A Summer of Picnics

Dear Nigel,

                                                          (National Trust Calke Abbey)                                           
'Who would have thought it?' as we sat peering through the window at yet another grim rainy day outside, that the Summer would come - like those Summers long long ago - with the kind of day-on-day- sunshine that becomes to seem almost 'reliable' for a change.

And what a difference it makes to your spirits and to the whole world around you. It is as if a collective sigh has been heaved and everyone has lost a couple of stone in weight and is now floating round about you, energised, quipping jokes, spreading smiles on slabs of bread and making life all the better for living.

So, it is picnic time, and barbecue time. And there has been a run on Halloumi by the barbecue brigade, and mangoes. I am a picnic person. I blame it on my mother who never liked to see a weekend, rain or shine, go by without a picnic in one of our beloved spots in the Lake District where I grew up. What I remember are the dozens of tiny Tupperware boxes full of little treats and tastes that poured out of the old washing hamper we took with us. And so it is for me, as a friend kindly pointed out the other day as we sat munching on the picnic blanket. I, too, have hundreds of tiny boxes, once used to prepare endless pureed baby food, and now holding a handful of green and purple olives, a small wet tomato salad, small crispy things. I hadn't really noticed that one before. I'm turning into my Mother; oh no.

For this picnic I have prepared an 'Aubergine, Red Pepper and Tomato Tart'. It is a meal investment, I agree, but it tastes so lovely, both hot and cold, that it really is worth the effort. I make sure to make the most of it by serving it hot for dinner  on another night with new potatoes glistening with butter and chives; the picnic itself; and I still get another lunch for one out of it for a day at home.

A note about travelling: This tart travels well. She is well-behaved and sturdy. This also means she goes a bit further (amongst your guests), so less is needed. - I shan't take you any further down that route or we will all start to getting into trouble... But what I had really intended to tell all you domestic gods and goddesses out there, is that there is a wonderful type of thick foil roll that comes ready-lined in parchment paper, and this is a godsend for any sticky, awkward or delicate picnic food and I can't recommend it highly enough.

 Aubergine, Red Pepper and Tomato Tart

200g plain flour
100g unsalted butter
1 egg
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp water

160g aubergines
2 red peppers
1 large red onion
50ml olive oil + extra
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
100g cherry tomatoes
1 tbsp leaf parsley (chopped)
60g + 200g cheddar cheese (grated)
150g full fat Greek yogurt

Method:
1. Blitz all the first five pastry ingredients in a food processor until they come together in a ball.
2. Grease a 23cm deep quiche tin.
3. Roll out and line the tin. Chill for 20 mins in the fridge.
4. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees centigrade.
5. Chop the aubergines, red peppers and red onion. Roast on a tray, drizzled with oil and salt and pepper for 20 mins until just soft, covered in foil.
6. Leave to cool. Drain any excess juice off.
7. Stir in the chopped parsley and 60g of cheese and the cherry tomatoes (halved).
8. In a separate bowl, mix the yogurt and 200g of cheese. Line the pastry case with this.
9. Scatter over the roast vegetables and bake for 30 mins. at 170 degrees centigrade.
10. Allow to cool in the tin. Lovely warm or cold.

This picnic is for a rug by the river with a large wet dog with paws that don't understand blankets are for humans. He settles down before long, but before that we are protecting wine glasses and salad bowls from excited snouts. Merlin doesn't understand that food on the ground is not food for dogs. But I am in love with my friend's wonderful black dog - a rescue dog who has come to realise that he is among friends. In between holding wine and food and bowls and trying to settle the dog, a large swarm of flies heads our way. It is late afternoon, perhaps 5 o'clock, a good time to be avoiding other picnickers and walkers, I think. I look in dismay at this vision of spotted loveliness - like your old telly with the rounded screen that was dots and pictures as your dad fiddled away at the back with the knobs, usually making it worse, not better. Wimbledon became a game of spot the ball, or balls. We learnt to live through the snow storm at times, long before blu-ray.

But the flies are only there, like the rest of us, for a good drink. They slurp and lick the dog dry and then move off again as if they had never been there. This Summer drought has made everyone thirsty it seems. The little brook beside my house, 'The Hoo', which flows into the River Dove, and then on into the River Trent, has been completely dry two days running. I have never seen it like that before. Water comes down from the moors above us, running at speed, so much so that we were nearly flooded two years ago and the course of the river had to be moved over a couple of feet and widened to prevent the possibility.

The cows also broke into the stream looking for water. I saw them a few days ago mooing and stomping outside my neighbour's back door. She had the door open and washing on the line and these three beasts seem to have forgotten how they got there. They hadn't read the article on climate change.

I make another lunch. Lunch is good at this time of year. Lunch for my best friend outside in the garden. What could be better? I make Chard and Brie muffins. Fresh from the oven, slathered in butter and bordered by salad. they are very moreish. So much so that the artfully stacked and lined bread basket has only one lonely specimen in it when I realise that I have forgotten to take any photos. So apologies for the lone, lost muffin. He soon joined his fellows I can tell you. But perhaps that's a good recommendation: three of us had happily chomped through eleven substantial muffins without stopping for breath.

Chard and Brie Muffins

25g butter
150g Swiss chard (or spinach)
190g self-raising flour
4 tbsp grated Parmesan
a good grating of nutmeg
175ml milk
1 egg (beaten)
75g brie

Method:
1. Preheat the oven to 190 degrees centigrade.
2. Grease a 12 hole muffin tin.
3. Chop the chard stalks and steam for 5 mins. Add the chopped leaves and steam for a further 2 mins. Turn into a clean tea towel and squeeze out the excess water (very important as it will make your muffins heavy and soggy otherwise).
4. Mix the flour, 2 tbsp Parmesan, pinch of salt and nutmeg in a bowl.
5. Beat the milk, melted butter and egg in a separate  bowl.
6. Tip the milk mixture into the flour and stir briefly.
7. Add the cooked chard and brie (cubed). Mix briefly.
8. Spoon into the muffin tin. Sprinkle with 2 tbsp Parmesan.
9. Bake for 15 mins.
10.Cool on a wire rack. Eat warm, or cold on a picnic. Nice buttered.
PS. I used muffin cases, because my recipe told me to - don't bother, they just stick to the paper because of the amount of liquid in the chard.

The best thing about Summer, I think, is being able to sit in the shade with a good novel and read. There's nothing quite like Summer reading. It's the time to browse in a good bookshop for that pristine copy that feels so perfect in your hand and makes you salivate in anticipation of where you will be, sitting reading your perfect unopened copy; turning the freshly laundered pages with their sharp hospital corners, drinking in the scent of paper and ink and unadulterated newness. And saying to yourself, 'mine, all mine', like a miser - it's never the same once someone's 'been at it', or bought you a book but taken the trouble to read it first before they give it to you...always a rum sort of 'present' I think...

I am reading Nora Ephron's 'Heartburn'. It is a new edition marking 40 years of Virago Modern Classics, celebrating women writers and broadening the definition of a 'classic'. The series is a baker's dozen with beautiful illustrations, both inside and out, which are a joy to hold, by the illustrator Yehrin Tong.

Like me, Nora talks of life and love and food and recipes, though perhaps with a more acerbic and amusing tongue. Real life is very thinly disguised under the mantle of a novel.
Of falling in love she says, 'I have friends who begin with pasta, and friends who begin with rice, but whenever I fall in love, I begin with potatoes...I have made a lot of mistakes falling in love, and regretted most of them, but never the potatoes that went with them.'
She is my kind of woman.

So take yourself off to a tree in your garden with a bit of dappled shade. Unfold the old striped wooden deckchair that your Dad might have sat in. Pour yourself a cool drink, wear a ridiculously floppy hat and enjoy immersing yourself in Summer, brought to you on a carpet of words and images that just float on by. Delectable.

Love Martha x