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The Delectable Diary of Hayley Harland

20 September, 2012

Wild oyster mushroom salad with venison burgers

Some amazing shots by James McCann of our adventures at Chichester Local Food Fair

Oyster mushrooms become soft and slippery and suck up the flavour of whatever they're being cooked in. Compared to chicken of the woods, another delicious wild fungi found growing around the abundant countryside at this time of year, they are more delicate in texture and their aroma less potent. Like most other mushrooms, they aren't much to rave about un-cooked but I wanted to find a way of preparing them raw whilst keeping their essence - like real oysters.

The inspiration for this recipe comes from Ceviche, a Peruvian seafood dish that uses lemon juice and salt to cure fresh shellfish without heat. Within minutes of pouring over your marinade, the mushrooms will wilt from firm but brittle to soft and flexible. It can be eaten on it's own as a side or as part of a salad but here, I decided to serve it with venison burgers too.

Poisonous imitations of oyster mushrooms aren't commonly found so they are fairly easy to safely forage. This being said, please take a good guide with you because I don't want to be responsible for any casualties!

Serves 2


  • 150g Oyster mushrooms
  • The fresh juice of 1 lemon
  • 1 Small red onion, finely sliced
  • Half a red chilli, finely chopped
  • 1 Tbsp olive oil
  • A few rosemary leaves
  • Half a teaspoon of Himalayan salt
  • Pepper for seasoning
  • Mixed salad leaves with rocket
  • 2 Venison burgers



  1. Fry your venison burgers and leave them to rest for 5 minutes.
  2. Mix together the lemon juice, olive oil, chilli, rosemary and salt, making sure that the salt fully dissolves.
  3. Add your oyster mushrooms and onions and toss for a minute so that every inch will soak up the sauce.
  4. Leave to marinate for two minutes while you plate up the salad.
  5. Serve with a sprinkling of pepper.

17 September, 2012

Chicken of the woods spaghetti and wild mushroom foraging


You may be aware that I've been M.I.A. since June. It's no excuse but with the launch of the new RawLoveLife website and all our classes and workshops, there hasn't been a minute to spare. The food adventures have not stopped though, there's been passing out on restaurant floors in Paris, meals on top of mountains, gourmet-raw feasts, champagne, beef tartare, champagne-beef tartare regret... all of which I will be writing about soon on my brand new website delectablediary.com.

The website is still a bun in the oven, not quite golden-brown enough to share with you all yet. So in the meantime, I'll post two gorgeous wild mushroom recipes this week to keep you all occupied in the Autumn glut.

There seems to be enough drama when it comes to dinner time in my world (part of the adventure package) so I do not trust myself enough to forage for mushrooms. If you are going to go hunting, use a good guide like Food For Free to help you out and don't eat anything unless you are 100% sure. Alternatively, you could hire the Wild Foragers to take you out on a foraging expedition or attend one of their courses. I bumped into these guys the at Chichester Local Food Fair this weekend and they had a table laden with plush emerald samphire, golden girolles, horseradish roots and strong wild garlic olive oil. I wanted to take the whole lot home with me but instead, I managed to convince them to cut me off a chunk of their huge display mushroom.

Chicken of the woods is one of my favourite fungi. It behaves and tastes like chicken with a heavy mushroomy aroma and is a brilliant replacement for vegetarians. Caution: Some people can have allergic reactions to chicken of the woods (even if you have tried it before) so it's good to taste a small amount of your mushroom a day before you cook and eat it all.


  • 100g Chicken of the woods
  • 2 Large cloves of garlic, finely crushed
  • 2 Tbsp olive oil
  • A knob of butter
  • A large handful of fresh sage leaves
  • 2 Sprigs of thyme
  • Half a chicken stock cube (replace with vegetable stock if vegetarian)
  • Fresh parmesan for grating
  • salt and pepper



  1. Heat the oil in the pan and fry the mushrooms for 2-3 minutes.
  2. Add the salt and pepper, garlic and butter to the pan.
  3. When the garlic has just become golden, pour over a ladleful of boiling water and sprinkle in your stock cube and the thyme.
  4. Simmer the mushrooms while you boil your spaghetti.
  5. Add the sage and serve with grated parmesan.


26 June, 2012

Pancakes, Curries, Dumplings and Mud - Sunrise Festival

Apparently the sun rose but none of us saw it as we were under a thick blanket of cloud and knee deep in mud. The wind blew icy rain against our faces (this is June!) and nearly blew our shelter down so after night one, we decided it was best we kip in the car. While some festival goers numbed themselves from the cold and wet with booze or drugs, my little crew hopped from tent to tent, keeping our bellies full and warm by sampling the delicious food Sunrise Celebration had to offer.


Fresh from the hedgerow, homemade Elderflower champagne flowed like nectar, one of my favourite ciders, Orchard Pig, was available on tap everywhere and when it came to chillin', we got toasty by the fire in the Pukka teepee with a herbal tea in hand. Wherever possible, the food at every stand had to be sustainable, local and vegetarian (except for the hogs they roasted from the farm). There was so much good food, I couldn't mention all of it but I've picked a few of my favourites to share with you:

The Common Loaf Bakery - Best pancakes in the world, ever.


A wide selection of gluten-free breads
One of the things I loved about the food at Sunrise was that most stalls offered a wheat-free option, not because it was in the festival rulebook but because they were gluten-freeers themselves. The Common Loaf Bakery are spelt kings. The friendly maté-drinking bearded folk come from a community down in Devon that is part of the 12 Tribes. I wish not to offend anyone by calling them a cult but to us everyday chaps, that's kind of what they are but I must stress they are also very good at baking bread. Half way through a fluffy, American-style pancake dripping with sweet maple syrup, I had to interrupt a religiously-orientated conversation with one of the "brothers" to proclaim to the heavens that these were the best pancakes I'd ever had, ever. When I asked their secret, suspecting that some kind of magic had been going on with the batter, he replied, "It's simply baked with a lot of love." We returned daily for the transcendental pancake experience and after trying one of their springy spiced buns, we strongly considered joining.

Rainbo Food - Gorgeous gyoza


Rainbo's 1948 Ford pickup
When you're sick of poorly brewed chai tea (it's "the thing" nowadays) head over to the Rainbo van for a cup of warming miso soup and some Japanese gyoza. I'm a fan of anyone who quits their office job to do something kooky, especially if it involves a vintage truck as cool as theirs. Ben and Shrimp started off by selling chocolate at festivals but they wanted something more, something cooked and so for the last four weeks they've been hawking thousands of dumplings to hungry, muddy people. They told me that it isn't as glamourous as it looks and that it involves hours of multiplying dumplings and equating tofu ratios but all that talk became romantic jumble once I bit into the piping hot, meaty flavoured centre. They were only allowed to sell vegetarian gyoza at Sunrise so I'm going to make a special pilgrimage to Leather Lane market in London to taste their ginger chicken and pork dumplings - Food like this just makes me so happy! If you want to know more about their story, Shrimp has a Huffington post blog well worth a read.

Nomad Curries - Curry with integrity


Festival veteran, Rakesh has been doing this for a decade, he's no stranger to the rain and has seen more mud than most of us can imagine. He loves his life on the road but now it's time for him to sell up and settle for a quieter occupation as a massage therapist. It's got to go to the right people mind you - the spices are mixed and fried on site, the ingredients are sustainable, fairtrade and delicious - this is curry with integrity. We went for dinner and got completely soaked talking to Rakesh about life, the gentle evolution of his business from chip van to traditional Indian fare and what's to come next. My chapatti, filled with the heat of a spicy lime pickle kept me warm and afterwards we had a cup of the finest chai tea in the land. Rakesh will not be quitting festivals all together, he runs happiness talks and has written a beautiful book with Thoughts, Quotes and Poems on Happiness. Needless to say, we came away from our meal smiling. Catch Nomad at Buddafield and other festivals this summer and if you fancy taking on something a bit crazy and wonderful like Ben and Shrimp just have, get in touch - Rakesh on 07946 419151

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28 February, 2012

Our woman in Havana - 3 bean chili & sweet potato

Havana is never what you expect it to be. No amount of high-colour glossy photographs of vintage American bangers or wrinkly ladies with vibrantly painted, crumbling backdrops will prepare you for its reality. The culture-shock doesn't come in the form of dirt, disease or language barriers, it is more that everything you are used to no longer exists because this is a country that runs a little differently than the rest.



Last November, I quit my job so that I could follow my heart and most importantly, my gut. I would get to the end of each day feeling like my brain had been shoved in a blender and after a few years of perseverance I concluded that it just wasn't the life for me. So I stayed up all night making preserves for a month and hawking them to randomers at Christmas fairs. Then I got on a plane to Cuba. I thought, Christmas in Cuba, why not? There will be dancing in the street and jolly men jangling on guitars like in Graham Greene's Our Man in Havana, and even though there won't be snow, a nice tan and plenty of vitamin D will more than make up for that. But as I said, Havana is never what you expect it to be.

I took my boyfriend, Sebastian along for the ride and we arrived in the warm night air at our casa particular (a private Cuban home). It was a stylish and modern apartment, where beautiful, smiling Lilly greeted us. We saw nothing but the streetlamps of Havana, the beyond draped in inky darkness. We knew nothing of the view that would embrace us the following morning.



We spent two weeks, waking up with the sunrise, deep apricot smudged across the horizon through an early morning smog. We took breakfast on the balcony, drinking in that spectacular view of the sun-drenched city under a rich blue sky. We walked along the Malecón to the centre of town with a salty breeze speckling our faces. It has recently been made legal for foreigners to take the communal taxis and some days we would catch a ride along with seven or so other people, crammed into these colourful banged-up metal containers, horns a'blaring, choking with petrol fumes. But it was worth it for only a few National Pesos, peanuts in comparison to Cuba's other currency, CUC. We would walk through Habana Vieja, the old town trying to avoid the most intelligent and persistent of hustlers, admiring the art, the architecture and, "Beautiful laydeee, come in my dress shop, it free to try," coming from the back door of somebody's living room, the differences to home.

Some days we would just meander around our neighbourhood, Vedado past colonial mansions once opulent, decaying into disrepair with still as much of an impact on the eye as the day were built. Imagine the resplendant parties they must have hosted in the 50s. Everyday, 2 or 3 homes in this city disappear, the people who live there becoming part of the rubble, so you wouldn't expect there to be much to party for. But even though there wasn't dancing on the street, there was music in the air and we had a party anyway. There were jazz clubs, concerts, a bit of salsa and gallons of mojitos, we had friends and it became our home for a short while.




It was difficult to leave Havana but we were ready to continue our adventure in Cuba. On Christmas Eve, we hired a car to drive to the town of Remedios where a huge fiesta takes place all night long. Two neighbourhoods battle it out to see who has the best parade and fireworks. The pyrotechnics are homemade of course, the streets are packed, people hop over exposed electric cables but the rum galore flows freely. Huge barrels of boiling oil roast street food, which if they were to topple over, would result in hundreds of civilians being deep fat fried as well. This is one night where the police don’t really get involved, if a building burns down, it’s just considered part of the kindling. If the health and safety weirdos were to visit this place, they would have a breakdown. Or so I’ve heard...

With the scent of freedom in the air, we were excited to hit the open road. But in a country where little funding goes towards road signs, we had to stop several times to look at the map. We had barely escaped the Big City before 3 bandits sporting fake police uniforms, trained in the art of distraction, got into the car and pinched our wallets. It all happened so quickly, by the time we noticed, they had diffused into the scenery. They may as well have been ninjas.

So we limped our way back to Havana with a debilitating slow puncture in our shit-heap of a hire-car with only ten cents to our name. We expected to be greeted at the British Embassy with a cup of earl grey and a mince pie but when we arrived, a security guard with broken English told us that it was closed. Everybody was on their jolly holidays until 2nd January. In peak tourist season. How nice for them.

The most important thing was to get a roof over our heads for the evening. But even the ritziest hotel in town wouldn’t accept a parent's card over the phone from England. The sight of a lavishly decorated Christmas tree in the grand lobby of the Saratoga hotel was enough to reduce me to tears and I practically begged the clerk for a room. It could have been my empty stomach thinking for me, but I could've sworn the Christmas angel began speaking from behind me:

‘I overheard your story. I’ll give you some cash so you can get by for the next few days. I don’t know you, but you seem like good people.’

I turned around to meet James, not the Christmas angel but a friendly New-Yorker with sleek silver hair and clean-cut glasses. This was the last night of his illegal visit to Cuba* and he offered to lend us 500 bucks and take us out to dinner. By this point our British stiff-upper-lips had shriveled to the size of raisins and naturally, we accepted his kind invitation.

We agreed to meet James after finding a place to stay and headed back to Casa Lilly to see if she had found us a place to stay. We felt terrible for interrupting their family christmas celebration, the children were opening their presents and supper was bubbling on the stove, but we had nowhere else to turn. Lilly and her sister Sandra had rung around the whole neighbourhood to ask for a room and one place had said "yes".

Iznaga and Alicia welcomed us into their home that stood right on the Malecón. It must be one of the safest houses in Havana because they are situated in between both of the heavily guarded US Interest Sections. It was a modest, comfortable and homey apartment and it was just what we needed.

We met James back at his hotel and the concierge gave us crappy directions to a restaurant called La Casa. After an hour of searching and a terrifying trip over a rickety bridge into the dodgy end of town, we admitted defeat and paid a taxi to guide us to our paladar, a privately owned restaurant. We were greeted with open arms by the exuberant host into shades of neon and the glittery drip of extravagant water features. It was like stepping back in time... to 70s kitsch Miami. The food was brilliant, playful and oh so 70s too. Prawn cocktail, turkey slices and then came the dessert. Coconut icecream in no less than a coconut and pineapple sorbet frozen into a hollowed out pineapple. My mojito, infused with a leprechaun green mint syrup, was beginning to make me feel a bit strange. If the day had bean a nightmare so far, it was now turning into a surreal dream.

James was great company that evening, he lifted our spirits and after dropping him back, we indicated sleepily into our driveway. Suddenly, there was a screetch of brakes and the long, loud blare of a car horn. A car swerved around us and alarmingly came to a halt. Out popped the skinny boy who had been queuing behind us at the rental office that morning - what seemed like an age ago. Only, it wasn't him, it was his evil twin. He strutted towards us agressively, shouting insults in Japanese and I screamed at Seb to turn the car around and drive. I thought we were going to die and Japanese Hulk was going to do the deed. My surreal dream had turned into a game of Grand Theft Auto. Speeding off, we thought we were clear of him but then the police pulled us over to find out what the commotion was about. We weren't sure of the drink driving laws and we knew that we were at least 1 mojito down. We said nothing to each-other but we were both thinking, "That's it, we're going to prison, this has been officially the unluckiest day of my life."



Seb managed to talk us out of a dangerous driving arrest but the following morning, Christmas day, I ended up in the back of a police car anyway. We were escorted to the station to make our report in a rather dramatic fashion. Unfortunately, that was the most exciting thing that happened all day. There was a lot of confusion due to the language barrier and a lengthy wait, a 10 hour one, with a lunch break to punctuate the boredom: prison slop that nobody dared eat. The chicken slop smelled old and rotten, and the potato slop was anemic grey, don't even get me started on the dog mince slop. The chief of police had developed a rather adorable crush on the chief dinnerlady and they were both eyeing us closely. We didn't want to offend our hosts so we invented different ways to make our plates appear empty. I knew that if I was home in England at that moment, I would be stuffed silly on a delicious feast cooked by my dad, not shaking with low blood sugar and pretending to eat.

Seb & I © Yo Yim


Over the next few days, the Foreign office in London concluded that there was no way to get money to us other than via the embassy because of the US embargo. We had wired money with Western Union but it was stuck in Guantanamo Bay. The Western Union clerk just looked at our despairing faces, clearly not understanding the gravity of our situation, "Fly to Puerto Rico," she grunted. Well, that wasn't possible since we had nothing with which we could pay for tickets!!!

Like Blanche DuBois, we "relied on the kindness of strangers" and strangers came out of the ether to save us. 6 people in total leant us survival money until the end of our trip, more offered us a roof over our heads, we saw Trinidad and Cienfuegos, we went snorkeling, Alicia cooked us the most heartwarming stews with fresh herbs and deep fried malanga fritters and most importantly, friends offered us solace. In the end, we didn't need a stupid embassy.

On our last morning in Havana, more than a month after our arrival we gathered at a small cafe on Linea for breakfast with all of the beautiful people who had helped us. We filled the place. We couldn't have been luckier. We said goodbye to our friends and as I walked to our final destination down the Malecon in the bright blue early light, past the baseball field and the sound of joyful cheers, I sobbed my heart out.

Thanks to Jacques, Eric, Kinane, Lilly, Ramone, Sandra, Michael, Liz, Camillo, Orlando, Aria, James, Alicia, Iznaga, Jo, Pierre, Yo and our nerve-wracked parents. Life would be very different without you all.

Accommodation in Havana

If you ever need a place to stay in Cuba, look these people up. They both run professional and friendly B&Bs and the quality of your stay and the standard of food will be far better than most of the hotels.

Casa Lily
A modern and bright 50s high rise apartment that looks out over the city. The family speaks perfect English and Ramone used to be a tour guide so he knows exactly where to visit in Cuba.
Calle G, No 301 entre 13 y 15, apart. 13, Vedado, Havana
(537) 8324021

Sra. Alicia & Sr. Iznaga
A comfortable home with kitchen access and beautiful views in prime position on the Malecón. Kind host, Alicia is a delicious cook and Iznaga offers a private taxi service.
Malecón No. 209, apto. 3B, e/ J y K, Vedado, Havana
(537) 8367350


3 Bean chili & sweet potato

I came up with this dish before I left for Havana, it is my interpretation of what I thought Cuban cuisine was going to be like. I was warned there is a lot of beans, rice and sweet potato and I scoffed at a friend who upon his return, confided in me that he couldn't look at a single kidney bean, ever again. I thought, when food tastes this good, how bad can it be having to eat it every night? But as I said, Cuba is never what you expect it to be.

Apart from a few fantastic paladars and casas, which I will talk about in future, the food was generally herbless and lacking in any variety. Rice, beans and pork/chicken. For every meal. The problem is, some ingredients are hard to find because they are in short supply and sold at different times of the day. Everything has to be grown close by in the organoponicos which is wonderful but has its limitations. But do you come to Cuba for the food? Not particularly. You come for the music, the beauty, the people, the difference.



  • 3 Cans of different kinds of beans
  • 1 Large onion, diced
  • 2 Cloves of garlic, minced
  • 1 Red pepper, chopped
  • 2 Tbsp olive oil
  • 1 Can chopped tomatoes
  • 2 Tbsp tomato puree
  • 1 Whole star anise
  • 1 Tsp sweet smoked paprika
  • 1 Glass of red wine
  • A ladle of beef or vegetable stock
  • Roughly 1 tsp chipotle chili, depending on how hot you want it
  • Four big sweet potatoes

Preheat the oven to 180ºC and bake the sweet potatoes for 50 minutes.

On a low heat, soften the onions and peppers in the oil then add the garlic and fry for a further 2 minutes. Pour in your wine, boil for a minute then add the tomatoes, tomato puree and stock. Bring to the boil, add the star anise, chilies and paprika, then reduce the heat and simmer for 15 minutes.

Add the beans and simmer for 5 minutes, until they are warmed through. Serve on the sweet potato with some rocket.

It is rich, healthy, unquestionably delicious and rehabilitated my relationship with beans after returning from Havana.

* Americans pay a massive fine and risk imprisonment by the US government if they spend US dollars in Cuba so American tourists have to fly via South America or Canada and conceal where they have been.

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08 February, 2012

What makes a good cookery show? Recipe from Sicily Unpacked


If we are friends, mild acquaintances or we've met once on twitter, you will know it is no secret that I ♥ SICILY. I fell head over heels on my first visit and have never looked back. It has stunning natural beauty, rich art history and if you like eating, what's not to love? This country's ruling has been passed around more times than the village bicycle in the last two millennia and it's food-culture reflects this in a melange of flavours. It's got all the best bits of Italian, Arab, Spanish and Greek cuisine that when combined in a modest, home-cooked dish become so much more than the sum of its parts. There's fish, glorious fish, fresh Med veg or fruit in the markets and dolce so sweet, I haven't plucked up the balls to even write about them yet. I go on about it so much that even my very close friends assume I'm Sicilian. Hi friends! I'm not by the way, in fact I haven't got a drop of Latino in me but like the food, I am a melange, a cosmopolitan, a mongrel some would say.

So when I discovered that I could watch my favourite place in an factual cookery/history/travel show on the telly every Friday, all prior social engagements flew out the window. I would sit in front of a warm fire with a big bowl of caponata and for an hour, I could forget the bone-chilling world beyond the four walls of my cosy flat. Many of my contemporaries did the same, I know they did. The food world loved it. They thought that Giorgio Locatelli and Alan Partridge's clever brother were charming, their subjects complementary, the perfect combination of informative and cute. What really came across was their passion for the place, this wonderful thing that no-one can quite put their finger on. When 2000 years of history is wrapped up in a vineleaf, of course that meaty slab of tuna is going to be emotional! When an ancient bronze statue is dredged up from the bottom of the ocean and its movement is still so liberated, beautiful and flowing, how could it not make you feel from your heart! Even when you discover that the owner of Antica Focacceria di San Francisco in Palermo (that place where everybody goes at lunchtime to get their spleen and cheese sandwiches, an acquired taste, not for everyone, including myself) has gone into hiding for being the first business not to pay protection money to the Mafia, this is still food that you want to try! That famous line from the Godfather, "Leave the gun, take the cannoli," encompasses it all, Sicilians know they have a dark, bloody history and they have suffered but they are always putting that behind them and looking to what is good, what is sweet because la vita e bella.

Us foodies have been feeling a bit starved of decent telly recently so Sicily Unpacked was respite in the repetitive world of X-Factor and the like. Alas, the series came to an end and then everybody exploded with the news of →THIS←. Have you read it? Of course you have. Reading the Daily Mail is worse for your blood pressure than cannoli shells deep-fried in pig fat. Not only does Zilli bitch off goddess Nigella, the queen of putting gorgeousness and food together, and sweet Sophie Dahl who ain't never done a thing to her, but she pitches her new cookery show on the basis that she once showed her mate how to make tomato sauce. It's like she woke up one day and said to herself, "Singing career ground to a halt, I wonder how else can I get myself famous - Ooh, what about Daddy?" It's passionless and not born from a love of food but from a love of Laura Zilli. Also, doesn't she know that cooking in Laboutins will give you terrible bunions?!

Producers have clearly seen the success of these reality programs and decided to apply the formula to cookery shows as well. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of Masterchef as much as the next Joe Bloggs, that ridiculously sexy husk of Mrs narrator's voice, the extensive repertoir of John and Gregg's theatrical stern/worried faces and undoubtedly, the buttery biscuit bass. But would it be so bad as to ask for a bit more programs like naughty Keith Floyd's or Rick Stein trundling through sunny Spain or young, bouncy, adventurous Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the old days, back when he ate placenta? There are plenty of shows just waiting to be made and producers are all saying "No" to them. So to help you out broadcasters, I have drawn a fitting pie chart to show you what the producers think will make money and the ingredients that foodies actually want. Take a slice of that and eat it.



Sarde a Beccafico - Palermitan sardines stuffed with breadcrumbs

And now for the food, because that's what we're all bickering over, isn't it? You will find this dish in almost every eatery in Palermo, it's popular and rightly so. Beccafico means songbird because that's what they're meant to resemble in their pretty pinned curves but more of the singing is done in my fluttering heart when one of these passes my lips. They are hundreds of miles more delicious than the average tinned pilchard. I think there's stigma attached to sardines because of the fishy canned kind but prepared in this simple manner you won't ever doubt them again. There are plenty of variations to this recipe but it's best to just keep it simple like Giorgio did. For a perfect roll, get the fishmonger to fillet the sardines "open faced" by descaling, gutting and removing the backbone without separating the fillets or cutting off the tale.

Serves 4

  • Roughly 500g sardines
  • 1 Cup breadcrumbs
  • 1 Orange
  • 2 Tbsp Raisins
  • 2 Tbsp Pinenuts
  • 2 teaspoons olive oil
  • Fresh bay leaves
  • Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 200ºC.

Break up the slices of bread into crumbs with your fingers. If it is particularly fresh and gooey you will need to use a blender.

In a mixing bowl, toss the raisins, pinenuts into the breadcrumbs, you can add more if you prefer.

Add the oil and then gradually squeeze in the orange juice, mixing it in every few seconds. You don't want it to get too watery, more like a moist dough. Season to taste.

With the sardines open faced up, spoon 1 - 2 teaspoons of the mixture at the end opposite to the tail. Roll the fish up and pin it from the tail, either individually with a toothpick or several on a skewer.

On a baking tray, put bay leaves in between each rolled sardine and then bake them for 20 minutes.


If you would like to put me on the telly, please do drop me a line. Also, check out my mates on the I ♥ page, they would make great entertainment too. Have you got any suggestions for the broadcaster man? Let them know what you want to see more of in the comments below.

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