki Dzire. Soon, we are on the road. Mysore appears to get busier as we approach the outskirts; there is a bus station with women in saris sharpening their elbows to alight a large green bus. Next door is a shop selling emulsion, and trademen load scooters with buckets of paint and ladders and tiffin boxes of lunch.
We stop for a coconut, and the seller gives us a quartered cucumber dusted with chilli and amchur powder and salt. To everyone's surprise, the toddler devours it. Beside us are stalls laden with spices; chilli, cardamon, black pepper, cloves.
We pass through a village where the speciality is heavy teak furniture, gradious in design but seemingly lacking comfort. We see an armchair being loaded into a Piaggio Ape, and I am certain the plastic covers will remain on for a very long time.
Soon, we are in the district of Coorg. There are so many boarding schools, I imagine for city children whose parents desire clean air. There are coffee shops, with the plantations nestled behind. The air is cooler, the landscape lush and green. This will make quite the home for the next few days.
We stop by the green hotel for one last beer in the garden. The staff all come to say hello to the toddler, delighted that he is now used to attention everywhere he goes, so he smiles and waves accordingly.
On the way home, I make Mr P walk down the busy road, rather than a side street, just to see what we can see.
The roadside stalls of orange plastic plates selling lunchtime dahl have given way to snacks; pani puri and goji manchurian and churu muri. There is still chai. There is always chai.
The coconut seller advertises his wares. A man hunches over a cigarette in the shadows of the BM habitat mall, a reminder of the extreme poverty still here. An Audi R8 drives past.
We get back to the apartment, and wave across to the workers on the building site and the sellers of export quality t-shirts at the stall on the other side of the road.
There is a bath, and stories, and a final goodnight in the makeshift floorbed. Our final night in this incredible city. Tomorrow, Coorg.
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I mean there are about four in each portion of butter chicken 😂 (This week's is up on the website for collection from East Belfast on Friday afternoon. Pick it up, take it home, pop it in the oven and enjoy the garlicky goodness. I promise I tie my hair back and banish the dog 😂)
The only 'recipe' you reallllllly need 🎅🎅🎅
🌿 SAAG PANEER 🌿 I'm not vouching for the authenticity or anything, but this is dinner on the table QUICK. Recipe, as always, on the website 💃
Tasty, veggie pumpkin tart (but nobody is going to come after you if you use a butternut squash, I swear). 🎃 Full recipe on my website 💃
🌭 QUICK SAUSAGE & BUTTER BEAN STEW. 🧅 Turns out I'm in my wholesome family cooking era, and things are delicious here. Except I'm not, because you can hear my LOLz as soon as I get the sausages out 😂 💫 Recipe, as ever, on my website 💫 #familycooking #quickrecipes #niblogger #foodblogger #nifoodblogger
🍗 One of the bestest things about being me is that I hear ALL THE CHAT and the chat is mostly how cooking is not something you enjoy/understand/can be arsed with. Enter my roast chicken recipe. It is super duper straightforward and you end up with delicious gravy. Full recipe is on my website. And yes, I know some of the recipes aren't showing up properly on there. This is what you get for trying to do the website yourself and try to fill the tiktoks yourself and try to edit them yourself so they comply with everyone's non-existent attention spans 😂
Pan con tomate. Because I seem to not be accepting the fact that the super warm weather is coming to an end 😂 If you want an actual typed 'recipe', there in one on the blog, for I am old 💅
I checked the Bel Tel website for the date of the article @jorisminne wrote of the first ever breakfast club and it turns out that THAT WAS NEARLY NINE YEARS AGO. The fritters still taste 🤌 and if you want the recipe, you can totally find it on my website. The link, as ever, is in my bio 💃💃💃
Lads I made a video of my dinner because social media looks verrrrrrrrrry different than it did this time last year so do enjoy this kale and bacon pasta 👯♀️ You need (for 2 people): 🧄150g pasta 🧄 Big bunch black kale/cavolo nero (about 200g) 🧄 250g mushrooms 🧄 65g pancetta 🧄 20g butter 🧄 4 tablespoons creme fraiche 🧄 2 cloves garlic 🧄Glass red wine (and one for the chef) 🧄 Salt and pepper
HIYA! This one got a fair few requests when I first asked what you wanted me to show you, so here it is, a smacked cucumber salad. Featuring my utter boredom at the drudgery of life in 2021 😂 You will need your first slightly niche ingredient, but I can assure you the rest of the jar will dissapear fairly rapidly, if you are anything like me. You will need: 🥒 a cucumber 🥒 2 tablespoons cider vinegar 🥒 2 teaspoons crispy chilli oil 🥒 2 teaspoons sugar 🥒 2 teaspoons sesame oil 🥒 2 cloves garlic 🥒 1 teaspoon soy sauce If you hate cucumber, remember #itsyourfeckindinner and go have a nice piece of cheese instead. If you do actually like cucumber, I hope you enjoy the recipe, and thank you so much to the lovely people who have bought me ko-fi so far. It really does mean a lot 😘 https://ko-fi.com/littlepinkkitchen
HIYA! Well, Mr P is back working in the roof space, so I am back making these videos. I think it is safe to say that signs of the effects of lockdown are definitely starting to show in this one, and for that, I am so terribly sorry . Anyway! If you want to make this soup (enough for 2-3 people, easily scaled up) you will need 450g sweet potato 1 tablespoon cooking oil 1 teaspoon cumin 1 teaspoon smoked paprika 1 can coconut milk 400ml water 1 stock cube 1/2 teaspoon salt Hope you enjoy the soup, let me know how you get on, and always, always remember #ityourfeckindinner Sarah x (if you like this bullsh*t you can buy me a coffee right here: https://ko-fi.com/littlepinkkitchen )
HIYA! SO THEN. Do you know how many times I say SO THEN in an average recording? A lot, and I have edited even more out. I have, however, made another quite long video. This time for a quick noodle soup. For each person you are serving, you will need: 🍜 a clove of garlic 🍜 two thick slices of ginger 🍜 a spring onion 🍜 two tablespoons of sesame oil 🍜 a tablespoon of cooking oil 🍜 a stock cube (whatever flavour makes you happiest) 🍜 500ml boiling water 🍜 a nest of noodles 🍜 a carrot 🍜 a handful of edamame beans 🍜 an egg Feel free to omit ingredients you don’t love, after all, #itsyourfeckindinner Sarah x If you like what I’m doing here, and want to support the Little Pink Kitchen and all its slightly unhinged residents, you can buy me a coffee right here https://ko-fi.com/littlepinkkitchen
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