When I was young and naive, I was told that “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” No problem, I thought, if that’s all it takes to land myself a decent bloke I’m really up for learning how to cook! In reality, it didn’t quite turn out as I expected. I am now married to my fourth husband John, albeit that we’ve been together 24/7 for the past 29 years “an’ it don’t seem a day too much”. He is my rock.
It was most probably my Dad who introduced me to this paternalistic thought form, knowing it would invoke my compulsive caregiver that first emerged in me when his wife, aka my mother, left us when I was just five years old. Ostensibly, I was told by a social worker to ‘shape-up’ because my uncontrollable crying - as in, I couldn’t stop grieving for the loss of my mother - was upsetting my father and that I needed to say I was “sorry” and gift him some chocolate to make him feel better. Since then, me caring very much and its shadow side - feeling uncared for - has significantly shaped my life. It’s been a bane and a blessing both. Only recently did the penny drop that when I care enough for my Self, I actually think I’m worth it.
In the positive, the caregiver’s nurturing behaviour compels me to cook for my family every single day and to write this blog… even though there are times when I lose my mo-jo and try to resist. Usually, without success. It’s also probably why babies, young children and animals take to me like ducks to water. Sarah used to call me “the child whisperer”, a very handy attribute to have at her disposal when doing Mirror Imaging baby shoots and family wedding line-ups. But guess what? Being habitually driven to prioritise other people’s needs before your own leads to unhealthy self-sacrifice, resentment, misunderstandings and more often than not, your help and concern being taken for granted. Or worse, after you’ve served your purpose, your best effort being unfairly labelled as ‘interference’. Oh Lord, how many times have I left myself open to being shortchanged?
In the swinging 60’s, it was easy to fathom out that if I went along with my father’s wishes and married an ex public school boy turned doctor or lawyer, I might well have been playing to my strengths as a cook-cum-hostess (I was a dab hand at cooking family meals and ironing my dad’s shirts long before I was out of schoolgirl ankle socks!) but I’d also be playing second fiddle to a man’s ambitions at the expense of my desires and personal freedoms. Naturally, I took a stand and married a second-hand car salesman who couldn’t make enough money to keep body and soul together!
I never blamed Dad for wanting me to take the quick and easy route to a secure and comfortable life. It’s a risky business turning your back on traditional tribal values and wandering off into the great unknown to explore what individual choice, freedom of expression and personal responsibility looks like. Turns out, being an adult isn’t pretty. My father gave up trying to control my unruly behaviour the day I left home. He must have resigned himself to the fact that because I’d insisted on making my own bed, I’d best lie in it. First stop for me, a cockroach-riddled, scruffily furnished flat; second stop a freezing cold council flat, which we couldn’t afford to heat if we wanted to eat. I felt impoverished, lonely and above all disconnected from my Dad, who’d lost his second wife just three weeks before he ‘gave me away’ (such weirdly old-fashioned terminology) to my first husband. It wasn’t long before I realised that not all tribal laws are entirely without merit. And, heaven never lets you forget your regrets!
Did my cooking skills at least serve me up the man of my dreams? Well yes, but no. Firstly, there’s got to be a reason that none of my ex husbands voluntarily left me. Secondly, the only men that have truly loved me are the ones that are totally ‘switched-on’ by good food. True to his word, in the beginning it was my dad that was my biggest fan. The last time I saw him face-to-face, was at my second wedding celebration for which I’d done all the catering - a variety of exquisite, just one-mouthful canapés that completely satiated the hunger of our ‘Champagned-up-to-the-gills’ guests. As Dad and I parted that day, he told me “I am so proud of you.”
These were his final words to me and in the saying of them I had a vague premonition of what was to come. As I watched him walk away, I turned to my husband to ask “Do you think I’ll ever see him again?” It was during dinner on the second night of our honeymoon that we received the news that Dad had suffered a massive stroke. For four agonising days and nights we waited by his hospital bedside as he drifted in and out of semi-consciousness. Watching someone die is never easy. The worst part was when Dad momentarily ‘came-to’ just as his priest was performing the last rites over him. His terror was palpable in the face of “the grim reaper” but still he resisted the inevitable for two more interminable days and nights. Even his nurses wept with me. My father was my first love and at the time I would’ve willingly taken his place to spare his suffering.
Thankfully, the natural laws of the universe do not change according to human sentiment and sixteen weeks later I was pregnant with my first child and the ‘cycle of life” began all over again. With the passage of time I’ve learned that unless you can handle death you can’t handle life. The abandoned child isn’t a one-off event, she’s stayed with me into my seventies reminding me that nothing is forever; I'm not entitled to anything; and even when you give someone the world it’s not certain that in return you’ll have a place in it. It has nothing to do with reward and punishment, it’s evolution when the truth you’re holding on to simply evaporates. It’s hard to 'hang out’ in gratitude when your life is crumbling but the upside is being free from the weight of deception.
My sister believes that the reason I feature sweet treats on Primal Plate’s blog is because I’m “sweet-toothed”. However, the real reasons are more weighted towards the practical than the emotional. Firstly, as Sarah is no longer assisting me with Primal Plate’s blog, stepping up to do my own food photography is far less stressful when I’m not watching hot food go cold because I’m taking too long to capture the image. Secondly, my partner John takes the majority of sweet hits for the team because any snack that sustains his energy when he’s doing physically demanding work is a basic necessity. And lastly, as someone who’s successfully transformed their own health, I feel it is my duty to reassure others that low-carbohydrate, zero hunger weight loss, health and vitality doesn’t involve depriving yourself of the food you most love. Nor come to that, killing yourself at the gym. Nutrition fixes obesity; exercise helps strength and fitness. Don’t confuse the two, because unless you’re a professional athlete, you’ll never be able to outrun your fork.
Besides, not all biscuits are created equal. There’s a world of difference between shortbread biscuits made in a factory and these homemade Lemon & Cardamon Shortbread Biscuits brought together by hand and baked within the hour. When I recently offered them to a determinedly “I never eat biscuits” person (who ended up eating three) I discovered they even held together when he ‘dunked’ one in his coffee. It’s not what I’d do, but I think just knowing ‘you can dunk ‘em if you want to’ sort of elevates them to the highest echelons of biscuit appreciation.
Okay, I’m willing to admit that I am a teeny bit addicted to these particular shortbread biscuits. Not too sweet, with the sophisticated complexity of flavours from sweet, salt and spice - the clear notes of eucalyptus and citrus undertones of lemon shine through with every bite - I think you might find them equally irresistible. Certainly when it comes to the Brits and their love of tea and biscuits, these low-carb, shortbread biscuits are in a class of their own because they give you the best of both worlds.
Delicious and nutritious, Lemon & Cardamon Shortbread Biscuits spark joy in everyone who eats one… you know, that certain je ne sais quoi, which makes life worth living? Plus, no sugar, no grains means no reason to abstain.
As much as I love to nurture others, self-care begins in the kitchen too. There’s no time like the present for me to change the habit of a lifetime.
Lemon & Cardamon Shortbread Biscuits (makes approx 16)
Ingredients
100g organic unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
zest of 1 large organic lemon (or 2 medium ones), finely grated
¼ tsp fine Himalayan pink salt
100g extra-fine organic tiger nut flour
Instructions
Split open the cardamon pods and crush the seeds in a pestle and mortar.
Finely zest the lemon(s).
Place the cardamon seeds, tiger nut flour, ground almonds and salt in a medium bowl and whisk together to combine and break up any visible lumps. Set aside.
In a separate bowl, using an electric beater, whisk the softened butter and erythritol sweetener together until pale and fluffy (takes about 4 minutes on high speed), then add the lemon zest and briefly whisk again to combine.
Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture and, with a wooden spoon, combine together well until a dough is formed.
Bring the dough together with your hands and mould into a rough ball. Place the ball of dough in the centre of a large sheet of baking parchment. Cover with a second sheet of parchment paper (or cling film) and flatten the dough slightly with the palm of your hand into an even round shape. Roll the dough out between the two sheets of parchment to a thickness of about 6mm.
Preheat the oven to 150℃ / 300℉ / Gas mark 2.
Line a large flat baking tray with a separate sheet of non-stick baking paper.
Remove the top layer of parchment from the rolled-out dough and stamp out biscuits using a 6cm cutter.
With the help of a long flat metal spatula, gently lever the biscuit rounds off the base layer of parchment paper and transfer to the lined baking tray.
Gather up the off-cuts and roll out again as before to make more biscuits. N.B. You may need to cook them in two batches but I can just fit mine on to one large baking tray.
Bake for 18-20 minutes until nicely golden. N.B. I turn the tray around after 10 minutes to ensure even cooking. Please also see Notes below.
When baked to perfection, remove from the oven and allow to cool for about 5 minutes on the baking tray before transferring to a wire tray to cool down completely.
Notes:
I prefer these biscuits when made with N’avi Organic’s extra-fine tiger nut flour but you can also source cheaper tiger nut flour (along with the ground almond flour I used) from Real Food Source.
This shortbread is best eaten when the biscuits have been allowed to cool for at least an hour. Good luck with that! Even the smallest amount of residual heat means they remain more soft than biscuity.
The correct ‘doneness’ of your shortbread biscuits will depend on their thickness, the heat conductivity of your baking tray, oven ‘hot spots’ and variations in oven temperatures. I therefore recommend that after about 18 minutes of cooking time, you start visually checking-in on your biscuits to ensure they don’t get overly browned (it can happen in the blink of an eye!). Also, don’t undercook them or they won’t have the desirable crunchy, crumbly texture of shortbread.
The shortbread keeps well in an airtight container for three days… not that my husband ever lets them linger in the biscuit tin for that long.
Fat 9g Protein 1g Carbs 3g - per biscuit