Here it is, the first successful sourdough of my baking career. I vaguely followed a recipe from exceptional breads, written by Dan Lepard and Richard Whittington for Baker & Spice, a fantastic bakery that happens to have a shop down the road from me in Maida Vale. The method follows that of a traditional San Francisco starter, which uses yoghurt, apple juice and raisins to help the starter ferment, and means it can be used after only a couple of days, rather than the usual week or so it takes just flour and water to get the right amount of stink to it, however I used the simple rye and water starter I had, giving it an overnight ferment. 

I think my starter may have a slightly higher water to flour ratio than is needed as the dough turned out rather too sticky to handle, and not having an electronic mixer, this was problematic when it came to kneading. I decided to leave it be, as I know that a watery dough can produce nice big bubbles in the bread, and used a loaf tin instead of shaping it into a baton, to stop it from spreading too much. 

Although it’s not as rustic as a lumpy baton would be, it’s gorgeously light and extremely sour. I’m thinking of ways to incorporate it into as many dinners as possible. Mushrooms… panzanella… I will dream of it tonight I am sure.

Edit: Genius idea from Sam Clark at Moro, if you’re baking a sourdough in a loaf tin, as I did, you should take it out of the tin once it’s taken shape so that the sides and bottom can properly crisp up. Thank you! 

There is a whole galaxy of flavour in this salad: peppery watercress, salty capers, sweet strawberries, zesty clementines and soft, sharp goat’s cheese. Bundle them together and drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Perfect for a non-existent summer. 

Apologies for the lack of posts, followers, I have now moved back to London and it’s been a rather long process so you must forgive me! 

I’m sad to have moved away from Gothenburg, but it’s very nice to be home. It leaves me with a slight conundrum about what to do with this blog, as I won’t have such a steady access to the inspiration and ingredients that came with living in Sweden. 

I have decided to broaden my boundaries somewhat, which will allow me to post recipes influenced by London’s many food cultures, but they will remain Nordic in ethos and style. Perhaps this will be a good combination. 

I love rhubarb! This is a super seasonal dish with the first of the Swedish spring rhubarb and perky locally grown pea-shoots. Mackerel is extremely healthy and robust, not as easy to destroy in a pan than other delicate, white fish and will take a bit of bashing around. It goes really well with other big zesty flavours such as the tartness of rhubarb, which is mellowed by roasting. 

Recipe (serves one):

• 1 fillet fresh mackerel
• 1 stick rubarb
• half a fennel bulb
• handful of pea-shoots
• lemon zest and juice.
• brown sugar

Heat the oven to 200 degrees. Place the fennel and rhubarb in an oven dish, toss the fennel in some oil and sprinkle a little brown sugar and lemon zest over the rhubarb. Pour a little water over the rhubarb. Roast for 15 minutes. Meanwhile heat a little oil in a pan, turn the mackerel in a little seasoned flour and fry for a couple of minutes, skin side down. When it starts to go opaque around the edges, turn and fry for another 2 or 3 minutes. Squeeze a little lemon juice over it and serve with the rhubarb, fennel and pea-shoots.

A few weeks ago I may have posted about the joys of Swedish bread culture, and I still uphold the pleasing values of home-made bread and sourdough starters, however I do have a bee in my bonnet about something. 

A spectre is haunting Sweden — the spectre of sugary bread. I have never bought the same loaf of bread twice here in Sweden, apart from the expensive and therefore rare treat of a home baked poppy seed loaf from my local bakery. That’s because they all have the same oddly sweet taste that doesn’t sit well with ham or cheese or whatever standard stuff you shove on a piece of bread. I’ve been trying to find that gorgeous dark seeded stuff you get in Norway, and though dark Finnish or Danish rye bread is nice and easy to find, it gets depressing after a while. Yesterday I bought a nice, artisanial-looking loaf from a supermarket after spending about ten minutes trying to find something that didn’t have sugar in it, only to take it home and find this horrendous list of ingredients, sugar being the third highest in quantity. Naff. 

Too simple to require a recipe, simply poach the salmon for about 5 minutes in salted water and serve alongside cooked black beans with sliced radishes and cucumber that has been marinated in lemon juice and sugar to taste. Sprinkle with parsley and salt & pepper. 

Sea buckthorn is a bright orange berry that grows all over Europe and Asia and is often used in health foods due to its ridiculous vitamin content. They’re very acidic and difficult to eat on their own, unsweetened but have a very interesting flavour that reminds me of Soleros, and whatever it is they put in those.

Pickling herring is very easy, takes about five minutes and only has to be left for a couple of days in the fridge before it’s ready. Saying that, according to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall it is tastiest eaten five to ten days after jarring. 

I’m not sure how much herring I used in terms of weight, but it was enough to fill a regular sized jam jar with room for a quarter of a red onion, some sea buckthorn berries, 1 DL of water, about 1/3 DL white wine vinegar and 2 tablespoons of sugar. To this add 2 bay leaves, a few peppercorns, cloves and half a cinnamon stick or some allspice berries if you have them. It’s not a very exact science and you can add or take away any flavourings you wish. If you can’t source any sea buckthorn, reducurrants will give a similar tart flavour and are also a traditional ingredient in Swedish inlagd sill.

My favourite way to eat pickled herring is with buttered boiled potatoes and a salad made from leek, green apple, soured cream, black pepper and lemon zest.