Domestic goddess ...

I used to make casseroles all the time. From the first weeks of our married life - or, more accurately, when term started again after the summer in which we were married - I made a point of having a slow-cooked dish that lasted for two nights. My mother had done the same, and it seemed as logical as making custard for pudding. (Really.) It was all part of being a grown-up married woman who could cook. (I really learned as I went along - these frantic phone calls to my mum ...)

It was the same when I had children at home, though in a way things fell off a bit - meat for four was expensive, and I was into the way of experimenting with strange speedy recipes shared by my friends in the US Navy. But working life was always easier if you knew there was a meal in the fridge just waiting to be resurrected, even in the knowledge of my mother's lore about the indigestible qualities of twice-cooked mince.

To the point. I don't do this sort of cooking nearly as much these days, though I love it when I do. So this morning, while Mr PB was away finishing off his settings on the new organ in preparation for tomorrow, I made a lamb tagine that should do us for three meals. I followed a combination of recipes from two trusted sources, and - unusually for me - omitted the browning stage for the meat and onions (Claudia Roden doesn't bother for this). We'll be eating the first batch tomorrow, for Saturday evening is stir-fry night.

Stuck in my ways? Moi?