Or have they?
There was a time when dinner planning felt like the final exam of the day. You’d finish work, whether from the office or the kitchen table, and be greeted not by a moment of calm, but by the question: What’s for tea? If the fridge was a sad display of mismatched leftovers and a limp courgette, the evening went from potential wind-down to a frantic dash through a recipe book (or worse, the supermarket).

Enter the meal kit revolution.
HelloFresh, Gousto, Marley Spoon, whichever banner you fly, they’ve done more than just deliver food to our doors. They’ve delivered time, sanity, and a surprising amount of joy back into the weekday routine.

Simplifying the Everyday
For many working families and busy individuals, the mental load of meal planning is no small thing. It’s the decision fatigue, the endless grocery lists, and the realisation halfway through cooking that you’re out of cumin. Meal kits have streamlined that entire process into something you can manage in ten minutes flat. You open the box, follow a simple recipe card, and serve a meal that looks like something you’d get in a gastropub, without needing a degree in timing or an emergency dash for coriander.

Redefining the ‘Evening Shift’
For those of us balancing work and home (and possibly home as work), this shift has been game-changing. Instead of spending your precious post-work hours shopping, prepping, and faffing, you’re cooking, with ease. That small change ripples into everything else. More time for family chats, walks with the dog, reading an extra chapter before bed. Less stress, less waste, and far fewer takeaways ordered out of desperation.

A Gateway to Better Eating
There’s also the subtle benefit of variety. Meal kits often sneak in ingredients you might not usually pick up, freekeh, sumac, paneer, and nudge you towards new flavours. They’ve quietly become an entry point into more adventurous cooking for people who used to rotate between spag bol and stir-fry. That kind of confidence in the kitchen builds quickly, and once you’ve got it, you’re more likely to cook from scratch, plan ahead, and feel in control.

Not Just for the Time-Poor
Even seasoned cooks, those of us who genuinely enjoy cooking, have found a soft spot for these kits. They’re not a replacement for scratch cooking, but a support system for the nights when you’d rather not think too hard. And during busy weeks, holidays, or when hosting guests, having a plan already done for you can feel like magic.

Looking Ahead
The bigger picture is clear: businesses like HelloFresh haven’t just filled a niche, they’ve shifted the cultural norm. They’ve shown that convenience doesn’t have to mean compromise. That fresh food can still be fast. And that home-cooked meals, even midweek, don’t have to be a hassle.
In an age when work often spills into home life and the lines blur more than ever, that’s no small feat.

But Is It Cheaper Than Good Old-Fashioned Meal Planning?

Now, it’s fair to ask, especially for anyone raised with a mum who could feed five on a fiver, how do meal kits stack up against traditional home meal planning?
The short answer: they’re usually more expensive than doing it all yourself, but the difference isn’t always as wide as you’d expect.
If you’re the sort of person who plans meals with military precision, shops in bulk, uses your freezer cleverly, and rarely lets anything go to waste, then yes, doing it yourself will almost always come out cheaper. You’ll also have the flexibility to batch-cook, take advantage of supermarket specials, and tailor everything to suit your family’s needs.
But that’s a best-case scenario. The reality for many is half-used herbs going slimy in the drawer, forgotten tins gathering dust, and several “Oops, I forgot to defrost that” moments per week. Factor in impulse buys, multiple shops per week, and the odd takeaway when it all goes pear-shaped, and suddenly, meal kits start looking quite sensible.

Time vs Money
Think of it like this: you’re not just paying for food, you’re paying for someone else to think, plan, portion, and prep for you. For busy households or those in a rough patch (new baby, illness, demanding job, exams), that can be worth its weight in gold.

A Middle Ground
Many families now use meal kits as a supplement rather than a full-time solution. Maybe you order just three meals a week, and plan the rest yourself. Or save them for extra-busy weeks and stick to home-cooked routines when life’s a bit calmer. It’s not all-or-nothing, and that’s the beauty of it.

This week marks 80 years since VE Day, a momentous day in history that signifies the end of World War II in Europe. As we reflect on this day, I can’t help but think of my grandad, who played an important part in that victory. He was stationed on the AA (Anti-Aircraft) guns during the Normandy landings, on the front lines of one of the most pivotal moments in the war.
But his service didn’t end there. My grandad was part of the forces that helped liberate Belsen, a place that still haunts us all with its history. His role, like so many others’, was not just about fighting but about bringing an end to unimaginable suffering and darkness. Mum said it affected him deeply.
As we commemorate VE Day (sadly not here in Oz), I remember his strength, courage, and the sacrifices he must have made—not just for his country, but for the future of us all. The war is a part of our shared history, and his legacy is a reminder of the resilience and determination that shaped the world we live in today.

And then there were the street parties.

Across Britain, as the news broke and the fighting stopped, people poured into the streets. Bunting went up, trestle tables were dragged out, and neighbours who had shared fear and ration books now shared sponge cake and jam sandwiches. It was a time of joy, of relief, and of coming together.
Even in times of scarcity, they made it work. Women stretched rations to bake fairy cakes, children waved homemade flags, and every scrap of bread became a sandwich filled with whatever could be found—Spam, fish paste, or even powdered egg. Jelly set in bowls borrowed from next door, and there was always someone playing music from a wireless on a windowsill.

Traditional VE Day street party foods included:

• Sandwiches with fish paste, egg & cress, or Spam
• Jam tarts and sponge cakes made from ration-friendly ingredients
• Jelly and blancmange in pastel colours
• Rock buns and Anzac-style biscuits
• Homemade lemonade or tea served in mismatched cups
• And if you were lucky—a pork pie or sausage roll for that real celebratory feel

Today, those humble dishes hold a kind of sacred nostalgia. They remind us that even in hard times, people found reasons to celebrate, to share, and to carry on.
So raise a cup of tea, share a scone, and remember--
VE Day isn’t just about the past. It’s about gratitude, community, and the quiet strength of those who came before us.

To all those who served and sacrificed—thank you. Your bravery will never be forgotten.

Bringing a Taste of Britain Home.
There’s something about food that pulls at the heartstrings, a certain pie, a particular cake, a smell that instantly transports you back to another place, another time. Years ago, I realised just how much we missed the food we grew up with. Not just any food, but proper British baking: pork pies with jelly, Scotch eggs with the perfect crunch, Eccles cakes with their sticky sweetness, and flaky sausage rolls that crumbled in your hand.
What started in our own kitchen soon grew into something bigger. We weren’t the only ones craving a slice of home. A community quietly formed around the comforting flavours of childhood memories and Sunday family tables.
We baked for the people who knew exactly what a pork pie should taste like. We made Battenberg for those who remembered it from their grandmother’s kitchen, and Victoria sponge that brought back memories of village fêtes and school cake stalls. Each recipe we made was steeped in the traditions that connect us across generations and across the miles.
It wasn’t just about the food. It was about belonging. About giving people, expats and locals alike, a little reminder that home is never really that far away.

The Spirit Lives On.
Though our ovens have long since cooled, the spirit behind every bake has not. It lives on, in the handwritten recipe cards tucked into drawers, the Sunday afternoon tea times still enjoyed, and the shared stories that have become part of so many kitchens.
Pork Pies and the Perfect Pickle is the natural continuation of that story. A cookbook, yes, but more than that, it’s a celebration of how food holds us together, even when we’re far from where we started.
It’s filled with traditional British recipes, lovingly recreated from both my family's kitchen and the bakery days,  foods that comfort, delight, and remind us of who we are.
For anyone who still craves a taste of Britain, a memory of a Sunday roast, or the simple joy of a slice of Battenberg with a cup of tea, this book is for you.
It’s for the ones who miss home, for the ones teaching the next generation what a real pork pie tastes like, and for those who know that sometimes the smallest things, a crumbling pastry, a dollop of pickle, mean the most.

Much Love and Gravy
​Leigh x

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!