Edible Ireland

Ard Bia Cookbook

by Kristin on August 31, 2012

A few years ago I was in Galway city for the first time, giving a talk with a typesetter friend about the freelance side of the publishing industry to the masters students at the university there. We got to Galway later than we’d expected and didn’t have time to go searching for lunch before our talk, so we just popped across the road from our hotel to Ard Bia — even though we had dinner reservations there too. “See you again in a few hours!” we laughed as we paid our bill. And since we were on to such a good thing and had enjoyed lunch and dinner so much, we went back for breakfast the next morning too. By then Aoibheann, the owner, recognised us and was calling us ‘darling’, as she’s famous for doing.

The introduction beautifully sums up their philosophy: “At Ard Bia we love our food and know that cooking for others is about more than just feeding, that eating out is about more than just the singular act of eating … A restaurant, a café, a bar, a shop, any public house all have at their core a community. And at the heart of all community is … food for the soul.” It’s the kind of restaurant you wish every town was lucky enough to have.

For the past 10 years the restaurant has been located in the old Nimmo’s building at the Spanish Arch, its back right up against the river. In previous lives the building was used as a customs house, a mechanic’s, a sausage factory, a printing studio, a boathouse, an art gallery and an antiques shop, but when you walk through the restaurant’s bright red door, it feels as if Ard Bia has been there forever. All that history, added to Ard Bia’s own brand of charm, with their enamel teapots, mismatched chairs and “coffee pots stuffed with Connemara flowers”, make it a special place, “part of the city’s fabric”.

The restaurant’s charm is captured in the new Ard Bia Cookbook, with Eimerjean McCormack’s delicate watercolour illustrations throughout, plenty of polka dot enamelware and every portrait of a person showing them holding something — a watering can, a plate, a lamp — in front of their face, as on the front cover.

The book follows a day in Ard Bia (much like the three meals I ate there in 24 hours), from breakfast, brunch and lunch through to afternoon treats, dinner, desserts and cheese, finishing with some pantry staples. Recipes I can’t wait to try are dillisk scones with cheddar cheese; Patrick’s burgers (with chorizo, anchovies and coriander); mussels with harissa, chorizo and orange; torn lamb shoulder with sumac, pomegranate and Jerusalem artichoke purée; grilled mackerel with seafood tagine and labneh; almond and chocolate cake, which apparently has developed something of a cult following in the west; and the very intriguing-sounding rose salt. The book is sure to be a hit with the restaurant’s regulars as well as anyone with a love of good cooking. This is food with so much flavour it leaps off the page, let alone the plate.

I still go out to Galway once a year to give my freelancing talk and I still have a meal in Ard Bia every time. Now that they’ve written a cookbook, I can have a taste of one of my favourite Galway places at home.

The Ard Bia Cookbook by Aoibheann MacNamara and Aoife Carrigy is published by Atrium, who kindly sent me a review copy.

Ard Bia at Nimmos
Spanish Arch
Galway City
Tel: +353 (0)91 561 114
www.ardbia.com
@ArdBiaNimmos

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Postcards from Ireland #7

by Kristin on August 17, 2012

Waterfall in Inishowen, County Donegal.

You can see more of my photos on Instagram as edibleireland.

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Irish Fry Breakfast Salad

by Kristin on August 4, 2012

It took me a long time to accept the sad fact that Ireland doesn’t have a culture of big breakfasts if you’re eating out. No waffles, no corned beef hash, no farmers’ breakfast skillets, no buttered rye toast, no bottomless cups of coffee in chunky diner mugs. What we do have, though, is the fry.

In her book Irish Traditional Cooking, Darina Allen says the fry was a tradition after Mass on Sundays, though these days you’ll find it on the menu in every B&B and hotel and you have to have it at least once if you’re visiting. Made up of baked beans, bacon, black and white pudding, sausages and eggs as well as grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms and a slice or two of brown or soda bread or potato farls, a traditional full Irish breakfast packs a lot of protein onto one plate.

Here, it gets a modern makeover as a salad — though with all the same ingredients, it’s no less filling than the traditional version. It might not be as homey as a short stack of pancakes dripping with maple syrup or as elegant as eggs Benedict, but one thing you can say about an Irish fry is that it certainly sets you up for the day.

Irish Fry Breakfast Salad
adapted from The Surf Cafe Cookbook by Jane and Myles Lamberth (via Image Interiors & Living magazine)

Serves 2 generously

This recipe comes from the new Surf Café Cookbook by Jane and Myles Lamberth, owners of the super cute Shells Café in Strandhill, County Sligo, with views out to the sea. The potato farl croutons are my own addition. If you can’t get potato farls, try using soda bread, and if the art of the poached egg eludes you, top the salad with a fried egg or even a plain boiled egg instead.

for the salad:
olive oil or rapeseed oil
6 slices of black pudding
4 rashers, cut into lardons
2 eggs, poached
12 cherry tomatoes, halved
1 x 400 g (14 oz) tin cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
mixed baby lettuce leaves

for the potato farl croutons:
knob of butter
2 potato farls, cut into small cubes
2 teaspoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
salt and freshly ground black pepper

for the dressing:
5 tablespoons rapeseed or olive oil
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat some olive or rapeseed oil in a large frying pan over a medium heat. Add the slices of black pudding and bacon (if space allows in the pan, otherwise fry them separately) and fry until cooked through and crispy. Place on a paper towel-lined plate to drain off any excess grease, then cut up or crumble the black pudding into large chunks. Set aside.

To make the potato farl croutons, drain off any excess grease from the pan you cooked the bacon and pudding in. Add in a knob of butter over a medium heat. When it starts to sizzle, add in the cubed potato farls and sprinkle over the parsley and some salt and pepper, stirring to coat the farls with the butter, herbs and seasoning. Cook for 5 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they’re browned and crispy.

Meanwhile, to make the dressing, whisk together the oil, vinegar, mustard and some salt and pepper in a jug or shake to combine in a screw-top jar. Poach 2 eggs in whatever way works best for you.

Place the cherry tomatoes and cannellini beans in a bowl and add in the black pudding and bacon. Pour over half of the dressing and toss to combine. In a separate large bowl, toss the lettuce leaves with the remaining dressing. Add in the cherry tomatoes, beans, black pudding and bacon, tossing well.

Divide the salad between 2 plates and scatter the potato farl croutons over, then top each salad with a poached egg. Serve with mugs of strong tea or coffee, though a bracing glass of grapefruit juice is also especially good.

For a bit of fun, check out Vicky’s take on the full Irish breakfast - as dessert!

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Postcards from Ireland #6

by Kristin on July 27, 2012

Barley field and blue skies.

You can see more of my photos on Instagram as edibleireland.

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Brown Bread and Irish Stout Ice Cream

by Kristin on July 19, 2012

When I was 38 weeks pregnant with my daughter, my house was more of a building site than a home expecting the arrival of a new baby. We’d bought it only a few months before and were in the final throes of remodelling, which it badly needed. Up came the floral blue carpet, down came the pink and purple wallpaper, out went the pale blue 1980s bathroom fittings, and in went new kitchen cabinets and appliances. But when the new freezer arrived — the kind that goes under the counter — I almost sent it back because my little Magimix ice cream maker didn’t fit in it. It was as much a reflection of how much I love ice cream as it was of how irrational I was at nine months pregnant.

My heart used to sink every time I saw a recipe for ice cream and saw the instruction to “freeze in an ice cream machine according to the manufacturer’s instructions”, but then I came across this tip earlier this year on how to make ice cream without a machine. Seven years after that too-small freezer arrived, the world of homemade ice cream is open to me once more.

Photo courtesy of the publisher

You don’t often hear about ice cream in the international news, but The Icecreamists’ Baby GooGoo ice cream caused a worldwide stir when it went on sale in 2011 in London. Publicity stunts and puns aside, Matt O’Connor’s new book is full of delicious recipes for what he calls boutique ice creams. With an obvious love of word play, with such titles as Glastonberry, Vanilla Monologues and Mint Condition, the recipes range from classic vanilla and chocolate to mascarpone and cherry, rose petal or spiced pumpkin, to more unusual flavours, such as popcorn, Jamaican ginger cake, and chilli, ginger and lemongrass. In addition to ice cream, there are also chapters on sorbettos, ice lollies, cocktails, and milkshakes, sundaes and desserts. And if the recipes alone don’t tempt you enough, then you’re bound to be won over by the lush, seductive photography. Ice cream has never looked so good.

Not surprisingly, the first recipe I tried out was this one for brown bread and Irish stout ice cream. While it might sound like a crazy combination, brown bread ice cream is popular, if not terribly common, in Ireland. Adding the stout gives it a slight edge of bitterness. Other recipes I have bookmarked to try are The Bail-Out (Irish cream liqueur and brandy), Espresso Yourself (coffee), Carameltdown (dulce de leche) and Easyslider (an elderflower sorbetto). Now if only the weather would warm up…

Brown Bread and Irish Stout Ice Cream
adapted from The Icecreamists by Matt O’Connor

Makes about 1 pint

If you can’t find brown bread in the shops, you can always make your own — and you won’t go wrong with Darina Allen’s recipe. Or for a holiday twist, why not try making a batch of Irish stout gingerbread and using that instead of the brown bread?

And if you don’t have an ice cream maker (as I don’t), don’t despair! While Matt O’Connor lists some tips in the book on how to make ice cream without a machine, here’s a round-up of six ways to make it without a machine, or try this fantastic tip from Jeni Britton Bauer, an artisan ice cream maker in the US, for how to make it with a food processor, which is what I do. The allspice and nutmeg reminded me of eggnog, which would make this the perfect ice cream to enjoy in cooler months too.

For the ice cream:
250 ml (1 cup) full-fat milk
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
125 ml (1/2 cup) double cream
2 egg yolks
88 g (1/2 cup) dark brown (muscovado) sugar
20 g (1/3 cup) Irish brown bread or soda bread, crumbled
50 ml (1/4 cup) Irish stout, such as Guinness (I used Belfast Black Stout from the Whitewater Brewery)

For the caramelised crumbs:
30 g (1/2 cup) Irish soda bread, crumbled
30 g (1/4 cup) dark brown (muscovado) sugar

Pour the milk, spices and cream into a large saucepan and heat gently, stirring occasionally, until the mixture begins to steam but not boil.

Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks in a heatproof bowl until smooth. Add the sugar and whisk until slightly fluffy. Gradually and slowly, pour the hot milk into the egg mixture while whisking continuously to prevent the eggs scrambling. Return the mixture to the saucepan and place over a low heat, stirring frequently until the custard thinly coats the back of a wooden spoon. Do not allow to boil.

Add the crumbled soda bread and mix with a stick blender, then pour the mixture back into the bowl and set aside for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until cooled to room temperature. For more rapid chilling, half-fill a sink with cold water and ice and place the bowl in it for 20 minutes. Never put the hot mixture straight into the fridge.

Once cooled, boil the stout until it is reduced by about half and add to the custard. Cover the mixture and refrigerate, ideally overnight but at least for 6 hours, until thoroughly chilled (at least 4°C/40°F). Pour the chilled mixture into an ice cream machine and churn according to the manufacturer’s instructions (or use one of the tips listed above in the note if you don’t have a machine).

Meanwhile, prepare the caramelised crumbs. Combine the crumbled soda bread and sugar and spread over a shallow baking tray lined with parchment paper. Place under a medium-hot grill, stirring frequently, until the breadcrumbs are softly caramelised. Allow to cool a little.

Fold most of the toasted bread mixture into the ice cream, then use a spoon or spatula to scrape the ice cream into a freezer-proof container with a lid. Freeze until it reaches the correct scooping texture (at least 2 hours).

Decorate each portion with a few of the remaining caramelised bread crumbs before serving. Enjoy with a chilled pint of Irish stout. This is best eaten on the day it’s made (the longer it’s kept, the icier it will get), but will keep for up to 1 week in the freezer.

* I received a copy of The Icecreamists as a review copy from the publisher, Octopus Books.

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Roast Cod with Pesto, Chorizo and Cherry Tomatoes

by Kristin on July 12, 2012

Suburban Illinois in the 1980s wasn’t a terribly cosmopolitan place (not that it is now either). When it came to food, the most exotic thing I ate was fettuccine Alfredo in the local Italian restaurant, and the first time I had pesto, it was from a dried packet mix. It was a sad, dusty, lifeless version of itself, dehydrated to death. It would be years before I had the real thing and realised what I’d been missing out on all that time.

A few weeks ago, I stood ankle deep in basil in the fields in Piedmont, Italy, that supply Sacla with the basil used to make their pesto. As you approach the fields of the Amateis family farm, passing the peach trees and cattle sheds and a field of wheat dotted with poppies opposite the basil, the scent rises up on the warm air and wraps itself around you. For someone who started a garden just so I could have a non-stop supply of basil (though it didn’t quite work out that way), it was like all my American summers rushing back at once.

There’s enough basil in a one-hectare field to make 145,000 jars of Sacla pesto, and since the plants are cut four times by an elegant custom-built harvester, it means that in one season, one field grows enough basil to make a whopping 580,000 jars of pesto that get exported to over 50 countries around the world.

Pesto is a relatively new import to Ireland — Clare Blampied, MD of Sacla UK, is called the ‘Pesto Pioneer’ for her success in introducing it to the UK and Ireland in the early 1990s (probably right around the time I had my first encounter with that dried packet). These days, we don’t just use pesto as a pasta sauce, but on pizzas, in sandwiches, soups and salads, as a dressing (like in the recipe below) or a garnish (or anyone for pesto panna cotta?). It’s hard to imagine that something we take for granted now, as much a part of our everyday kitchen lexicon as Bolognese, bruschetta or biscotti, was once such a novelty.

A jar of pesto is now one of my store cupboard staples, handy for a quick-fix pasta supper or to add a boost of vibrant flavour to an otherwise dull dish. Now, every time I reach for that jar I’ll remember those acres of basil on the Amateis family farm on a sunny summer day in Italy — a memory of what pesto is meant to be, and a far cry from my first taste of it all those years ago.

Roast Cod with Pesto, Chorizo and Cherry Tomatoes
adapted from Dorcas Barry in The Irish Independent

Serves 4

Dorcas says this is a quick and easy family dish, and it’s a new favorite in my house. She also says that the cod can be easily replaced with any white chunky fish or good-quality frozen cod fillets (just increase the cooking time by about 10 minutes). This recipe would also work well with chicken breasts, in which case everything should all be cooked together for 30 to 35 minutes.

1 lb (450 g) cherry tomatoes
6 oz (150 g) chorizo, cut into large chunks (not too small or it will burn)
4 or 5 large garlic cloves, peeled but left whole
1 red onion, cut into wedges through the root
4 tablespoons olive oil
2 heaped tablespoons good-quality pesto
4 cod fillets
salt and freshly ground black pepper
green salad, to serve
crusty bread, to serve

Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F).

Place the cherry tomatoes, chorizo, garlic and red onion in a large casserole dish or baking sheet. In a separate small bowl, mix together the olive oil and pesto to form a loose dressing, adding more olive oil if it needs to be thinned further. Drizzle the pesto over the ingredients in the dish, reserving some of the dressing to drizzle over the fish at the end. Toss everything together so it all gets coated with the pesto. Place in the oven and cook for about 15 minutes, until the tomatoes have started to burst and release their juices and the onion is softening. Remove from the oven and place the cod fillets on top. Season well with salt and pepper and return to the oven for a further 15 to 20 minutes, until the cod is cooked through. Divide between 4 shallow bowls and drizzle the remaining pesto dressing over the top of the cod. Serve with a green salad and plenty of crusty bread to mop of the juices.

Here are some more pesto recipes from my other blog, Dinner du Jour:

And here are 10 other ideas for how to use pesto from The Kitchn as well as a round-up of articles and recipes from issue #140 of Saveur.

I travelled to Italy as a guest of Sacla UK and with Panache PR.

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Fuchsia House Restaurant

by Kristin on July 5, 2012

“Indian cooking isn’t complicated,” says Sarajit Chanda as we perch on the bar stools that have been set out behind the range in his restaurant kitchen at Fuchsia House. “It’s easy — I’ll show you.”

Over the course of the next 90 minutes, Sarajit does just that, making six different dishes and chatting all the while about the food in his native Bangladesh. Every dish starts with a base of onion, garlic, cumin and turmeric. So much turmeric is used in Bangladesh that Sarah, Sarajit’s wife and business partner, jokes that your toothbrush will turn yellow by the end of a trip there. This food relies on spices, not fat, for flavour. A particularly good tip we picked up is to soak your spices in water for up to 1 hour before you need them, which ensures they won’t burn when you add them to the dish. “If you burn your spices, the whole dish will be ruined,” says Sarajit.

Sarajit takes his spices seriously. He grinds them fresh himself and makes his own custom spice blends, such as the intriguingly named aachari ghost masala (which translates as ‘pickled lamb spice’) and garam masala. The garam masala is made up of 16 spices that he roasts for a unique flavour and is the secret ingredient in their Aruna Sauces. Sarajit also makes his own yoghurt and paneer cheese for use in the restaurant.

So how did Sarajit, originally from Bangladesh, come to own a restaurant in the small market town of Ardee, County Louth, in Ireland? He studied philosophy, politics and history at university, but long before that he’d learned to cook in his mother’s kitchen. “Of course, everyone’s mother is the best cook,” Sarajit says with a smile, “but my mother was the best cook. My friends would stop at my house after school and have half a bowl of my mother’s curry before going to their own houses.” That curry, using his mother’s recipe, has become the signature dish at Fuchsia House and is their best seller.

Sarajit moved to Calcutta, then on to Sydney, where he met Sarah Nic Lochlainn, originally from County Donegal, at the Indian restaurant they were both working at there. After moving to Ireland in 2001, he worked at TriBeCa in Dublin before opening Fuchsia House in 2005, then went on to develop the restaurant-quality Aruna Sauces range in 2009.

Today, we’re getting a behind-the-scenes demo of some of the dishes (lamb roganjosh, chicken curry, dhal, Bengali spiced spinach with prawns, aubergine bhaji and onion bhaji) that will feature on the menu of next week’s Bangladeshi Street Food Meets Irish Craft Beer dinner, where food critic Tom Doorley will be matching the food with Irish craft beers and ciders. “Since the recession, more people are interested in authentic and local food,” Sarajit says. Next week’s dinner combines the best of both worlds, with Sarajit’s traditional cooking with recipes passed down from his mother, made with locally sourced ingredients, paired with craft Irish beer.

By the time all the food is ready, I know mine isn’t the only rumbling tummy. We sit down to a lunchtime feast, passing around the bowls piled high with the food just prepared for us, amidst the flicker of tea lights set in glasses filled with brilliantly coloured spices and lentils.You can get a taste of Bangladeshi street food yourself at next week’s dinner — to book a ticket, click here for details. You can also book a place at the cookery classes held on Saturdays at the restaurant — at €90 for six classes, including lunch afterwards, this has to be one of the best foodie deals in Ireland right now. Or just come for dinner and see for yourself why Ireland’s top food critics rave about this restaurant tucked away in a quiet little town.

Fuchsia House Restaurant
Dundalk Road
Ardee
County Louth
Tel: +353 (0)41 685 8432
www.fuchsiahouse.ie
Twitter: @ArunaSauces
Facebook: Fuchsia House Restaurant and Aruna Sauces

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Elderflower Gin

by Kristin on June 29, 2012

My elder trees were slow to bloom this year, and when they finally did, I think they were wise to me. I’d been eying up the flowers impatiently for weeks, yet the only decent ones were way up high, out of my reach even with a ladder. I had plans for them — elderflower gin.

The musky elderflower is a beautiful complement to gin, marrying nicely with its herbal notes. After steeping for a week, the flowers also impart a woodiness that you don’t taste in the usual cordial. Made into an Irish countryside twist on a gin and tonic, this might just give my other favourite summertime drink, an elderflower Bellini, a run for its money.

If you like this, you might also like these other elder recipes:

Elderflower Gin
adapted from Stevie Parle in The Telegraph

Makes about 700 ml

The best time to pick elderflowers is on a dry, warm day, well away from traffic and roadsides. Shake them gently to get rid of any insects.

1 x 700 ml bottle of gin (I used Cork Dry Gin)
4 tablespoons sugar
20 large elderflower heads

Pour the gin into a large sterilised jar (I used a 1.5 litre Le Parfait jar). Add in the sugar, seal the jar and shake gently until the sugar has dissolved. Snip off as much of the woody stems from the elderflower heads as you can, then add the flowers to the jar. Press down the flowers with the back of a spoon until they’re all submerged. Seal the jar and shake it gently so that all the flowers get swirled in the gin. Set aside in a cool, dark place and shake once a day for one week, after which time the gin will have turned a golden honey colour. Strain the gin through a fine mesh sieve into another sterilised jar and enjoy.

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Chocolate Biscuit Cake

by Kristin on June 21, 2012

In 1998, I took a trip out to Boston with some college friends on spring break and stopped at my friend’s parents’ house in Michigan on the way. When we got back to Wisconsin a week later, I still vividly remember going to the café where I worked before class with my friend. “My parents really like you,” he said as I topped up my coffee with milk. “They want to set you up with my brother.”

“The one in Ireland? Fat lot of good that does me!” I laughed. But when that brother came to town a few months later for my friend’s graduation, I remembered what he’d said … and I wore my prettiest skirt on the afternoon he was due to stop by my apartment to pick up some notes, just in case his brother was with him.

Well, turned out his parents were on to something. I was smitten, and after a few days of flirting, the brother finally got the hint and we hit it off. He went back to Ireland and I got a passport so I could see him again at the end of the summer. After nine months of racking up huge long-distance phone bills and Visa bills from the plane tickets we bought to visit each other while I finished my last year of college, I moved over with two suitcases and a wide-open heart.

And on this day 10 years ago, I married him.

We had a small wedding here in Ireland, with an equal mix of old American friends and family who travelled over and new Irish friends. We got married in a pretty little country church with a robin’s egg blue ceiling, by a priest who quoted Robert Frost in his sermon as a nod to our American roots, then had our reception in a hotel right on the Irish Sea with views of the Cooley and Mourne Mountains to the north. And we had chocolate biscuit cake as our wedding cake.

While I now know that chocolate biscuit cake is popular in Ireland — you’ll often find it at cafés and coffeeshops, where it might also be called tiffin — I’d never had it before I sampled it at the Dublin bakery where we got our cake from, and I thought it was fantastic. Prince William famously chose a chocolate biscuit cake as his groom’s cake for his wedding last year, but we were way ahead of him nine years previously.

But here’s the rub about that chocolate biscuit cake. We had a three-tier cake, covered in plain white royal icing, and we duly froze the top tier and ate it on our first anniversary. But when we were checking out of the hotel the day after the wedding, we found out that for some reason they’d only cut up and served the bottom tier — leaving us with the entire middle tier to take home and eat ourselves. Despite giving some away to anyone who came to visit us in the weeks after the wedding, we were eating that cake every day for a month solid — which may explain why in the past 10 years, I never once made chocolate biscuit cake at home. Much as I loved it, I didn’t want to have it for a long, long time after that. But after a decade-long break, we’ll be having it again today — and more often now in the next 10 years.

Chocolate Biscuit Cake

Makes 1 x 450g (1 lb) loaf cake

There are lots of variations on this basic recipe — you can add nuts, raisins, glace cherries or even marshmallows; you can leave out the espresso powder (but I love the combination of chocolate and coffee); or you could make this in a round cake tin and cut it into thin wedges or a square tin and cut it into cubes. Most chocolate biscuit cake recipes call for golden syrup, but the condensed milk gives the cake a creamy, fudgy texture. It also means it slices easily, even straight out of the fridge. In the US you can find digestive biscuits in the international section of some supermarkets (I use McVitie’s brand), otherwise try a butter biscuit like Le Petit Beurre. Or if you’re feeling particularly industrious, you could even try making your own with this Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe.

200 g (7 oz) milk chocolate, roughly chopped
100 g (4 oz) dark chocolate, roughly chopped
100 g (1/2 cup) butter, diced
1 teaspoon espresso powder
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 x 400 g (14 oz) tin condensed milk
250 g (9 oz) plain digestive biscuits, each biscuit broken into thirds

Line a 450 g (1 lb) loaf tin with cling film and set aside.

Set a heatproof bowl over a pot of gently simmering water. Add in the chocolate and butter and allow to melt, stirring now and then until it’s smooth. Remove the bowl from the heat and mix in the espresso powder and salt, then pour in the condensed milk, stirring well to combine. Add in the biscuits and stir until they’re evenly distributed in the chocolate. Pour the chocolate biscuit mixture into the lined loaf tin, pressing it down evenly and firmly with a spatula. Smooth the top with the spatula, then place in the fridge for about 3 hours, or overnight, until set. Cut into thin slices or small cubes (it’s very rich) to serve. Wrapped tightly in clingfilm, this will keep for a couple weeks in the fridge.