How to cook Stilton and broccoli bake

Finally, I almost have my kitchen back. I feel like during Christmas, we give our kitchens over to a higher power: one who insists that we fill our fridges with enough prosecco to see us through a nuclear winter, that everything is spiked with brandy, and followed with a chaser of cheese. We didn’t even host Christmas this year: we were away for Christmas-proper and bookended it with visiting various friends and relatives. There is, really, no excuse, for such a high proportion of festive leftovers. And yet, for the last week, I’ve found soggy mince pies everywhere, and brandy butter I don’t remember buying.

But now, I am starting to regain control. The last, tired clementines have been tuned into marmalade with bright green, fragrant bay, redolent of the fruit’s leaves, and put carefully away in the cupboard, waiting to bring colour to drabber months. One solitary piece of Christmas cake stands on the worktop, having been made by my father-in-law, and carried as precious cargo from Cheshire after the festivities were over. The parmesan sables have been eaten, and even the gingerbread house has finally been demolished, with only one or two rogue chocolate buttons proving it ever existed.

Only a big old lump of Stilton remains, and a couple of considered and rejected Quality Street. A bit like coming up from deep under water too fast, I’m nervous that if I plunge myself into eating without any goose fat, brandy or cheese, I’ll get the festive bends.

This dish prevents that problem, and allows you to feel like you’ve moved away from the weeks of cold cuts and chutneys without having to give credence to the nonsense talk of detoxes and diets. And I’m a sucker for a recipe that gives a bit of love to some tired and sad leftovers.