was just people letting her know how they’d got on with her recipes, but sometimes the readers would offer suggestions of their own.
I make my mince pies with flaky puff pastry for their lids , one lady wrote in. Somehow it makes them seem a bit more special.
Try adding a little grated lemon or orange zest to the mincemeat , another suggested. You can really taste the difference.
My mum always puts a dollop of custard beneath the mincemeat , a third emailed in. It’s amazing – a complete pudding!
‘This is awesome,’ Anna murmured to herself, loving how keen everyone was to share their baking expertise. The only feedback from readers she’d had before now was the occasional nasty comment on the paper’s website telling her that her face looked fat in photos, or complaining that she’d spelled somebody’s name wrong. She made a point of listing the best mince pie tips she’d received in the following week’s column, and thanked all the senders. Please let me know how you find this week’s recipe , she finished, as I really enjoy hearing from you. Do look online to read a selection of comments and tips. Everyone has been so helpful!
Buoyed by her initial success, Anna found herself planning hearty Italian stews and sticky cakes for the winter months ahead, and perhaps even a Valentine’s special – the food of love, and all that. For the first time in months – years! – she discovered a new degree of enthusiasm for her job. No longer was she racing out of the door with relief when five-thirty struck. Nowadays she wandered dreamily homewards, barely noticing the icy pavements because her mind was full of dainty tartlets and steaming soups.
‘Your fan-mail’s arrived,’ Joe said on Christmas Eve, dragging a huge mail sack behind him through the office.
‘No way,’ Anna breathed, staring in wonder. ‘Are you serious?’
He laughed. ‘Course I’m not, you div,’ he said, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Just winding you up. These are the entry slips for our FA Cup tickets competition.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Very funny.’
‘ This lot’s yours,’ he added, dumping a parcel and some letters on her desk.
‘Are you moonlighting as one of the postroom boys now or something?’ she teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally had enough of rainy Saturday afternoons at the football?’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘Just helping out. I saw you had a few things, thought I’d bring them up for you.’ He grinned. ‘I was dying to know what this is anyway,’ he admitted, holding up a strange-shaped package. ‘Early Christmas present?’
Anna took it from him and ripped it open. A selection of kitchen utensils clattered on to her desk: a bright green spatula, a turquoise whisk, a nifty microplane grater and . . .
‘What the hell is this? Some kind of sex toy?’ Joe spluttered, picking up the last one.
Anna gave him a look. ‘I think it’s a lemon reamer – you know, for squeezing the juice out.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ He twirled it between his fingers, a suggestive look on his face.
Anna laughed and picked up the accompanying note. ‘They’re from the Kitchen Shop in Meadowhall,’ she read. ‘They love the column and wondered if I’d like to try their new range. Oh my God. Freebies, Joe. I’m getting freebies!’
‘All right for some,’ he said. ‘No one’s ever sent me a free spatula.’
‘You should try being a professional reviewer like me,’ Marla said airily from her desk. ‘I’m bombarded with freebies all the time. To be honest, the novelty wears off after a while. I mean, free theatre tickets and meals every night . . . bor-ing.’
Joe and Anna exchanged a look, then Joe hoisted the mail sack over his shoulder like a young, good-looking Santa. ‘My mum’s made your panettone by the way,’ he added, turning to go. ‘She won’t let anyone try it before Christmas Day, but it looks amazing. Nice one.’
‘Oh, that’s strange,’ Marla put in innocently,
I make my mince pies with flaky puff pastry for their lids , one lady wrote in. Somehow it makes them seem a bit more special.
Try adding a little grated lemon or orange zest to the mincemeat , another suggested. You can really taste the difference.
My mum always puts a dollop of custard beneath the mincemeat , a third emailed in. It’s amazing – a complete pudding!
‘This is awesome,’ Anna murmured to herself, loving how keen everyone was to share their baking expertise. The only feedback from readers she’d had before now was the occasional nasty comment on the paper’s website telling her that her face looked fat in photos, or complaining that she’d spelled somebody’s name wrong. She made a point of listing the best mince pie tips she’d received in the following week’s column, and thanked all the senders. Please let me know how you find this week’s recipe , she finished, as I really enjoy hearing from you. Do look online to read a selection of comments and tips. Everyone has been so helpful!
Buoyed by her initial success, Anna found herself planning hearty Italian stews and sticky cakes for the winter months ahead, and perhaps even a Valentine’s special – the food of love, and all that. For the first time in months – years! – she discovered a new degree of enthusiasm for her job. No longer was she racing out of the door with relief when five-thirty struck. Nowadays she wandered dreamily homewards, barely noticing the icy pavements because her mind was full of dainty tartlets and steaming soups.
‘Your fan-mail’s arrived,’ Joe said on Christmas Eve, dragging a huge mail sack behind him through the office.
‘No way,’ Anna breathed, staring in wonder. ‘Are you serious?’
He laughed. ‘Course I’m not, you div,’ he said, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Just winding you up. These are the entry slips for our FA Cup tickets competition.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Very funny.’
‘ This lot’s yours,’ he added, dumping a parcel and some letters on her desk.
‘Are you moonlighting as one of the postroom boys now or something?’ she teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally had enough of rainy Saturday afternoons at the football?’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘Just helping out. I saw you had a few things, thought I’d bring them up for you.’ He grinned. ‘I was dying to know what this is anyway,’ he admitted, holding up a strange-shaped package. ‘Early Christmas present?’
Anna took it from him and ripped it open. A selection of kitchen utensils clattered on to her desk: a bright green spatula, a turquoise whisk, a nifty microplane grater and . . .
‘What the hell is this? Some kind of sex toy?’ Joe spluttered, picking up the last one.
Anna gave him a look. ‘I think it’s a lemon reamer – you know, for squeezing the juice out.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ He twirled it between his fingers, a suggestive look on his face.
Anna laughed and picked up the accompanying note. ‘They’re from the Kitchen Shop in Meadowhall,’ she read. ‘They love the column and wondered if I’d like to try their new range. Oh my God. Freebies, Joe. I’m getting freebies!’
‘All right for some,’ he said. ‘No one’s ever sent me a free spatula.’
‘You should try being a professional reviewer like me,’ Marla said airily from her desk. ‘I’m bombarded with freebies all the time. To be honest, the novelty wears off after a while. I mean, free theatre tickets and meals every night . . . bor-ing.’
Joe and Anna exchanged a look, then Joe hoisted the mail sack over his shoulder like a young, good-looking Santa. ‘My mum’s made your panettone by the way,’ he added, turning to go. ‘She won’t let anyone try it before Christmas Day, but it looks amazing. Nice one.’
‘Oh, that’s strange,’ Marla put in innocently,
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