( house call )
after quitting London when the kids were growing up. “The main reason for choosing the Cotswolds was that we were living in London with two two-year-olds – one adopted and one homemade – and I was pretty desperate to get them into the country,” explains Prue. “I wanted to be able to open the back door, like when I was a child, and let them run around. I was very keen that the children should have one house to grow up in, because that’s what I had and I think it gives you security. My husband was a writer and hugely reclusive – he didn’t want anyone popping over the fence to borrow a cup of sugar. Also, at the time I wanted a duck farm because I was selling 32 portions of duck a day at my restaurant!” Prue explains over coffee how this
particular ambition of hers was never fulfilled – “duck farming is hugely uneconomical,” she says, something she discovered only after she’d bought the house. Instead, she filled her acres of land with a lake and beautiful gardens. Some are ornamental, others were put to work: “I started growing flowers, herbs and vegetables for the restaurant, and I did that for a very long time.” The house itself, which Prue has
resided in since 1976, has a potted history. “It’s one of those places that every owner has had a go at, so nothing is sacred and it’s not listed or anything,” she says. The cellars are 16th century, the main part of the house, including the majority of the kitchen, is “probably Georgian”, but there’s also a Victorian wing, and in the 1930s the sitting room was built on. “The couple before had lived here a
long time,” Prue says, “and it was colder inside the house than out. The first day I visited with my husband there was a vase on the mantelshelf in the sitting room – and the water was frozen. It was so cold that we went outside and stamped our feet in the snow to keep warm.” The kitchen occupies the former
dining room, and is now in a calming, cool palette of blues and cream; it’s remained relatively unchanged since Prue first put her stamp on it in the ’70s. “The only thing that has changed is
the ovens – I’ve had an Aga, an induction hob and I used to have a gas cooker and an electric cooker for all of the recipes I used to test,” she explains. “We also used
to have a spit in the fireplace, which was driven by an old central heating pump.” My eye is caught by the kitchen’s
central island – a cherry wood Lazy Susan. “We designed it when we first bought the house,” says Prue. “It was made by the picture editor of The Telegraph magazine for us. He used to make harpsicles, but couldn’t get enough commissions. It’s been absolutely brilliant.” This clever contraption holds all
manner of spices (Banbury-based Fiddes Payne, mainly), knives and just the beginning of Prue’s utensil collection. Indeed, everything is in eclectic volume. There’s row upon row of kilner jars
Prue shows us three avocado tricks, including this foolproof method of removing the stone
holding everything from flour to beans, seeds to pulses. Wooden chopping boards are stacked high and utensils (in all manner of hues, materials and ages) hang high above a deep fireplace. There are pots and pans of every size and shape, a dozen worn wooden spoons and a pleasingly mismatched collection of vintage crockery. Indeed, many of the items in this
PRUE’S DINNER PARTY TERIYAKI
ROAST LAMB (SERVES 4)
INGREDIENTS
1kg open-boned shoulder or open-boned small whole leg of lamb
150ml teriyaki sauce 2 tbsp runny honey 1 tbsp oil
METHOD – Ask your butcher to bone the lamb
for you by opening it out flat. Place the lamb in a non-metallic dish. Pour over
the teriyaki sauce and honey and cover the dish. Marinade for 24 hours, turning occasionally. (If you forget, don’t worry; it’s nice with only 30 minutes of marinating.) – Preheat the oven to 250C/+/Gas 9. Lay the marinated lamb skin-side up, in an
oiled roasting tin. Add the marinade liquid. Roast for 25-30 minutes. Leave to stand for 20 minutes. Slice and serve.
36
kitchen are antique – it seems Prue isn’t one for collecting the latest gadgetry. “I’m suspicious of new machines,”
she says, “because, in my experience, the old heavy ones last forever. I have a breadmaker and a Thermomix, which is a very ancient model but it is so well made and so solid. I had one of the first professional Kenwood Chefs, and I only recently got rid of it. I’d had that for 40 years and I really felt like I ought to give it a proper funeral when I did eventually bin it. I did keep the bowl though. “I’m of the generation that absolutely
hates the fact that you can’t fix things any more. It’s offensive that the whole idea of make do and mend has gone out the window. I’ve a real struggle throwing away clothes, and I love leftovers. It gives you the chance to be creative. I’ve made two king-size patchwork quilts in my time; one took two years and a quarter of a million stitches. “What I love about it is that I can
look at the quilt and see a patch of my son Daniel’s pyjamas, my husband’s old shirt, the tablecloth my mother gave me, a bit of my old nighty. It’s satisfying and sentimental, I suppose. I do want a new Kenwood, though…”
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