Pudding Club: chocolate mousse

Previously on Pudding Club: Pear and Ginger cake / Chocolate/Chestnut torte / Beef Wellington canapés / Crème renversée au caramel

Chocolate mousse for me has a number of associations. My short-term Swiss boyfriend / sugar-daddy when I lived in Paris ((that’s quite a little fact to drop into conversation, n’est-ce pas?)) once told me that it is the only dessert that it is acceptable to eat with a spoon – all other desserts, protocol insists, should be eaten with a pastry fork. That’s a little dogmatic.

Scroll forward to 2005, and the Cheadle by-election, where we had a group of us living in a holiday let whilst working hard to get Mark Hunter elected. For a couple of nights we took it in turn to cook and we went to various degrees of OTT when it came to the meals, complicated by dietary requirements that included a veggie who ate fish, and a lactose intolerant. Chocolate mousse was someone else’s recipe that impressed everyone, including me, but she modestly explained it wasn’t difficult, and at the time, no-one quite believed her. Particularly since, in a holiday let, we only had fairly basic cooking kit, including no electric whisk.

Chocolate mousse also features regularly on Come Dine With Me in various exciting forms, including combinations of mousse – white, dark, coffee – and with various different accompaniments.

So all of this was a little in my mind when I tried to make chocolate mousse as one of the puds during our February Scottish holiday.

And it went fine, and was ridiculously easy, even with only a manual whisk. For two, chocolate mousse was most of a 200 gram bar of chocolate and two eggs. Melt the chocolate. Separate the eggs. Add the yolks to the melted chocolate, ensuring it’s not hot enough to cook them. Beat the whites until you get stiff peaks, and combine with the chocolate mix. Pour into serving vessels and chill.

For the finishing touch, I melted some white chocolate and laced it onto the top of the mousse:

Chocolate mousse

So with this triumph fresh in my mind, I resolved to make chocolate mousse for the next outing of Pudding Club. And with that decision made, when we were touring a flea market in Callander the following day, I picked up a rather kitsch set of espresso cups, rather more with desserts in mind than actual espresso.

When it came to making mousse for four, I upped the numbers to 4 eggs, and 400 grams of chocolate, using a mix of dark and milk chocolate for the mousse. The white chocolate drizzle plan did not come to fruition – it transpires if you buy expensive white chocolate instead of the cheap stuff, it’s very hard to get it to the right consistency.

Chocolate mousse

Pudding Club: Pear and Ginger Cake

Previously on Pudding Club: Chocolate/Chestnut torte / Beef Wellington canapés / Crème renversée au caramel

Tonight’s recipe was found here on the BBC / Good Food site after searching for a Come Dine with Me recipe I couldn’t find again. The CDWM version involved making a paste of butter and sugar, spreading it on foil, lining the foil with tinned pears and putting a ginger cake on top. The paste caramelizes and the pears sink into the ginger. I couldn’t quite find that, and didn’t quite want to improvise, so used the recipe instead.

Here are some thoughts: the instruction “core the pears but leave the stems on” – easily said, not so easily done. I stopped trying after a while and cooked them with the cores in. The recipe seems extremely fluid, so don’t know how it will come out. It also gets you to add liquid ingredients to dry ones, which means I couldn’t mix the flour in too well and ended up with loads of white speckles at the top. I couldn’t get the pears to stay standing up, either, so ended up with them on their sides. And because it was so liquid, all the crystalized ginger sank to the bottom.

So, we’ll have to see how it goes.

I’m not supposed to cook at night when the household is supposed to sleep. It’s pretty antisocial after all. The noise wakes the light sleepers – especially the cats – and the tantalising cooking aromas permeate dreams so that P wakes up salivating and with acid indigestion. But… sometimes I’m much more awake at 4am than I ever am at 8, when the household is properly waking up.

Trying to cook quietly is like that old comedy sketch of the drunk guy trying to get into his house without waking everyone up. Every silent moment turns into a cacophony of sound. Getting baking trays out of piles, saucepans out of stacks, opening crinkly cellophane wrappers. Even the fan on the oven – how much noise does it really make – is it audible upstairs? I try closing the kitchen door, but at the moment, it squeaks. Must grease that at some point. Ginger cake smells are indeed wafting up the stairs. Thus far, I have not heard angry footsteps… I think I may have gotten away with it.

Artisan bread in 5 mins a day

Quite like the idea behind this book – the idea, that is, that you can have a huge bucket of bread dough in your fridge and use it a handful at a time to produce a fresh loaf every few days.

I struggle to see how I could fit a bucket that size into my fridge… unless… hmmm… I could evict the mouldy onions out of one of the crisper baskets at the bottom and use that? What a mess it would make!

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First wholly sourdough loaf

I’ve had my sourdough starter sitting on the side in the kitchen for over a week, feeding it regularly, and using some of the discards to make half sourdough, half yeast risen bread.

It still looks like this:

Sourdough starter day 3 or 4 - definite signs of bubbles through the mix.

Looking closely enough, you can see bubbles in the mix from the inside of the jar – but it’s nowhere near as lively as this starter picture.

So I was a little uneasy that it wasn’t ready to make a wholly sourdough risen loaf. It’s still pretty cold in the kitchen, and that might account for the low activity in the starter. Still I tried anyway – and left the rising dough sitting on the boiler overnight.

And the dough went from this:

First dough to be wholly leavened by sourdough starter. Room temp overnight proving planned.

To this:

Sourdough first rising

Which seems to have more or less risen to double the size of the original dough, which was the criteria for continuing. But leaving it on the boiler also ever so slightly cooked it. The dough was crusty on top.

I had been watching these series of videos from FoodWishes – in particular the last one. I was very impressed that the guy there seems to be using the same ingredients as me, but with vastly better technique and better proving got the most enormous loaf out of the same mix.

I used some aspects of his technique before realising I don’t actually have a baking tray that big, so ended up with two smaller batons instead of one giant one. I don’t have a water spray, so did the best I could by chucking a cup of water into the oven before setting off cooking. (I have to say that still sounds like a really bad idea: throwing a cup of water into an electric oven whilst it’s hot?!)

Anyhoo, these are the loaves that resulted.

Slightly misshapen sourdough batons that kinda rose sitting on the boiler.

Sourdough

So, one of the things I’ve been doing instead of cleaning during the dark winter days is experimenting with sourdough. This is a way of leavening bread without using baker’s yeast, and involves quite a lot of mucking around and takes an extraordinary amount of time to make each loaf.

On the plus side, although you can buy all sorts of expensive equipment to help you with sourdough baking, there’s no need to do so. You can make everything you need with just flour and water, and a baking tray.

Instead of packet yeast, you make an icky mix of flour and water that takes natural yeasts and bacteria (the good kind) out of the air and flour. The flour and water mix needs feeding every day with more flour and water until it gets going, and then can be put in the fridge and fed only weekly.

When you’re ready to use it, you pour the whole starter out into a bowl in the warm and feed it again. Leave it in a bowl until it froths, while you try and clean the manky jar it lives in most of the time. Use most of the bowlful (called a “sponge”) to make the actual bread and reserve some of it to back in the jar in the fridge for the next loaf. The natural yeasts are not as quick as commercial bakers yeast, so it can take the best part of two days to prepare the sponge and prove the dough before cooking.

All this I have learned, mostly from S John Ross’s very down to earth, nice and simple page. I’ve also been dipping my feet into the Sourdough Companion but they are serious bread nerds and even their beginner’s guide is pretty heavy going.

My starter is still quite young, and so I’ve not yet been able to make a full sourdough loaf.

Sourdough starter day 3 or 4 - definite signs of bubbles through the mix.

When you feed the starter you’re supposed to discard half of it, but yesterday, I used the discarded bit to make a half-n-half sourdough / baker’s yeast loaf.

(I wouldn’t normally use American cups as quantities for any recipe, but I have just discovered that those plastic Ikea beakers are the right size to be a measuring cup, and suddenly that’s the easiest way to measure.)

This is a hybrid of S John Ross’s basic recipe and some of the dough training recipes from Sourdough Companion.

The sponge
In a bigger bowl than you think you need, put
1 cup immature starter
1 cup warm water
sachet quick yeast

The dough
After the sponge has sat for a few minutes and started to foam, add

3 cups bread flour
2 tsp salt
4 tsp sugar
splash olive oil

Bring the mix together to a soft dough with a wooden spoon and then do a few initial stretches by hand to help form it. Stretch and fold a third over from the back and third over from the front before turning 90 degrees and flipping over to repeat. Although you’re supposed to stretch and knead bread on an oiled flat surface, I’ve always down this in one large plastic bowl, which helps prevent the flour from getting everywhere. Let the dough have its first proof in the same bowl, for an hour or so in a cool room, until the dough has grown.

At this point, I intended to knock the dough back and leave it in the fridge-cold conservatory until the following morning. I though the conservatory would be cold enough to retard the rising (the longer you can leave a dough before it finishes rising, the better the flavour, apparently)

Unfortunately the superhuman packet yeast just kept going through the cold, and by morning it had risen to fill the banneton.

Oh, yeah, bannetons. You don’t have to buy anything to do sourdough, but a banneton is the one thing I did buy. It’s a pretty patterned shaped container you put the bread in for its final proving. It supports the dough, and the pretty shapes imprint the top of the loaf so that the final loaf looks nice. I bought mine here after Christmas, and it was in the post within a day. You flour the banneton so the dough doesn’t stick to it. Make sure you turn it out and don’t try and cook in the banneton!

First (half) sourdough loaf

So this morning, all I had to do was bake the loaf. Time and temperature was the key difference between John Ross and Sourdough Companion. Ross says 170 deg c for 35 mins, without pre-heating the oven. SC says preheat the oven to 210 deg c for at least an hour and then cook for 45 mins. So I fudged it. I set the oven the 200 deg and let it start warming. After about 5 mins, but before it got to temperature, I put the bread in on a baking tray lined with parchment. And the loaf was ready long before the timer sounded – something 25 mins. You can tell when it’s ready because you get a hollow sound when you bang the bottom with a wooden spoon.

Allow to cool before cutting and you can check to see the state of the “crumb” (the bit that isn’t the crust). Are there good size uniform air pockets? Does it look right? How far through does the crust go? Is it all cooked?

Pretty respectable first sourdough loaf (half ordinary yeast)

This looks OK and tastes OK, was easy to cut and not too heavy. I’ll try something similar for Monday morning, and hopefully soon, the starter will be ready to make bread on its own without the addition of the packet yeast.

Oh – one final thing – I want to try and use this crust topping to make tiger bread that’s suddenly all over the supermarkets.

Pudding Club: chocolate/chestnut torte

Previously, on Pudding Club

Back to our friends for a New Year’s extravaganza lasting all afternoon and into the night, and up until the change of decade if we’re not flagging by then.

Today’s pudding will be a chocolate/chestnut torte, made like this: blind bake a pastry case made from 8oz flour, 4oz butter, 1oz sugar, 1 egg and enough water to bring the breadcrumbs into the necessary paste. Chill the dough for an hour then press into a greased or lined tin, and blind bake at 180 deg C until golden brown.

Hmmm... Pie...

For the filling, heat 200 grams of dark belgian chocolate with half a tin of chestnut purée, 125 grams of sugar and 100mls of double cream. Heat in a glass bowl over a pan of boiling water or in a double boiler, so as not to burn the chocolate. Do the best you can to desolidify the block of chestnut, since it comes out of the tin looking worryingly like cat food and is pretty tricky to get to break up.

Once the mix is smooth and lovely, pour it into the pastry case and allow to cool. If there is spare chocolate sauce, pour it into a jam jar – it will work as a toast spread for a few days, or can be reheated as chocolate fondue.

Posh people who know how to garnish can manage something amazing by putting a spot of cream in the centre of the cooling tart, and making swirly patterns. I’m not very good at the old presentation. When I do it, it looks unspeakably awful:

Chocolate chestnut tart

Beef Wellington Canapés

Although this is a pudding club post, there will be savouries as well. There will be a raclette! And I am contributing another recipe I just made up: beef wellington canapés.

Beef Wellington is something I’ve had at posh functions, but never actually cooked myself. It tends to be a little disappointing when it’s being cranked out by the hundred by the rubber chickeners, so one day I must try and make it myself. As far as I understand it, it’s a slice of beef steak, with either pâté or mushrooms duxelles, wrapped in pastry and baked. One day, I shall have to have a go. So to make canapés, after reading around a bit, I settled on thin slices of beef intended for sandwiches, a pot of Co-op Ardennes pâté, and homemade mushrooms duxelles all neatly (!) wrapped in filo.

For the mushrooms duxelles: first prepare about 200grams of mushrooms by chopping off the hard stalk bottoms and slooshing under the tap. Melt a big knob of butter in a frying pan and grate in some nutmeg. Add a little olive oil to stop it burning. Finely chop 50grams of streaky bacon into the pan with scissors and stir until cooked. Using the “slice” side of a box grater, finely slice the mushrooms into the butter / bacon mix. Stir occasionally to stop it from sticking. When all the mushrooms are in, keep stirring until they are cooked and given up their juices. Add a generous teaspoon of Bisto gravy granules (what? what made you think this was posh?!) and stir until dissolved. Add a good measure of sherry or port, and keep on a medium heat until almost all the liquid has boiled away. Don’t burn them, but don’t leave them too moist, or they will soak through the pastry.

Mushroom duxelles

To make the canapés, unfurl the filo pastry. Chop up the sandwich beef slices so that there is a portion of beef for each filo sheet. This meant quartering three slices to make 12 pieces, in my case. Fold two opposite corners of the sheet into the middle so they overlap to make 3 layers of pastry underneath the filling. Smear with pâté, add the slice of beef, and spoon a teaspoon of mushrooms on top. Close up the filo sheet so it is reasonably waterproof. Continue until the ingredients run out.

At this point they can be stored in the fridge for a day until they are needed. When they are, cook for 8-12 minutes on greaseproof paper. Try not to get the greaseproof and the filo mixed up when they come out of the oven.

Beef wellington canapés

How to lose Come Dine With Me

I’m a relatively late convert to the Channel 4 programme Come Dine With Me – it’s been running five years, and I’ve only just really started watching in the last few months. And yet it is compulsive viewing. I’m not sure when it’s actually on TV, but thankfully there’s almost always new episodes on 4OD for me to watch. I quite often find myself sitting and watching all four or five episodes of a particular city in one go.

It’s a brilliant format, with so many variables in each episode. Can the people cook? Will they be able to cook on the night? Will they get along? What are their houses like? How drunk will they get?

What absolutely makes the programme is the wry commentary of its VO guy Dave Lamb – and there’s an interesting interview with him here on the C4 website. Omniscience really helps him stay funny.

The other thing that sets CDWM apart from other programmes is its choice of music. I’m a little bit out of it when it comes to music, so I’m probably missing half the jokes, but there have been some hilarious pairings of music with actions. An artist got the Heartbeat “gallery” theme music played as his paintings were displayed. Some of the leitmotivs associated with particularly annoying or snobby guests are brilliant – but the best bit I’ve heard lately was when a flirty young man arrived first at a glamorous older woman’s house, and as she showed him into the parlour, the band struck up with… the theme from The Graduate

There are so many variables that there doesn’t seem to be a sure fire way of winning every time. But there definitely seem to be some things that regularly go down really badly and should be avoided:

  • Cooking something you’re unfamiliar with or have never tried before. Why would you do this? There’s £1,000 and your credibility on national TV at stake!  The least you could do is practice.  Cook the menu for friends beforehand!
  • Spending a fortune in an effort to impress. Srsly – hundreds of pounds on caviar and foie gras? A king’s ransome on the wine? Stick to good wholesome homecooked food.
  • Cooking something too complicated. Unless you have a kitchen/diner where you can cook and play host at the same time, you need a menu which doesn’t need too much last minute attention, so that you can spend time with your guests. Your saucepans already know what you look like.
  • Getting too much outside help. It’s all about whether you can cook, not whether you know top chefs who can come in and fix things up for you.
  • Being a complete nutter/having a complete lack of self-awareness. To be honest, if this is you, then a) you probably don’t realise it and b) you’ll have been chosen for the programme because of this and you should probably play to your strengths.

For the last few months, me and P have been jokingly discussing whether I could go on the programme, and I have looked into it. There are all sorts of hurdles to me doing it – the dish selection would be constrained by crockery (if the starter is in bowls the pudding can’t be!) The house is not ideal and would probably need a professional remedial clean.  I don’t even have matching cutlery for five.

Still, it would be interesting. I’d love to know how it all works.  How many camera crews are there? Do the guests leave one by one so that the camera can go home with them, then come back for the next drunken invité with the score cards?  How much kit do they put in your house? Do contestants ever even meet the VO man?

Mull your own wine – and improve your cooking year-round

As regular readers will know, I’m a bit of a food snob. And as such, I’m a little sniffy about bottles of pre-mulled wines and sachets of mulling spices. On the other hand, I’m not enough of a food snob to be too sniffy about jars of spices bought from supermarkets. If you can’t get to Moroccan spice markets yourself, Schwartz’s output will do fine for now.

But rather than spending £4 on mixed spice sachets or bottles of flavoured wine, I really think it’s worth investing in the ingredients and making mulled wine from scratch. It’s really not difficult, and the stack of spices you buy will last you all year and improve the other things you cook. Once you’ve got an array of jars of interesting flavours, you’ll use them again and again.

So here’s my mulled wine and cider recipes for you to use and improve upon yourself, and some suggestions of other uses of the spices you’ll buy.

Mulled Wine

2 bottles, 1.5 litres red wine
0.25l port
Sugar (or honey)
1 orange, thinly sliced
root ginger, thinly sliced

Spices:
Handful of cardamom pods
Handful of cloves
Healthy teaspoon of mace
Cinnamon stick
Freshly grated nutmeg

Mix all ingredients in a large saucepan and bring slowly almost to the boil. Reduce the heat to a minimum to keep warm. If you actually boil the mix, you will lose the alcohol, so heat it slow and keep it low.

If your guests are thirstier than you imagined and deplete all the fluid, you can pour more wine and port onto the same spice mixture.

Mulled Cider

Use the same spice ingredients with

6 apples, cored and roasted at 190 deg C for 45 mins
2l cheap cider, 1l nice cider
0.5 liter apple juice (use this instead of sugar)
2 finely sliced oranges
sliced ginger root

Other things to do with the spices

Cloves – flavour roux based sauces by studding half an onion with cloves and boiling in the milk with bayleaves before continuing. Cloves also go well with ham – try scoring a ham with diamond shapes and spiking the cloves into the vertices.

Cardamom – flavour rice for curries, grind into curry powder

Cinnamon, nutmeg, mace – all make good additions to rice pudding, cakes and pastries. Cinnamon pairs particularly well with any apple dish including crumble and tart. Cinnamon also has uses in savoury dishes like this beef stew.

Pudding club

We’ve got friends with very small children (one less than 14 days old!) who struggle to get out as much as they used to, so we’ve got into the very agreeable habit of popping around on a free evening to eat with them, watch whilst they wrangle the toddler into bed, and then play boardgames with half an ear on the baby monitor. Most often, they provide a main, and we take a pudding, so over the last few years, I’ve been cooking lots of different puds to take over, which has given me the opportunity to experiment culinarily. I think I’d rather cook a pudding more than anything else – and in fact on the increasingly rare occasions we do host a dinner party, I can think of a pud and starter much more quickly than I can come up with a main fancy enough to serve to guests.

Most of my puds started with a blind baked pastry case, because pastry is my real strength, ever since my first go, which was making treacle tart at school. Since then, my pastry technique has been refined thanks to a posting in cix:gourmet from a famous Cornish chef and guesthouse proprietor known as the Bear. It’s his basic pastry recipe that’s now my staple sweet pastry mix: 8oz plain flour, 4oz butter, 1oz sugar, blitzed in the food processor to breadcrumbs and then made into a dough with an egg and as much water as needed to bring it together. Chill the dough in the fridge for as long as possible before it’s needed, and then, rather than rolling it out, just flatten the ball a little and press it into a well-greased flan dish. Blind bake at 180 for as long as it takes to turn golden brown.

Then of course there are a number of things you can fill it with: lemon curd, lemon curd beaten into mascarpone, lemon meringue, chocolate ganache, crême patissière and glazed strawberries, cheesecake, tarte aux pommes etc and etc.

So the first few months were tart based. Then a few months with chocolatey things in little pots.

For tomorrow’s outing, it’s baked custards building on the Julia Childs obsession that’s grown since seeing Julie and Julia, and then reading the book. Since the recipe makes more than enough for four pots, there will be four Crême renversée au caramel, and four plain baked custards which will turn into crême brûlée, if my friends can find butane for their blowtorch…

One particularly irritating thing about the Julia Childs recipes is that they all use American measurements and Fahrenheit temperatures, so before I can go much further I have to convert a lot. Google helps – typing “350 deg f in c” gets you an answer immediately as does “2/3 cup sugar in grams”

I’ve now made the recipe twice and this is how it went. It’s relatively simple, but sugarcraft often eludes me. But had I known it was this simple from such basic ingredients, I’d never have bothered with the packets you can get to make just this.

For 8 recycled Gü ramekins:

200 gr sugar
6 tablespoons water

Heat water and sugar until dissolved and boiling gently. Turn up heat until mixture takes on caramel colour (this is particularly hard to judge if you use unbleached sugar). Test on a cold plate that the consistency is gooey. Pour into four of the ramekins and tilt until the caramel coats the sides as well as the bottom.

Preheat oven to about 150 deg C (lower than JC’s original: my oven clearly too hot)

125 gr sugar
2 whole eggs
4 egg yolks
1 pt whole milk (or 0.75 of a pint and topped up with cream)
1.5 tsp vanilla essence, or scored vanilla pod

Beat the sugar into the egg yolks in a large heatproof bowl. Boil the milk and vanilla pod. Pour the hot milk very slowly into the eggs, beating vigorously all the time. Sieve the mixture back into the saucepan to remove any lumps or stringy bits from the eggs, then pour the custard over the caramel, and into four more empty pots, if making crêmes brûlées. Stand the ramekins in deep sided baking trays and pour boiling water in. Bake au bain marie (as Come Dine With Me puts it “fancy french for ‘in a tray with water'”) for around 50 minutes – long enough for a skewer to come out clean, but not long enough to brown the tops because you got distracted watching Come Dine with Me. Oops.

Make meringue out of the leftover egg whites. This recipe worked really well for me last time.

The “crême” section of my French cookery book, “Ginette Mathiot, La cuisine pour tous” has whole pages of different ways of flavouring baked custards cooked like this. Lots of different fruit purées, either as a layer at the bottom of the pot (apricot, apple, prune, pineapple) or pushed through a sieve and mixed in with the custard itself (banana, strawberry). Or melt in 200gr of chocolate. Or mix the caramel mix in directly with the custard and not have it in separate layers. Or flavour the milk while boiling with espresso, or ground coffee, or lemon or orange zest, or peach leaves.

The custard recipe is pretty similar to crême patissière, except you make that with a little flour in with the eggs and sugar, and with less milk.

Interesting French words

chinois – from context, I just thought this mean “sieve”, but it turns out it means very expensive, fine-meshed conical sieve. I don’t know why the French think sieves are Chinese apart from maybe are they Chinese hat shaped?

chalumeau – nice word, the French for blowtorch, and the English for poncey baroque recorder

Knit your own yoghurt

OK, OK, I know, this just helps complete the cliché – beard (tick) sandals (tick) real ale (tick) bakes bread (tick) – but now I’ve gone and bought a yoghurt making kit from the wretched cash-drain that is Lakeland in Nottingham.

It’s partly the Food Programme’s fault – one weekend driving back from one of my increasingly erratic weekends away (have been absent every weekend in September and November, what with one thing or another) they had a programme about yoghurt, and how easy it was to make, with a bowl and a blanket, and then the next time I popped into Lakeland, I saw that the EasiYo kit was just £6! A teeny weeny six pounds! Bargain, I thought, and snapped it straight away.

Of course, it quickly became clear that EasiYo’s business plan is not dissimilar to some of the cheaper inkjet printers. Low startup costs, high maintenance costs. And to keep your yoghurt maker in branded yoghurt sachets is pretty pricey really.

The basic maker is a supersized thermos flask which you fill with boiling water up to its jolly red shelf. Then you open a sachet of powdered New Zealand milk pre-seeded with yoghurt germs, mix fully with a litre or so of tap water in the special jar, plonk it in the boiling water and leave it over night. The boiling water acts as a heat store in place of the blanket, and keeps the caboodle warm for long enough that the yoghurt bacteria mix get to work, and the following morning, the powdered milk mix has set.

Actually, the yoghurt you get out of it is pretty tasty.

But it’s £2 a sachet for yoghurt that is pretty much the same as shop yoghurt for half the price.

As I always do with a new toy, I’ve shopped around a bit for the full range of sachets, and all of the few providers in the UK are much of a muchness for cost. There’s QVC, Lakeland, Bakers and Larners and even Amazon. Oh, and I’ve just found YoghurtDirect too – they don’t pay for google ads and are harder to find.

Each has the same price, but they seem to have subtly different combinations of flavours, fruit squirts and products. Not to mention sneaky post and package surprises at checkout. Bakers and Larner seem to be the place to go to if you want to try the EasiYo frozen yoghurt ice-cream range, and QVC have good mixed multipacks (but bad delivery charges).

Anyway, presently, we’re working our way through a wide variety of different flavours of yoghurt. We’ve even had a go at the mousse sachets, which are surprisingly similar to sugar-free jelly sachets that you just whisk into yoghurt. Serves 6, it says. 2 more like. We’ve yet to try many of the flavours, or the drinking yoghurts, or the icecream ones.

We have already discovered you can eke out the value of the sachets. Making your own yoghurt is a bit like trying to keep sourdough alive or a ginger beer plant (neither of which I’ve ever done successfully…) – you can make a new pot of yoghurt with plain milk and a couple of large spoons of the previous yoghurt. You should sterilise the milk to kill off bad bacteria before adding good yoghurt bacteria, or you could just buy UHT milk which is already sterile. “Whitefiver” on the MoneySavingExpert forum suggests adding in some milk powder as well just to thicken it up a bit more.

I think this is a fad we will continue with, but after the multipacks and the flavours run out, I think we will be reverting to plain yoghurt and flavouring it ourselves with nature’s bounties: jam, honey, nuts, Nutella, sugar even.