Mrs Slocombe Makes Spanakopita

'Good morning, fellow cuisinaires! Mrs Slocombe here, speaking today from the kitchen at Much Malarkey Manor. I would be speaking from the kitchen at Cluckinghen Palace but for an unfortunate accident involving Mrs Pumphrey and the heating up of a leg-waxing kit in the Aga, resulting in a spot of emergency re-enamelling work. However, her Ladyship at the Manor has requested I blog a cookery spot today, so here I am, with my very simple-recipe-for-simple-hens called Spanakopita. (The recipe, not the hens. Spanakopita would be a silly name for a hen...or would it??? Hmmmmm....Betty Spanakopita Slocombe...it has a certain ring to it. 'Yes,' says Mrs Miggins. 'A stupid one.')'

'I didn't actually request you do a cookery blog today,' I interrupt. 'You just muscled your way in here with your pecky beak and told me you were cooking, so shift my ar...'
'Okay,' says Slocombe. 'Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn't. But I'm here now, so can I just get on with it?'
'Yes, if you must,' I say. 'But make sure you clear up after yourself.'
'Has she washed her hands?' says Mrs Miggins, who co-incidentally has come to the Manor this morning for me to practise a Tarot reading on.
'Yes,' I say. 'And I've made her put on an apron, too. Look, it's a novelty one with human beings all over it.'
'Oh yes,' says Mrs Miggins. 'Lovely!'

Mrs Slocombe is seething. She has a very short attention span and even shorter temper. She has come to share her recipe for Spanokopita, and she's getting fed up with the delay in progress.

'Carry on,' I say, for fear that her angry vibrations will penetrate my newly calm spiritual aura.
'Yes,' says Mrs Miggins. 'Don't mind us. You don't usually.'

'Firstly,' says Mrs Slocombe, 'gather together your ingredients. For spanakopita, you will need some spanners...'
'Oh woah up there,' I say. 'If you're going to do a cookery spot, there's to be no messing about. I'm not having complaints from Much Malarkey visitors about how they've suffered broken teeth and irritable bowel from eating one of your more abstract interpretations of a perfectly good recipe. Do it properly or not at all.'
'That's exactly what I said to Tango Pete last night,' sighs Mrs Pumphrey, who has popped in because she doesn't like to be at the Palace alone because of the noisy plumbing.
'I don't wish to know,' I say.

Mrs Slocombe sighs. 'You spoil all my fun,' she says. 'But if you insist...ahem, you will need 1 large onion, finely chopped, some oil for frying, 1lb of baby spinach, 12oz feta cheese, a handful of pine nuts, some grated fresh nutmeg, a couple of ozzes of melted butter and a packet of filo pastry. Oh, and some crushed garlic if you like crushed garlic, but I don't so I'm leaving it out.'

'That's better,' I say, and decide it is safe to step back and concentrate on my spiritual development for the day. Mrs Slocombe continues.

'Preheat your oven to Gas 8 after checking first for the presence of leg-waxing kits and stray lambs. Cook onion, and garlic (if you're mad) in large pan for 5 mins. Add spinach. Wilt. (The spinach, not you, although in this weather I wouldn't blame you if you did.) After about 4 mins, drain and squeeze mixture and add to bowl with feta, pine nuts, nutmeg and seasoning. Pause to nibble a few pine nuts, because they are, quite frankly, one of the THE most delicious things ever. Oh, and if you find you haven't got quite enough spinach, you could do half spinach mixed with other green veggies like finely sliced runner beans, and peas and courgettes, whatever combo tickles your trout.

Brush a 9 inch loose bottomed tart.... ('That's not a nice way to talk about Mrs Pumphrey,' says Mrs Miggins. 'Concentrate,' I say. 'The Wheel of Fortune has appeared.)...tin with butter. Lay a sheet of filo across it, draping it over the edges. Brush with butter. Add a second sheet across the first at an angle. Brush with butter again. Continue to layer the filo at different angles until 6-8 sheets have been used and the base and sides of the tin are covered. Add filling.

Now, repeat the sequence of filo 'n' butter layering across the top of the pie, then roll the edges down, tucking them in to seal the pie. Remove rim from the tin. DO NOT BE AFRAID. I thought it would collapse the first time I did this, but it didn't. HURRAH!!

Sit pie on base onto a baking tray. Brush top with butter and add sesame and or poppy seeds if you don't mind flossing after dinner.

Bake for 20 minutes until crisp and golden. Eat hot, warm or cold depending on when you've cooked it and when your family arrive home from work or whether you are taking it on a picnic or using it for lunch boxes. YUM!!

'It sounds lovely,' I say.

'It is,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'But it'd taste a lot better if it had spanners in it.'