Quince and pistachio tartlette

My friend Lesley and I have at least one thing in common: a very inappropriate sense of humour. We laugh as hard and as often as possible, quite often at the most inopportune moments.

Once, in a free meditation session at work designed to de-stress, we were doing neck stretches, turning our heads slowly side to side. We managed to face each other only once and as soon as we made eye contact we were away. We were asked more than once to stop laughing, but it was useless - I couldn't get the picture of her suppressed laughter out of my head. The snorts were unstoppable.

The 'out of order' attitude extends to our nicknames for each other: she's the Old Tart, and I'm the Tartlette. Some might be offended by these name tags, but I guess we're pretty assured of our affection for each other (either that, or we've both accepted the fact we're tarts and have moved on).

Pork, pistachio and sage sausage rolls

When we were growing up, no matter the occasion, birthdays, weddings, picnics, the kids always enjoyed Mum's homemade sausage rolls. It was our parents' default defence to the skirt-pulling, whingey-whiney, fusspot-extraordinaire children they had produced. A smear of tomato sauce and we were away.

Mum's recipe was simple: a healthy line of sausage mince over a square of puff pastry, finely chopped onions, some curly parsley and a little S&P. I must admit to this day I can't resist sneaking a few when Mum pulls them from the oven. But this woman is the high priestess of pastry so I'm bound to be powerless to her little savoury charms. As well as sausage rolls, she made family sized pies, pasties and all manner of sweet treats. It's any wonder I'm considering forming a support group for pastry addicts.

Cauliflower, currant and pistachio salad

Yesterday at work I wore a long sleeved top, a long cowl neck woollen sleeveless top and a jacket: I was cold. On the bottom, I wore a flimsy skirt, bare legs and flat open shoes. Not so cold after all. I couldn't work the weather out and so dressed for all seasons: winter on top, summer on the bottom. I was planning on a gust of icy wind hitting my upper body alone, of course.

It's good in a way: I'm dying to buy a new pair of boots and some new woollen pants for work. But it's meant to be a frugal fortnight in our house and those two items do not make on the list of essential items to be purchased. At least I can hold out until the chill really hits.

Pistachio custard in green egg shells

So you've seen the glory that is pink egg shells. Today we have green - it's like the adult version. Totally way more mature, this green variety. Ok so maybe the shells are a touch childish, but I can guarantee you the custard inside will kick butt.

I'm not sure about you, but my favourite nut is the pistachio. I brought home a packet for a Christmas treat one year (I know, so generous). I poured a bowl and sat them next to my Dad and wandered back into the kitchen. I heard behind me "CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH." I turned around to see Dad with his face screwed up. "Emma, these are disgusting". Yep, they certainly are disgusting with the shells on...