Magnolia Verandah
Foodie Monkey, and
Charlotte Hanson

I’ll be in touch about getting the books to you.

Thanks all so much for participating. You all had me dribbling over the keyboard . J x

Apologies for delay, Christmas and wedding rather taken over. Just waiting to hear back from team Maldon with a winner! J

For mains there’s a wacky home comfort vegetarian option, namely macaroni cheese, gratinated with Emmenthal (cheese.) Wholly inappropriate for a desert island. Where’s a microwave when you need one?

For meat eaters, I present you with roast Guinea Fowl accompanied by sauerkraut and cream sauce. A poor fit for the island I’m afraid, but scrumptious nonetheless!

Lastly, for desert, a chocolate tartlet for all you chocoholics stranded on our desert island: that is, sweet pastry dough with Macae chocolate ganache and chocolate jelly, glazed with dark chocolate!

To start, Eggs en cocotte with duck liver pâté.

Followed by a highly impractical Jalapeno Alligator with Truffle Oil Fries.

For dessert, ‘Dulcia domestica’ (an ancient Roman recipe involving sweet and succulent fresh dates, red wine and honey, amongst other ingredients)

I’ll start with some ridiculous cocktail, as the more awkward the prep the more exciting it is to drink. And, as Tom Hanks missed it so badly in Castaway, I’m going to savour this moment and have lots of ICE in the glass. I’ve had too many great cocktails from Hawksmoor Spitalfields, so I’ll choose from their menu, especially as they’ve a ‘Desert Island cocktails’ list:
Stolen Heart: Compass Box Spice Tree, Apricot Brandy, Kamm and Sons
Port in a Storm: Bermudan rum, Velvet Falernum, The Kernel Porter, Lime and Angostura Bitters
(Yes, I need two)

To start, I think I’ll keep it English. This is a starter I had recently at The Glasshouse, in Kew, and I think I’d miss these seasonal ingredients terribly, and bore all too quickly of mangoes:
‘Wood pigeon and white pear salad, green beans, croutons, bacon and crisp quail eggs’

For my main, I’m going back to basics. I’m part Italian and marinara flows through my veins. Only pizza will do in this scary situation. The village where my papa was from, and where I go back on holiday, is very idyllic: it has one shop, one church, one bar, and – importantly – one pizzeria. And for my final meal it has to come from there. Dough rolled so thin in the way only an Italian Nonna knows how, smeared with sauce from tomatoes grown in their yard, a scattering of fresh mozzarella, basil leaves, and, nestled amongst it, an egg from the chickens which roam free outside and occasionally pop their heads into the restaurant. Cooked to perfection with slightly blistered crust in a wood-fired oven. And, I’m afraid, I’ll accept nothing less.
(Washed down with wine from the vineyard next door).

Dessert is a further nod to comfort. I haven’t made it yet, but I have been lusting after this banofee peanut butter brulee recipe I found on HeNeedsFood: http://heneedsfood.com/2012/05/banoffee-peanut-butter-brulee/

Would hot chocolate be too heavy after this? Probably, but a lot of indulgence now will keep me alive for longer when we realise I have no hunter-gatherer skills.

Bottle: Tomero, Malbec 2010 (nothing too fancy to over power my meat)