NOTHING TICKLES LIKE A PUCKETT'S PICKLE

SARAH PUCKETT

‘One of my fondest memories from childhood – and the sort of feeling I wanted to induce in Puckett’s Pickles customers – was the lovely warm glow I got when Mum did one of her fridge-cleaning suppers. She’d make what she called ‘bubble and squawk’ using any odd bits and pieces she found in the fridge and Father would open his pickle cupboard, honestly, the end result was my favourite thing in the world. We’d graze and the conversation would flow and all would be very right with the world.’ 

MY GLAMOROUS MUM

‘My mum had it all. She was a superb cook and sophisticated with it, renowned for her apparently effortless dinner parties. I would creep out on to the landing just to hear her guests’ compliments. She taught me the social importance of food, and to demand the very best—not just from ingredients and suppliers but from myself too.’

MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER

‘I thought her kitchen and larder were the next best thing to Narnia; full of magical experiences and unexpected delights. There was always something to learn, something to taste, and treats whenever I came in with a scraped knee. All my inspiration finds its roots in her kitchen.’

MY INTREPID FATHER

‘As a ship’s captain, my Father really did sail the seven seas. He’d bring back strange ingredients and cook up all sorts of wonderful things—from tandoori to taramasalata. It was while on his travels that he dreamt up the recipe for Captain Puckett’s (pickled onions). Because of my Father, I’m more adventurous with my ingredients.’