Familiar Favourites

I’ve amusingly become one of those people that returns to the same place for holidays. A slave to my first born’s need for familiarity, we’ve been to Devon three years in a row. Having stayed in a family room for a wedding weekend, Premier Inn seems to have usurped Hotel Du Vin as our short break hotel of choice (number one son LOVED the breakfast choice featuring Coco Pops). But more on that another time.

It’s the pull of the contentedly familiar that also draws us back to The White Hart Pub in Pirbright, Surrey. We have dear friends who not only live south of the river but, rather inconveniently, south of the M25 as well. Pirbright is a well to do little village near Woking that is a sort of halfway point for us and our friends. It also happens to have a cosy little gastropub where the staff are very switched on to Serving the Kids First.

For a start, its location is perfect. Just opposite a pleasant village green with a pretty duck pond and a small (slightly scruffy) playground. It’s just the right size to go for a post-lunch stroll to give the kids and adults a chance to stretch their legs and burn off pudding. The pub does have a garden for those rare moments when the sun’s out and it’s warm enough to eat alfresco. One day we’ll be lucky enough to attempt that.

Don’t be put off by the large menu, the food is very good. The kids’ menu has about 4 or 5 choices: mini-burgers, pasta, chicken, fish and chips plus a whole pot of ice-cream for pudding. They do actually serve them first and let us adults linger a while to ponder the more extensive grown up menu. Number one son went for the spaghetti with meatballs, a generous portion for a 4 year old, yet he somehow managed to inhale the lot before our mains turned up.  I ordered the surf n turf without the surf. It was so much better than I was expecting – a succulent slab of slow roasted pork belly resting on a bed of mash, topped with a crisply battered apple fritter and a velvety slice of black pudding on the side. A million calories and totally worth the sitting-in-30-minutes-of traffic-on-the-North-Circular. The baby was offered various bits from everyone’s plate but only managed to nibble on a few green beans and then lasso himself and anyone with range on some spaghetti strands.

Number one son and our friends’ daughter sloped off into a corner to compare notes (talk at each other) while the parents tucked into their dishes. Our friends’ baby sat beautifully in his highchair for most of the meal, diligently opening his mouth for spoons and snacks. Our own baby played his usual game of pass the parcel, with himself as the parcel. So both my husband and I got to have that half distracted conversation with friends where you end up repeating yourself a lot and not really ever finishing what you meant to say. It’s ok though, we’ve massively lowered our expectations on what constitutes a ‘catch up’ with other parents. If we come away with 3 new pieces of information then we can nod our heads and say ‘lovely to catch up’ during the goodbyes.

The kids peaked early on their ice-cream, about half an hour before we’d finished our mains. But I stubbornly insisted on ordering pudding even though we may have been outstaying our welcome with the kids now running laps around the table. Despite all our attempts at shovelling food into the baby he’s still breastfeeding so I NEED to keep my energy levels up. I can confirm that the chocolate and salted caramel pot was every bit as rich, gooey and heavenly as it looks. Definitely only for those looking to gain weight.

We finally got round to paying the bill and changing nappies that needed changing (downstairs baby-change in the disabled loos), re-layering the hoodies, cardies and coats onto the 4 year olds and herding our party out the door and over to the park. As the dads pushed the kids on the swings the other mum and I worked out the last time we’d been here based on how pregnant we had been. We’d both had a slightly worrying time with the beginning of our pregnancies so it was something of a relief to be able to return to this neutral ground, this familiar place, where we’d last been so nervous with both our ‘happy ever afters’ to share. Next time we meet here, I mused, the babies will be toddlers, the ground will be drier and they’ll be running after their older siblings trying to climb onto the slide that’s too high for them. And I’ll get to try something else on the dessert menu.

Taking Liberty’s

Central London. It’s big, it’s dirty and it’s full of tourists. Not somewhere you’d take a baby for the good of their health, but then I live in London so I probably made a choice about location vs health a long time ago.

It is, however, full of restaurants and cafes, so sooner or later I was bound to end up negotiating a buggy southbound on the Northern Line. I remember being absolutely terrified of taking number one son on the tube. The germs, the dust, the tourists! But much like everything else that you do for the first time after having a baby, it’s not that bad and the more you do it the easier it gets.

And once you’re past the psychological barrier that is Dirty Dangerous London, you remember that it is also a glamorous place with a rich history and incredible architecture and beautiful things. Qualities that can also be attributed to one of my favourite museums, I mean shops: Liberty.

Liberty probably isn’t particularly TODDLER friendly. The thought of snot-encrusted-wotsit-stained little fingers escaping out of the cafe towards the silk Stella McCartney dresses is enough to keep most mums with toddlers to a quick race round Topshop and then lunch at an Italian chain. Surprisingly, the tea room at Liberty does have highchairs so it is BABY friendly.

Having overestimated the time it takes to travel out of rush hour, Nanna and I paid a small visit to Liberty’s chocolate shop to kill time. It’s my kind of heaven. It’s also the sort of place where, if you want , you can spend over £50 on a not very large box of chocolates. Definitely not the family-box-of-roses end of the market. It was the week before Valentine’s day and the shelves were clearly stocked for those who wanted to impress by spending silly money on fancy wrappers, but I could resist. Number one son got a little gift of chocolate ladybirds and the husband got some heart shaped pralines (which we would of course share).

Having itched that particular scratch, we met with our glamorous lunch date and wheeled the buggy to the ornate lift. The cafe is on the second floor, open from 10am till 7pm Monday to Saturday and 12pm to 5pm on Sundays (when they also do brunch). The staff were gorgeous and friendly, seating us at the largest table so we could spread out various toys, sippy cups and packets of rice cakes. The baby refused to sit in the highchair, but it was nice to have the option.

Liberty really is all about the experience, so perhaps we should have gone for the afternoon tea. As the ladies seated next to us did. Instead we did the usual soup/salad, which is the most economical choice. Well, I did and so did our glamorous lunch date. Nanna, wanting to really throw herself into the full decadent-lady-who-lunches-at-Liberty role, ordered the lamb hot pot. The most expensive item on the menu.

It wasn’t the speediest of orders but my chicken caesar salad eventually arrived with a tempura’d anchovy, a poached quail’s egg and a delicate sliver of crisp pancetta. The baby refused to partake in such nonsense and insisted on sleeping attached to my boob. All the more for me. Nanna’s lamb hot pot arrived in what must be the smallest Le Creuset pot in existence. It’s very rich, Nanna exclaimed as she put her reading glasses on to search for lamb in the pot. She found three delicious tiny pieces.

With the long wait for our food and then having to juggle a grouchy then sleeping son, lunch took our glamorous date over her allocated hour. So, disappointingly, we had to pass on tea and cake. Which was probably a good thing for our wallets as Nanna’s ‘lamb’ hot pot pushed the bill to eye-watering heights. All part of the experience!

We packed up and strapped the baby into the buggy with seasoned military precision ready to dodge thse pesky tourists loitering around Oxford Circus. With the chocolates in the purple bag swinging from the buggy handle, we had our own little souvenir of the daytrip to take home on the tube. A successful day out in London with the baby, but ultimately it was a selfish indulgence for the grown ups. We ARE allowed those from time to time, but I promised to take the baby to the local play group the next day to make up for it. Luckily for me, the play group was free.

To Market to Market

Remember when Sunday mornings were sacred? Lie-in, papers in bed, brunch. We knew we’d be giving all that up for a good long while when we decided to start a family. Number one son was certainly trial by fire, regularly waking anytime from 5am ready to start the day or at least wail at us until we got up and headed downstairs to switch CBeebies on. Now he can work the DVD player you’d think he’d be ok with some innapropriately violent cartoon, but he still insists an adult accompanies him.

One good thing about getting up early on a Sunday is being able to do things like go to the Farmers Market. We still can’t manage to get out of the house before 10am but luckily the market doesn’t open till 10.

Thinking the weather had got milder (it hadn’t) I coaxed Family Affinita up to Alexandra Palace, last Sunday, with the promise of sausage sandwiches and cake pops.

It’s a good idea to go on an empty stomach as there’s a lot you can eat while wandering around. The market has two of the things that number one son can eat while mobile (not including cake) for a winter walking picnic – the aforementioned sausage sandwich and cheese toasties.

The Giggly Pig sausage stand have plenty of samples, number one son asked if Welsh Dragon sausages were made with real dragon meat. I was particularly pleased with the cheese toastie stand that had little cubes of Barber’s to nibble on. Their toasties are impressive to look at too, great big slabs of sourdough bread with a thick pile of grated cheese oozing out the sides. I keep meaning to try one of them but I was saving myself for the sausages.

The baby was happy with chewing on the crust of sourdough samples from a stall purporting to sell the Best Salt Beef Sandwiches. They looked like the sort of meat towers you’d find on Man V Food, so definitely one to plan for in advance (perhaps walk the dog first).

Husband eschewed the beef for the morrocan flatbreads – which I wouldn’t recommend you eat as a whole meal, the fillings are sparse. The bread is traditionally made as an accompaniment so should be eaten with something else.

There are plenty of cake stalls to choose from, which is never a bad thing unless you’ve got a 4 year old boy who has just inhaled a cake pop and is asking what should his next cake be? While his father distracted him with a hot chocolate I bought a slice of a german almond cake that had a layer of custard through the middle. Kept well in the fridge till the next day.

On sunnier days you could linger and pick up the main ingredients for a sit-down picnic to have on one of the open spaces around Ally Pally. There are quiches, cheeses and salads galore…all you need is a blanket.

For a cold February weekend, however, we were lucky to clock up nearly an hour’s wandering before number one son proclaimed it was too cold and NOTHING would help. The dog was shivering too. We crunched back to the car with some goodies to take back for Nanna, glad to have caught some fresh air and done something on a Sunday morning other than watch the Ben 10 DVD on loop.

Nearly Grown Up Coffee & Walnut Cake

My big little brother turned 13 earlier on in the month (yes another bloody January birthday). With 21 years between us, I take my big sister duties seriously and last year we did a bowling AND Nandos party followed by a giant Chocolate Muffin Cake at home. However, this year all sorts of family fireworks went off in the New Year. Not the fun kind, unfortunately, and at some point during the prolonged re-enactment of a shouty Eastenders episode big little brother had his birthday.

Once the dust had settled, Aunty Ga took it upon herself to take the new manboy for a belated birthday trip ‘down Westfield, it’s what he wants’. It seems not much has changed in twenty years, the youth of today still like to hang out in shopping centres.

Now officially a teenager, complete with a fuzzy top lip and an obsession with men’s fragrance, it only seemed fitting to provide a more grown up cake for his birthday. Hello Coffee & Walnut Cake. It’s just a coincidence that I’d been craving a slice of this for the last two weeks.

Big little brother is a fan of coffee. Our father drinks an entire moka pot’s worth of coffee for breakfast (that’s four single espressos), and so the tradition must continue. He has started off as we all did, a very milky coffee with at least two sugars. Over the years he’ll increase the coffee and decrease the milk till he’s drinking neat espressos. Then he’ll be a man.

This recipe is from Cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery, which I don’t bake from anywhere near as much as number one son would like me to. Incidentally, the four year old LOVED this cake.

Coffee & Walnut Cake

Ingredients

For the sponge:
175g unsalted butter
175g golden caster sugar
3 large eggs
175g self-raising flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
75g walnuts plus 10-12 walnut halves for decorating
1 ½ tablespoons instant coffee (I used instant espresso powder) mixed with 2 tablespoons boiling water

For the syrup (which we left out as I didn’t want to go overboard on the caffeine):
1 tablespoon intant coffee
50g Demerara sugar
55ml boiling water

Coffee Buttercream Icing:
150g unsalted butter at room temperature
1 tablespoon semi-skimmed milk at room temperature
2 teaspoons instant espresso powder dissolved in a small amount of hot water
350g icing sugar, sifted
(the book says make 1.5 batches of the above amounts but when we did this the icing was so thick I think in hindsight we would have been ok with just one batch)

Pre-heat oven to 170C. Grease and baseline two 20cm cake tins (we were fine with 22cm).

In a large mixing bowl cream the butter and sugar until pale and smooth – this will take 3-5 minutes using an electric hand mixer. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing for a few minutes after each addition. Add the flour and baking powder and beat well.

Grind the walnuts in a food processor for about 30 seconds, not too fine. Gently fold in the coffee and ground walnuts to the batter. The mixture should have a marbled effect.

Divide the mixture evenly between the tins, bake for 25 minutes until raised and golden brown. A skewer inserted into the centre should come out clean.

Let the cakes cool in the tins. At this point, if you’re using it, make up the syrup by combining ingredients in a jug and stirring till the sugar has dissolved. Prick the sponges with a fork and brush the syrup on and leave to soak in.

If not using syrup, take the cakes out of their tins after 10 minutes and leave to cool on a rack. Make up the icing in a large mixing bowl. Put all the ingredients except half the sugar into the bowl and cream gently by hand, once combined add the rest of the sugar and combine by hand. Then beat with an electric hand mixer for at least 5 minutes till its whipped, light and fluffy.

Spread half the icing on one sponge, sandwich the other sponge on top and spread the rest of the icing on the second layer. Decorate with the walnut halves.

Hounding for Cake

We have a dog. A little Chihuahua-pug cross – a chug. He belongs to my sister, Aunty Ga, as she’s known to the children. Aunty Ga is currently residing with us, which has raised all sorts of logistical issues – the main one being ‘How do we go to cafes with a dog?’

There are quite a few outdoor contenders around the hills of North London, all much more pleasant in the spring and simply glorious in the summer. However, this was a particularly cold and snowy week and called for a location where the dog could safely sit outside while we thawed out with a warm beverage inside. The Brewhouse Cafe at Kenwood House is good for this.

Kenwood House itself is currently closed until 28^th March – but the grounds and the cafe are open. There are buggy/wheelchair friendly paths around the grounds by the house, but for those with off-roaders or fancy a challenge the walk down to and around the pond is pretty. More so in the snow.

Doubling up our socks and pulling on wellies we piled into Nanna’s car and parked at the top of The Bishops Avenue (London’s most ridiculous display of wealth without taste). There is a car park at Kenwood, which is usually full at weekends and sunny weekdays. It’s also well served by buses, but none particularly direct from our neck of the woods.

We crunched our way over the ice past the scaffolded house to the cafe where they’d cranked the heating up to a cosy tropical setting, even with the double height ceiling. The chug was tethered just outside the door amongst some other posh breeds (a couple of Hush Puppie dogs), so we were confident that he was in good company.

As to be expected for an English Heritage venue in London, the prices aren’t cheap – but the portions are good and there is, of course, a wide selection of cake. Nanna opted for a Spiced Chicken and Rice dish, while I played safe with Carrot and Coriander soup (to leave room for cake). Aunty Ga grabbed a sausage sandwich so that she could walk the dog while we attempted to feed the non-eating baby. The menu doesn’t obviously cater for children and babies but there was an enormous stack of highchairs so theoretically every table could have a child sat at it. The website says they do child sized portions, but it would be wise to bring baby mush from home.

Despite the snow, the cafe was busy with dog walkers and older artsy looking folk, who all smiled cheerily at the baby as he insisted on being paraded up and down the flagstone floor. I don’t know why this surprised me, I always expect to get dirty looks from other people visiting stately homes. Perhaps because I have this impression that stately homes are supposed to be quiet, stuffy, mausoleum type places for quiet reflection – and therefore not suitable for babies. I’m sure this is just bad stereotyping on my part.

It’s the law that on cold days you must have cake, and I’m a stickler for rules. As with their main courses, the cake portions are pretty massive so in theory we could have shared (ha!). Nanna went for the Bread pudding, which really is more appropriate after a two hour trek round the heath, but she soldiered through half of it bringing the rest home in a napkin. Aunty Ga chose the carrot cake, a heavy brick of sugary, dense, cinnamonny sponge. Not bad for a cafe cake but she’s been spoilt with too much of the homemade variety. I went for the honey and nut tart simply because it looked amazing. Coma-inducingly sweet, and almost like a nut brittle on top of a very gooey pecan tart. I liked it.

After the baby had his dessert (milk) it was only right that we all took the dog for yet another walk in order to justify all the calories we’d consumed. Nanna commented on how she couldn’t smell anything – which I think was her way of saying how fresh the air was. The Maclaren managed most of the route around the pond, only needing carrying over the boggiest of bogs that even 4 days of snow couldn’t freeze over. We picked our way through the slush and iced over puddles and even managed to raise our heartrates slightly. The dog (and us) thoroughly walked out, we headed back to the car in the hope that the ride home would lull both the dog and the baby to sleep.

Malteser Birthday Cake

January birthdays, the epitome of bad scheduling. We’re all skint from buying too many presents for Christmas, plus we’re either sick of eating or just plain sick from some winter virus. So those January-borns end up apologising most of their lives for the inconvenience of coming into the world during the one month that nobody wants to celebrate. I blame the parents.

My husband, the apologist, is an early January baby. Sometimes I’m organised enough to have sorted out both Christmas and birthday presents before Christmas, but this wasn’t one of those years. I do, however, believe that there is no excuse for not baking a birthday cake. It has to be a different one every year – I don’t think I’ve ever baked the same birthday cake twice, with so many cakes out there to be made why would you want to?

This year’s offering was straight out of Nigella’s Feast book from the Chocolate Cake Hall of Fame: The Malteser Cake. I had one eye on number one son expecting a huge slab of it, so this is a perfect ‘for all ages’ recipe. With bonus sweets on top.

Chocolate Malteser Cake

Ingredients

For the cake:
150g soft light brown sugar
100g caster sugar
3 eggs
175ml milk
15g butter
2 tablespoons Horlicks
175g plain flour
25g cocoa, sieved
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

For the icing:
250g icing sugar
1 teaspoon cocoa
45g Horlicks
125g soft unsalted butter
2 tablespoons boiling water
2 x 37g packets of Maltesers

Preheat oven to 170C. Butter and line two 20cm sandwich tins. Mine are 22cm and weren’t a problem.

Put the milk, butter and Horlicks into a saucepan and heat until the butter melts and the mixture is hot, but not boiling. While this is happening whisk the sugars and eggs in a big mixing bowl. Once they’re light and frothy add the hot Horlicks mixture and then fold in the flour, cocoa, baking powder and bicarb of soda. I found the mixture to be quite runny but again, this seemed to bake fine.

Divide the batter between the tins and bake for 25 minutes. Let them cool on a rack for about 5-10 minutes then turn them out of their tins while you get on with the icing.

Nigella professes to use a processor with the icing ingredients, but I did this by hand. Cream the icing sugar and butter, add sieved cocoa and Horlicks and loosen with the water, then beat with an electric mixer.

Sandwich the cold sponges with half the buttercream then ice the top with the rest. I opted for the ‘traditional’ Malteser crown to decorate so there was room for the birthday candles in the middle.

And yes it does taste just like Maltesers!

Frozen Frenzy

Much like the Christmas decorations that only recently went back into the loft, I really should have written this blog post about our Christmas lunch BEFORE the 6^th of January. However, I admit I’ve found it difficult to shake off that feeling of lazy procrastination that sets in around Boxing Day and replace it with the Get Up and Go! that the New Year is supposed to usher in.

In the run up to Christmas you can’t move for articles, adverts, TV shows teeming with advice on how to cook a Christmas dinner. I think Gordon even did some sort of cookalong on Christmas Day – which surely is for people who have NO INTENTION of cooking along. If you’re hosting lunch, dinner, whatever, on Christmas Day there’s an enormous amount of pressure to serve up a spectacular feast. When really it’s just a roast dinner with crackers.

I’d decided that this time I wasn’t going to be swept along in the mad current of turkey brining and basting – I fancied something different. Like beef. So after much unresolved discussion and rifling through various supermarket Christmas food catalogues, Nanna waltzed into Cook and ordered a Beef Wellington (and side dish of braised red cabbage) to be picked up on the evening of the 23^rd.

This stroke of genius meant we only needed to prepare the vegetables (peeled and chopped the night before) and start cooking an hour before we intended to eat. Which left most of the morning clear for the important task of present opening (well, phase one of presents), which really makes it much more ‘family-friendly’ day.

All of Cook’s food is frozen, the Beef Wellington went straight into the fridge so it would be defrosted in time for lunch on Christmas Day. Instructions were simple, with timings for rare and medium beef (a poke in the eye for those who like it well done). The port jus that accompanied it was microwaveable at the last minute, so handy when you’re running out of pots and pans.

The meal prep ran so smoothly, that we actually managed to eat on time this year. Apart from the baby, who had chosen Christmas Day to start teething again. Not only were we running to schedule, but we actually remembered to pull the crackers and wear the crowns BEFORE the meal started.

The beef cooked perfectly medium and served 6 very generous portions which could definitely have stretched to 8. All the grown ups agreed it was Very Good Beef. The port jus was a little on the salty side, but still pretty special. Number one son loaded up on his starter and trimmings so I couldn’t get a comment from him on the beef, but at 4 years old he’s at that age where he’s fully immersed in the Christmas Day experience (minus the booze), so he was still happy to remain at the table and trade cracker jokes.

I’d been looking forward to seeing number two son gnawing on a piece of beef and chucking Brussels sprouts around, while giggling at everyone around – but, as with all these events where the expectations generally outweigh the end result, he fell asleep and ate an hour after we did.

Despite my slackness over the past few weeks, I do genuinely enjoy cooking and having people over for dinner. I like creating the big ticket items from scratch that impress people – whether it’s roasts, pies or tagines.  I think Cook may have its place though and I’m keen to try their other dishes, perhaps in the same way that Nanna can’t give up on her fast food. There will be times when life suddenly gets busier than expected and I’ll have a Lunch At Ours smack bang in the middle of chaos.  I’ll be too busy, rather than too lazy. Then I’ll feel validated in getting out the frozen pie.

How to do IKEA

One of the very first words my eldest learnt to read was Ikea. The others were Tesco and Play. Nanna is responsible for Ikea and Tesco, apparently while I was working she used to take him regularly to both places as though they were local playgroups. She is a shopper, and is most comfortable in a house of retail.

(Play – was my fault, he’d been exposed to many an iPhone game by the time he was 2 so it was natural that he would learn to read the words play…loading, next level, game over, well done)

It’s only recently that I’ve understood my mother’s love for the place. For most people, Ikea is a necessary evil, a place you go to only when you HAVE to, knowing that if you go with your partner on a weekend there’s a very good chance you might not still be together by the time you reach the till. However, the BEST time to go to Ikea is when you don’t have to. When you’re not desperately hunting for that bit of storage that you hope will miraculously tidy your house. Or when you’re not there on an emergency bed replacement mission. Because when you don’t have to be there, the pressure is off.

Knowing it would please Nanna greatly, I suggested we pop to Ikea to get a few extra Christmas decorations and also stop for lunch because you MAY ASWELL go for the full experience. And one must never shop on an empty stomach.

And so we arrived at the Brent Park branch and headed straight for the Ikea foodhall, with the baby and his two new teeth.

First of all, it’s worth getting one of those family cards. You don’t collect points on shopping, but you do get a discount on food, plus free coffee. I once found myself lunching in Ikea with a 3 month old, 3 year old, 8 year old and 12 year old – the bill only came to £24 but it would have been even cheaper if I’d got the card!

Secondly, I don’t expect much from the food, but they cater very well for children and babies – and this alone can lift my dining experience. The clichés are all true, and when your baby gobbles down fistfuls of food this can make you very, very happy.

Queuing up you’ll see there are trolleys for your trays. I thought these were for greedy people, then I realised that actually they’re very handy if you have a buggy and or multiple children with you.

Nanna went for the meatballs – traditional. I opted for the seasonal special, chicken with orange and cranberry stuffing, surprisingly moist despite its ‘look’. The baby, seated of course in an Antilop, got a selection from our plates – enjoying in no particular order mash, peas, carrots, chicken and meatballs. I got to eat my seasonal special, plus seasonal dessert of chocolate cheesecake (where the surprise was it wasn’t cheesecake, but a minty cream), while he was otherwise engrossed in practising his pincer grip.

There is a choice of table seating or sofa seating. Our situation called for a table, the sofas being handy for putting down a blanket for the very tiny ones to practise their tummy time while you munch on a muffin. Oh yes, you can have just a coffee and muffin now – purchased from a separate stall so no need to queue with tray and tray trolley.

I did spot an area specifically for breastfeeding. I never used to understand why someone would use these, but having been through the stage where EVERYTHING is a distraction I now realise that there are occasions I would happily sit in a tiny bare room (cell) with just a chair and no wifi for 20 minutes if it meant the boy would feed.

And it goes without saying that wherever there are toilets there are also numerous nappy change facilities – Ikea is a family brand.

Once son number two was done smearing food into his mouth he had a little play in one of the activity dens they have in the ‘family area’ of the dining hall. At only 8 months he was eager to join in with all the pre-schoolers whose parents had also thought taking them to Ikea was the equivalent to the park. And once we were done it was our turn to have a go in Nanna’s playground, the markethall.

Where the Wild Things Aren’t

One day I’m going to have two teenage boys rampaging through the house, I’ll need two fridges and have to buy a loaf of bread every day. I think about this often. About how much food they’ll eat and how I’ll have to nag them into the shower and oh god what if they get into drugs or get a girl pregnant or WORSE get a TEACHER pregnant?

It’s easy to get carried away. And actually not all teenage boys are that bad. In fact, last week I discovered where all the well behaved teenage boys go for lunch.

It was in celebration of Serve the Kids First being mentioned in another blog. I have ARRIVED, I thought, Let’s Eat Out!  I persuaded my husband to come along to a local cafe, The Hilly Kitchen, that wasn’t on my usual buggy stomping circuit, to see if maybe it should be.

It was there that we found not one, but two groups of uniformed young teens, all huddled round tables too small for their number. Respectfully chomping on egg and bacon butties, sniggering over iPhone game scores and quietly grunting basic conversation amongst themselves.

They did their best to ignore us as my husband and I dithered over which table to sit at and where to put the highchair, and what to do with all the stuff we’d lugged out with us that we didn’t actually need. The baby wasn’t interested in sitting down or eating, but he was fascinated by the older boys. A glimpse of his future.

The decor at The Hilly Kitchen is a step above a greasy spoon, despite their booming trade in eggs and bacon. They also have an alcohol license, which could liven up an NCT meet. And looking beyond the gang of school boys, the handful of lunching locals all seemed fairly well to do. We ordered the first things on the rather long menu: a smoked chicken club sandwich and a steak club sandwich.

What we actually got were baguettes, but I guess in some cultures a baguette looks like a club. They also did a bit of broccoli and cucumber for the uninterested baby. My husband was rather pleased to be out and involved in a ‘review’ and raved about his smoked chicken baguette and liked the fact that his chips were slightly underdone (weirdo). My steak was also well seasoned and pretty good value for money, but a little gristly and I’m not such a fan of underdone chips. However, the service was lovely and I’m sure if I was that bothered the lady would have redone them for me.

Somewhere between me trying to sneak a boob out for the baby that wouldn’t attract the gaze of a hundred teenage boys and him dropping broccoli all over the floor, I looked up and the pack of butty-scoffing wolves were on their way out. The cafe owner gently scolded them for leaving a mess behind and sure enough they shuffled back and swept the tables clear of wrappers and uneaten food! Youths listening to their elders, it was like a scene from the 1950s.

Needing to get back to the day, we didn’t hang around for cake – but my husband assured me that his coffee was also good value for money. It must be the only place in Muswell Hill that serves decent coffee for under £2. Aside from very blonde chips (which also doesn’t seem to bother the local schoolkids) The Hilly Kitchen does have quite a lot going for it as a kid friendly cafe. There’s a kids menu and I’m told they’ll be introducing more mezze-type food onto the menu in the New Year. I also spotted their very smart looking garden out the back, which must come into use in the spring/summer. We didn’t use it, but there is a nappy-change table in the loos should you need one. It’s probably about 10 minutes walk from Alexandra Palace playground, and unlike at the Lakeside Cafe in the park it has table service. There’s plenty of parking on the side roads or the 102 stops just outside. It’s also right next to the amazing deli Owens Food Store, which I heartily recommend you visit just to gawp at the beautiful chocolate (we bought an armload for stocking fillers).

As we were getting ready to leave The Hilly Kitchen another group of teenage boys wandered in wearing a different uniform to the previous lot. The schools round here must stagger their lunch hours. Clever.  Again, these boys sat down, waving their friends over as more drifted in, all big grins and fluffy chins. More chips, bacon, eggs, burgers were politely ordered.  Amongst them, a solitary pretty young girl in a very short skirt of the same school uniform (oh to have the legs for short skirts). Amazingly, she was able to quietly acquire her takeaway and leave without any leering comment from the lads. There is hope for Generation Sex. Hope for my future teenage boys.

Not All Bad Mothers Go To Soft Play Hell

Every Sunday night I make a solemn vow that this week I will be a better mother. I will get dressed before 9am and accompany number one son to school with number two son in the buggy, with the intention of going to an early music class before the baby’s nap. What tends to happen is the baby spends most of the night awake feeding or crying. Or teething, spitting Calpol back at me and come 7:30am I pass him over to my husband who does the school run while I get 90 minutes of uninterrupted sleep. The whole morning is thrown and I’m still in my pyjamas, feeding the baby into his nap at 10am.

So heading out after his morning nap we’re stuck for baby activities to do between now and the school pick up – but there is always soft play. Some women cannot stand soft play. It’s understandable. It can be expensive. Noisy.  Chaotic. Lots of free-range kids whose mums are too busy chatting amongst themselves to notice their child is either in trouble or causing trouble. But I think it’s all a matter of timing it to avoid the pre-school rush and finding somewhere that serves fresh food.

Luckily then for us that Little Dinosaurs sprang up, tucked away in a little secluded spot next to Alexandra Palace. Yes, it can be every bit of soft play hell on a rainy Saturday but that’s why You Don’t Go to Soft Play on a Rainy Day. It also has an outside play area for when it’s sunny – so can be somewhere to go when you’ve exhausted the parks and you don’t want to be negotiating changing nappies in a public loo anyway.

I also think the menu is surprisingly decent, which is handy as they don’t like you bringing your own food. They do the usual fish fingers, pasta, sandwiches etc for the kids and have the obligatory tower of highchairs, Ikea cutlery and range of Organix snacks. They also have fairly interesting and healthy options on the chalkboard for the parents – which is great for fingerfood preferring babies who aren’t quite big enough for a kids portion. So last Monday, Nanna and I took the baby to Little Dinosaurs with the purpose of having lunch there too.

We’d timed it right. Not empty, but not too busy. Nanna, always slightly overexcited by the option of soup, ordered the Leek and Potato AND then the courgette pancake for main. Two courses in soft play hell! I went for the falafel as I fancied trying out the hummus and pitta it came with on the baby. He’s a Muswell Hill baby so he might as well get used to it.

In a giant weaning leap forward number two son sucked on bread dipped in soup, then pitta dipped in the homemade and not very salty hummus, plus bits of our fresh and not overly dressed salad. I think this was helped by the constant entertainment of older children around him. The falafel were crunchy and generously proportioned, handily plonked in little mounds of dip to stop them rolling around the plate (great when you have babies with ‘grabby hands’).

Nanna’s courgette pancake was also an unexpected hit – not a crepe with courgette filling, but sort of an omelettey fritter without the egginess – and has inspired her to attempt to recreate it at home. We’re awaiting a successful outcome.

After ten golden minutes of sitting in the high chair the baby finally decided he was ready for a play. We took it in turns to sit with him in the designated ‘baby area’ as he shrieked and headbanged while the spare adult ate the rest of their meal. I eavesdropped on gossip ‘she used to be an air hostess, so glamorous…’ and silently judged the unseen mother of a feral child toddling about in a nappy with a lollipop dangling from his rash-covered mouth. But it’s Muswell Hill, the lolly was probably an organic carrot pop fortified with a homeopathic remedy for the boy’s eczema, so I  couldn’t look on too disapprovingly.

As with all soft play – they like you to leave after an hour. Or an hour and a half if you’re eating there. Which is just right, any longer and you start to twitch. With all three of us filled and the baby suitably socialised, we pack up. I get home with just enough time for me to pick up number one son and renege on another better parenting vow to not let him play on the laptop after school while he’s waiting for his dinner.