Cook? Moi?

I've just been accused by my dear friend Z of being a cook, which I suppose I am, though I rarely do it properly these days, unless motivated.  But I remembered that I have over the years kept a book of things I, or others around me, have made up and thought good enough to preserve.  (The recipes I mean, not the dishes.)
So here's the first in an occasional series.  I will label them 'cooking', and you will get the original text: there's no way I'm re-typing that lot.