Who Wants to Lick the Bowl?
I remember Mum calling out from the kitchen. “Who wants to lick the bowl?” and that was it. No matter what we were doing, we’d drop everything and race in, hoping to get first dibs. There was something so good about that raw mixture. Butter, sugar, eggs and flour, how could something so simple taste that heavenly?
To be honest, Mum didn’t bake cakes all that often. And when she did… well, sometimes the magic stayed in the bowl. I’m not sure what happened between that tasty delight and the finished product, but the joy was in the making, not just the baking.
These cakes are the kind that aim to keep the magic right through to the final slice. Fool proof, full of flavour, and generous enough to share, but I wouldn’t blame you if you still wanted to lick the bowl first.
I don’t know about you, but when I think of baking as a child, it’s not the finished cake that comes to mind. It’s the bowl. The wooden spoon. The sticky grin. That glorious moment when the last bit of sponge mix had been scraped into the tin and someone handed me the bowl with a quiet “Go on then.”
No one ever said it out loud, but we all knew the rules. If you helped stir, you got first dibs on the bowl. If there were two of you, someone got the spoon and someone got the beater, a fair split of the spoils. And if you were especially lucky, Mum would leave just a smidge more mix behind than strictly necessary. A little gift in batter form.
Even now, I catch myself licking the spoon while baking and thinking, Yep,  still got it.
Back then, it felt like magic. The smell of butter and sugar in the air, flour dusting the worktops, and the sound of Radio 2 humming quietly in the background. Helping Mum bake was never really about the recipe. It was about standing on a chair, feeling included, and knowing you were trusted enough not to drop eggs on the floor (or at least not every time).
Now, I bake for my own family, and yes, I still lick the spoon. Sometimes Carl walks past and raises an eyebrow, but I tell him it’s essential quality control. Besides, that’s the cook’s tax, isn’t it?
And if you’ve ever handed a beater to a child and watched their eyes light up, you’ll know it’s not just nostalgia. It’s legacy. We pass these moments down, like we pass down our best gravy tips or the secret to a properly golden sausage roll.
Baking has become a bit trendier these days, stand mixers, sourdough starters, and carefully staged Instagram shots. But the heart of it hasn’t changed. It’s still about love. Comfort. Home.
So the next time you’re in the kitchen with a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon, don’t rush the tidy-up. Take a moment. Lick the bowl. Lick the spoon. Give yourself permission to enjoy the process, not just the result.
After all, the cake’s for everyone. But the bowl? That’s yours.

Over here in Perth, things are ticking along nicely—sunshine, kookaburras laughing like they know something we don’t, and me trying to explain to Aussies why a proper cuppa must involve a kettle that boils water to actual boiling, not “hot-ish”.
But I’ve just been catching up on the latest back home, and honestly? The drama in the British supermarket aisles is hotter than a summer’s day in Sheffield (so… about 23°C and everyone’s shirtless).
Apparently, Tesco and Asda are at war. Not the polite kind with coupons and “every little helps” slogans, either. Oh no. This is full-on, basket-wielding, price-slashing supermarket carnage.

Tesco: Taking One for the Team (and the Tinned Tomatoes)
Tesco, bless them, have decided to fling £400 million at lowering prices. That’s enough to make a dent in the national baked bean surplus and maybe even stop people fighting over Clubcard prices. They’ve warned this heroic move might hit their profits—which is business-speak for, “We won’t be quite as filthy rich this year, but do enjoy your 50p off own-brand biscuits.”
They’re also planning to save another £500 million by tightening their belt. Probably means more self-service checkouts and fewer humans, but hey—at least your frozen peas will cost slightly less.

Asda: If We’re Going Down, We’re Going Down Cheap
Then there’s Asda, charging in like a mate who’s already three drinks deep and has nothing to lose. They’ve basically said, “Forget profit, let’s win back shoppers!” and started chopping prices like Edward Scissorhands in the produce aisle.
They’ve even scrapped 24-hour trading in Inverness, so if you fancied a midnight dash for chocolate milk and a Scotch egg, you’re out of luck. Clearly, they mean business.

And Aldi’s Just There, Smirking
Meanwhile, Aldi is sitting quietly in the corner, having already stolen half the market while no one was looking. They’ve overtaken Asda in food sales and are probably planning to conquer the world using middle aisle chainsaws and inexplicably cheap olives.

Watching from Afar
I’ll be honest—watching all this from the other side of the world feels a bit like tuning in to a soap opera I didn’t know I missed. One minute I’m sipping a cup of herbal tea in the Aussie sunshine, the next I’m deep into reports about Tesco’s falling stock price and Asda’s battle plans.
I’ve started treating the UK supermarket scene like live theatre. There’s passion, betrayal, and more plot twists than an M&S meal deal. All that’s missing is a narrator whispering, “Next time on ‘Battle of the Baskets’…”

Anyway, if you’re reading this from back home—know that I’m cheering you on. May your trolley be full, your bargains be bountiful, and your self-checkout not freeze halfway through scanning your broccoli.
And if Tesco starts doing free shipping to Australia, do let me know. I’ve got a craving for proper crumpets and irrationally miss the smell of Sainsbury’s rotisserie chicken.

If there’s one thing this cookbook journey has taught me, it’s that nostalgia has a way of creeping up on you in the most unexpected moments. This past week, I had an absolute ‘blast from the past’ moment when I thought about something I hadn’t in years: Findus Crispy Pancakes.
Now, if you grew up in Britain, chances are you’ll remember them. They were the ultimate after-school treat, the kind of thing you’d spot in Iceland and hope Mum would say yes to. In my house, though, ‘instant’ food was a rare occurrence. Mum was all about home-cooked meals, and convenience foods didn’t often make an appearance; she couldn't afford it. But every now and then, as a treat, she’d pick up a box of those golden, crispy-edged pancakes stuffed with molten, savoury filling. Biting into one was an event—piping hot, slightly too crispy around the edges (because we never waited long enough to let them cool), and always delicious (even with a burn that lasted days on the roof of your mouth)
So, when I found a homemade version, I knew I had to try it. And let me tell you—it was an instant time machine back to my childhood. Flaky, crispy coating? Check. Gooey, comforting centre? Check. The only difference is, this time, I know exactly what’s gone into them, and they taste even better than I remember.
The best part? This recipe has now earned a spot in Pork Pies & The Perfect Pickle because, let’s be honest, I know I’m not the only one who has fond memories of these little pockets of joy. The book is really coming together now, and with every recipe, I’m finding new ways to recreate and refine those flavours we all miss from home. (or "cheffy' them up a bit as I like to say.)
Writing this cookbook isn’t just about compiling recipes—it’s about bottling up nostalgia, one dish at a time. I’ve been testing and tweaking, making sure each recipe brings back that feeling of home, wherever you are in the world. Whether it’s a crispy pancake, a proper pork pie, or a Yorkshire pudding wrap, it’s all about bringing back those tastes that transport you straight to your childhood kitchen.
So, to all my fellow ex-pats and nostalgic food lovers—get ready, because this book is going to be packed with the flavours you’ve been craving. And yes, the crispy pancakes will be in there, so you won’t have to go searching for them like I did!

Who knew becoming an adult meant having to decide what’s for tea every single day... for the rest of your life? Honestly, I thought being grown-up meant freedom — not standing in front of the fridge at 5pm wondering if cereal is a viable dinner option again.
Now my mum, she had it sorted. Every week was the same — no faff, no fridge-staring, just a proper routine. She cooked for my dad like clockwork:

• Monday: Mince beef pie — made from the Sunday roast leftovers
• Tuesday: Lamb chops
• Wednesday: Egg and chips
• Thursday: Small pork loin with stuffing
• Friday: Steak in tomatoes 
• Saturday: Roast chicken — with chicken sandwiches for tea
• Sunday: Roast beef and Yorkshire puddings — proper job

Then the cycle began again. Simple, predictable, and delicious.
Now, one Tuesday Dad fancied something different, so Mum put her thinking cap on and made a lovely meal. Dad took one look and said, “It’s Tuesday! I’ve been looking forward to my lamb chops all day!” And just like that, lamb chops reclaimed their Tuesday throne forever.

​However, You know those Fridays when you’ve just about survived the week, the idea of cooking makes you sigh loudly, and the takeaway menu is eyeing you from the drawer? Yeah, I’ve been there — more times than I care to admit.
But sometimes, you want something homemade without the faff. Something comforting, quick, and dare I say... delicious. Enter this little gem of a recipe: Creamy Garlic Mushroom & Spinach Pasta — a proper Friday night winner.
Perfect for literally anyone who’s stood in the kitchen thinking, “I can’t eat beans on toast again.”
Why You’ll Love It:

• Ready in under 30 minutes
• No fancy ingredients — just fridge staples
• Feels indulgent, tastes amazing
• No delivery fees (and you can eat it in your pyjamas)

Creamy Garlic Mushroom & Spinach Pasta
Ingredients:

• 250g pasta (penne, fettuccine — whatever’s in the cupboard)
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 250g mushrooms, sliced
• 1 tsp dried thyme (or mixed herbs — we don’t judge)
• 2 big handfuls of fresh spinach
• 150ml double cream (or thickened cream)
• 1/4 cup grated Parmesan (plus extra to serve)
• Salt & pepper, to taste
• Optional: a squeeze of lemon juice or a pinch of chilli flakes for a kick

Quick How-To:

1. Cook pasta. Save a bit of the water before draining.
2. Meanwhile, in a big pan, sauté garlic and mushrooms in olive oil until soft and golden.
3. Add thyme, salt, pepper, and spinach — stir until wilted.
4. Pour in the cream, add Parmesan, and let it bubble for a couple of minutes. Thin with pasta water if needed.
5. Toss in your pasta, and mix well. Add lemon or chilli flakes if you fancy.
6. Serve with extra Parmesan — because it’s been a week.

Pro Tip:
Want to bulk it up? Add leftover chicken, crispy bacon, or even a tin of tuna — make it your own.
So there you go — Friday night sorted. No takeaway. No drama. Just a bowl of creamy, garlicky goodness and maybe a glass of wine (or two — again, no judgment).
Let me know if you give it a go — or if you’re still eyeing the takeaway drawer. I won’t tell.

 go and raise a fork to every adult who’s ever stood in the kitchen thinking, what on earth is for tea?

Living abroad is full of surprises, from unexpected weather patterns (Christmas BBQs, anyone?) to discovering the local definition of bacon (spoiler: it’s not what you’re used to). But one of the most entertaining, confusing, and often delicious challenges for any expat is navigating local holidays and traditions.
 When your new country gears up for a celebration, and you have absolutely no idea what’s going on, you have two choices: jump in feet first or hide behind a plate of something vaguely familiar.
 Let’s explore the three types of expat holiday behaviour (and see which one you are!).
 Option 1: Jump In Feet First
Many expats go all in on local celebrations — fireworks, feasts, questionable costumes and all. Whether it’s Diwali, Bastille Day, ANZAC Day, or something involving dancing goats and parades, you’re there with bells on (literally, depending on the holiday).
 
✔️ You dress up.
✔️ You join the parade.
✔️ You ask too many questions.
✔️ You take awkward but enthusiastic photos to send home.
 The best part? You learn, you laugh, and sometimes you discover a new tradition you want to keep forever, even if you still don’t fully understand what it’s about.
 
 Option 2: Blend It with Your Own Traditions
Expats are experts at hybrid holidays. It’s Australia Day with a BBQ, but your table also features pork pies and trifle. It’s Thanksgiving abroad, but you sneak in Yorkshire puddings just because.
 You honour the local customs, but let’s be real; by sundown, you’re raising a glass to the Queen (or King) and serving sausage rolls, wherever you are.
 This option is ideal for those who want to join in, but also miss home, and let’s face it, no one does a Christmas dinner like you do.
 
Option 3: Smile, Nod, and Hope for a Day Off
Some holidays are downright baffling. The locals are marching through the streets in costumes, waving flags, singing songs you don’t know, and you’re just trying to figure out if the shops are open.
 You smile, you nod, you ask someone why everyone’s eating pickled fish at 7 AM, and you pretend you understand. (You don’t, but that’s okay.)
 Bonus points if it’s a public holiday , because even if you have no clue why, a day off is a day off.
 The Joy (and Chaos) of It All
Local holidays offer a peek into the soul of your new home. They’re confusing, beautiful, messy, and often involve great food aka, the expat trifecta. (pronounced tri-FEK-tuh) means a perfect group of three things.
 Whether you’re fully participating, observing from the sidelines, or just waiting for the feast it’s all part of the expat adventure.
 After all, where else would you find yourself eating turkey in 40°C heat on Christmas Day, or explaining Bonfire Night to confused locals while they look at you like you’ve lost your mind?
 
Final Thoughts
So next time a local holiday rolls around, remember:
✔ Smile
✔ Join in (or at least eat something)
✔ And never underestimate the power of a pork pie to make any celebration feel like home.

Moving abroad is an adventure—new cultures, new experiences, and, of course, new food. But as exciting as it is, there comes a moment when the novelty wears off, and you’d trade a thousand fancy dinners for just one proper taste of home.
 For me, food isn’t just about eating—it’s about comfort, connection, and identity. It’s Sunday roasts with the family, buttered toast that tastes better than it should, and the smell of a freshly baked pie filling the house. It’s knowing exactly what brand of biscuits goes best with a cup of tea. And when you live abroad, you suddenly realise just how much those little things matter.
 
The Hunt for British Ingredients Abroad
Any expat will tell you—the first mission upon moving to a new country isn’t finding a doctor, a school, or even a good café. It’s tracking down a decent cup of tea, proper cheese, and some recognisable sausages.
 At first, you try the local alternatives. You convince yourself that the generic “black tea” will probably taste like PG Tips (it won’t). You optimistically buy a block of something labelled “Cheddar,” only to find it has all the flavour of a candle. And sausages? Let’s just say some places shouldn’t even be allowed to use the word.
 Then begins the great ingredient hunt. You ask other expats for tips, you scout out specialty stores, and eventually, you stumble across a little shop that stocks British food at wildly inflated prices. But when you spot a jar of Branston Pickle or a tin of Heinz Baked Beans, it’s like striking gold.
 
Adapting Recipes & Getting Creative
Of course, sometimes you just have to make do and mend. Over the years, I’ve learned that: 
 Homemade pastry is essential when “puff pastry” in some places is closer to cardboard.
You can recreate Bisto-style gravy with stock, Worcestershire sauce, and a bit of kitchen magic.
Scones will never rise the same in hot, humid weather, but we try anyway.
 There’s a strange kind of joy in adapting recipes—making a traditional dish work with what you’ve got. It becomes a little less about recreating things perfectly and more about keeping traditions alive. And let’s be honest, we’re all guilty of stuffing a suitcase with British essentials when visiting home.
 
The Emotional Side of Food Abroad
It’s funny how certain foods can transport you back in time. A single bite of something familiar can bring a wave of nostalgia, warmth, and even homesickness. The first time I found proper bacon in Australia, I nearly cried. When I made a proper pork pie from scratch, it felt like a personal victory.
 Food is more than just fuel. It’s memories, history, and a way to feel connected—even when you’re thousands of miles away. And sometimes, the best way to cure homesickness isn’t a phone call home—it’s a warm scone, a proper cup of tea, and a moment to just sit and savour.
 
Finding Home in Every Bite
Living abroad changes the way you cook and eat. You learn to be resourceful, adaptable, and to appreciate the little things. You learn that a meal doesn’t have to be perfect to feel like home—it just needs to be made with love (and preferably a good dollop of butter).
 So, whether it’s a Sunday roast in a sweltering Aussie summer or a homemade sausage roll when no bakery stocks the real deal, every expat knows:
 Home isn’t just a place—it’s a plate.
 Would love to hear—what’s the one food you miss the most from home? Let me know in the comments!