The Taste East Devon Food Festival begins this weekend with all manner of tastings and other events over the next week across the unique and lovely area which stretches from the Exe Estuary to the Dorset border and north up into the heights of the Blackdown Hills. The whole delicious extravaganza will end in a gala party at the famous PIG At Combe hotel on Sunday 19th - and that is relevant to this article because a while ago when the festival was being put together, someone posed the question: how do you sum up all that is best food and drink-wise when it comes to an area like East Devon? The clever folk at the Pig have an answer. Ever since the elegant country hotel was opened five years ago, the establishment has featured what it calls its 25-mile-menu. And being highly popular, this menu has won great acclaim - which, surely, must help sum up the capability of an area like East Devon? If a top chef at an internationally renowned hotel thinks he can keep his kitchens supplied with enough fabulous ingredients to warrant a highly localised menu throughout the year, that must say volumes for what’s on offer locally.  Well, I know it’s a tough job, but someone had to do it on behalf of the region’s main daily newspaper… I went to The Pig at Combe one day this week to both sample the menu and to speak with the talented chef who has been keeping it varied, delicious and different over the past five years. Daniel Gavriilidis is a cool-headed but enthusiastic young man who heads up a very busy kitchen where nearly 20 staff turn out the good stuff day-after-day - and he was quite capable of waxing lyrical about the produce to be found in the surrounding hills, dales and seas of East Devon - even when we were forced to run from the fabulous kitchen gardens in a sudden and violent rainstorm. As we trotted through the productive walled gardens at Combe, Daniel told me: “Depending on what’s here in the garden we base our whole menu around that - whether it’s peppers, or chillis or all the courgettes which you can see - so it’s about what’s coming from the garden and then we turn to local suppliers as well..” As we reached the elegant Victorian orangery which has been turned into a second restaurant at The Pig, Dan continued: “From the start we had a local menu - but of course we managed to find a lot more local suppliers as time went on. And we still meet more and more people. Of course we have certain items that come right across the menus of all the hotels (there are seven Pigs all based in the south of England) like the smoked salmon - but our menus are completely different because we all have different suppliers, different farms. So each Pig’s menu is not decided by head-office. We all have to make our own decisions and find local suppliers. “The 25-mile-menu was pioneered at the first Pig in the New Forest - so it’s been ten years since we been doing this and all the Pigs have had it since day-one.” In this light Dan says he had no problems coming up with a 25-mile-menu at Combe, located just above the beautiful village of Gittisham near Honiton: “Here there are a lot of smaller farms so you can have everything from eggs, organic veg and producers have loads of pigs or lambs - everyone keeps more of a variety - and then we have the coast as well.  “We have our own licence to buy directly from boats - so we have fishermen who get our hand-dived scallops from Lyme Regis and then in Beer we have a good relationship with two day boats. And we have to be flexible - we take what they get, really. We get a text or some photos and it’s landed and brought to us within 30 minutes.” Dan’s family had Greek origins and, like many people from that nation, he has a special affinity with fish.  “Around here there are no big (seafood) companies, so we are dealing with people with one or two boats - it’s good to know we are not having to deal through a massive wholesaler. One of the most versatile fish locally is the mackerel - other than that it really depends on what’s around. It might be cuttlefish or squid for a few weeks, we get a lot of sardines around here or, if you are lucky, even anchovies.  The season might only be two or three weeks, so you just have to enjoy it while it lasts. “So seasonality is really important,” said Dan. “You have to be flexible - the menu changes every day. Things need to change all the time. For example, we have mulberries on our pigeon dish, but depending on how many mulberries we get the next day (from a huge tree in the gardens) we might have to change it - maybe to damsons from the local farm in Oakchurch. You have to be fluid in your decisions…” I was lucky. There were mulberries on Wednesday, so I enjoyed the pigeon-breast starter crowned with a speckling of mulberries whose sweet juices cut through the slight gaminess of the rare-cooked meat. It was one of the finest entrees to a meal I’ve had in a long time.  “It can get more difficult in months like January or February,” said Dan. “But you just have to change things you do with the same ingredients. Like with the celeriac we saw in the garden - you can make remoulade or you can roast it. Nobody wants to be the same thing for months, anyway.  “Now, towards the end of the tomato season, we do loads of dried tomatoes in oil with peppers - and all that sort of stuff. Soon we will be getting apples and we will be making our own cider to turn into cider vinegar. We’ll also be doing loads of chutneys if we have a lot of courgettes. You definitely have to make the most of it. “We buy in local jams and things like that, because we get through a lot of breakfast jam. And then you have an amazing variety of cheeses - we go out and visit some of those cheesemakers locally. That sort of thing needs changing all the time.  “You can get very good meat in the area - with pork especially people are very proud of what they do. The pork is really top-notch. The lamb too. And we get a lot of our beef from Darts Farm who raise their own Red Rubies.  “Even if you can’t get something in 25 miles you can still source it sustainably,” Dan added. “For example, we always convert the 25-litre drums which our Cotswold extra virgin rapeseed oil comes in, into something else.  “But this is a brilliant area,” Dan concluded. “Especially where we are here - the beach is only 20 minutes away, so you can do all your sea-veg’ foraging over there. We have a large estate so we can do all the mushroom foraging here. I’ve been looking forward to this rain - we have not been getting a lot of mushrooms recently because it’s been too dry - this will bring them on. Ceps are good here but we also get chicken-of-the-woods, cauliflower mushrooms, chanterelles, girolles… Not many - just enough for ten portions or something like that.. “Whoever gets it, gets it. We do that here,” said Daniel. “It’s better than buying wild fungi in from a Scottish supplier. I’d rather just have ten portions and see who gets it - if not: maybe see you next week…” Okay Dan, I might have to take you up on that! If only…  But East Devon and all its edible glories are there 27/7, all year, every year for us all to enjoy. Why not find out more by taking a look at what is on offer at the Taste East Devon Festival - details of which can be found at  https://www.tasteeastdevon.co.uk/events For more about The Pig Hotels visit https://www.thepighotel.com RECIPE Beetroot & Devon Blue Salad from Daniel Gavriilidis, head chef at The Pig at Combe “As we come into autumn, the earthy sweet flavour of our home-grown beetroot is a staple on our 25-mile menus at THE PIG-at Combe. Not only are they packed with nutrients, but they brighten up any salad dish with their beautiful golden and candy colours,” says Dan. This dish uses two varieties of beetroot, Combe garden Golden and Chioggia – a striking globe variety with orange-pink skins with eye catching red and white rings on the inside, that fade to a soft pink when cooked. It is sweet, tender and succulent with dark green leaves and ruby-red stems. This dish makes the perfect starter for a family meal or as a quick alfresco lunch soaking up the last of the Indian summer sun. You’ll need (serves 4-6): 250g golden beetroot  250g Chioggia (candy beetroot) 2 sprigs of rosemary (1 in each pan) 2 sprigs of thyme (1 in each pan) 2 cloves garlic (1 in each pan) 2 pinches black peppercorns (1 in each pan) 2 pinches coriander seeds (1 in each pan) Salt and pepper Watercress to garnish For the whipped cheese: 125g Devon blue cheese  75ml water 190ml Sutton Lucy double cream Lemon juice, a squeeze Salt and pepper For the dressing: 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar (or fruit vinegar) 6 tablespoons rapeseed oil  Gather your beetroot - we use Golden Beetroot straight from our walled Kitchen Garden over at THE PIG-at Combe. If you can’t get these beetroot varieties, any old beetroot will do. We use Combe garden Golden Beetroot straight from our walled Kitchen Garden. Boil the beetroot in separate pans of salted water along with the rosemary, thyme, garlic, peppercorns, and coriander seeds, until just cooked – roughly 45 minutes. Drain and, using a pair of tongs, carefully roast each beetroot over an open flame on the gas hob – just enough to nicely char the skin. If you don’t have a gas hob, season and oil the beetroot and put it under the grill at a high temperature until it starts to blister. Rub the charred skin off the beetroot, then cut the flesh into 2.5–5cm (1–2 inch) pieces. To make the whipped cheese, combine the Devon Blue and the water and blitz in a blender, until smooth. Whisk the double cream with a squeeze of lemon juice until it forms soft peaks. Fold the whipped cream into the smooth Devon Blue, season to taste and decant into a bowl. Place 3 tablespoons of the whipped Devon Blue on each plate as neatly as possible with the beetroot. Lightly mix together the balsamic or fruit vinegar and rapeseed oil and drizzle over the salad. Garnish with the watercress, serve and enjoy!

How can some of today’s most advanced scientific techniques help revive some of the most delicious, but now sadly forgotten, alcoholic drinks ever produced in Britain? That is a question West Country cider-maker Barny Butterfield has been asking - and now a Bristol University professor has now set about trying to find an answer…  Professor Keith Edwards, of Bristol University, has this summer been busy taking DNA samples from hundreds of trees in some of the orchards used by Mr Butterfield’s Sandford Orchards cider company.  It’s part of a project being run by the university and the professor to identify and map the nation’s traditional cider apple varieties, many of which were never catalogued - but apart from helping to identify the nation’s horticultural heritage there is a reason people like Barny Butterfield are so excited. That is because it is known that certain high-quality ciders exported regularly from Devon and Somerset to London around 300 years ago were deemed so delicious, wealthy aristocrats in the capital preferred drinking them to so-called fine wines imported from France. Indeed, some West Country ciders were secretly blended by underhand importers with inferior wines to make them more palatable. But what exactly were these delicious high quality ciders, and from which local Somerset and Devon apples were they made? There are a few clues - as recently shown in Westcountry author James Crowden’s new book, Cider Country - but with no recipes and very few written accounts, no one can really tell. And even though some names are known, such as the famous Royal Wilding - where are the Royal Wilding trees today? “Now, by using genetic-fingerprinting techniques we are able to wind back the clock,” says Barny, “We can map a particular variety and see where it crops up in places like Devon and Somerset. And that allows us to start building the picture so that hopefully we can reclaim some old varieties which make great cider. “Maybe there could be incredible new ciders made today, just like there were 300 years ago - like Devon’s Royal Wilding, which made such a name for itself but which disappeared.  “Using the new techniques we will find apples that could be important in changing the type of ciders we make,” Barny continued. “Each apple variety will behave in a certain way according to the local conditions - and, by having a much better knowledge of the rich diversity of trees in our orchards, we might find wonderful cider apples which are ready to take on the challenge of a changing environment.” As part of the Bristol University project, Prof Edwards has been visiting various orchards which supply Sandford Orchard Cider with its apples. By punching a small hole in leaves from individual trees, the professor is able to collect samples for DNA testing, while geographically tagging the particular tree using the What3Words geo-positioning system. This means each and every tree in an orchard can be identified and mapped.  “The DNA of each tree is unique to its variety,” says Barny. “So it might be that we find a tree that is the only one of its kind in the whole country. Or perhaps there’s just one in my orchard, and perhaps you’ve got two, and another guy has four… The great thing is - because we are mapping the trees - I am going to be able to collect enough fruit from those seven trees to make a small amount of single-apple cider. And if that proves to be a sensational cider… then we are really on to something!” Professor Edwards agrees there’s a possibility his genetic mapping programmes could help in a renaissance of delicious highly local ciders…  “I think Barny is onto something. If we can identify two or three trees in one orchard and a few over there in another location which are the same little-known variety, then cider-makers can generate a sufficient quantity from that variety in order to taste it and see how commercial it is,” he told the WDP. “If the variety was a real success, you graft it onto root stock and very soon you could increase from, say, seven to 70 trees - all producing that one variety of fruit and allowing for a small commercial crop.” The professor already has experience in small-scale production because his researches were born from original work carried out in the 1980s at the now closed Long Ashton Research Centre near Bristol. Researchers there had bred and established some 20 varieties of top quality cider apples known as The Girls (each named after a female member of staff). Trees from The Girls project were saved after Long Ashton closed and recently the professor made small batches of cider from each so that researchers and tasters could analyse the merits of the different varieties.  Now, his new DNA research Professor Edwards has been surprised because of the varieties being grown in older orchards in the West Country, a region which has long been famed for its cider… “We thought that, being well-established orchards, we might only find a few different cider apple varieties in each, but that has not been the case. We have fingerprinted around 400 samples and I believe there will be a great many different varieties. We will know in the next few weeks, and I believe a decent number will be unique.” Somerset-based author James Crowden, whose new book Cider Country tells the long and fascinating history of the region’s favourite tipple, commented: “This is a very good idea. Okay, the actual names of the apples which went into those high quality ciders 300 years ago won’t be the same, or simply won’t exist any longer - but if Professor Edwards can help cider-makers like Sandford Orchards make interesting single-apple products, that can only be a very good thing - for cider-lovers, the local economy and the environment.”

A few days ago I received a phone call from a chap called Ben Leach - son of John Leach the highly acclaimed potter. Ben asked if I’d be prepared to write a tribute about his father who had just passed away in hospital aged 83. Because I was a friend of John - having known him for over 40 years - I was deeply saddened to hear the news but only too keen to write something for the papers as part of my own tribute to a great man… The following article-obituary appeared in the Western Morning News and I believe in some other papers - and I also add a couple of other reports about Johnny Leach which I’ve written down the years. He was a good bloke - a very very interesting man and always great company. He will be greatly missed. The death of one of the South West’s best known artists occurred over the weekend - John Leach was a member of the famous Leach dynasty of potters which gained world-renown after his grandfather Bernard began revolutionising British pottery with his wood-fired kilns in St Ives 101 years ago. John, who was born at his grandfather’s Pottery Cottage, St Ives, in 1939, eventually settled in Somerset to build the now highly celebrated Muchelney Pottery where he worked for more than half-a-century. During that time his exquisite wood-fired pots have featured in exhibitions around the world and he lectured in locations as diverse as Scandinavia, the Caribbean and the USA. Despite the acclaim and plaudits, Johnny Leach (as he was known to his many friends) always remained with his feet and hands planted firmly in the clay-soils from which his art was born… “In this very immediate, push button, plastic age we live in, it is a very real privilege to be able to make functional and beautiful designs by hand, on the potter’s wheel using the humble raw material of clay.” This was a comment he made recently while preparing for the ongoing exhibition staged at the Leach Gallery in St Ives, entitled: John Leach, 65 Years a Potter. A fitting swan-song, perhaps, as John was not only born at the pottery, he later returned there in the early 1960s to train for three years under Bernard’s watchful eye. The exhibition notes state: “Today, John’s Muchelney Pottery production focusses on wood-firing, where careful stoking coaxes the kiln to reach temperatures as high as 1320°c, creating surfaces with subtle flashing and warmth. The Muchelney kitchenware range is as iconic as John’s strong and direct personal pieces: both of which are represented in this exhibition.” John was the oldest son of Bernard’s oldest son, David Leach, who set up his own highly acclaimed pottery at Lowerdown, Bovey Tracey. “I got on with Bernard like a house on fire - and I enjoyed being apprentice to him,” John once commented. “I am the eldest of the eldest, David was the eldest, and I am the oldest grandson, and I was rather pleased that some of my children - I have got five children with Lizzie - knew my grandfather, their great-grandfather.” After purchasing a property in Muchelney deep in the Somerset Levels John began wood-firing there in 1976, eventually building an elaborate three-chambered wood-fired kiln at the rear of the charming thatched property over a two year period between 1997 and 98. Disaster then struck with a devastating fire so that the entire set-up had to be rebuilt just a year later. Five years after that the pottery opened its own John Leach Gallery which has hosted vast number of diverse exhibitions ever since. Johnny Leach once told me: “It is amazing how the years fly by. We bought the place in 1964 and the place was condemned so we weren’t allowed to live in it until we’d brought it up to the necessary living standards. It had been a tithe cottage and it was very traditional with a double pig sty, which we knocked down and turned into the shop. There was also an ideal space for the three chambered oriental climbing kiln.” John also told me about the day he finally fired-up his famous kilns… “This was the last kiln I needed to build in my working life, so I wanted to start it properly. I couldn’t just light it first time with a box of matches, it would be wrong. So I rang up Phil Harding of TV’s Time Team. I asked him if he could make fire the Stone Age way. I said, ‘I can’t afford your fancy TV fees but you can have a couple of pots from this first firing of my new beast’. He said, ‘You’re on, John’. Good as gold he lit the first firing - it meant so much to me at the time. He got a bow with string and notched wood and he had his own birch bark tinder paper and dried moss. As soon as it started in that little cup he put a bit in - and off it went. That is exactly how the Beaker Folk of Dartmoor would have lit their kilns 4500 years ago.” The story hints at the sort of man Johnny Leach was. Thoughtful, highly amusing, eloquent, intelligent - and always with his very own way of doing things. His very own man - a potter, an artist, with a difference… Over the 20 years I worked for the Western Morning News visited Johnny many times, covering all manner of events, but the one which stands out in my mind was the day he gave us a tour of his own nature reserve. “This,” mused the world-famous potter as he stroked his beard and peered deep into the still waters of a lake, “is the finest thing I have ever made out of clay.” John was one of those rare environmentalists who was willing to put his money where his mouth was. When two fields near his home came up for sale, he borrowed the funds to buy them with the sole intention of dedicating the site to nature. “I come from Cornwall where it’s hard to grow trees because of the westerlies,” he told the WMN. “And anyway, grandfather used up all the available wood down there for his pottery. So I always said to myself: if I can ever afford it I’ll buy land and plant trees.” He added: “I’m a potter and I burn a lot of wood, albeit wood from sustainable West Country plantations. We’re a bunch of pyromaniacs at this pottery, at least, that’s what we like to say. “The first reason for using the wood-fired technique is aesthetic - because of the finish you can get. You have smoke and flames running through the kiln impinging on the ware, and that is what we love,” Johnny explained. “Don’t ask me to make a pair of anything – that is impossible. The flames are not only carrying smoke through, but also ‘fly’ ash. That’s going on for 36 hours and it combines with the silica in the clay body and provides a sort of sheen - a scorching – and that’s what gives you all the rich finishes.” As we walked through what is now an officially recognised nature reserve, we came to a lake where the potter disappeared into a dense thicket. Within a minute there was the sound of water being disturbed and a few seconds later John reappeared looking for all the world like some eccentric jolly granddad with a floppy hat and giant beard who appeared to have set sail in an upturned umbrella. “What do you think of my coracle?” he shouted. “If you dig a pond and there’s an island, then you have to get to it if maintenance needs doing. I don’t want anything with a sharp end and a blunt end. You need something slower – speed isn’t in it - it has to have empathy with the shape of the pond. He paddled for a moment, thinking profound thoughts about ponds, and eventually he mused. “Most people go to a pond and look in and all they see is water and reflections. I can be in the pond looking out to where the banks are – and that, of course, is where all the life is.” Some small part of that great maelstrom of life was half a mile away inside the cosy confines of the Muchelney Pottery where so many admirers and friends were offered tea and a chat, sometimes alongside with Johnny’s adored wife Lizzie present, at other times in the company of his potters. Like many people, I shall greatly miss those moments and one of the region’s most talented artists and most grounded of human-beings… YEARS AGO I WROTE THIS NEWS FEATURE ABOUT JOHN FOR THE PAPERS… The world famous potter looked deep into the still waters of the lake and stroked his long beard: “This,” he mused, “is the finest thing I’ve ever made out of clay.” Upon hearing this you might think Johnny Leach was being overly modest. After all, why should a small lake set in the clay of the Somerset Levels be a thing of pride when compared to his pots that are sold and exhibited all over the world? But if you were standing there, listening to the bubbling enthusiasm of this well known Westcountryman - and surveying the great beauty of the nature reserve he has created - you’d perhaps understand why he makes this curious assertion. John, grandson of the late Bernard Leach, might be a great potter – but he also one of those rare environmentalists who is willing to put his money where his mouth is. When two fields near his Muchelney home came up for sale a couple of decades ago, he borrowed the funds to buy them with the sole intention of dedicating the site to nature. “I come from Cornwall where it’s hard to grow trees because of the saline air carried on the westerlies,” says John “And anyway, grandfather used up all the available wood down there for his pottery. So I always said to myself: if I can ever afford it I’ll buy land and plant trees. “A local farm went into liquidation and there were nine acres available – two fields which I loved to walk around. Fields can give you an ambience of their own and we bought them up at auction with help of my neighbour Richard England – he let me have my piece at same price as all the rest of the land he’d bought. “I couldn’t afford do anything for a bit and sought advice from the Countryside Commission. But I wanted to landscape it like I wanted it – there were plenty of grants if you grew trees in ranks, but I didn’t want that. I wanted a whole mix of different trees with a pond, not that there was any strict plan.” Johnny says he trod a fine line: “Of so much gardening, and so much wildness. So I have a mix of trees haphazardly dotted around, and some of those trees are now over 60 feet high. They’re the ones that like their feet in water. “It’s clay, so it’s nearly all moist – we’re only 23 feet above sea level,” he added, as we wandered through his secret demesne. “We did have a drought in ‘91 and, as trees take up a lot of water, we had to mulch. We used to haul the blanket-weed out of the ponds and spread it all around the roots.” With this, Johnny seems to remember something and reaches into his pocket. Extricating a large lump of bread he begins to role pellets of dough between his fingers, which he then flicks into the sultry waters of the lake. Suddenly a frenzy of fish is to be seen fighting just under the surface, like so many aquatic wedding guests scrabbling for a bride’s bouquet.      “Rudd,” said Johnny. “Mostly, anyway. The local thatcher once gave me a bucket with seven rudd in it, and so we put them in and they’ve done well. We’ve also got sticklebacks, eels, pike and tench.  “And we’ve got kingfishers,” he beams with even greater pride. “I love watching them darting around all the vantage points. They like to be above a bit of clear water. I was watching one just the other day - you could see the sun on his side and back with the iridescent electric flash of blue, and you could see a fish wriggling in its beak and the sun glinting on its underside. Marvellous. A marvellous picture.  “The reserve has now become an official county wildlife site,” says Johnny with yet more pride. “It’s because of the dragonflies – we have demoiselles, damsel flies and dragonflies. And here’s an extraordinary thing: I didn’t realise this ‘til recently, but three miles up the road there lives the president of the worldwide dragonfly society. He’s called Dr Mike Parr and he didn’t know I had a pond which was a county wildlife site known for its dragonflies. He’s had a look around now, and soon he’s coming back again with a couple of wildlife groups. “We’ve recorded 20 different species of butterflies, from brimstones to commas and painted ladies. But I can’t say I’m a diligent enough recorder to write down everything I see, year after year. That, for me, takes too much time.” I put it to Johnny that it was all very well him allowing nature to inhabit a heavenly corner of the Levels, but why had he gone to all the effort and expense of planting so many trees? “I’m a potter and I burn a lot of wood,” he replied. “Albeit wood from sustainable plantations – almost all from the West Country. Larch and, or, Douglas fir. I get it from a company that uses it for fencing post and I use the off cuts from that process. Eleven big bundles at a time. We’re a bunch of pyromaniacs at this pottery, at least, that’s what we like to say. Actually, we only do six firings a year – but we use plenty of wood to keep warm in winter. The off-cuts of the off-cuts if you like…  “The first reason for using the wood-fired technique is aesthetic - because of the finish you can get. You have smoke and flames running through the kiln impinging on the ware, and that is what we love,” Johnny explained. “Don’t ask me to make a pair of anything – that’s impossible. The flames are not only carrying smoke through, but also ‘fly’ ash. That’s going on for 36 hours and it combines with the silica in the clay body and provides a sort of sheen - a scorching – and that’s what gives you all the rich finishes.” John is quite happy to go on using industrial off-cuts while leaving his own beloved trees to do what trees do best – things like providing shade in the midday heat, as well as a habitat for dormice and other sundry creatures great and small.  We wander onwards through the mown rides, and John keeps stopping to stoop over this plant and that. Even the grasses catch his attention. “This is Timothy,” he says in another explosion of pride, as if he’s introducing me to some brilliant young protégé. No mere blade of grass has ever felt so wanted and loved.   Eventually we come back to the lake again and the bearded potter dives away into a particularly dense thicket of bushes. Within a minute there’s the sound of water being disturbed and a few seconds later John reappears into view out on the lake. It’s one of those Edward Lear moments – the sturdy granddad with a floppy hat and giant beard appears to have set sail upon an upturned umbrella. “What do you think of my coracle?” he shouts. “If you dig a pond and there’s an island, then you have to get to it if certain maintenance needs doing. Trimming, maybe things get too big… I have a friend, Peter Faulkner, in Shropshire, and he makes the Severn coracle. It’s an Iron Age thing. Totally biodegradable. “Look, this is a Charolais-cross-Hereford skin and he clamps it around framework of hazel ribbing with withy duck-boarding and withy gunnels. It’s all stitched with horsehair rope – and the tail is even left on,” laughed Johnny, waving something Eyore may have lost in one of his great big hands. “This tail is my distress signal…”  I asked if the craft was difficult to control and the potter gave me a deft demonstration of the extraordinary technique – which is like traditional skulling in reverse. “I don’t want anything up here with a sharp end and a blunt end,” he barked across the water. “You need something slower – speed isn’t in it and I don’t make wakes. It has to have empathy with the shape of the pond.  He paddled for a moment, thinking profound thoughts about ponds, and eventually he mused. “Most people go to a pond and look in and all they see is water and reflections. I can be in the pond looking out - to where the banks are – and that, of course, is where all the life is.” Then John told me why he’d gone to all the bother of having a pond. “I dug it to sustain my interest in the whole plot – I needn’t have bothered really, but I’m so glad I did it. I dug another little pond in the other field and after I’d dug it water-boatmen came flying in. I’ve never seen that in my life before – suddenly they were flying - and they just dived in and that was that.  “It is the best thing I’ve ever made out of clay – and this is a potter talking, so I suppose that’s saying something. It will never be sold, and it’s open for everyone to see – the public footpaths come through. And it changes its moods so often. I love the look of it. I love the evolution. There’s no two years that are ever the same. Or months. Or even minutes. “And I love it,” said Johnny as he paddled off across the lake. “I love it. I love it…”  AND IN 2014 I INTERVIEWED JOHN WHO HAD BEEN INUNDATED IN THE GREAT SOMERSET LEVELS FLOOD A world famous potter has been able to light his wood-fired West Country kiln this week for the first time in months.  John Leach, whose Muchelney Pottery on the Somerset Levels was flooded in November, says his team is more than six weeks behind in their work schedule thanks to the inundation – and some of his neighbours in the village have yet to move back into their homes.    “The footings of our wood-fired kiln absorbed a lot of water right up to the seventh course - so we’ve had a dehumidifier in each of the three chambers for months,” he told the Western Morning News. “Now we’ve fired up for the first time and hopefully we won’t get any cracking in the kiln - but it is a protracted firing time-wise. “We lit up at six in the morning and my colleague Nick Rees is in there controlling things - and so far so good, but it’s going a bit slow and sluggish.” He went on: “Normally we do a firing every two months, so in production terms we are at least six weeks behind. That affects orders - and of course the flood prevented customers coming here, so our retail side just about closed down over the Christmas period.”  As we walked around his still flood-damaged thatched home Mr Leach explained: “The first morning I came downstairs there was an ominous pooling under the Aga. I’ve never experienced a flood before - we’ve had the other element - we had a fire here.  “But this is not pleasant - it’s the relentlessness. I was still in a state of disbelief the second morning when I came down and looked over the stable-door into a passageway and there was an old hobnail boot of mine just sort of sailing down in an upright position looking for its partner.” Unlike the other Muchelney households Mr Leach and his wife Lizzie were able to stay put rather than abandon their home: “There are 10 houses here and we were the only ones who remained on site - but only because the gallery and shop are 13 inches higher than the rest and that saved us. We carried our food out to the gallery to eat.  “But, because we’re all on septic tanks in the village, it’s black-water that floods the homes. I rigged up a bucket-and-chuck-it, which is not comfortable - and lo-and-behold, sailing down the road in a regal fashion was a port-a-loo,” laughed Mr Leach from under his large beard. “Right on cue, it appeared in my vision – and we managed to grab it.” Firing up the big wood-kiln takes some 40 hours and then a further two days to cool down, which gave the potter – whose stoneware pots sell around the globe – a few moments to muse on the recent floods… “Sometimes I think it’s an act of man - I am talking about climate change,” he told the WMN. “Although someone glibly said this is a once in a 100-year flood, that is not going to appease me. The second 100 years could start tomorrow.  “If people were dredging the rivers like they used to, things would be different. Firstly, you get silting and you don’t have the volume of water going out – and secondly, here on the Levels, you are not building up the banks.  “Ditches, rhynes, banks… they are just not being managed like they used to be,” said Mr Leach. “I realise there are an awful lot of things we can no longer afford – but at sometime we are going to have to talk about this.”

My old friend Brendan Sellick passed away recently and his family asked if I’d write a tribute for the newspapers - which I am glad to say was carried widely in various weekly and daily titles. The Western Morning News gave old Bren’ an entire page - which he deserved. So did the West Somerset Free Press. Anyway, I thought I’d put up the tribute here for those who didn’t see the papers… A three thousand year-old way of life came to an end on the West Somerset coast recently when the death of well known Stolford mud-horse fisherman, Brendan Sellick, was announced.  The unique Bridgwater Bay fishery, which relied for centuries on a particular design of wooden sledge known as a mud-horse, once supported dozens of families living in remote hamlets around the vast mud-flats of the Parrett estuary. But the fishery fell into a decline during the Second World War and continued to shrink until only the Sellick family continued wending their way out across the dangerous expanse of mud to the shingle banks more than a mile from the foreshore.  Often described by the countless journalists who interviewed him as the “world’s last mud-horse” fisherman, Brendan (who died aged 86 ) was in fact succeeded by his son, but on Wednesday Adrian Sellick announced he’d be giving up professional fishing with immediate effect.  “I bounced off Father, and he bounced off me. Without him I just cannot do it any more,” said Adrian, effectively bringing to an end a fishery which dates back to the Bronze Age.  Archaeologists have found the well-preserved remains of an ancient mud-horse buried deep in the peat near Glastonbury, on the nearby Somerset Levels. It shared a design almost identical to the wooden sleds built and used by Brendan Sellick during his lifetime. The long curving plank, mounted with a trestle structure, allowed mud-horse fishermen to carry their heavy dripping baskets of fish as well as any nets which needed to be replaced or repaired. Forward motion was provided by the fisherman himself, who was required to lean the weight of his upper body over the trestle while his legs churned through the mud.  It was tough and potentially dangerous work. The incoming rate of the second-highest tide-fall in the world could overtake a person who did not have the support of the gliding mud-horse. But the all-important forward motion had to be maintained at around trotting speed as the fisherman negotiated the treacherous mud-flats.  “We tried to replace the mud-horse once with a ski-mobile,” Brendan once told me. “And we worked it for two seasons to keep us poor. The trouble was that the fine silt in the mud kept getting into it and messing up all the bearings.” So, like his father, great grandfather and great, great grandfathers before him, Brendan stuck to Bronze Age technology - and, in his rich Somerset dialect, was glad to share his family's salty history with anyone who had the time to listen in the ramshackle shed near Stolford’s breakwater where he sold the fish. “Great great grandad was a stonemason from up Nether Stowey, who came down here courting a fisher-girl. 'Look 'ere,' she says to 'im, 'there's plenty of stonemasons but there's only a few mud-horse fishermen.' And that's how we started down here. “There was six or seven families involved with it on this side of Bridgwater Bay when I was a boy, but one by one they've all dropped away and now I'm the only one left. I really am the world's last mud-horse fisherman,” said Brendan at a time just before Adrian agreed to come in with the fishing. “I’ve done mud-horse fishing man and boy. My father, William Henry Sellick, did it - and his father Jack, and his, called Thomas. The first year I went out would have been about 1939 – pushed out as a three year old in the basket.” Brendan started going out on the mud as a professional at the age of 14. “I was doing it before, then I took it on myself and haven’t stopped since. Yes it’s hard – cold enough to skin you alive sometimes. I remember one February my father took a big rake out for the cod and coddling – you couldn’t use your hands they were so cold.” As for the strangest fish ever to fetch up in the Sellick family nets, Brendan recalled: “It was a 90-pound sturgeon. My father had seen it feeding up and down for a day or two, breaking his nets as it went. But the day he caught it - I can see him now - hauling the gurt thing up the beach on his shoulder, as wide as a couple of of farm gate posts. “Then he brought it in the shed and asked me and another boy to sit on its side so he could deal with it. But it was still breathing and it's gills going in and out and we were too scared.” Brendan's livelihood depended upon a number of what used to be called "fixed engines" - or long sock-like nets located on a spit of shingle on the outer edge of the mud-flats. All manner of fish were caught including sea-bass, grey mullet, sole and skate, cod, plaice, dog-fish, sprats, hake and octopus. “Even I can get frightened out there,” Brendan once told me.  “In fog it’s very difficult - everything looks the same. You don’t know if you’re in the tide or in the mud, or where you are. I’ve been a bit upset sometimes. “What I really don’t like is being caught in thunder and lightning. The flash goes off and you can look for miles and all of a sudden it’s pitch black. You’re out there, wet through, drenched to the skin, and the whole place vibrates so much it’s like you’re in the bowels of the earth.  “There were two brothers who used to go out from here. One night one of them slipped and drowned. The other brother was looking for him, but it was no good. That other brother never went out ever again.” Another potential danger that has threatened this most historic of fisheries has been the invisible menace lurking in the vast nuclear reactors nearby. “We thought Hinkley Point might do for us,” admitted Brendan. “The scientists have been coming since it was built. They buy samples of our fish and they’ve never ever found anything detrimental. And it’s not only the nuclear people, the county council environment department does the same.. “But they've never found a thing wrong. They’d have to pension us off if they did and sometimes I wish they would and then I could retire,” he used to joke.  But it was a joke. Brendan Sellick lived and breathed his tough hard mud-horse fishing work in a way in which is rare today.  And who knows, one of Brendan’s daughters, Sarah Dray, commented this week: “Dad does have 15 grandchildren who might like to continue his legacy in the future. I don’t think Dad would like it to be The End.”

Last week we had a day out in Budleigh Salterton with our friend Jayne and Christos Yianni, and a very jolly time we had of it. I like Budleigh a lot, but all the time I was walking around and enjoying the August sights and sounds there was a nagging memory lurking in the back of my mind. I knew I’d visited BS a long long time ago as part of my work as Senior Feature Writer of the Western Morning News - the main daily paper in the West Country - but I couldn’t remember what the story was which took me there. Looking through my old articles I’ve found the answer - and a rather surprising article it is too. As you will see if you read further - back in 2003 dear old Budleigh Salterton had been named the crummiest, biggest rip-off place in Britain when it came over over-inflated property prices. Both then and now, I found it hard to believe that anyone would want to knock this wonderful, quaintly old-fashioned, East Devon resort. Oh, and by-the-way, wouldn’t you love to be paying the prices quoted now… Here’s my article from 2003… Stand-first: A West Country coastal resort has been named the worst value-for-money location in Britain in which to buy a house. Martin Hesp has been to Budleigh Salterton to investigate why. It might be the final resting place for the wily rich, it might be highly attractive, peaceful, unspoilt and conveniently situated on the well-connected and balmy East Devon coast - but apparently Budleigh Salterton is the most over-priced place in Britain when it comes to property. So says a leading financial research company whose findings were repeated in a national newspaper at the weekend. However, most people in town believe the claim is “tosh”. That was the word used by a leading Budleigh Salterton estate agent when I showed him the newspaper article in question – and it was a sentiment repeated by a ratio of at least nine-out-of-ten residents I met this week. You’d expect an estate agent to defend the large six-figure house-prices pinned to every single property in his shop window, but it’s true to say that the average Saltertonian takes the worse-value-for-money-in-Britain headline with open-mouthed disbelief.  Typical of the comments I received were: “Best value for money, they mean,” “Market-forces – the high house prices reflect a need – people want to come here,” and “High crime rate, poor education, poor health care? Poppycock!” The last remark referred to the index-linked process employed by researchers at the firm Experian when surveying the nation’s best and worst value-for-money locations. The company’s statisticians look at the average house price within a postal area and then link it to indices that refer to health-care, crime and schools. With an average home price of £237,000, Budleigh Salterton came rock bottom of the national league – closely followed by its neighbour Sidmouth which scraped in at third place in the bad deal stakes. “It’s not about how pretty a place is, or the general ambience – it’s about pure value for money,” I was told by Experian’s corporate relations manager, Bruno Rost. He also explained how the survey did not reflect services alone, but services linked to house prices. “This is just an academic study that tries to show where you could go if you were a newcomer to Britain - and didn’t care where you lived - but wanted the best deal.” The results were published in Sunday’s Observer with the sub-headlines Cheap ‘n’ Cheerful and Dear ‘n’ Dreadful – an editorial tactic which didn’t endear the paper to locals in East Devon. A village called Beeford in East Yorkshire came top of the cheap and cheerful list with homes averaging a mere £81,000 coupled with first class local services. The newspaper published a photograph of Beeford in bright sunshine. Under a headline that said “Bypass Devon and Dorset and Head For Humberside” it also carried a bleak and rain-swept picture of Brighton seafront (which came fifth from bottom). It soon became apparent, as I stopped and talked to people in Budleigh Salterton’s delightful main street, that the Observer is not the newspaper of choice in town.  Consequently, most refused to believe anyone could have made such a claim - until I showed them the article. Then mild and polite outrage was the order of the day. One man even sought me out to rant against the survey’s findings. Richard Gibbons has lived in town for ten years and he told me: “The place is stuffed with millionaires. Do you think they’re the sort of people who would buy something that was not value for money? Just because this is a place set back in time, people think they have to knock it. But the quality of life here is better than anywhere else I know of. “Look at the services – an excellent school, a large health centre and small hospital, the bus services to Exeter, the lack of crime,” said Mr Gibbons. “And look at this fantastic main street, with all its interesting shops. I really don’t know what the research people are talking about – I don’t think they’ve ever been here…” These sentiments were echoed by Richard Harman, manager of estate agent Palmers, Whitton and Laing: “Maybe Budleigh Salterton is an expensive place, but we’re very busy at the moment and surely people wouldn’t be paying these prices if they didn’t represent good value for money? People are completely reconciled to the value of property here. “We get a lot of retired people from the Home Counties and, not only do they love the East Devon surroundings, they like the fact that we’re so well connected. There’s the rail link to London, the M5 isn’t far away – Exeter Airport is growing fast. Also, it’s one of the few seaside resorts that doesn’t get completely overrun in the summer. And there are zillions of local societies – people don’t get bored – Budleigh Salterton offers everything. This survey is tosh.” Outside Fulfords – another estate agents – I bumped into Australian David Childe who was in town with his partner Phillipa looking to buy a property. I asked them if they realised they were about to purchase the worst deal in Britain? “That’s rubbish,” said David. “We live in London and we’ve been all over the place looking at properties. In fact, we think this area represents the best value for money we’ve seen.” But not everyone was willing to back Budleigh on the subject of property versus value. When I told Post Office assistant Heather Paul about the survey’s findings, she replied: “I’m not surprised. I’m absolutely disgusted by the house prices here. Only yesterday I went looking for a small flat for my daughter Nichola, who’s a nurse. The cheapest we could find was £159,000. You can’t afford that on a nurse’s wages. I was born and bred in Budleigh, but I can’t see how our children can go on living here with prices like that.” The sentiment was shared by two women running a delicatessen a few doors down the street. Neither would give me their names, but they said: “There’s nothing for the kids here. It’s terrible – all the kids leave as soon as they can. And we can see what they mean about services – there’s no supermarket, hardly any buses. Budleigh is a place for rich old people.” “It used to be full of retired colonels, admirals - that sort,” said 78-year old George Mitchell, who spent most of his working life as a jobbing gardener in town. “Most of them were mean. If you asked for a shilling extra, they’d go to their club and ask each other what all the other gardeners were paid. Then they’d agree to keep the rate down. Value for money? I don’t know. But a friend sold his place for £4,000 a while back – now it’s just gone for £300,000…” It’s hard to see how such market forces can be ignored when discussing value for money. And there was another question which seemed to belie the report’s insistence that local health care was less than adequate. “If it was that bad, how come there are so many old people living here?” asked Richard Gibbons. “If there was no health care, most of them would be dead.”

Here’s a food-related syndrome many people will know all about - one that flies in the face of the sensible notions many of us have about portion-control and food waste… It is a sad fact that our kitchen culture seems set on a default when it comes to the number of people being fed in a single household, which is why supermarkets sell almost everything in family-sized packs and the vast majority of recipes presented in cookery books, newspapers and magazines cater for a table of four or maybe six. Yet population statistics will tell you that two people sitting down to lunch or dinner is actually the most common denominator when it comes to the number of diners eating in our homes. Like so many other household cooks, I am regularly hit by this mathematical and logistical inaccuracy. How many other , I wonder, share my situation? The one that sees you catering for a larger family over many years, only to see your children leave the nest and eventually set up households of their own. Which is fine. Just how it should be.  But the act of downsizing the meals you prepare on a daily basis turns out to be a strangely difficult and uphill struggle.  Now a Devon-based food-writer has come to the rescue. Orlando Murrin is a one time Master Chef semi-finalist who edited the highly successful BBC Good Food magazine for half a dozen years - he now writes a column for Waitrose Weekend , presents the BBC Good Food Podcast with Tom Kerridge and for the past two years he has been President of the Guild of Food Writers. Now he has written a truly excellent cookery book called Two’s Company - subtitled The best of home cooking for couples, friends and roommates”. It offers a beautifully-written and deeply thoughtful answer to the numbers problem which, in Orlando’s eyes, is one that’s been neglected for far too long… To quote the publisher’s blurb: “Two’s Company is a book with a positive message that cooking for two is exciting, fun and worthwhile. More than that – free from the demands of family or guests, liberated from a strict timetable or any need to impress, you can follow your mood, whether you fancy something homey, a fake-away or a creative culinary adventure.” Our Exeter-based food-hero not only brings us some delightfully original recipes, he also takes the trouble to set out the different ‘rules’ the keen home-chef should consider when cooking for two, suggesting ways to shop sensibly to minimise waste, while sharing ingenious tips for shortcuts and techniques, gleaned from working with professional chefs and food stylist throughout his career in food.  “It was written out of much frustration and gnashing of teeth!” Orlando told me when we spoke about his book’s September 14th launch this week. “I often have a go at my fellow recipe writers for ignoring two-person households, but I know why they do it - it’s easier. “About five years ago, after working as a food editor in London - then setting up two hotels in France and Somerset - I was sufficiently jaded to declare my entertaining days over, and retired permanently from ‘cooking for guests’. I still love cooking, but I do it for two. I am frustrated by the fact that the vast majority of recipes are designed to serve four, six or eight, despite the fact that for more than two decades, most British households are two-person households, followed by one-person households, followed by three-person households. Certainly not four, six or eight.  “During lockdown, millions more couples were thrown together, with time to cook. Still the recipes poured forth for four, six or eight.” I asked Orlando what he meant when he said writing recipes for larger groups was easier… “While developing recipes for  Two’s Company  I quickly discovered why food writers so stubbornly stick to this outmoded recipe model,” he replied. “For example, the easiest way for a food writer to make a recipe look and sound exciting and creative is to throw in extra flavours and ingredients. A glance at the recipe titles in magazines and books shows how, in the quest for novelty, flavours are piled up, the more the merrier - add a bag of this, a pack of that and you’ve invented something new. If you’re cooking for two, this is infuriating - you’re inevitably left with a pile of half-finished packs and jars, which ultimately get binned.  “Cooking for two requires more precision than cooking for larger numbers,” Orlando told me. “It is simply a question of arithmetic - margins are finer. If you chuck an extra teaspoon of chilli powder into a dish for four, it will make it slightly hotter; it will ruin a dish for two. Ten minutes added to the roasting time of a leg of lamb will pass unnoticed - a small roast such as a rack will be incinerated.  “Devising recipes for two requires more diligence than larger numbers - the writer needs to test with greater care, measurements and methods have to be more exact. A lot of recipes begin life in restaurant kitchens. To reduce these for four or six servings is challenge enough, but to miniaturise them for two is often impractical. One-pots and tray-bakes - so much beloved by recipe writers, partly because they are so forgiving - are also tricky for two, because they tend to dry up.” Having read the new book I can report that Orlando has gone to war against what could be called the anti-dinner-for-two brigade like a general marshalling his armaments and troops. It really is the most thoughtful treatise - a battle-plan that should see even the most jaded home-cook punching cleverly and victorious - whether it’s just the skirmish of a light lunch or the a confrontation requiring a set-piece dinner. Not only do the recipes work wonderfully, but all the many tips and hints are exactly what’s needed - designed by a man who is not only an experienced cook but a master of the communications art.  “I often hear the argument that if you want a recipe for two, you can simply halve one for four. This isn’t true!” Orlando told me. “Apart from the fact it is tedious to halve recipes (also easy to forget you’re doing it halfway through), there are many adjustments to be made - flavour, seasoning and cooking times - to say nothing of liquid quantity, on account of the different rate of evaporation when cooking on a smaller scale. Plus who can be bothered to halve an egg? “But there is plenty of good news,” he added. “Operations which are a nightmare for larger numbers - for instance, egg-and-breadcrumbing - become quick and easy if there are just two of you.” And of course he is absolutely right. Through stern self-training I have managed to reduce the amount I cook at home and only last week found myself making just half a dozen small fresh courgette fritters (despite the glut in the garden) - and it was the work of just five minutes armed with a small steel pan and spoonful of olive oil. So I am an unabashed fan of Two’s Company and am more than happy to recommend it to any reader who either dines regularly with a partner or alone.    “As you can probably tell, I feel really passionate about this,” said Orlando as we ended our chat this week. “Writing a single feature would be somewhat sticking my neck out - I happen to be President of the Guild of Food Writers, and I’d be upsetting a lot of food writers - but I know from dozens of conversations that most people who cook for two feel the same way as I do. Which is why I have written this book.” Two’s Company - will be published on 14th September by Ryland Peters & Small (£18.99) - on sale priced £18.99 from 14 September. Preorder through Amazon or if you wish to support your local independent bookshop, through  uk.bookshop.org .  Sample recipe from Orlando Murrin’s Two’s Company Three-mushroom goulash  This tasty and substantial supper dish can be served with boiled potatoes, rice or tagliatelle: if you have poppy seeds to hand, sprinkle on lightly to provide a soft crunch. Feel free to halve the quantity of tomatoes and add a small glass of red wine, if liked.  about 8 g dried porcini mushrooms  300 g mixed fresh mushrooms  a splash of olive oil 15 g butter 1 shallot, sliced 1 tbsp tomato purée 1 garlic clove, crushed 1 tsp smoked paprika, plus extra to garnish 1⁄2 tsp caraway seeds, lightly crushed in a spice mill or pestle and mortar  230-g can chopped tomatoes, or 1⁄2 a 400-g can a splash of water, wine or stock, if necessary a squeeze of lemon juice  200-g tub soured cream a small handful of fresh parsley or tarragon, chopped  1 Put the porcini in a cup or heatproof bowl, cover with 100 ml boiling water and set aside to steep while you trim the mushrooms. Slice any large mushrooms, halve or quarter smaller ones, but aim for a variety of shapes and sizes. Now line a small sieve with a piece of kitchen paper towel and place over a cup or jug. Fish the porcini out of their soaking liquid (do not discard) with your fingers, rinse under the tap to remove any remaining grit and slice roughly. Pour the soaking juices into the sieve, allow the liquid to filter through and discard the kitchen paper towel and the bits caught in it.  2 Heat the oil and butter in a large frying pan and add the shallot. Cook over a medium heat till starting to go brown – 2–3 minutes – then raise the heat and add the mushrooms and porcini. Some mushrooms release water, so just keep stirring and sizzling until any liquid has boiled away and the mushrooms are appealingly browned, about 5 minutes. Stir in the tomato purée, garlic, paprika and caraway and cook for 30 seconds.  3 Now stir in the porcini soaking juices and tomatoes and simmer till slightly thickened, about 5 minutes. Add a splash of water, wine or stock if necessary, to achieve a saucy consistency. Season well and add a squeeze of lemon juice to brighten the flavour.  4 When ready to serve, swirl in about 3⁄4 of the soured cream and heat through. Check the seasoning and serve with the remaining soured cream and a sprinkle of paprika and chopped herbs.  One-pan puttanesca  Pasta puttanesca may be something you feel you don’t need a recipe for – tomato sauce with a few olives thrown in at the end. Done right and spiced up all’arrabbiata it’s a super-tasty supper, cooked all in one pan – yes, including the spaghetti – and on the table in 30–40 minutes.  This includes quite a few polarising ingredients – anchovies, olives and capers – but if you don’t like them, simply miss them out.  For a meat-free version, omit the lardons and anchovies.  1 tbsp raisins, currants or sultanas (chopped if large)  1 tbsp capers, rinsed if salted  1 tbsp olive oil 1 onion, or red onion, sliced  60 g smoked lardons, chopped pancetta, or bacon pieces (optional) 3 anchovy fillets (optional) 3 garlic cloves a generous squeeze of tomato purée 1 tsp dried oregano 1–2 pinches of sugar (to taste)  1⁄2–1 tsp crushed chilli flakes (to taste)  400-g can chopped tomatoes 400 ml water (I use the empty tomato can to measure, 1 canful) 150 g dried spaghetti  3–4 tbsp Kalamata or other black olives, pitted and roughly chopped  grated Parmesan, to serve (see Trick of the Trade)  toasted pine nuts, to serve (optional) a small handful of fresh parsley, finely chopped (optional)  1 Heat the oil in a large frying pan (one with a lid) and add the onion and lardons, if using. Cook gently for a full 7–10 minutes, till golden and caramelised. Crush the anchovies and garlic – I put them both through my garlic crusher, anchovies first – and add to the pan with the tomato purée and oregano. Season to taste with the sugar, chilli flakes and salt and pepper and cook for 1–2 minutes.  2 Stir in the tomatoes, water and spaghetti (snapping it if necessary to fit in the pan) and bring to the boil. Cover the pan and simmer for the time suggested on the spaghetti packet – typically 8–12 minutes – stirring occasionally to ensure the pasta is immersed in the sauce. If towards the end of the time the mixture is looking wet, remove the lid to thicken slightly. Check the spaghetti is al dente – cooked by this method, it may need 2–3 minutes extra – then stir in the drained raisins and capers, plus the olives and parsley if using, to heat through. Check the seasoning – again, be generous – serve with lots of grated Parmesan and add a scattering of pine nuts and chopped parsley, if you wish.  TRICKS OF THE TRADE  × If you haven’t encountered it, ’ nduja (pronounced en-doo-ya) is a spicy fermented salami paste from Calabria, the region which forms the toe of the Italian peninsula. Soft and spreadable, it can be mixed into savoury dishes whenever you fancy a bit of extra oomph – tomato sauces, on pizzas or even on toast.

I recently attended an event which might, in future, be regarded as one of the seminal moments in the story of modern British bread-making and baking. Not only was the open day at Matthews Cotswold Flour interesting because of all the new amazing and delicious flours the historic mill is now producing - but we attendees also learned how artisanal baking (both commercially and at an amateur level) will soon be helping to inspire new forms of environmentally friendly and sustainable farming. As I will be writing an article about that occasion and its ramifications soon, I won’t go into detail here - suffice to say that at the event I met food blogger Elaine Boddy who wrote the successful book Whole Grain Sourdough at Home and she kindly gave me some pointers towards creating a better loaf at home.  A mission which for me was made a little more easy because I returned from the Matthews Cotswold mills clutching five new flours launched to answer increasing demand from artisan and home bakers for great-tasting unique blends.  The new stoneground range includes Ancient Cotswold Crunch, Heritage Bibury Barley, Malted Cotswold Rye, Cotswold Spelt and Rye and Wychwood Oat Blended Flour. It’s all part of the company’s wise and clever drive to make the art of artisanal bread-making a lot more varied and interesting - and the new flours join Matthews’ range of over 30 different blends which basically provide a wide choice for both amateur and professional bakers. And I came home with the complete set of these amazing flours and started making bread - with very encouraging results, even though I says so myself… I also came home with some sourdough tips from a top UK expert Elaine Body… As one of the nation’s great new gurus in what could be described as the Sourdough Revolution, Elaine (or foodbod-sourdough as she’s known online - ie www.foodbodsourdough.com) kindly shared a few tips with mer for making the perfect loaf using Matthews Cotswold Flour… Always use great flour: the flour you use to make sourdough and feed your starter with makes a huge difference to the outcome of your baking. My sourdough making really took off once I started feeding my starter with good strong white flour, as well as using it in my dough. Keep your starter healthy: a happy healthy starter is the key to it all. Aim to only ever keep less than 100g as your base amount and always feed all of it, don’t portion out parts to feed, or worry about ratios. Invest in a room thermometer: your dough’s behaviour is wholly dependant on ambient temperature, so tracking the temperature in your kitchen is an absolute key to successfully making sourdough. Don’t let the dough be in control: there really is no need to get up at 3am to tend to your dough, don’t let it take over or steal your sleep.

There’s a general rule in life that says that if something is well worth the while but a little tricky to achieve, then someone somewhere will find a way of making the job easy. In the world of food and drink, nowhere is this more true than within the barbecue scene. We’ve come a long way since the days when barbecuing meant placing a wire grill over some lumps of smouldering driftwood on a beach. Now the burnt offerings of 40 years ago have been replaced by all manner of wondrous items such as ultra-slow-cooked pulled-pork or fancy pilaus cooked in those Japanese clay-ovens called kamados, prepared and proudly presented by highly experienced ‘pit-masters’ who’ve spent years learning the intricate nuances of smoke and flame. Many of us will have seen entire TV programmes dedicated to barbecue competitions and similar themes in which master cooks sweat blood and tears producing beautifully burnished masterpieces. Certainly, just about everyone I know loves the taste of barbecued food, but… And it is a big BUT! A great many of those people will also say: “Yum indeed… But who can be bothered to go through all that fuss?” I was talking about this very issue the other day to a friend of mine who is an expert in such matters, and this is what Ben Forte replied… “Yes, that is often the perception with charcoal barbecuing, but things have changed!” In answer to my obvious bewilderment, Ben invited me to his South Devon home in Brixham where he promised to teach me a whole new way of barbecuing and smoking which, in many cases, really does solely rely on the press of a button. I’d better explain that Ben happens to be global marketing manager for a company called Masterbuilt ( https://uk.masterbuilt.com ), which specialises in making the art of barbecuing and hot-smoking a great deal more straightforward and simple than it’s been since Neanderthals kept fires in caves 60,000 years ago. “I imagine a lot of your readers are busy people but would love the idea of astonishing and delighting their friends with, perhaps, some sizzling hot-smoked venison, or some delicious lightly smoked pork chops. “Until recently you’d need to have been an experienced chef with a lot of equipment to achieve such dishes, now you can just plug in one of our digital electric smokers and off you go. “It really is as easy as pressing the button. All you need do is place your game meat, or chops, or fish, or anything else on one of the interior shelves and load a few wood chips (ideally, supplied by Devon’s own specialist company, Hot Smoked -  https://hotsmoked.co.uk ) into our patented wood-chip loading system. It allows you to add more oak, apple, or whatever wood you’re using, without opening the main door of the smoker.”   “Then it is just a matter of pressing the button and waiting while your meat, fish or veg gently cooks in the fragrant smoke.” Ben and I hung some fresh Brixham whiting in the Masterbuilt digital electric smoker and they were quick to cook and smoke - and, the Hot Smoked apricot wood chips having done their work, they were absolutely delicious.  I must also add that I was relieved to see that any potentially smelly oil dripping from the fish was caught in the special water bowl underneath, so there was nothing much to clean when we were done.  At this point Ben said “let’s take things up a level” as he introduced me to the Masterbuilt 40-inch digital charcoal smoker. This impressive beast is one of the ultimate cooking appliances you could have adorning the patio or the garden. Indeed, it is the first of its kind to offer that much-sought after smoked charcoal flavour, but with all the ease of digitised controls to look after the all-important temperature and cooking speed.  “You just set the temperature on the digital control panel or your smart-phone and our new specially designed digital fan maintains the desired cooking temperature,” explained Ben. “The charcoal tray holds 7kgs of briquette charcoal or 5.5kgs of lump charcoal for up to 13 hours. So you really can master the art of charcoal smoking with this innovation.” This charcoal smoker is large enough to cook and smoke enough food for a party of a dozen or more. You could, for example, put a large turkey in the glass fronted oven to cook and gently smoke - and all at the touch of a button or with a quick glance at your smart-phone.  But Ben wasn’t finished yet - he wanted to show me the Rolls Royce of the Masterbuilt fleet - the Gravity Series 1050 Digital Charcoal Grill and Smoker.  “You can smoke, grill, sear, bake, roast on this device and do a great deal more besides,” said the enthusiastic 35 year old. “As with our charcoal smoker, you simply set the temperature on the digital control panel or your smart device and our trademark Digital Fan maintains the desired cooking temperature.  “The GravityFed charcoal hopper holds up to eight hours of charcoal and, as the name suggests, it’s a simple case of gravity ensuring you have constant fuel added to the fire. The reversible smoke and sear cast-iron grates and our own patented fold-away warming and smoking racks add up to a total of 1050 square inches of cooking space.” It was the Gravity Series 1050 that Ben was using when I arrived at his home in Brixham, a thing which was music to my eyes because I soon discovered he had used the mighty device to cook me a massive full-English breakfast. So there you go… Forget the kind of smoke and mirrors which those alchemists known as pit-masters insist you must acquire if you wish to serve perfect barbecue food. It always was going to be the case that someone somewhere would make the art of cooking with smoke and flame a great deal more simple - and, as this particular food writer has discovered, it was happening not in a Neanderthal cave but in a garden in Brixham and, indeed, at  https://uk.masterbuilt.com RECIPES FROM BEN FORTE - Ranch Cheese Burger Makes 4 burgers 480g beef mince, 20% fat Your favourite brand Ranch Dressing Your call - Mature Cheddar cheese 1tbsp Your favourite smoky BBQ rub Ketchup Brioche buns Method Mix the rub into the mince, combine well. Form into four equal sized patties of approx. 120g in weight. Do not over-compact the patties, or they’ll be dense. You can chill them if you need to, but cook patties from room temperature to avoid shrinkage. Prepare grill to searing temperature – approx. 300c. Grill burgers, flipping regularly until internal temperature reaches 70c for a fully cooked through burger. Cover with cheese until melted. Remove and leave to rest. Toast up your brioche buns if desired. Smother with ranch dressing and tomato ketchup. Sausage, cheese and chimichurri skewers Ingredients 12 sausages 2 handfuls mature cheddar, grated Chimichurri 100ml olive oil 4 cloves garlic, grated 60ml red wine vinegar 1 small bunch parsley, finely chopped 1 small bunch coriander, finely chopped 2 small red chillies 15g dried oregano Healthy pinch sea salt and ground black pepper Method Set barbecue to approx. 170c. You could add a bit of apple, cherry or hickory if you like a heavier smoke. Pound all the chimichurri ingredients vigorously in a mortar and pestle for the best results, but for ease, pulse it in a blender. Season to taste, then set aside. Skewer 12 sausages onto two or three fairly thick skewers. Sear direct for a couple of minutes each side to gain colour. Finish off sausages indirect for 20 – 25 minutes until they’re cooked, probing a minimum of 75c. Remove sausages from the heat and allow to cool slightly. Sprinkle cheese over the top and finish with the poky chimichurri.

I see on social media to today that one of my favourite pubs in the world has just been officially voted Best Pub in Devon at the 2021 at The National Pub and Bar Awards. Which is wonderful and fully deserved, I am sure… The note on social media reminded me of an article I once wrote about the Pig’s Nose for the Western Morning News in a series we did about great pubs with Otter Brewery. It gives me great pleasure to repeat the article here - although please remember this was written several years ago and I believe Lesley and Peter’s son Joss has a great deal to do with running the pub now… Some pubs are great, some have greatness thrust upon them thanks to bank-loads of investment, and a few evolve to such greatness under their own brand of charm that they become the kind of institutions that should be preserved for national prosperity. The Pig’s Nose Inn at East Prawle, perched at the very southerly tip of Devon, is firmly in the latter category. If, after visiting six amazing pubs for this series with Otter Brewery, I had to choose just one hostelry to represent the West Country on the nation’s roll-call of public-house honour, it would probably have to be this one.  The others all have their own numerous merits, but there’s something about the Pig’s Nose that happens to suit my own scruffy, odd, mirthful, never-too-serious, eccentric set of requirements.  For a start, a quirky sense of humour seems to run through the Aladdin’s Cave of 10,000 objects that is the Pig’s Nose. That was obvious straight away before we’d even stepped foot in the place… A blackboard had been put out on the stone steps of the porch saying: “Welcome the WMN and Otter Brewery” and underneath it a real red carpet had been rolled from the interior out into the street. It was the first, and probably the last, time anyone has laid out a red carpet for me in 40 years of journalism. Then, when you enter the dimpsey but cosy bar, you begin to see all manner of quirky bits and bobs that will make you smile, or chortle, or laugh out loud. There’s a 100 year old phone that landlord Peter Distin Webber has somehow wired up so that it still works. It sits close to a similarly aged till which is also in full working order.  In front of it on the bar all manner of crazy objects wrestle for space - like the tin marked Grumpy Old Git Mints or the dish shaped like a pig in a bath that says it contains aniseed balls. There’s also the knitting. All round the pub there are balls of wool and knitting needles and customers are encouraged to have a go while they’re supping a pint or waiting for food. “People just knit a square,” laughs landlady Lesley Distin Webber. “I haven’t got a clue about knitting, so all I do is sew up all the squares and make cushion covers out of them.” She laughs again. And you soon learn that Lesley likes laughing. So does Peter. And so do Otter Brewery’s Patrick McCaig and myself. We spend three solid hours doing a very great deal of alcohol-less laughing at the Pig’s Nose. We laugh when a regular customer comes in with a small dog named Roy - and the dog, not the man, is given a glass of ale.  Patrick McCaig laughs even more when he’s told Roy will not touch any beer other than the stuff made by Otter Brewery.  We laugh when Peter tells about his career as a road manager in the rock and pop industry. We are beside ourselves when he and Leslie tell us about their failed mission to live in Ireland (“We did carrot growing, keeping donkeys, the lot.) We laugh when Leslie tells us managers of charity and junk shops for 100s of miles around rub their hands with glee when Peter walks through their door. Peter and Lesley bought the Pig’s Nose 15 years ago and I have it on good authority from locals in East Prawle that the place was much in need of a change. The reason Otter Brewery joined the Western Morning News to sponsor this series was so that we could highlight some of the brilliant public houses the West Country still boasts in these darks times when so many hostelries are closing forever. Some fail despite of oodles of tender love and care and the best laid of plans. Some even go to the wall after highly experienced landlords have taken over and run pubs to the best of their ability. So perhaps it is an enigma that Peter and Lesley knew nothing whatsoever about the licensing trade when they bought the Pig’s Nose. Indeed, Lesley confided to me that an hour after buying the place she sat in the car on the way home and asked, with sudden sense of horror-filled realisation: “Who is going to do the cooking?” So it says an awful lot - a really tremendous amount - about this man and wife team that, a decade-and-a-half years later, they now run a public house that truly can be deemed a Great British Institution. When I tweeted I was visiting the place I had loads of replies from people all around the country saying things like: “Lucky you! It’s my favourite pub!” Here, in their owns words, is Peter and Lesley’s story… “Most of my working life I was a road manager - when I heard about that job I put a suit on not realising it was actually a roadie carrying the bags,” shrugs Peter mentioning some of the bands he worked with in the 1960s (Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Titch, Blue Mink, the Searchers,etc) “I was born in Paignton - my roots are here and I always wanted to come back,” he goes on. “I ran away from home when I was 20; went on the trawlers at Brixham; got shipwrecked; became a beatnik; went down to St Ives; hung out… Then one day I went for a haircut in Wadebridge and the barber said: ‘I know something you could do - be a road manager’.  “And that was it for years. I did escape several times because I always wanted to be in the country,” he added. “We kept sneaking off to Devon every minute we could,” said Lesley. “We had an old van we used to carry equipment in. On a Friday night we’d chuck a mattress in the back and go off to Totnes to stay with Terry the Tuner.”  After a brief sojourn in Ireland where the pair bought an old chapel and Peter gained what he calls “an addiction for sheds”, they returned to London. “We came back with renewed energy - got some more studios - but eventually thought: no, it’s got to be country,” he recalls. “So off we went to Dorset. But every thatched cottage we saw, I thought: ‘What’s good of that? What can I do with a cottage? I need to work’. “That’s when we arrived in East Prawle and saw the pub - and we thought: ‘Yes, it’s like buying a job’. So here we are. “I’d no idea how to run a pub. The previous landlord took me into the cellar and showed me various pipes and dials. He wasn’t much help,” says Peter who redesigned the whole beer part of the operation so that the barrels are now behind the bar (put there with the help of a kind of Heath Robinson system of ropes and pullies). “We only did soup to start with, but then we did a few pies and things,” said Leslie referring to her instant conversion from air stewardess to pub chef. “Then it went mad.” As for the crazy look of the place with all its countless bits and bobs, Peter told us: “I’ve always collected bric-a-brac - it was like that in my London studios. So when we came here, a lot came down with us. I am a bit of a magpie.” But it’s music that has really put the Pig’s Nose on the national map. Partly thanks to Peter’s contacts from his road manager days, the pub has hosted some amazing big name acts - and part of the reason it’s been able to do so is because it must be one of the only inns in the country with its own village hall attached… “We’ve got a hall here and we thought: ‘Wow! We must do something with that’. Just before we left London, Wishbone Ash were using my studio and one of the guys said they’d play here. It took us a year, but we plucked up courage and put them on. We were a bit worried because at the time you were only supposed to have two people playing in a pub for some reason - so, because they had two guitarists, I put out signs saying ‘Wishbone Ash - guitar duet’. “We weren’t licensed at all, never mind a duet!” Peter laughs. “But after that we put a lot of investment in sound-proofing etc to keep the health and safety people happy. People went mad over the performances and we realised we were onto something rather special. “It was always a sell out - people came from all over the country. It just got too hectic - the parties afterwards were pretty good though,” smiled Peter. “They certainly were,” beamed Leslie. “They were hat parties. We have big boxes full of all sorts of weird and wonderful hats - and people would put one on and that would change their persona. We got quite famous for the hat parties. “But it got to the point where we wanted a quieter life,” sighed Peter as if regretting their decision to slow down on the gigging front.  “It’s age,” said Lesley. “We’ve got old.” “So now we just have acts in the bar - solo artists and so on,” adds Peter. “It’s a lot easier, and more intimate.” All the while Patrick McCaig was beaming as he listened to the pair: “Every pub we go to has a reason for being there and why people go there,” he said. “What I love about your story is that it seems to have been a solution to your life. What you seem to have created is incredibly warm mayhem - which people have really bought into. And it’s become something really special. I think it’s brilliant.”  “Service is all-important,” said Peter. “For example, we get the barmaids to snip the top off Nobby’s Nuts packets. We are proud that we snip people’s nuts. In fact, there are a lot of funny double-entendres here…” At this point he trails off to tell a long story I don’t quite understand about a pair of tights and something to do with a hungry dog and some sausages… Our jolly lunch was coming to an end - as indeed is this series - so perhaps we’d better leave the Pig’s Nose and Going Down the Pub with a very philosophical thing Peter muttered… “I couldn’t bear the thought of having a house where people just didn’t come in. You’d have to invite them in, wouldn’t you? We take pubs for granted really. Just think - if you went into a normal quiet village and there was no such thing as a pub - and then someone came along and said: ‘Well, down the road there’s a special sort of house where you can just walk in and be welcome’.” Peter agreed with me that if there weren’t such things as pubs, someone would have to invent them: “It’s true,” he said. “It would scare me to live in a normal house - I’d end up putting a barrel in there and hoping someone would come to see me.”

We’ve all heard of a room with a view, but what about a restaurant or cafe with a wonderful panorama? After all, there are times like summer when it can be all about location, location, location… Which is why my colleagues at RAW Food and Drink PR have suggested that we do a round-up of eateries across the region that have amazing views. Because it is summer, I have decided to narrow it down to those with wonderful sea-views. There should be quite a few - this region is rich in such places. However, I am a great believer in paying for the substance on the plate rather than for the fact that a place has a scenic backdrop, so would only be happy mentioning venues which do good food.  So if you have a favourite eatery which both serves really good food and has a lovely sea-view, why not email me the details at martin@rawfoodanddrinkpr.co.uk and we will try to give them a mention in next Saturday’s Western Morning News.

The King of Cider: Roger Wilkins on Banksy, Celebrities, and the Real Somerset While the images on this page offer a glimpse into the world of Roger Wilkins and his legendary Somerset cider farm, they are really just the appetizer. The true heart of this story—the wit, the dry Somerset charm, and the clinking of cider mugs—lives in the audio. This post is designed as a companion to my Adventures in Journalism podcast. By clicking the player below, you’ll be transported directly to Mudgley, sitting across from Roger as he shares tales you simply won't find in a standard newspaper column. From the quiet arrival of world-famous artists like Banksy to the unvarnished truth about preserving West Country traditions, these are stories best heard in the voices of those who lived them. So, please, pour yourself a glass of something local, hit play, and join us. Journalism is often about what we see, but sometimes the most important part is simply listening Read more about Roger Wilkins here

The annual floral floorshow is well underway. For that is what this walk provides in spring – and it all takes place just a few miles outside of Newquay. What saved the coast just south of town from the town’s urban sprawl is The Gannel. For those of you who don’t know it, this is Newquay’s very own estuary. Various schemes were put forward down the years to have the bothersome creek dammed or reclaimed, so that Newquay could extend across all the lovely dunes to the south.  Imagine the horrors that would have been built had this occurred. However, The Gannel stood – or rather, flowed – strong. Consequently the area that begins just a few hundred yards south from the centre of town remains wonderfully untouched.  So much so that the National Trust owns a good deal of the area, thereby ensuring its conservation. To start this hike we go to the Trust’s car park near the coastal village of Holywell, tucked between the giant dunes of Holywell Bay and the old military camp at Penhale. If you’re entering the village by car, bear left at the bottom of the hill and proceed a few yards until you see the trust car park. Now it’s simply a matter of taking the footpath down to the beach. After a minute or two, I could see that the coast path north extended directly up into the dunes, but having never been to Holywell before I thought I’d take a turn on the beach. I’m glad I did, as it’s as delightful a strand as you’ll find anywhere.  In his book Walking in Cornwall, written more than 80 years ago, JRA Hockin says that some people claimed the beach to be the sweetest bay in England. “There is just that symmetry in its setting and shape to point the exquisite harmonies of lofty, marram-crusted sand-hills, acres of golden, surf-washed beach, and two lines of delicately tinted cliffs framing a restless segment of blinding blue, while the cleft pile of Carter’s Rocks off Penhale Point disciplines the horizon and prevents the limitlessness of sea and sky from overwhelming the scene.” Good old JRA also found Holywell Cave in the cliffs to the north of the bay and described it thus: “A boulder-guarded sea cavern where the water seeps out of the rock into a little basin near the roof.” I should add that the Trust advise you not to go there alone as the steps up to the cavern are very slippery. Certainly, you should never go there on a rising tide. I did not visit the cave because I was making my way up onto the dunes in order to regain the coast path. It’s quite a haul up those sand-hills and the trust ask that you do not walk on the marram grass but try to keep to the various paths where wooden steps are provided in the steep bits. It’s important to try to stop erosion of the giant dunes. Walking north we come to the big headland known as The Kelseys. This is the name of the three large and ancient enclosures which cover this north-pointing cape. The outer wall is now just a bank of collapsed stone, but the others are still more or less intact and are reminiscent of the ‘cornditches’ to be found on Dartmoor. In other words, they have a vertical face and a sloping face – in the case of Dartmoor this was to keep the King’s deer out of the fields (the vertical side), but to allow them to clamber back over the wall if they did get in. Out at the end of Kelsey Head you will see the low wall that is all that remains of an ancient cliff castle. Easy to defend, but I always wonder what the inmates did for freshwater if and when they were besieged. Just off the headland is a rock island called The Chick, which the Trust also owns. By the way, as we turned the corner we saw a stoat loping through the profusion of flowers. The sighting didn’t surprise me in the least – if the number of holes is anything to go by this is rabbit-central. Walking back down the north east flank of The Kelseys we were introduced to the aforementioned Polly Joke. The proper name is Porth Joke, but for some reason the locals call it Polly. I don’t know why – but I do know that the ‘Joke’ bit is derived from the same source as the word ‘chough’ (as in the bird). We now headed inland, up the footpath along the pretty valley, until we came to another Trust car park. Now we followed another path south, up the small depression onto Cubert Common. In doing so I was reminded of another of the area’s great claims to fame - it used to be said that the sweetest mutton in all England was reared on these very grasslands. Some say it was because of the rich profusion of different plants grown in an area that is so naturally rich in lime – Hockin reports that it could have been due to: “The sheep eating the little slugs and snails that abound on turfed sand-hills.” Whatever the reason, I wish someone would rear some sheep in the area now so we could find out whether or not the claim was true. I’m told this is unlikely because of the number of people who walk dogs out here, which is a pity. To return to my car, I followed the overland path back to Holywell. This took me over the ridge of hill and past the northern perimeter of the golf links, then it was a descent down to the rear of the dunes and on, in turn, to the centre of the village. An easy hike in a surprisingly scenic seaside zone – I look forward to returning to explore the rest of the Newquay that never was. Fact File Basic hike: from Holywell north to Kelsey Head, then past the beach at Polly Joke to return to the village via Cubert Common. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 104 Redruth and St Agnes. Distance and going: three miles – easy going.