I first ran this recipe exactly two years ago, during a very very cold snap, when I was practically snowed-in, in the English countryside, with my mother. I was feeling homesick for America, and knew all my friends across the Atlantic were gearing up for an evening of chips, dips and football. Yup, it was — and is — Super Bowl Sunday time, the biggest TV event of the year, pretty much a national holiday over there.

According to Wiki, last year’s Super Bowl became the most watched American television program in history, drawing an average audience of 111 million viewers. So it’s no surprise that it’s the second-largest day for U.S. food consumption, after Thanksgiving.

And dips are a big part of it. They’re a peculiarly American thing. Dips in the UK aren’t taken that seriously: most often they lurk in tiny plastic pots in the chill section of the supermarket. Upon further inspection they are usually radioactive in colour, full of E numbers (chemical additives), and leave a fatty film on the roof of your mouth.

There certainly isn’t a UK equivalent of the US tradition of time-honoured family recipes, and you won’t find dips in very many British cookbooks. Once I got past my twenties, the only dips I’ve ever seen at parties are houmous & taramasalata. But sour cream based?

Not so much.

When I moved to America I was amazed at the prevalence of dips, especially those quite substantial ones. (In the UK they are always quite liquid). It’s perfectly normal for a girlfriend to rock up to my front door for a TV party with a snazzy multi-layered dip, almost a meal in itself, made according to a honed family recipe.

So, in honour of Sundat’s Superbowl, & my wonderful friend in NY, the wonderful Jill, who knows as much about football as I do about fashion, I give you my own layer dip.

This has to be the simplest recipe. If you are familiar with nachos, then this will ring a few bells. It’s just layered beans, sour cream, grated cheese, guacamole, salsa and some olives.

And these:

YUM

So: dice the onion. Heat a dessertspoon of neutral oil (sunflower is gd) & add half the chopped onion.

and sweat (cook over a low heat) until the onions are translucent.

Open a tin of beans — I used black eyed, but it works with refried, haricot, black or canellini — drain, and add to the onions with a small glass of water, a large pinch of salt and a tsp of cumin. Heat to a simmer and cook for ten minutes.

Chop up the tomatoes into small dice, making sure you keep the juice. Strip off the coriander leaves and finely chop. Mix the tomatoes & all the coriander bar a spoonful, with the leftover chopped onion. Add salt to taste and a generous dash of Tabasco. (I use my hands to mix it all, but feel free to use a spoon.)

Skin the avocados.

Add two large teaspoons of salsa, & tablespoon of coriander, & a good squeeze of lime juice.
Get rid of some aggression by wielding that masher:

Add salt, Tabasco to your taste. (I like a lot.)

Take up your masher again when the beans look like this:

And half mash them. (You want a little texture.)

Scoop all the beans into an ovenproof dish:

Then add a layer of grated cheese, and then spoon over all the salsa:

More cheese:

Then a layer of sour cream (I used creme fraiche), and then all the guacamole, smoothed over the cream with the back of a spoon:

Then the olives, chopped (optional), and a thin layer of grated cheese. Pop under a pre-heated grill/broiler until the cheese is melted but not brown.

Ta da! Scoop into mouth with chips. (Try not to spill down front.)

INGREDIENTS:
I x can beans
1 x large white onion
1 x tsp ground cumin
small glass of water
salt
2 x soft avocados
200gms/8oz tomatoes
small bunch coriander
Tabasco
Grated cheese. In America I use Monterey or pepper Jack, but cheddar in the UK.
Handful of olives, chopped
Sour cream (I use creme fraiche)

METHOD
Cook beans
Make salsa
Make guacamole
Grate cheese
Layer all ingredients plus sour cream
Pop under pre-heated grill/broiler

If taking this to a party, I suggest putting in the guacamole before the layer of cream, to stop the avocado going brown.

The whole London Farmers Market thing has pretty much passed me by. Before I moved to America I remember there being one by Camden Passage in Islington at weekends, but I had no idea that there was now such a proliferation in London.  (I’ve always meant to try the Swiss Cottage one on Weds, but it’s in the middle of the working day.) And I do like a good Farmers Market. The American ones, from whence the idea came, that I have shopped from have always been splendid. Mostly very good value, packed with fresh produce and cheery shoppers

Santa Monica’s is wonderful, the one outside San Francisco’s Ferry Market superlative, & even the little one in Red Bank, New Jersey that I went to with the boys was excellent — NJ produce is some of the best in America. The Union Square Greenmarket in New York is also good but not cheap — unsurprising given its location.

So when I saw a sign for the Parliament Hill one, which is tucked away in a school playground just off the lower reaches of Hampstead Heath, I was so there. I tied up the dog with my sister by the dog creche, and went to forage. The fruit and veg was exceptionally good value, and I bought bags of small, sweet Coxes and wished I had room to carry more. Especially when I saw the wonderful fresh free range eggs.

But ouch quite a lot of what was on offer at the other stalls was very not cheap.  Although I do think we generally expect to pay too little for our food, thanks to the expectations nurtured by the big supermarkets and their price gouging ways with farmers & suppliers, when I can buy good organic  bread, cake and pre-prepared food cheaper from local independent stores, who have overheads built into their prices, I did feel slightly cagey about buying those items from the stalls there. It felt a little bit like a smug middle class shopper’s tax.

I was not best pleased at asking for a small box of squash salad and then being charged £6.50 for it. And it was not at all nice. AT ALL. (Claggy grains, no seasoning, unpeeled squash) *chucks in bin*. I guess that’s the punt you make. On the other hand lil’sis’ brownie whilst also very not cheap was also very good.

So I will be back as often as possible to buy fruit and vegetables and eggs there, and I hear that the meat & fish stalls are exceptional, but will be steering clear of buying my lunch, or cake there.

“Parliament Hill opened in September 2008. Look out for fresh dairy produce from Alham Wood & the outstanding display of produce from three of Lincolnshire’s top vegetable growers — Eden Farms, Manor Farm and Ted’s Veg. You’ll also find fresh fish from Dorset coast, and meat and poultry from 12 Green Acres, Old Hall farm, Fosse Meadows plus game in season from Radwinter and South Downs.”

Every Saturday 10am-2pm. William Ellis School, off Highgate Road. London. NW5 1RN. Website

I adore Jersusalem artichokes but I may as well be up front. They aren’t known as fartichokes for nothing. Do not serve these to anyone on a first date, unless you really want to make an impression. That being said my family know no shame, so they’ve always been popular chez Wilkins.

They aren’t actually artichokes, but the tubers of a member of the sunflower family, which is why they are know as sunchokes in America. Although the little knobbly tubers look a little intimidating, they are prepared in exactly the same way as a potato or other tuber. Peel and chop. Done.

I eat at the York & Albany by Regent’s Park at least twice a week. Although what I really want to stuff in my face are their delicious pizzas, I am good and order the healthier options.  I’ve eaten their Jerusalem Artichoke soup with mushrooms three times, and loved the creamy, earthy soup balanced with the rich buttery mushrooms. So, I thought I’d have a crack at my own version.

It’s super duper simple. As to be honest, most soups are. A pound/500gms-ish makes enough soup for four people as a first course.

So do the peel & chop thing. Then chop half an onion. Sweat (cook slowly) in  butter and olive oil.  When the onions are soft and translucent — a good long five minutes, add the artichokes and cover with vegetable stock — I used boiling water & Marigold Bouillon powder. water. Boil them until they are soft. *   Add a little milk or cream. Blend either in a jug blender or with an immersion stick blender. Season to taste with lots of black pepper & salt. Add more liquid if it’s too thick. Check seasoning again

*Whilst the tuber chunks are simmering away, melt a tablespoon of butter in a pan, and when it’s nicely frothy add two large handfuls of chopped quite small mushrooms. I like chestnut. Cook ’till soft over a medium heat and season with Maldon salt.

Serve in bowls, with a big heaped spoonful of mushrooms in the middle, adding any mushroom juices, and a drizzle of cream if you want to be fancy pants.

Worn out by poking around tiny hole in the wall shops in the souk and its environs for thuya wood letter racks, soft leather slippers, yet more passementerie and pretty gold etched tea glasses, we headed to Terrasse des Epices today for lunch. I knew little of it, other than it was in the H2G Marrakech guide iPhone app I was using, and lots of the shops I wanted to visit in the souk were described as being under or next to it.

It turned out to be, ahem, an excellent choice, if not a knowing one. Perched three floors up above the souk, it’s in a different universe from the filthy tourist traps of the restaurants panoramique of the Djemaa El Fna half a mile away through the souk, even though the prices aren’t dissimilar.

The food is French, by way of Morocco, and the clientele was almost wholly French too. (Why are French tourists so effortlessly chic & sexy, and English ones so rumpled & unalluring?)

Terrasse des Epices has the same laid back sunny feel of an Ibiza roof top restaurant, (add in palm trees on the horizon and minus the house music soundtrack) but still feels Moroccan. At 2pm, we had to wait fifteen minutes or so for a table at the bar, no hardship with such excellent people-watching.

The French maître d’ took a shine to us, giving us our own huge shaded booth, where we ordered Moroccan salad (me) & chicken rolls (her), and herb marinated char-grilled chicken brochettes (her) & tagine (me). All of which were delicious, as was the coup de glace with which we finished.

As we lolled on the embroidered cushions, luxuriating in our well-fed holiday bubble, I was mesmerized by the emerald green suede loafers of a man in the next door booth. It was only when I caught sight of Jacquetta Wheeler drifting across the terrace that I realised that the feet in the shoes belonged to Hamish Bowles.

Both definitely an exception to rumpled and unalluring.

Granted, this may not be the best froth-topped cappuccino you’ve ever seen, but considering it’s the first one I’ve ever made, I’m pretty damn chipper about the whole damn thing.

I spent a long time deciding which coffee machine to buy my mother for Christmas. We’ve been through quite a few chez Wilkins over the years. There have been Turkish coffee pots, which left everyone spitting out grounds, and filter machines — which always seemed to be running out of filters, and percolators, and a Gaggia which only my father could work so it went with him in the divorce, more cafetieres/French presses than you could shake a stick at, and a wretched giant new De Longhi we can’t get to work properly.

So, because I knew lil’sis & I would get no peace until we had sorted the vexed coffee-making problem, I asked Twitter what I should buy a technophobe coffee lover for her daily cup. Unable to buy a Starbucks franchise for her small village (thanks guys, very helpful suggestion),  I reckon 85% of people suggested a Nespresso machine.

Because my mother does not relish a fait accompli, I met her at Selfridges a fortnight ago at their Nespresso boutique so she could taste the coffee, see how the machine worked &, hopefully, choose her capsules.

And hurrah! She approved. I wasn’t surprised: the coffee IS good, and the machine is a doddle. You simply turn it on, press a button, wait for a light to stop flashing,  insert a pre-filled and sealed coffee capsule, pull a lever, put a cup under the nozzle and press the button. That is all. Coffee!

Whilst my eye was first caught by the Citiz machines that come with an integrated milk frother, (and are cheaper too) we decided that my mother might have problems gripped the wide ridged barrel of the milk frother, as it has no handle. So I went for a simple coffee only machine, and a separate Aeroccino machine.

It is so ludicrously simple for frothing milk that even my mother can use it. You simply fill it with milk to a clearly defined mark on the inside of the jug, pop on the lid, press a button once until it goes red for hot froth, and for a few seconds moreuntil it turns blue for cold froth for iced coffee. Comprehensively idiot-proof.

My only gripe? Selfridges seem to have forgotten to pack George Clooney in my  Nespresso bag.

Nespresso CitiZ by Magimix M190, Retro White £147.00
Aeroccino £79.00

The capsules work out at about 29p each. I did the math, and it works out favourably with buying and grinding beans yourself.