BEL MOONEY: Blackmailed to tolerate a ‘third' in my marriage, do I stay or go?
I have been married for 28 years and, until four years ago, believed that fidelity was an essential part of our marriage. We were no longer passionately in love, but loved each other and were totally supportive. With our three children, we were seen by many as being an ideal, happy family.
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Daily Mail
an hour ago
- Daily Mail
Five delicious Italian recipes straight from Nonna's cookbook
LUISA Born 1943, San Giuseppe Vesuviano, Italy 'I can't tell you exactly how many years I've been cooking this dish – probably around 60. The key to a good spaghetti alle vongole is to add a lot of oil, and the cooking water from the pasta, to make sure it doesn't go dry. We're just adding the tomatoes for colour and flavour, rather than to make a sauce, but we still want a silky finish at the end. Naples is famous for its vongole and we eat a lot of seafood here in the city. We Napolitani are completely mad about food. It is always on our minds – and usually the topic of conversation. Sunday lunch with family is a ritual we stick to religiously. It is an excuse to come together, share laughter and a great many dishes. A Neapolitan lunch doesn't just last one hour – sometimes it can go on until dinnertime and we will eat and eat and eat and talk about eating while we eat.' LUISA'S SPAGHETTI ALLA VONGOLE (Neapolitan Clam Pasta) This takes very little time to make and is an impressive dish to serve up once you master it. SERVES 4 400g cherry tomatoes 1 heaped tbsp sea salt, plus extra to taste 350g spaghetti 60ml olive oil 4 garlic cloves, halved and green germs removed ½ bunch of parsley, stems and leaves separated, and leaves finely chopped 2 small dried chillies 850g vongole (clams), washed 1 First, cut a cross in the top of each tomato, then set aside. 2 Bring a large saucepan of water to a boil, add the salt then the spaghetti. Set a timer for 2 minutes before the suggested time on the packet – the pasta will finish cooking with the clams. 3 Meanwhile, heat the oil in a deep frying pan over a low heat and fry the garlic, parsley stems and chillies for 5 minutes, then remove the garlic, parsley and chillies from the pan using a slotted spoon and discard. Add the tomatoes to the pan, bringing the heat to medium, and cover. Let the tomatoes steam in their juices for about 4 minutes, then add the clams, cover again and cook for a minute or so. Add a scant ladle of pasta water to the pan and cook until the clams are open – discard any that aren't. Use a slotted spoon to remove some of the clams and set aside. 4 Drain the pasta, add it to the pan, stirring until the sauce thickens. Divide between dinner plates and add the reserved clams, plus a sprinkling of parsley leaves. Serve immediately. NINETTE Born 1935, Mallorca, Spain 'My mother taught me how to make this dish and it's one that I have reverted to again and again because I find it incredibly adaptable. You can eat the cod warm and serve for a family dinner or it can be eaten the next day with a salad. This way it serves as a good dish throughout the year, as long as you can find the fish and a good-quality one at that. Another important element of the dish is the vinegar. I use a vinegar that is Chardonnay and very high quality from France, but any good-quality white-wine vinegar will work here. My cooking has an element of finesse because for my most formative years I lived in France and loved all things French. The food, the culture, all of it was my own for many years before we moved back to Mallorca. My family owned and ran a bar while we lived in France, so I was raised with an element of 'Frenchness' that I suppose I have never really shaken.' NINETTE'S BACALAO ESCABECHE AL FINO (Spanish Cod Escabeche) This is a showstopper that tastes slightly pickled, and is surprisingly quick and easy to conjure up. SERVES 6 1kg cod fillet, cut into thick chunks salt and freshly ground black pepper 125g plain flour 400ml olive oil 3 large red onions, sliced into long, thin strips 2 bay leaves 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped 200g chopped tomatoes (use tinned if it's not the season for fresh) 60ml tarragon vinegar 1 Sprinkle the cod with salt, then spread out the flour on a plate and dip the cod fillets into it until lightly coated. 2 Heat the oil in a wide frying pan over a high heat and fry the cod fillets for about 5 minutes, taking care not to turn the fish or poke it too many times as it will fall apart. After 5 minutes, flip the fillets and cook for 5 more minutes until golden all over. Gently remove the cod from the pan and put on a plate covered with paper towels. 3 Next, add the onions to the same pan with the leftover oil over a medium heat. Add the bay leaves, ½ tablespoon of salt and 1 teaspoon of pepper, then gently simmer for about 30 minutes until very soft. 4 Meanwhile, combine the garlic and tomatoes in a bowl. When the onions are ready, add the tomato and garlic blend to the onions and cook for a minute or so until the mixture has infused with the onions, then follow up with the vinegar. Cook for a further 5 minutes, then remove from the heat. 5 Put the cod on a serving platter, top with the onion mixture and serve. SOULA Born 1946, Peloponnese, Greece 'Lots of people aren't aware that spanakorizo is an interesting combination not only because it tastes good. Spinach is difficult for the human body to digest, but the rice and lemon that we add to it helps the body to absorb the iron. My mother was an excellent cook, and she told me this many years ago. I lived in America for most of my adult life but have returned to Greece for the weather and the good produce. I like to go to my local laiki (market) every Thursday – it's an outing that happens ritually every week. I also tend to go for walks in the surrounding olive groves every day, leaving my brother, whom I live with, to sleep in while I get out and about to catch up with friends or start on the day's chores. I find that what is most important in life is to keep moving. Even when things get tough, we must put one foot in front of the other and keep walking.' SOULA'S SPANAKORIZO (Greek Rice and Spinach Risotto) This dish is a kind of risotto, but in true Greek style the vegetables are the stars and it's much less fussy to make than a traditional Italian version – who has time for all that hovering and stirring? SERVES 4 1 kg fresh spinach (Soula insists it is always fresh – never frozen) 160ml olive oil, plus extra to serve 4 large spring onions, trimmed and chopped into 1cm rounds 2 large leeks, trimmed and cleaned, then chopped into 2.5cm half moons 1 bunch of dill, roughly chopped 2 large garlic cloves (green germs removed), roughly chopped 700ml water 150g medium-grain rice, such as arborio ½ tbsp salt ½ tsp ground black pepper 1 chicken stock cube, optional (reduce the salt by half if using) ½ lemon, for squeezing feta and bread, to serve 1 First wash the spinach. Add it to a large bowl of water with a splash of vinegar and wash well, roughly tearing it to pieces as you do so and removing any tough stalks. The vinegar will ensure you get rid of any little 'friends' hiding in the leaves. 2 Drain the spinach and put it in a large saucepan over a medium-high heat. Cover and leave to steam for 10 minutes. Next add the olive oil, followed by the spring onions, leeks, dill and garlic. Cook, stirring every so often, for about 5 minutes. 3 Pour in 700ml water and add the rice, salt, pepper and stock cube (if using). Cover and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally to stop the rice sticking. 4 Once the rice is tender, season again to taste, adding a squeeze of lemon for a final zingy flourish. Serve with an extra drizzle of olive oil, a slab of feta and plenty of crusty bread. LATIFA Born 1945, Tunis, Tunisia 'I've been eating lablebi since I was a little girl. It's our 'fast food' here in Tunis – the thing young people eat at five o'clock in the morning after a night out in the city. In some regions of Tunisia they serve it inside a baguette, like a sandwich. It soaks up the alcohol after a heavy night. Of course, I wouldn't know about this because when I was a young girl I was mainly kept indoors. I grew up in the Medina, but I rarely saw it because I wasn't allowed to play outside. We were seven children in total and my brothers were the only ones of us that were allowed to venture out. I didn't know any different and this was the norm, so I never questioned it.' LATIFA'S LABLEBI (Tunisian Chickpea Soup) Lablebi is a staple of Tunisian cuisine, although its origins can also be linked to the Ottoman occupation of Tunis in the 1600s, when chickpeas were served to Ottoman soldiers as a thrifty and filling meal. It's hot, hearty and the perfect go-to recipe if you ever feel a cold coming on. This recipe is for those well versed in spice. If you want a mellower lablebi, halve or even quarter the harissa quantity and then add more at the end if you need it, along with the other toppings. 500g dried chickpeas 2 tsp bicarbonate of soda 70ml olive oil ½ bulb of garlic, cloves thinly sliced ½ tsp freshly ground black pepper 2 tsp ground cumin 1 tsp ground turmeric 1 tbsp harissa, plus extra to serve ½ tbsp sea salt 4-6 slices of days-old bread TO SERVE capers poached or boiled eggs good-quality tinned tuna 1 The day before you want to make the lablebi, put the chickpeas in a large bowl, add half the bicarbonate of soda, cover with water and leave to soak overnight. 2 The next day, drain the chickpeas, then add to a large saucepan with 2 litres of water. Put over a high heat and start to bring to the boil as you add the remaining bicarbonate of soda followed by the oil, garlic, pepper, cumin, turmeric and harissa. Cover almost completely (leaving a space uncovered for the steam to escape) and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to a steady simmer and cook for 20 minutes. 3 After the time is up, add the salt, then simmer for a further 20 minutes. Check to see if the chickpeas have softened by taking a few out and pressing on them with a fork or, even better, tasting them. 4 When you're ready to serve, break up the bread into the bottom of your bowls and spoon over the lablebi (you can choose to have it dense like a stew or loose like a ramen), then finish with the other toppings as you like. MARYSE Born 1940, Uzès, France 'Like most foods of the peasant people, this courgette gratin was simply born out of an abundance of its key ingredient: courgettes. My parents were farmers from the Camargue. They grew their own vegetables, and we would have so many courgettes in the summer months that my mother practically raised us on this gratin. Some people don't use garlic in this béchamel, or else they use it to flavour it slightly and then take it out. Being from the south, I keep the garlic in. I've been cooking for 63 years. When I was a young girl we would be taught by our mothers how to get by in the kitchen in order to be able to satisfy our future husbands. What I've learnt in these six decades in the kitchen is that delicious food really needs a certain dedication of time. It's difficult for young people now to make something truly satisfying because everything's always done in such a rush. The truth is, time is necessary for food to be good; it's an essential pause in the day to treat oneself.' MARYSE'S COURGETTE GRATIN FROM THE CAMARGUE, SOUTHERN FRANCE This recipe can be found all over the south of France. While it's baked in a béchamel sauce along with added butter and cheese (the latter helps the dish achieve the all-important golden crust that is essential to a gratin), this courgette bake is light, and it pairs perfectly with a meatier main – or perhaps even just a green salad on a summer's day. SERVES 4 as a main, 6 as a side 800g courgettes, sliced into 5mm rounds 40g Emmental, finely grated For the béchamel 4 tbsp plain flour 390ml whole milk, plus another 6 tbsp 1 tbsp sunflower oil 2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced 1½ tsp flaky sea salt 4 tbsp double cream 10g unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing freshly ground white or black pepper 1 Preheat the oven to 200C/ 180C fan/gas 6 and grease a casserole dish (alternatively a roughly 25cm x 32cm baking dish or baking tray) generously with butter. 2 Prepare a steamer (or steamer basket over a saucepan of hot water) and steam the courgette slices for 6 minutes. 3 Meanwhile, start preparing the béchamel. Combine the flour with 90ml of the milk in a small bowl. Whisk until smooth. 4 When the courgettes have steamed (they should be slightly softened at this stage but still possess a bit of bite), drain them in a colander and leave to dry. 5 Heat the sunflower oil in the same saucepan over a low to medium heat and fry the garlic, taking care to stop before it begins to brown. Remove the pan from the heat and leave to cool for a minute, then add the remaining milk to the pan, along with the salt and a grind of white or black pepper. Return to a low to medium heat. Now add the flour-and-milk mixture and stir like crazy with a wooden spoon for about 5 minutes until you have a smooth and viscous béchamel sauce. You don't want it to be very thick – rather a pourable consistency, like cream. Remove from the heat and add the cream and butter, stirring until combined. 6 Put the courgettes in your chosen baking dish. You don't need to arrange them delicately in layers (although you can if you want to go for a 'fancy' look). Maryse just tips them in and shakes the dish to disperse the courgettes evenly. Pour the béchamel sauce over the courgettes and sprinkle over the cheese and 6 tbsp milk. Bake in the oven on the top shelf for 25 minutes, or until the gratin is bubbling and golden. MARGARITA Born 1932, Mallorca, Spain 'I've reached my nineties, but I don't particularly feel very old. Thankfully, I can still get around and take care of myself as well as the children and grandchildren. I have a life of hard work to thank for that. I was born into a family that wasn't hugely wealthy and so, like many children at the time, I was sent to the estate of a rich French family here in Mallorca. That way, my parents could ensure I would be well taken care of, but it also meant that I couldn't go to school. I was nine years old when I left to work on the estate and I was terrified to leave my mother, but I have to say that, in the end, they took very good care of me and treated me as their own daughter. I learned a lot there about the land and about cooking, which I have loved ever since. It was in that first job that I learned to make coca de verduras. I've been making it for over 80 years now, so we can say I've become an expert. The key to this recipe and my ultimate tip is to use a hardy iron tray to make it and to cook it on the lowest level of the oven with the top and bottom setting on. You want the vegetables to caramelise and the dough to cook at the same time. No one wants a soggy dough. You want it to come out crispy like a tart.' MARGARITA'S COCA DE VERDURAS (Mallorcan Vegetable Tart) Every Mallorcan is familiar with coca de verduras, a crisp, thin-based tart weighed heavy with plenty of vegetables. The coca is described as a flatbread or pizza as it isn't yeasted at all. It's best enjoyed with a beer and a couple of other small plates and would make a great addition to a picnic, packed lunch or garden party spread. SERVES 12 SLICES 1 butterhead lettuce (about 150g), trimmed and finely chopped 2 tsp flaky sea salt 2 small leeks, finely chopped 6 spring onions, finely chopped 1 small bunch of parsley, leaves finely chopped 1 tsp ground black pepper 1 tsp smoked paprika 1 garlic clove, crushed or grated 150ml olive oil 2 small tomatoes, thinly sliced handful For the pastry ½ tsp bicarbonate of soda 100ml cold water 100ml olive oil 50g lard or unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into small cubes 300g plain flour, plus extra as needed 1 Preheat the oven to 220C/200C fan/gas 7 and line a roughly 38cm x 25cm baking tray, preferably cast iron, with baking parchment. 2 Put the chopped lettuce into a large bowl, add 1 teaspoon of the salt and massage it into the lettuce to break it down a little. Add the leeks, spring onions and parsley to the bowl with the remaining teaspoon of salt, the pepper, paprika, garlic and olive oil. Stir to combine. 3 Next, make the pastry. In a separate bowl, combine the bicarbonate of soda with the water, olive oil and your choice of fat. Stir to combine and break down the cubes of fat a little. 4 Add the flour bit by bit, combining with your hands and rubbing the cubes of fat into the flour to break them up. Do this until it comes together into a soft, pliable ball that doesn't feel sticky. Add more flour or water a teaspoon at a time if the dough is too wet or dry. You are going to press this into the tray rather than roll it, so you don't want it to be too stiff. 5 Place the dough in the centre of the prepared tray and pat it down to flatten it. Begin to spread it out across the entire base of the tray with your hands, pressing in with your fingers and pushing the pastry outwards until it reaches the edges in a thin, even layer. Prick it all over with a fork, then bake on the bottom of the oven (not on a shelf) for 5 minutes. Placing it on the bottom of the oven will help the base crisp up. 6 After 5 minutes, when the base is a little more firm, remove the tray from the oven and cover the pastry evenly with the greens, then spread the slices of tomato on top. Return to the bottom of the oven and bake for 10 minutes, then move to the top of the oven for a final 5 minutes, or until the pastry is golden and the topping is nicely cooked and slightly charred in places. Remove from the oven and top with the toasted pine nuts, then serve hot or cold. NOW BUY THE BOOK Our recipes are taken from Mediterranea by Anastasia Miari with photographs by Marco Argüello (Quadrille, £28). To order a copy for £23.80 until 17 August, go to or call 020 3176 2937. Free UK delivery on orders over £25.
The Guardian
2 hours ago
- The Guardian
This is how we do it: ‘I need some emotional connection before sex, but he is ready to go at any time'
There was an occasion when we had sex eight times in one day – we still call it our dirty weekend Ricky and I have been together for 12 years and married for three. I still think about the first time we had sex – it was incredible. I remember thinking: how is this our first time? Because in my experience first times had always been a bit awkward. It was so instantly fun and pleasurable, and felt very safe straight away. Ricky seemed so confident, and I thought: this guy must really know what he's doing. It was only later that I found out he hadn't slept with many people at all. I'd known him for less than a week, but it was some of the best sex I'd ever had. I don't think there is a correlation between penis size and sexual prowess, but Ricky has got a really nice penis. He went down on me that first time, which was rare for me. There was an occasion when we had sex eight times in one day – we still call it our dirty weekend. Now we sometimes have sex once in eight days – but I'm still just as happy and satisfied. When you meet someone new it's crazy and exciting, and then you just become really comfortable together. I have not once thought: I wish we were having more sex. Sometimes I have wondered: should we be having more sex? But that pressure is societal more than anything. We have realised that although we don't have sex that often now – maybe once a fortnight – when we do, we really do it. Sex will last an hour and it is very active. In that moment, neither of us is thinking about anything else. We are very connected. We have quite a set routine now, but it works for us. I need some emotional connection before having sex, even if it's just watching TV together. I like to have a shower and be prepped, whereas Ricky is ready to go at any time. We are both so busy that, despite living together, we can go a few days without even having time to chat about our day. So, for me, it is important to prioritise that kind of intimacy before sex. If you're keen to talk to us about your sex lives you can get in touch by filling in the form below. It is very important that both sexual partners are happy to participate. I was not only falling in love with Anastasia, I was falling in love with sex as well Before Anastasia, my relationship with sex was defined by its absence. I was a late bloomer and didn't have sex until I was at university, but I thought about it so much. They say that if you want something, the worst way to get it is to want it too badly, and that was me when it came to losing my virginity. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion I was discovering so much about myself at that time, and my early sexual experiences ended up being very good. I'm pretty sure the girl who I lost my virginity to didn't know I was a virgin. And then suddenly there was this person who I was falling in love with, and it felt very mature. It was fantastic to have the person who was my first consistent sexual partner then become my permanent partner. I was not only falling in love with Anastasia, I was falling in love with sex as well. I've got so used to having sex with someone who I absolutely love. When we got together she was so complimentary about the first night we had sex because I made her come and I went down on her, and it was generally a really good time. Even after 12 years, when we have sex we never half-ass it. It always feels really good. You fall into the habit of knowing one another and knowing what the other likes and dislikes. I do feel as if I can be slightly impatient, as Anastasia really likes the scene to be set before we have sex. In fact, sometimes if we haven't laid the groundwork enough, we can start and then just fall out of sync. Though I'm very content with the amount of sex we're having, I think we would be happier having more. Often she'll suggest it to me and I'll be like: 'Yeah, OK.' Then, within two seconds, I'm like: 'This is the best. Why don't I do this every single day? How do I distract myself so successfully that I don't want to do this twice a day?'
The Guardian
3 hours ago
- The Guardian
Tim Dowling: the old dog snorted with delight – and then she was gone
In the days before my father-in-law's funeral, my wife and I drive to his cottage in the country with the dogs. Our schedule – shredded and hastily reassembled around events – has a window just big enough to go down there, check on things, do the front hedge, weed a bit. It seems important, even if it probably isn't. Shortly after we arrive a visitor remarks on the decline of the old dog. 'Really?' my wife says. 'I guess we don't notice.' Since we were last here the old dog – now nearly 16 – has certainly become more wobbly, more incontinent and more prone to falling asleep suddenly, in strange places. But her decline hasn't been steady. She's also prone to brief episodes where she leaps and capers like a young dog, episodes that are themselves a little alarming. 'Is she having fun?' I say, as the dog runs in circles round our feet. 'Does this look like fun?' Anyway, she likes it down here. She's been coming since she was a puppy, and she knows her way round. It is possibly more familiar to her than our house, which we've only lived in for eight years. The stone floor is remarkably resilient when it comes to chronic incontinence. And the weather is amazing. In the morning my wife goes out to pick up a few things. I sit at the table in front of my laptop, trying to make a start on a eulogy. The new dog is on the sofa. The old dog is asleep on the floor alongside its bed, as if she tipped over on the way to it, and decided that close was close enough. It occurs to me that this time last year I was at work on my own father's eulogy. This affirms my superstition that death has a season, and that season, for me, is summer. My mother died in June; I remember the sound of lawnmowers when I called my wife to tell her. Later that day, under a warm afternoon sun, I am trying to extract bindweed from a raised bed. It's a pleasingly thankless task, requiring little thought and carrying no risk of completion. My wife is pegging out some laundry by the back door. A few feet away from her, the old dog is having one of her rare episodes of sprightliness, tearing through the tall grass in excited figures of eight, and snorting with delight. My wife turns her back for a few minutes, and when she turns around, the old dog is gone. She comes and finds me to ask if I've seen her. I haven't. The old dog doesn't wander as a rule, and is most likely inside, fast asleep in some new and unlikely spot. Except she isn't. Once we've checked all the obvious places, we decide to split up. We search in silence, because you can't call a deaf dog. I take the track leading away from the house, secretly because I figure it's the path most likely to lead toward a positive outcome. If the dog has headed this way, I'm sure to find her safe. But I get quite a long way up the track without finding anything at all. From up there I can just hear my wife's voice calling my name. As faint as it is, I can tell she has bad news. In the end the new dog found the old dog, burrowing deep into brambles and weeds towards the bed of a trickling, nearly dry stream, where she lay dead. She was not 30ft from where my wife last saw her. We looked, it turns out, in all the wrong places. 'Oh dear,' my wife says, kneeling on the grass. 'I feel so guilty.' 'Me too,' I say. My wife rings our sons to break the news, and they take it hard. When the old dog was the new dog, the youngest one was only 10 years old. He was given the honour of picking a name. He took my advice, and called her Nellie. Later I text them all to tell them to check on the tortoise, because as far as I'm concerned death's season still has some way to run. In the following days more than one person will offer up the hopeful notion that animals sometimes take themselves off to die. I'm not sure how likely I find this, or how comforting. Other friends suggest that it's better all round for a dog to expire somewhere it's been happy, in full pursuit of being a dog, rather than on the cold floor of a veterinarian's office. I've sat on the floor holding a dog, tears running off my nose into its fur, while a vet administered that final injection. And now I've fought through brambles to pull a dead dog out of a stream. And personally, I would struggle to register a preference.
