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Any excuse is good to have chocolate.Happy Valentines Day!


I don’t believe in Valentines Day. If you love someone, you should show it to them all year round and not just on the 14th of February, innit? But any occasion is good for having chocolate.

I followed Jamie Oliver’s brownie recipe. He is the God of cooking. I worship the man. It’s a bloomin’ brilliant brownies recipe you can find on his website. My version is with pistachios, dried cherries and demerara sugar.

Jamie Oliver's bloomin' brownie

Jamie Oliver's bloomin' brownie

I also promised Kamil that I’d put up a recipe for chocolate ganache. It couldn’t be simpler – you basically melt a bar of dark chocolate with 50-70 ml of cream and a knob of butter on a low heat. I also add a splash of alcohol (brandy or sweet wine if someone gives it to me – I would never drink sweet wine, yuk).

Jamie Oliver adds to his ganache some clementine zest, I prefer orange though. Then you mix everything, put it into shot or espresso glasses and voila!

Just to set the record straight – Kamil is not the flatmate described in the ‘creamy mushroom pasta’ post. He is the other one, the one who cooked and baked with me, the one my boyfriend and I enjoyed brilliant themed parties and film marathons with.

chocolate ganache

chocolate ganache

Happy Valentines Day!


About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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