Why I invented DOGGY cordon bleu

Forget tinned dog food. For pet lovers like DEBORA ROBERTSON only home-made parsley terrine and carrot ‘cake’ will do . . .

LOve takes extraordinary forms. For example, I never thought I would go on a golf holiday, sit through Lord Of The Rings or blitz cooked onion into bread sauce. These would never have entered my life if I weren’t married to someone to whom they were important.

Another thing I never thought I’d do was cook for my dog. Or be asked to cater for dog weddings and birthday picnics. But sometimes life turns a corner when you least expect it.

When we picked up Barney, our border terrier, ten years ago, he came home with a blanket that had been in the basket with his mum and his litter mates, and some packets of dried puppy food. And this, I thought, would be it.

Cut to a few weeks later when we showed up in our local park early one Sunday for our first puppy training class. even through my bleary, under- caffeinated eyes, I clocked one woman immediately: flawless hair; too carefully dressed for the occasion; and a dead ringer for Meg Swan, the neurotic dog owner played by Parker Posey in Best In Show, Christopher Guest’s brilliant parody of the dog show world. Her tiny chocolate poodle co- ordinated perfectly with her buttery-soft leather boots.

As the trainer passed around treats to help us encourage our little darlings to sit and stay, Leather Boots Lady produced from her pocket a Ziploc bag of something brown. ‘Organic liver treats,’ she said, noticing my gaze. ‘I make them myself.’ My immediate thought was of course you do, swiftly followed by

what a massive weirdo. I couldn’t wait to relate to friends the latest ridiculous story from our rapidly gentrifying neighbourhood. Oh how we laughed. But as the weeks went on, and I became further embedded into the world of the dog owner, I realised the joke was on me. I shared the story of Leather Boots Lady with my new dog-walking pals only for it to be met with shrugs of, ‘Oh yes, I do that,’ from many of them. They all looked quite normal.

One man, a gentle soul with three whippets, passed around his homemade liver treats freely. Dogs would lumber, trot or sprint half-way across the park to greet him.

Dried liver is the gateway treat for most of us, even if it does make your kitchen smell like something long dead is hidden behind the kickboard. It didn’t take long before I was cooking, blitzing then baking foul-smelling, swamp-mud-looking cubes of gastronomic delight for Barney.

And where liver treats lead, can frozen yoghurt and banana pupsicles, pumpkin pupcakes and parsley breath bones be far behind?

The answer is, shamefully, no. I apologise, Leather Boots Lady. Ten years later, I am you. And I am not alone. In fact, a recent survey found that 41 per cent of dog owners who’re in charge of feeding their dogs give them home-made food. That’s a lot of DIY dried liver...

FAMILY and friends have taken my indulgence of Barney in their strides. Perhaps they are not surprised. You see, when I am not spoiling my dog, I am spoiling everyone around me.

If you come within ten metres of me, the chances are I’ll give you something to eat. I can’t help myself. ‘Try this,’ must escape from my lips a dozen times a day.

And if I am handing out my latest culinary triumphs to everyone from my neighbours to the nice chap in the newsagent’s, of course I am going to create special treats for my constant companion, Barney.

American writer edith Wharton wrote about her canine pal, ‘ My little dog — a heartbeat at my feet,’ and that’s certainly what Barney is to me. He’s always there, whether he’s hoovering up scraps while I test recipes in the kitchen or sighing, snuffling, or snoring in his basket by my desk.

A few weeks ago, I decided to come clean about cooking for Barney and wrote a piece about it. I expected a bit of teasing, some ‘first world problems’ harrumphing, and a generous dollop of flat-out ridicule.

But within hours, smart cookware shop, Divertimenti, had got in touch to ask if I wanted to teach a class in cooking for your dog. Apparently, quite a few of their well-heeled customers had inquired if their cookery school taught such a thing, but they hadn’t been able to find a suitable teacher.

Sami Harvey, Divertimenti’s cookery school and events manager, explains: ‘We have customers coming in to buy hand mincers for making dog food quite regularly.

‘We’ve sold KitchenAid mixers, Magimix food processors, decent knives, metal bowls and measuring spoons, electronic scales and clip-lock freezer boxes — all to people who cook for their dogs.’

Next, a researcher from This Morning called and asked did we want to cook parsley doggy breath bones live on air?

A food magazine emailed to ask if Barney would like to taste test new products for dogs. Posh dog food manufacturers sent dried venison sausages and cheese-flavoured popcorn (the latter a bigger hit with my unaware husband than the dog, who didn’t take to it).

A book publisher asked if I might be interested in writing a book on cooking for your dog.

Some friends of friends called to inquire whether I’d like to cater a wedding; a French bulldog and a Heinz 57 terrier to be joined in connubial bliss over carrot cake and bacon bites. I have a birthday picnic pencilled in for August.

Overnight, it seemed I was to become the face of home-made dog food.

In a world where many humans haven’t got enough to eat, I am aware there is potentially something ludicrous about feeding my dog organic chicken livers. But when you take on the responsibility of any sentient creature, it’s your duty to give it the best life you can.

I sometimes imagine what my grandmother, Barbara, would have thought of this strange turn in my career. She was a merciless destroyer of pretension who, on viewing any kind of spoiled behaviour, would utter the killer lines ‘well, it’s a pity about you’, or ‘what you need is a good floor to scrub’. What would she think about me spending my evenings developing the perfect recipe for sticky doggy pudding?

I grew up in a village where in summer, children and dogs were turfed out of the house first thing in the morning and pretty much expected to fend for themselves. Children ate what they were given; dogs ate what was left over. Somehow, we survived.

In a way, I see my cooking for Barney as an extension of that old-fashioned way of feeding our dogs: not so much the scraps from the table, but adjusted versions of what we might eat ourselves. For example, I make sure none of his food contains salt, but many of the recipes — including the peanut butter banana bites recipe here — I would happily eat myself.

At its most basic, Barney might enjoy lightly cooked or puréed vegetables with a bit of cooked meat, or home-made biscuits moistened with chicken stock.

At its most extravagant, I admit his diet might sound like it’s drawn from a poncy gastropub menu — bone broth, pig’s trotter and parsley terrine, pork belly, oatcakes ( made extra smelly by the addition of tinned sardines) and carrot ‘cake’.

But every day, Barney does more for me than I could ever do for him — he forces me from my desk into the fresh air, teaches me cheerfulness, shows me how to live in the moment and reminds me to expect the best from people. For that, a handful of apple cheddar chews seems very small payment indeed.

DEBORA Robertson and dog trainer Louise Glazebrook’s next Cooking For Your Dog class is at Divertimenti on May 24 (divertimenti.co.uk)