Psst … I’ve got something to tell you


Waaaaaah! The Virtuous Tart cookbook is now in paperback for all my Irish friends.

It’s got a snazzy new yellow cover, and a new cheaper price.

So for the same cost as one yoga class, you and I could be hanging in the kitchen. I promise to bring indecent amounts of giddiness to your pots and pans. And to kickstart your happy hormone.

So … see you in your kitchen?!?

Your crazy little vitamin Jedi,

Susan Jane xx


pssst … what have you been making from The Virtuous Tart cookbook? Let me know by using #TheVirtuousTart hashtag over on Instagram. Then prepare for a lovebomb! 




Breakfast, Lunchbox

Home-Made Organic Cream Cheese

People are sick of consuming products. We want experiences. Full-fat, authentic, soul-nourishing, heart-thumping, life-affirming experiences.

What’s too-often missing in many of our lives is something intrinsically satisfying. Products rarely deliver the true nourishment we crave.

Cooking for yourself and for those you love is a deeply meaningful experience. What makes food truly satisfying is not just the physical hunger-squashing sensation of mainlining food into an empty stomach. It’s the adoration poured into the preparation of ingredients, and the fulfillment of receiving someone’s time and attention. Nothing beats the magic of homemade food.

So where can you sign up?! This monthly blog, that’s where. I will practically take you by the hand and introduce you to some life-changing recipes to service your booty. No mantras and moonlight. Just kickass recipes to make your toes and your taste buds samba. Following wholefoodie Instagram accounts like these Irish ones will change how you see food, and seep into your kitchen like tea from a teabag. Gently, slowly, but full of flavour.



So let’s get you dosed up. This is a dynamo recipe for home-made organic cream cheese. No faffing around with curdled milk, thermometers or Valium.


DIY Cream Cheese Recipe

Use it for Unicorn Toast my friends. (That’s why you’re here, right?!)

Makes a terrific icing with a little stevia or maple, and natural food colourings as listed in this post.


Makes 400g

500g full-fat Greek yoghurt



1 First, find a nutmilk bag or cheesecloth. Both can be purchased in health food stores or on Amazon.

2 Pour the entire tub of Greek yoghurt into your special cloth or bag, and allow the whey to run off the yoghurt for 12-16 hours. I tie my yoghurt-filled nutmilk bag onto a wooden spoon over my blender jug, and leave it overnight.

3 You’re left with a stellar probiotic cream cheese to enjoy as a spread or as icing on a cupcake. The supersonic leftover whey can be sneakily added into smoothies all week.




Taking the hell out of healthy.

Hit “BOOM” at the top left corner with your email address my friend, to receive a new weekly recipe direct to your inbox.




When times are tough …

For many people this column might read like a sonata to superfoods. Or exclusively for geezers who fetishise loose-leaf tea and home made facemasks.

I get that. I am, after all, a professional nut (short for nutritional cook).

Lately, writing about food feels ridiculous in the face of much wider global geopolitical events. Finding meaning in a recipe column can be hard when, all around us, horrific things are happening in the rising tide of racism and religious fever. For some time I’ve been feeling queasy about this.

It feels rather pathetic writing about a jar of salsa verde. I feel ashamed that food has colonised a rather large slice of my brain this week, while thousands of Syrian refugees continue to sleep rough in our ‘civilised’ Western world, and families in Manchester mourn their beloved.

And what now? Do I stop writing recipes? Stop feeding people in a mute sort of protest? Why can’t I stop feeling impotent? Is it shame for not helping or getting involved? Or is it raw, unadulterated guilt?



And then it hits me as ferociously as a fly swat. Food is not trivial. Food is an essential part of life, far beyond physical nourishment. Food is celebration. It is at the epicentre of our lives. We share stories of hope and fear at the dinner table. We find meaning over food – we come together and learn more about each other. Care for each other. Solve problems side-by-side. Navigate the world and its tumultuous prejudices together. It is through shared meals that we celebrate the essence of being.

I can’t adopt a Syrian child, or pick a family up at the Libyan boarder. But I can encourage you, dear reader, to eat together; to make meals together; to talk openly about issues affecting us both locally and globally; to invite new voices and new neighbours to the table; and, above all, to practice listening.

I ain’t no war correspondent. I’m a mother. A sister. A daughter. A wife. There’s a lot we can do in the war against Hate. It starts in the home.



Salsa Verde

For 150ml jar


1 good bunch flat parsley

Generous mint leaves

4 spring onions, chopped

1/2 lemon, juice and zest

6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon capers

4 anchovy fillets


Roughly pull off the leaves from the parsley stalks, and drop them into a food processor. Compost the rougher stems – we won’t need them.

Add the remaining ingredients and pulse briefly until it looks like a chunky salsa. If you don’t have a processor, don’t panic. Finely chop it all and tumble together with clean fingers.

Serve on crostini with ricotta, beside white fish, alongside hummus, or crown a bowl of plain quinoa with this verde. During summer months, we toss it through spirulised carrot and apple and bring to BBQs. Your brilliance might piss everyone off, but that’s a pleasure in itself.



Taking the hell out of healthy.

Hit “BOOM” at the top left corner with your email address my friend, to receive a new weekly recipe direct to your inbox.