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Food is more than just sustenance. It brings such joy,

and it has the power to make a real difference every single day.

The recipes in Cook, Eat, Repeat,

are ones I return to again and again.

They're all part of the rhythms and rituals of my kitchen.

Food to brighten up even the darkest day.

And luxuriate in my favourite ingredients.

This is bowl food at its best.

In dishes that just say "home" to me.

We all know that cooking can be a balm

in troubled times, but more,

I believe that the kitchen can be both a sanctuary

and a pleasure palace.

And that's something I am more than happy to celebrate repeatedly.

Everyone needs a special occasion cake and this one is mine.

And what I think is crucial

if you're going to rely on something for every birthday

and other important celebration, is that however spectacular it

tastes or looks, it must also be stress free and simple to make.

And my chocolate peanut butter cake fits the bill entirely.

Obviously, I need to make the cake part first

and this is an easy melt in the pan number,

beginning with 200g of butter,

followed by 250mls of hot water.

Then I add 50g of cocoa,

125g of caster sugar

and 100g of soft dark brown sugar.

I gently whisk everything together over very low heat until smooth.

Into this melted mixture I stir in a couple of teaspoons of vanilla,

before taking the pan off the heat.

I beat together two large eggs,

then mix them into the slightly cooled pan.

Then gradually whisk in the dry ingredients until absorbed

and I have a gorgeous, glossy batter.

I pour this into four shallow tier cake tins

and bake for seven minutes in a 180 degree centigrade oven, or 160 fan,

though you could simply divide the mixture between two sandwich tins

and bake for 15 to 20 minutes.

Well, the cakes are made and the icing is under way.

I've got 300g of unsalted butter

and 400g of peanut butter whirring away in here.

Now half a teaspoon of fine sea salt.

And now two teaspoons of vanilla.

I'm ready to whisk in the icing sugar now.

There's 600g of icing sugar there,

which I have sieved through gritted teeth.

It's the only job I hate in the kitchen.

There's a lot of sugar, a lot of butter, a lot of peanut butter

but then I am creating a beautiful monster.

It looks quite thick and condensed now,

but everything is going to change.

One at a time.

And what really makes a difference

is that now that all the cream is added, I just stand back

and let it carry on whisking for, hmm, about four minutes.

I love the colours of this cake.

So '70s.

Very Biba, actually, with its golden beige and brown.

Now look at this,

so pale and creamy and voluminous.

Time to build my tower of cakes.

I do have to say something, which is when you make the four

ultra-thin layers, you will think something's gone wrong.

Look, these look thin as a burnt pancake.

But that's what they're meant to be like and when they're all

layered with the icing, it will look absolutely perfect.

I'm not suggesting you get a ruler out, but the idea is to dollop and

then spread a layer one centimetre thick between all the cakes.

It doesn't matter if it goes over the edges,

it'll just make it easier to ice the sides later.

Don't be worried about running out of icing. You won't.

The third cake on top.

Be careful because they are tender.

So a centimetre on top as well as in between each layer.

And then the serious business of the sides.

But don't be daunted, I always feel slightly

overwhelmed at the beginning when I start on the sides.

By the end, I almost have to have the cake

prised out of my hands to make me stop.

It's so moussey,

it almost looks like honeycomb turned into buttercream.

I am such an impatient person,

but I rather love doing this. I find it calming.

You just have to give yourself up to it.

And remember, you're not supplying a cake shop.

What I like about home cooking is that you see the hand.

You can see that someone's...

..been trowelling their cake for a long time.

Ah...

I could go on smoothing for eternity,

but I must stop.

As Ruskin said,

"A work of art is never finished, it is merely abandoned."

So I will abandon it.

Well, maybe not quite because whenever I've finished icing it,

I want to leave it smooth cos I love it, it looks so beautiful.

But, really, this cake

is at its best with a little

fine scattering of chopped,

dry roasted peanuts.

A teeny bit of crunch.

# Take me in your arms

# Hold me for a little while

# Hey, baby... #

You know, I make this cake for celebrations,

but the act of making it and decorating it

feels like a celebration to me in itself.

# Show a little tenderness before you go

# Please let me feel your embrace once more

# Take me in your arms

# Rock me, rock me a little while

# Oh, darlin'

# Rock me, rock me a little while... #

My spiced bulgur wheat with roast vegetables

is a supper I return to repeatedly

and not just when I have vegan friends over, by any means.

It's perfect just as it is.

But I can't resist adding my beetroot, chilli

and ginger sauce which, admittedly, I can eat with everything.

This is such an easy-going menu.

I cut up leeks and red peppers

and drop them into a smallish roasting tin

and I douse with olive oil.

I sprinkle over fennel and cumin seeds.

Scatter generously with sea salt flakes,

and smoosh to mix.

Then I tumble in a small bowl of cherry tomatoes.

which flavours the juices later,

I pour in some orange juice and a little cold water.

Then I give it all half an hour in a 220 degree centigrade oven,

or 200 degree with the fan on.

So, while the leeks, peppers and tomatoes are in the oven,

I'm getting on with the spiced bulgur wheat,

which partners it so exquisitely.

Bit of oil there - olive oil.

And just as I had orange juice in with the vegetables,

I'm grating the zest of an orange into the oil.

And now wild garlic.

There has to be garlic in this arrangement somewhere,

and I prefer to cook it with the bulgur wheat.

The oven's pretty hot,

so grated garlic would burn easily.

So here there is no chance of that.

I've got beautiful golden oil now.

I chopped the stalks,

the tender stalks from a small bunch of coriander.

I mean, they have exactly the same flavour as the leaves, of course.

But now to the spices proper,

And, just as in the oven, a teaspoon of cumin seeds.

But I'm going a bit further.

I want a teaspoon of coriander seeds, too,

and I love the pops of kind of citrusy pepperiness they give.

Finally, before the bulgur wheat goes in the pan,

just a little bit of dried chilli flakes.

This won't give heat, actually, just spicy warmth.

This smells so fabulous.

Right, the bulgur wheat.

I've got 200g here.

And I'm adding 50g of split red lentils

because they add a certain earthiness and texture.

Let's rake them through.

And in it goes.

with the aromatic oil.

And for this amount of bulgur wheat,

I've got 375mls of cold water.

You wouldn't think it was cold, but the pan's hot.

And, of course, I need salt.

All I need to do now is wait for this to come to the boil.

Although I always eat the spiced bulgur wheat

and roast vegetables as a main course,

I have to say, it makes the most glamorously practical side dish.

I mean, you've got the starch and vegetables in one,

and all glowingly beautiful.

Well, this comes to the boil pretty fast.

just until the bulgur wheat and the lentils absorb all the water.

While I wait for the bulgur wheat,

because they are destined for the tray of roast vegetables.

When the bulgur wheat's had its time,

I take the pan off the heat,

remove the lid, cover with a clean tea towel,

then clamp the lid back on and let it stand.

It's this that makes the bulgur wheat light and fluffy.

..and pop the tin back in the oven for ten minutes or so.

I promised you a sauce,

and you'll soon see why indeed it's known as pink sauce in my house.

It's made with full fat Greek yoghurt,

its tangy coolness balanced with the warmth of ginger and garlic

and the heat of chilli.

And you could equally well use oat milk creme fraiche here.

for a couple of hours in a very hot oven and left to cool.

I add this, with its earthy sweetness,

The bulgur wheat's been steaming,

the roast vegetables have been sitting out of the oven,

so they're warm rather than piping hot - just the way I like them.

And I am ready to bring the two together

as they're meant to be.

So, first, I just want to fluff the bulgur wheat up a bit with a fork.

This is such a good-natured dish.

and, in fact, I often cook this when I'm feeding people

I have learnt are not usually punctual.

Just going to spoon it gently into the bowl.

I'm going to add some of the roast vegetables now.

Not a lot - about a third of them.

And stir them through the bulgur wheat

so it's softly studded with them.

Some coriander at this stage, too.

And now the rest of the roast vegetables

I spoon succulently on top.

Just a little glaze.

This is a beautiful enough bowlful just as it is,

but I can't resist a pink squiggle of the beetroot sauce.

Not too much.

Final bit of coriander.

You know, this is food to brighten up even the darkest day.

but I'm afraid, even though I know this is a divisive ingredient,

I exult in it.

Right, I have given my liquorice box a bit of an international refit.

So, where shall we go first?

a bit like, you know, salmiak - and I love them.

They do make my fillings reverberate in my jaw

as I eat them.

I have to say,

you need to be strong for these.

They're called salty rock stars.

And you've got to imagine this is a guitar.

That is the general idea.

And they are corrosively salty,

but on top of the salt on the outside,

there's a sort of, like, chilli acidy sherbet.

They're challenging.

Now we're going to the Netherlands.

These are little bonbons with a light bit of salt and caramel.

And obviously liquorice. Obviously.

Oh, strange filing system, but here we go -

not to be eaten -

some glossy black nail varnish, name of Liquorice.

And our final stop is Italy for some extra strong pure liquorice pellets.

Now, really, these should be Spanish,

because I'm using them to make a sauce

to go with a Basque burnt cheesecake.

Don't worry if you loathe liquorice and love cheesecake,

cos this cheesecake is just gorgeous -

beautiful, plain and simple.

In fact, I always made it just like that

by the Basque chef Nieves Barragan which was so fabulous,

with the pale cheesecake, a black, shiny liquorice sauce,

so I begged her to tell me how she made it

and she was lovely enough to tell me.

I'm aiming for rustic ramshackleness.

But I do need to weigh it down...

..while I actually get on with the cheesecake.

Unsurprisingly, we're starting with cream cheese.

Quite a lot of it.

600g.

And this is stood out of the fridge for quite a time.

This makes the crucial difference with cheesecake.

If you start off with it cold, it never gets really smooth.

And 175g of caster sugar.

Just going to put it all in now before I get a-whirring.

I just want to mix these together until they're really creamy.

It's a very easy cheesecake to make.

I mean, there is no base

and everything just needs to be mixed up and then baked.

And into the soft cream cheese -

three eggs.

One at a time so that each egg is incorporated into the mixture

before I add the next one.

Time for...

..numero dos.

And next some sour cream. Quite a lot. 300mls.

This is like essence of cheesecake.

All its purest tastes.

No lemon, no vanilla.

Quarter of a teaspoon of salt.

And cornflour. I'm going to turn this down a bit...

Add gradually.

I just want to make sure that the cornflour is completely absorbed.

Which it is.

Get out my placeholder.

See, look - it's lying down now and all those creases

look rather wonderful when it's unwrapped at the end.

A final fold by hand.

And as pale as the mixture is now,

when it's ready and it's been in the oven for 50 minutes,

it's going to be burnished on top, brown in parts.

Well, it is a burnt cheesecake.

But it is very jiggly underneath.

Just have to trust me when I say it's ready.

Because it will carry on cooking as it cools.

But it's meant to be soft set.

That's part of its lusciousness.

I need to give it five firm raps on the kitchen counter

to get rid of any air bubbles. So here goes...

It's just out of the oven. Still hot.

And you can see it's risen rather like a dense souffle.

It will fall as it cools. As it's supposed to.

And look - underneath that tortoiseshell top,

it's still wiggly and wibbly.

Perfect!

Now for the liquorice sauce.

I start off with 300mls of water in a pan

and I add 90g of caster sugar.

until reduced by half.

At which point I pour the sticky dark syrup into a heatproof jug.

I live for salty liquorice,

so I stir in salt before leaving the sauce

to get properly cold.

Gently lift the cool cheesecake out of the tin,

then peel back the paper,

flatten it, and cut into luscious slices.

# Whoa! I feel good

# I knew that I would now

# I feel good

# I knew that I would now

# So good

This is just gorgeous with blackberries on the side.

# Like sugar and spice

# I feel nice

# Like sugar and spice

# So nice

# So nice... #

And now, all that remains is for me to enjoy a moment

of silent communion with my liquorice-laced cheesecake.

# So good

# So good

# I got you. #

Hey!