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Pep up your cooking in these last days of winter with a scattering of dried fruit here and there. And please, try to buy Fairtrade

As primates, I reckon we’re pretty much hard-wired to yearn for fruit whatever the season. Call me demanding, but I need more than apples and pears to keep me going until the first gooseberry of summer, which is why I grab the year’s earliest sticks of forced rhubarb (the vegetable that thinks it’s a fruit) like a man possessed. Even so, I long for greater variety.

And that’s when I reach for dried fruit. Fat raisins, plump apricots and perfumed mangoes add a fruity lift to compotes, tea breads, cakes and muesli. And in savoury dishes, too – apricots add a juicy tang to tagines, stuffings and pilafs; raisins are delicious sautéed with radicchio in a winter salad or in a piquant pasta sauce with capers and pine nuts; and dried mango makes a great chutney.

Of course, all these ingredients are “exotic”, the very opposite of local, so are hardly stand-bys of the River Cottage repertoire, which is why we give a little thought to their sourcing. Fairtrade Fortnight starts a week on Monday, and provides a good opportunity to reflect on where our food comes from, how it’s produced and by whom. The power of the shopping basket is mighty – in 1999 we spent £21m on Fairtrade products; in 2009 it was £799m. This is a growing movement that makes a real difference to some of the world’s poorest farming communities. In all, around 7.5 million people from 58 developing countries – farmers, their families and communities – benefit from the Fairtrade system.

I know there are some who criticise Fairtrade, and I’ve heard all the arguments about protectionism ad nauseam, but the fact is, traditional trading arrangements push some of the poorest communities on our planet to the brink of destitution. And that is an irrefutable argument for change, for a fairer deal and for trading structures that encourage and foster sustainable development.

So I hope you choose Fairtrade dried fruit when shopping for today’s recipes. There’s a hearteningly wide range available, but if you have trouble tracking them down, tropicalwholefoods.com does a great range by mail order.

Dried fruit compote

This makes a great breakfast with thick, Greek-style yoghurt. It keeps well in an airtight container in the fridge for up to a week. This makes enough for eight to 10 servings.

200g dried apricots
200g dried mangoes
100g raisins
150ml freshly squeezed orange juice
80g honey
Zest of 1 lemon, pared with vegetable peeler
Zest of ½ orange, pared with vegetable peeler
1 cinnamon stick
3 cloves
1 star anise (optional)
Thick yoghurt, to serve

Pour 500ml warm water into a large bowl, tip in the dried fruit and leave to soak for an hour.

Pour 500ml water into a large saucepan along with the orange juice, honey, lemon and orange zest, cinnamon, cloves and star anise (if using). Bring to a boil, then add the fruit and its soaking liquid. Bring back to the boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the fruit has softened and the liquid has thickened slightly. Serve warm or cold, with a big dollop of thick yoghurt.

Raisin pie

You can give this homely, delicious pie a decadent kick by soaking the raisins in a slug of rum or brandy, draining and adding them to the filling. Serves six to eight.

For the pastry
225g plain flour
A pinch of salt
150g chilled butter, cut into cubes
2 tbsp caster sugar
1 egg yolk

For the filling
4 eggs, slightly beaten
380ml sour cream
200g caster sugar, plus a little extra
Juice of 1 lemon
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
Finely grated zest of ½ orange
1 tsp vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
200g raisins

Sift the flour and salt into a large bowl and rub in the butter with your fingertips until the mix resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar. Whisk the egg yolk with three tablespoons of chilled water, sprinkle over the flour and mix in with a knife. Knead very gently into a dough. Wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes.

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. On a lightly floured surface, roll out two-thirds of the dough and use it to line a 22cm x 4cm pie dish. Chill for 15 minutes. Keep the remaining dough in clingfilm.

In a large bowl, beat together the eggs. (Set aside a tablespoon’s worth for glazing the top of the pie.) Now whisk them with sour cream, sugar, lemon juice and zest, orange zest, vanilla and salt. Stir in the raisins. Roll out the remaining dough into a circle large enough to cover the pie. Pour the filling into the pie, cover with the lid, seal the edges and trim with a sharp knife.

Beat together the reserved egg and a tablespoon of water, and brush this over the top of the pie. Sprinkle with sugar and bake for 20 minutes. Reduce the heat to 180C/350F/gas mark 4 and bake for a further 10-15 minutes – the middle will still wobble a bit as the custardy filling thickens up as it cools. Serve just warm or cold.

Amaretti biscuits

Crisp on the outside and chewy in the centre, these are addictively good and very easy. Makes about 16.

180g apricot kernels (or use ground almonds)
100g caster sugar
Grated zest of 1 lemon
1 tsp almond extract
1 pinch salt
2 egg whites
1 tbsp runny honey
50g flaked almonds
Icing sugar

Heat the oven to 160C/325F/gas mark 3. Line a large baking sheet with baking parchment.

Grind the apricot kernels to a fine meal in a food processor or clean coffee mill, then mix with the caster sugar, lemon zest, almond extract and salt in a bowl, ensuring the zest and extract are evenly distributed.

Whisk the egg whites until firm peaks form, then whisk in the honey. With a large metal spoon, gently fold the meringue into the kernel mixture until you have a soft dough. Roll the dough into balls the size of large walnuts, flatten each ball a little, then roll in flaked almonds. Finally, roll them in icing sugar.

Place the biscuits on the baking tray and bake for 14-18 minutes – they should turn a very light golden colour and remain soft and chewy in the centre. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely, then store in a sealed jar or tin.

Dried mango chutney

Dried fruit makes a delicious chutney and is a terrific stand-by when fresh fruit is in short supply. Makes five 240ml jars.

500g dried mango slices (roughly chopped, if on the large side)
4 onions, peeled and finely diced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
250g raisins
350g light muscovado sugar
1 tbsp mustard seeds
2 small red chillies, halved, membranes removed, finely diced
500ml cider vinegar
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
Juice of 1 small orange
1 tbsp ground ginger
1 tsp salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin

Put the mango slices in a bowl, pour over 1.5 litres of water, cover and leave to soak overnight.

Tip the mangoes and their soaking water into a large, stainless-steel saucepan or preserving pan. Add all the other ingredients and, over a low heat, stir until the sugar dissolves. Bring up to a boil and simmer, uncovered, for about an hour and a half. You should stir the mixture frequently, particularly towards the end of the cooking time, to ensure it doesn’t stick – it’s done when a spoon drawn through the centre of the chutney leaves a clear line for a second or two before the chutney comes back together.

Pour into hot, sterilised jars and seal with vinegar-proof lids. Store in a cool, dry place and leave to mature for eight weeks before using. Use within two years.

• Learn new skills on River Cottage’s four-day cookery courses; go to rivercottage.net for details.

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The differences between organic and conventionally farmed pork are about a whole lot more than just taste

If there’s one thing I find almost as tiresome as climate change deniers, it’s organic bashers. “It’s cruel, it is. They’re not allowed to treat animals even when they’re sick, except with herbs and that. And the animals are forced to stay outside, even when it’s snowing. My mate’s friend lives near an organic pig farm, and he says it’s a scandal the way they treat their animals ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì they’re wandering about outside, covered in mud and everything?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶”

It’s all bollocks, of course. And in case you’re ever on the receiving end of this kind of ignorant rant, allow me to clarify. Almost all the same veterinary interventions are available to organic farmers as to conventional ones. What doesn’t happen often ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì because it isn’t usually necessary in the natural, extensively outdoor environment of organic farming ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì is the automatic dosing of whole flocks and herds with strong prophylactic antibiotics and other drugs. Rather, the animals are treated according to their needs and symptoms. Having said that, if an organic farmer has a persistent worm problem in his sheep, say, he may decide to treat the entire flock, but they will then not be allowed to go to slaughter for three times longer than in conventional farming. This is an extra precaution to ensure that the medicines involved do not enter the human food chain.

Given concerns about the possible long-term effects of agricultural antibiotics in our meat (not to mention chemical pesticide residues in fruit and veg), it’s hardly surprising so many of us buy organic these days, though the argument over whether organic ingredients “taste better” or “are healthier” is so often poorly expressed (on both sides, to be fair). The issues for me are animal welfare (organic standards are the highest we have), chemical residues (almost nonexistent in organic produce) and the protection of our environment (land under organic, chemical-free cultivation is the only insurance we have against the polluting, soil-degrading effects of industrially produced agrochemicals).

Of course, farming organically doesn’t make you a good farmer or a good stockman any more than farming conventionally makes you a bad one. You can be incompetent within either system. But what’s vital about organic farming ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and especially the Soil Association certification system that upholds it ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì is that it gives us one of the very few food labels that actually mean anything. And that’s why I’m proud to support Organic Fortnight, which began yesterday. For me, now’s a good time to restate my commitment to this massively important approach to growing our food, and to acknowledge and applaud the fantastic work done over the last 15 years by the Soil Association’s director Patrick Holden, who steps down later this year.

I’d urge you to go to one of the events (especially the Organic Food Festival in Bristol next weekend), visit an organic farm or just enjoy a spectacularly tasty organic lunch.

I’m cooking pork this week, because pigs (along with chickens, about which I’ve said plenty) are the most intensively farmed ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and, I’d say, most abused ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì of all our farm animals. In the intensive system, these intelligent, complex creatures are routinely treated with such an indifferent disregard for their natural behaviour that it can only be described as cruel. (If you’ve seen Tracy Worcester’s remarkable film, Pig Business, you’ll know just how bad it can be.) Organic pigs, by contrast, flourish in conditions that allow them to express a full range of natural behaviours. They are kept in family groups, have access to soil and vegetation, they can root in the earth and wallow in the mud.

So this week, if you’re buying pork, I really hope you’ll choose organic. And that you’ll enjoy every morsel.

Pork and Puy lentil salad

Vary the vegetables depending on what you have to hand. Fennel, roast baby carrots or beetroot, broad beans or peas all work well. Serves four.

150g puy lentils
2 unpeeled garlic cloves, bashed
1 bouquet garni, made from 2 sprigs thyme and 2 parsley stalks tied together with a bay leaf
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? small onion
4 free-range eggs
150g french beans, topped
200g leftover roast pork, roughly shredded
250-300g cherry tomatoes, halved
Handful of rocket (optional)
1 small handful chopped parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
For the vinaigrette
1 garlic clove, peeled and minced
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp red-wine vinegar
3 tbsp olive oil

Rinse the lentils and put them in a pan with the garlic, bouquet garni, onion and enough cold water to cover by about 5cm. Bring to a boil and simmer for 25 minutes until the lentils are just tender, or according to the package instructions.

Meanwhile, make the vinaigrette. Whisk together the garlic, mustard and vinegar with a pinch of salt, then whisk in the oil until emulsified. Drain the lentils and toss them, while still warm, in the dressing.

Place the eggs in a pan of hand-hot water, bring to a boil and simmer for six minutes. Drain and plunge into iced water. Cook the beans until just tender in boiling, salted water, then drain and refresh under the cold tap.

When the lentils are room temperature, toss with the pork, beans, tomatoes, rocket and parsley. Adjust the seasoning. Peel the eggs, halve them and arrange over the salad.

Slow-cooked aromatic shoulder of pork

I call this deliciously tender, succulent slow-roast pork “Donnie Brasco” because you put it in the oven and “fugeddaboutit”. Leftovers are great in all manner of salads, pasta sauces and sandwiches. Serves six-plus.

1 boned, rolled shoulder of pork (aka a spare rib joint), about 2.5-3kg
5 large garlic cloves, peeled
5cm piece fresh ginger, peeled
2 tsp chilli flakes
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tbsp brown sugar
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tbsp flaky sea salt
1 tbsp sunflower or groundnut oil
1 tbsp soy sauce
For the five-spice mix
2 star anise
2 tsp fennel seeds
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? cinnamon stick
4 cloves
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 glass white or red wine

Heat the oven to 230C/450F/gas mark 8. With a craft knife, score the pork rind in parallel lines about 1cm apart and to a depth of 0.5-1cm (or get the butcher to do it for you).

Grate the garlic and fresh ginger into a small bowl, and mix to a paste with the chilli, ground ginger, sugar, salt, oil and soy sauce. Pound the five spices in a mortar (or grind in a clean coffee grinder) and mix a tablespoon into the paste (the rest will keep in an airtight jar in a cool, dark place for a month or so).

Put the joint skin-side up on a rack over a large roasting tin. Using your fingertips, rub just over half the spice rub into the scored rind. Roast the joint for 30 minutes, then remove from the oven and, using oven gloves or a thick, dry, cloth, carefully turn it over to expose the underside. Using a knife or wooden spoon (the meat will be very hot), smear the remaining spice rub over the underside of the meat, which should now be facing up. Pour the glass of wine and a glass of water into the roasting tin, cover with foil (you won’t get any crackling, but you will get “chewling” ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì tender, chewable skin with a lovely, spicy flavour) and turn down the heat to 120C/250F/ gas mark ?É‚Äö?Ǭº and return to the oven for five to six hours, turning it skin-side up and basting with the fat and juices in the tin about halfway through.

To serve, don’t so much carve the joint as scoop the tender, melting, aromatic meat on to warmed plates.

Pork tonnato

An unconventional take on the classic veal tonnato ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì it turns leftover roast pork into a quick and delicious lunch or supper. Serves four.

120g tinned tuna in oil, drained (I use Fish-4-Ever)
50g tinned anchovies, drained and chopped (again, I use Fish-4-Ever)
2-3 tbsp good mayonnaise
1 lemon
1-2 tbsp capers, rinsed
1-2 tbsp finely chopped parsley (optional)
2 thick slices leftover roast pork per person

Flake the tuna into a bowl and mix with the anchovies, mayo, a good squeeze of lemon juice and a few gratings of the zest. Smear this over the pork, then sprinkle with capers and parsley, if using, and serve.

Go to rivercottage.net for the latest news from River Cottage HQ.

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It’s amazing what even quite young children can achieve in the kitchen, and the summer holidays are the perfect time to let them find their culinary feet

As a kid, the long summer holiday represented seemingly endless possibilities for aimlessly messing about. What bliss. Often, the fractionally more purposeful messing about took place in the kitchen. Mum was remarkably relaxed in giving me access to her armoury of pans, bowls and knives ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì though usually all I required was the rotary whisk, to knock up yet another soft mountain of Angel Delight.

I did get a little beyond that. In fact, I became quite the junior pastry chef. Under Mum’s guidance, I learned to knock out very respectable black forest gateaux, profiteroles, lemon mousse ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì classic 1970s sweets to follow her avocado mousse with prawns and beef wellington. We were a dinner party double act ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì except I never saw my creations being consumed, because I was in bed by then.

Cooking is still our rainy-day activity of choice in the summer hols, only now I’m the one dishing out ingredients, finding the right size bowl and wondering if I’ll have to do all the washing up. When Mum’s here, of course, she’ll take over supervision, so I can sneak off and do a bit of real nothing. And I’m reminded that I used to cook with her mum, my granny, too. Eggs, flour, sugar, butter, etc?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶ Is there any better glue for holding together the fabric of family down the generations?

My kids are not so resolutely sweet-toothed as I was at their age, so with the right kind of cajoling and suggestions, I have an outside chance of getting a remarkably well-balanced meal cooked for me. Chloe, 14, likes making huge vats of beans ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì from scratch, soaking dried beans, boiling them, and making a lovely sauce from onions, tomatoes and a bit of spice. They last for days. Oscar, 11, likes knives (understatement), and his skills and enthusiasm can be happily channelled into veg prep. Freddie, seven, does nothing by the book and is averse to taking instructions, but has taken to the blender (supervised) and is surprisingly adept at transforming fruit from our garden into pur?É?í?Ǭ©es that can be drunk as smoothies, served with ice-cream or pancakes, or frozen into lollies.

It’s impressive what even quite young children can achieve ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì small hands do very well at rolling today’s falafel or picking herbs from their stems. For kids who like to follow instructions, all this week’s recipes deliver, while for the more independent-minded, they’re starting points for experiments. The falafel, for instance, make terrific mini veggie burgers. Mix in cooked beans or peas, and spice it up with curry powder, too. And toss cooked or tinned beans, or cubed avocado, in with the salad, or chop its ingredients smaller to create a lively salsa.

All these dishes together, customised or not, make a lovely summer holiday family meal. And even if not all the kids are entirely enamoured of all the savoury items (are they ever?), the sundaes will surely leave no one disappointed.

Three quick dips

Serve one or more of these instead of hummus with the falafel, and or with a pile of fresh raw veg crudit?É?í?Ǭ©s: ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Pur?É?í?Ǭ©e or mash cooked cannellini beans with a little minced garlic, a slug of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkling of cumin. Add some finely chopped parsley, if you like.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Drain cooked spinach and squeeze out the excess moisture. Chop finely or pulse in a blender, and mix with cream cheese, grated parmesan, black pepper and a grate of nutmeg.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Mix thick yoghurt with a tiny amount of crushed garlic, a little salt and pepper, and plenty of chopped herbs ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì chives, plus either dill, coriander or mint work well.

Falafel

Delicious warm, but also great cold. Serve in flatbreads or pitta with salad for a main course or with a yoghurt dip for a snack. Makes about 14.

200g dried chickpeas
1 small onion, chopped or grated
2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 small bunch parsley, stalks removed, leaves finely chopped
1 small bunch coriander, stalks removed, leaves finely chopped
1 tsp ground cumin
?É‚Äö?Ǭº tsp chilli flakes (optional)
Salt
2-3 tbsp plain flourGroundnut oil (if frying them)
To serve
Pitta or flatbreads
Lettuce, shredded
Spring onion, finely chopped
Red peppers, finely sliced
Hummus or tahini (or one of my quick dips above)

Put the chickpeas in a large bowl, add cold water to cover by at least 6cm and soak overnight. Next day, drain, tip into a food processor and pulse the uncooked chickpeas, onion and garlic until roughly combined. Add the herbs, cumin, chilli (if using) and some salt, and pulse to a coarse paste. Sprinkle the flour over the mix and pulse until it comes together roughly into a ball. Put into a bowl, cover and refrigerate for a couple of hours.

Roll the mix into balls about the size of walnuts (slightly damp hands will make this job a bit easier). To bake the falafel, heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Line a baking sheet with lightly oiled baking parchment, put the balls on the tray so they’re not touching and bake for 20-25 minutes, rattling the tin halfway through. To fry them, pour 8cm of oil into a deep, heavy-bottomed pan (it shouldn’t come more than a third of the way up the pan) and heat to 180C (that’s the temperature at which a cube of white bread turns golden in less than a minute). Fry in batches until golden, about four minutes, remove with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Roll up in flatbread or stuff pitta with some falafel and salad, and serve trickled with tahini thinned with hot water, spoonfuls of hummus or any of the dips above.

Tomato and sweetcorn salad

This easy, quick salad is colourful and tasty. If you like, tumble some rocket through it, to add a little fiery bite. Serves four as a side dish.

2 sweetcorn
3 large, ripe tomatoes, cut into 1cm cubes
1 shallot, chopped
1 handful coriander or basil leaves
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tsp red-wine vinegar (or the juice of ?É‚Äö?Ǭ? lime)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

There are three ways of preparing the corn. If you grow your own and it’s very fresh, add it raw. Slightly older corn is best lightly simmered or barbecued ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì to simmer it, remove the husks and silk, plunge the corn into boiling water and simmer until tender, about five to 10 minutes, depending on how freshly picked it is; drain, refresh under cold water, then stand upright on a board and run a knife down the sides to remove the kernels. To barbecue it, peel back the husk, pull off the silk, wrap the husk back around the cob and tie at the top with cotton string. Soak in cold water for 15 minutes, then grill over the coals, turning frequently, for 12 minutes. Leave to cool, then cut off the kernels as for boiled corn.

In a bowl, mix the corn kernels with the tomatoes, shallot and herbs. Trickle over the oil and vinegar, toss gently, taste and season.

Berry sundaes with chocolate sauce

An indulgent treat. It’s fun, if messy, to assemble a bowl of berries, whipped cream and nuts, pots of ice-cream and a jug of sauce, and let everyone put together their own pud. Serves six.

200g strawberries, hulled
200g raspberries
3 tbsp caster sugar
For the sauce
200g dark chocolate, broken in pieces
150ml double cream
2 tbsp Golden Syrup
To serve
Vanilla, strawberry or chocolate ice-cream
100ml double cream, lightly whipped
1 small handful toasted almonds or pecans, chopped (optional)

Halve large strawberries lengthways and leave small ones whole. Mix in a bowl with the raspberries and sugar, and macerate for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the sauce. Put the chocolate, cream and syrup in a heatproof bowl, place over a pan of barely simmering water (the water shouldn’t touch the base of the bowl) and stir gently from time to time, until everything is melted into a smooth, rich sauce. Keep warm over the pan until you’re ready to use it.

Layer berries, ice-cream and cream in sundae glasses, and finish with a trickle of sauce. Add a sprinkling of nuts, if you like.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Visiting the south-west over the summer holidays? Join us for A Taste Of River Cottage, where children under 12 get in free; rivercottage.net for details.

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When it’s hot, hot, hot outside, sometimes you need to refresh the parts straight-from-the-bottle snifters cannot reach

Last week’s barbecue feature got me thinking?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶ about drinking. Being master of the barbecue tongs is thirsty work, after all. Of course, I like a very chilly glass of cider or beer, moisture condensing pleasingly down the side of the glass, as much as the next parched person. And certainly, when the mercury’s rising, I’ll happily reach for an icy glass of white or ros?É?í?Ǭ©, or even a fruity tumbler of Pimm’s (must have loads of mint in it, though ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì a justly recurring theme in so many of my favourite summer drinks).

But sometimes I hanker after something more festive, a bit more celebratory and exuberant. And when the garden’s full of herbs and fruit, it’s a bit of a shame not to commandeer some of that produce for concoctions a little more wicked than a fruit salad.

Today, I’m refreshing the parts straight-from-the-bottle snifters cannot reach, mixing and muddling with a happy abandon that a hot high summer cannot fail to induce. I’m not going to intrude on this cheerful mood by the painstaking measuring required for elaborate cocktails ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì I’ll leave all that careful “building” and flashy shaker-juggling to Tom Cruise. I’m after something I can sling together at the end of the day to enjoy before dinner, or generous punches I can serve to friends without playing bartender all night (see today’s recipe for erdbeerbowle).

When I’m putting together a lovely livener, I don’t want it to be let down by poor-quality mixers filled with preservatives and cheap, artificial sweeteners. At River Cottage and at home, we’re big fans of the delicious crushes, cordials, ginger beers and lemonades produced by Luscombe in Buckfastleigh, Devon. For tonics and lemonades, Fever Tree and Fentimans also make drinks fizzing with flavour rather than synthetic ingredients.

But it’s not all about the booze. Sometimes when I want to quench my thirst with something a little more thrilling than water, I might pour a glass of lemonade or tonic perked up with a dash of the fruity vinegar I described here a couple of weeks ago. Alternatively, I might pour a glass of my own perky ginger lemonade or an iced tea flavoured with lemon verbena or mint, both of which add a certain charm to the important business of keeping hydrated. Until next week, cheers.

Three quick snifters

A few of my favourite summer coolers?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ One part elderflower cordial, three parts apple cider brandy, topped up with good fizzy lemonade (see sources above), all over loads of ice.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ A slug of white rum or vodka, a dash of lime cordial, topped up with ginger beer and served with lime wedges.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ A good handful of strawberries or raspberries whizzed in a blender with the juice of an orange and half a lemon, a few ice cubes and two teaspoons of sugar, or to taste. Add light rum if you want to call it a strawberry or raspberry daiquiri.

Erbeerbowle

This pretty punch is a German summer favourite and just the thing if you’re entertaining a crowd on a hot summer evening. Serves about 16.

1kg strawberries, hulled and halved
80g caster sugar
1 lemon, unwaxed if possible
1 bottle crisp white wine, chilled
1 bottle sparkling wine, chilled
Lemon balm or lemon verbena, to garnish

Put the strawberries in a bowl and sprinkle on the sugar. If you don’t have an unwaxed lemon, wash the lemon well in warm water. Peel off thin strips of the zest with a sharp knife or vegetable peeler. Finely chop one peeled lemon zest strip and add the lemon juice and chopped zest to the strawberry bowl. Refrigerate for a couple of hours.

Pour off the strawberry juice into a bowl and put to one side. Tip the strawberries into a large jug, pour over enough of the wine to cover and refrigerate again for another two hours.

Shortly before serving, add the strawberry juice, the remaining wine and the sparkling wine. Serve either in a punch bowl decorated with the remaining strips of lemon, or pour into glasses and serve with lemon zest strips and sprigs of lemon balm or verbena.

Ginger lemonade

A perky, refreshing drink that’s just the thing to quench the thirst after a long morning in the garden. The infused syrup will keep, sealed, in the fridge for a few days ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì add the lemon or lime juice and sparkling water just before serving. Serves about six.

1 big handful fresh mint leaves, stems removed, chopped, plus a few sprigs for serving
1 piece fresh root ginger, about the size of a large thumb, peeled and finely chopped
4 tbsp floral honey
90ml fresh lemon or lime juice
Still or sparkling mineral water
Ice cubes
Slices of lemon or lime, to serve

Combine the chopped mint, ginger, and honey in a medium bowl. Add 450ml of boiling water and leave to steep for 30 minutes. Strain into a measuring jug, pressing down on the solids with the back of a ladle or spoon to get out as much of the infused liquid as possible. Add the lemon or lime juice and enough cold still or sparkling water to make the liquid up to one litre.

Fill glasses with ice cubes and pour over the lemon/limeade. Garnish with mint leaves and lemon or lime slices, and serve.

Watermelon daiquiris

While it might look rather sophisticated, this lovely drink is simplicity itself to throw together, though you do need to freeze the watermelon for a few hours before you want to make it. Serves two to four.

Cubed, deseeded watermelon, enough to come up to about the 500ml mark in a measuring jug
Juice of 1 lime
120ml white rum
2 tbsp triple sec or Cointreau
1 tbsp icing sugar
Wedges of lime and/or little wedges of watermelon, to serve

A few hours before you’d like the drinks, put the cubed watermelon in the freezer. Then, when you’re ready to mix the drinks, squeeze the lime juice into a blender, add the frozen watermelon cubes, rum, triple sec and icing sugar, and blend until smooth.

Pour into two glasses and serve with wedges or slices of lime and/ or watermelon (rind on).

Lemon verbena iced tea

If you don’t have any fresh lemon verbena leaves, use half the quantity of dried leaves, or grab some mint instead. Once it’s infused, you can remove the “tea bag” and keep the tea in the fridge for a day or so. Makes one litre.

2 tbsp loose-leaf black tea (orange pekoe works well), or green tea
4 tbsp fresh lemon verbena leaves, plus more for serving
Honey to taste
Lemon slices (optional)

Wrap the tea and lemon verbena leaves in a small square of muslin and tie it closed with string. Place this “tea bag” in a large one-litre-capacity Kilner-type jar, fill with water and leave in a sunny spot to infuse for a couple of hours (test after the first hour, to check the strength), shaking the jar from time to time to help the infusion along. Remove and discard the “tea bag”, and transfer the jar to the fridge to chill. Sweeten with honey to taste and serve over plenty of ice with more verbena sprigs and slices of lemon, if you like.

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Don’t save barbecues for parties and special occasions ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì they’re far more suited to when you’ve got friends or family over for lunch

As I write, three solid weeks of outstanding barbecue weather have just been broken by a night-long downpour. Has that put me off writing about barbecues? Not at all. I’m sure there’s a load more sunshine on the way. And you know what, even if there isn’t, it really doesn’t matter. Here’s the thing about barbecuing ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì a liberating secret I’d like to share, and one that keen barbecuers should never forget ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì it doesn’t have to be a scorching, sunny day to cook outside over smouldering charcoal or wood. It just has to be not pouring with rain. The rest of the summer may be rubbish, but we’re not actually expecting a biblical 40 days and nights of ceaseless rain? Are we?

It surprises me that we often save barbecues for special occasions or parties when, frankly, it can be quite stressful catering for such numbers over fire. Really, the barbecue is just another agreeable weapon in the thinking cook’s arsenal, more appropriate for a family lunch or friends over for supper than for feeding the whole village/street/cricket team.

Here are a few pointers for making it all go swimmingly (but not in the Noah’s flood sense). Most important of all, you need to light the fire well in advance so the coals are glowing red and covered in a layer of white ash. This will take at least 30 minutes with charcoal, longer with gathered wood. By far the best charcoal, incidentally, is that made from sustainably coppiced British woodland. It’s easy to light, and burns fast and even. And if the heat starts to fade, a quick top-up will have it back in business within 10 minutes.

You need to get the bars really hot to stop food from sticking to them. Better lightly to oil the food and lay it on searing hot bars than attempt to oil the bars themselves. And don’t be tempted to move things about too quickly or too often. You need the food to build up a burned edge at the point of contact with the bars, so it won’t break up or tear when you flip them.

Then you can really give your imagination free rein, cooking everything from whole birds and large pieces of meat (see today’s spatchcocked chicken) to sweet and delicate fruit. I’ve experimented with whole fish wrapped in layers of wet newspaper; oysters and mussels in their shells, which open up miraculously as they cook; and practically the entire contents of the vegetable garden ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì grilled lettuce hearts and spring onions with olive oil and shaved goat’s cheese are a great favourite. But you don’t have to be obsessively experimental. I hear weird tales of people attempting brownies and all sorts of cakey stuff on barbecues, but that seems a bit bonkers to me. They’re never going to be as good as ones made in the oven, are they?

You want your ingredients to be enhanced by barbecuing, not merely to survive it. For me, when it comes to pudding, fruit wins every time, whether in the form of kebabs or halved stone fruit, slices of pineapple or, that barbecue stalwart, the banana. Just add a few scoops of ice-cream for summery perfection. But not until you’ve taken the fruit off the barbecue, obviously?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Five barbecue inspirations

My favourite griller thrillers?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Tomatoes Cut in half lengthways, brush with olive oil and grill, cut side down, for about three minutes.

Garlic Trickle whole garlic bulbs with olive or rapeseed oil, wrap in foil and grill until tender, about 20 minutes. Cool slightly, then squeeze cooked cloves on to steak or toasted bread, or use them to make a?É?í?ǬØoli.

Sardines Rub gutted sardines with a little olive oil and season with chopped garlic, thyme, salt and pepper. Ideally, put them into a barbecue fish basket to make it easier to turn them, and cook for two to three minutes a side.

Fruit kebabs Thread cubes of apple, pear, banana, mango, pineapple, halved figs or plums on to skewers. Brush with honey thinned with a little apple or orange juice and grill over a low, fading barbecue, turning very frequently, until lightly caramelised, about five minutes.

Peaches or nectarines Halve, then brush the cut sides with a little melted butter, sprinkle lightly with brown sugar and grill, cut side down, for three to four minutes. Serve with ricotta, ice-cream or mascarpone and a sprinkling of toasted flaked almonds or chopped hazelnuts.

Roasted artichokes and lemons

These grilled lemons go wonder-fully well with artichokes, but they’re great with barbecued fish, chicken and lamb as well. Serves six as a starter.

6 small to medium-sized artichokes
4 tbsp olive oil
2 large lemons, quartered lengthways
Flaky sea salt

Simmer or steam the artichokes whole until just tender, about 15-25 minutes ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì you can tell they’re done by tugging at one of the lower leaves: it should pull away easily. (Incidentally, if you grow your own, they’ll take less time to cook, so reduce the cooking time to around seven or eight minutes.) Lift the artichokes from the pan and leave for a few minutes to steam and lose some of their moisture, then cut in half lengthways and use a teaspoon to scrape out the hairy choke. Brush the cut sides with olive oil. Brush olive oil over the lemon quarters, place on the grill and cook until just charred on one side, about three minutes, then turn and cook on the other side for two to three minutes. Now grill the artichokes cut side down, until the leaves just begin to char ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì about three minutes. Serve with a trickle of olive oil, a sprinkling of sea salt and the grilled lemons to squeeze over the top.

Yoghurty spatchcocked chicken

Even though you have to be careful about controlling the temperature, cooking a whole chicken on the grill is less trouble than fiddling with lots of drumsticks. This really needs to be done on a relatively low barbecue, to avoid burnt-on-the-outside-but-raw-in-the-middle syndrome. If you are not sure how to spatchcock a bird, ask the butcher to do it for you. Serves six.

1 spatchcocked free-range chicken
Salt
For the marinade
8 tbsp whole milk yoghurt
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Juice of ?É‚Äö?Ǭ? lemon
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp chilli flakes
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp freshly ground black pepper

Mix together all the ingredients for the marinade. Put the chicken in a non-reactive bowl and pour on the marinade. Turn the chicken over with your hands, making sure the marinade gets into every nook and cranny, cover, refrigerate and leave to marinate for at least two hours. Make sure it is at room temperature before grilling. Sprinkle with salt.

Place the bird breast side up towards the edge of the grill where it’s slightly cooler, and cook for 20-25 minutes, then turn over and cook for a further 15-20 minutes, spraying from time to time with a little water if it’s browning too fast. Deploy the lid, if your barbecue has one, or simply use an upturned roasting tin, to reflect the heat back down and semi-roast your barbecuing chicken.

The bird is done when the juices run clear when pierced between the thigh and breast bone (or when it reads 80C on a meat thermometer). Remove from the heat and leave to rest for 10-15 minutes before carving.

Roasted courgette and spring onion tabboule

Courgettes and spring onions are delicious barbecued, but you can also make this salad with other grilled vegetables such as peppers, red onions or aubergines. If you like, toss in some toasted sunflower or pumpkin seeds for crunch and some chopped, dried apricots for sweetness. Serves four to six.

5 courgettes, cut lengthways into 1cm slices
10 spring onions, trimmed
2-3 tbsp olive oil
250g bulgur wheat or couscous
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 handful fresh mint, tough stalks removed and chopped
1 handful fresh parsley, tough stalks removed and chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Brush the courgettes and onions with oil and grill, turning from time to time, for about five minutes, until lightly charred and tender.

Cook the bulgur wheat or couscous according to the packet instructions, toss with the zest of half the lemon, a good squeeze of lemon juice, a trickle of oil and the herbs, season and serve with the grilled vegetables.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Want to join us for one of our Build And Bake courses? Weekend readers get 10% off the usual price. For details, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian, or go to rivercottage.net.

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Vinegar: it’s one of the most useful ingredients in the whole store cupboard

Wherever there has been wine, there has been vinegar, its sharp-tongued twin. I don’t mean this disparagingly. I wouldn’t be without its puckery, palate-bracing charms. From the mildest rice wine vinegar to potent, syrupy, complex balsamic, vinegars perk up my cooking every day.

Vinegar is one of history’s happiest culinary accidents. Who would have thought that sour wine (literally, “vin aigre”) would play such an important role in all the world’s great cuisines, from Tokyo to Burgundy? And, indeed, here in the West Country, where cider vinegar is my reach-for default for dressings and sauces.

The first batch of vinegar was no doubt a great surprise to its owner, a disappointment ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì amusing now, when you think that the finest Italian balsamics command a price to rival the world’s greatest wines. But when air seeped into that first cask, along with a few yeasty spores, allowing the vinegar mother to thrive and grow like some all-consuming alien, it must have been something of a blow. What a credit to whomever then took this throat-rasping liquor and said to themselves, “There must be something useful I can do with this. Now where’s the olive oil?”

There are records of vinegar going back thousands of years. Hippocrates mentions its medicinal properties in the fifth century BC. The Greeks used it to preserve food ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì very important in the days before refrigeration. Caesar’s armies fortified themselves with it. Pliny the Elder wrote that Cleopatra dissolved her pearls in it to impress Mark Antony that she could throw the most expensive banquet in history. Wags, take note?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

I have quite the collection at home, from white-wine vinegars with tarragon (perfect for a b?É?í?Ǭ©arnaise sauce), to brown rice vinegar and homemade red-wine vinegar, made from our (scant) leftovers, which is slowly gathering age and complexity in its special jar. But my beloved cider vinegar comes out more often than the rest put together. I use it not only for most of my dressings, but for most of my pickling, too, where its genuine fruitiness lends far more character than white distilled vinegar or even malt vinegar (save that for the chips).

Recently, I’ve been using quite a bit of apple balsamic vinegar, too ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì the Suffolk company Aspall, still family-run, makes a stunner ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì adding it to recipes or simply mixing it with olive oil to dip bread into, or trickling it over ripe, sliced tomatoes with a sprinkling of salt.

From time to time, I very purposefully reach for rice vinegar, made ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì as its name suggests ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì through the fermentation of sugars derived from rice. Used in Japanese and Chinese cooking, it has a light, sweet flavour with a nice hint of sake about it. It’s great for dressing ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì or the very light pickling of ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì delicate vegetables, such as cucumbers, courgettes, peas and beans, or for using in marinades and sauces for fish or shellfish.

Many vinegars have a great affinity with sweet things, too. Add a spoonful of white-wine or cider vinegar to meringues as you whip them. Some swear a spoonful added to the dough makes pastry especially flaky, so try it next time you make a tart. And vinegar is astonishingly good with fruit. Who didn’t, during the 1990s, trickle a little balsamic over strawberries to create one of the laziest, tastiest puds ever? Try it again, with strawberries, blueberries, cherries, even ripe peaches. It really is delicious.

So let’s hear it for one of the kitchen’s hardest working ingredients. So often, when I think a dish is missing a little something, it turns out to be a vinegar-shaped hole. If forced to choose, by some evil demon, would I pick wine over vinegar? I’m not sure I would. As long as I could have cider, that is?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Sticky apple balsamic spare ribs

These sticky ribs are near-addictively good, and incredibly easy to make. Serves four to six.

1.5kg free-range pork ribs (2 racks)
For the marinade
4 tbsp redcurrant, plum, crab apple or other fruit jelly
3 tbsp apple balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp light muscovado sugar
3 garlic cloves, crushed to a paste
1 tbsp finely grated fresh ginger
?É‚Äö?Ǭ?-1 medium-hot red chilli, finely chopped, or ?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp dried chilli flakes
2 tbsp soy sauce
Steamed rice and wilted greens, to serve

Whisk together all the marinade ingredients. Put the ribs in a large, ovenproof dish, pour the marinade over and, using your hands, turn the ribs around in it so they’re all well coated. Cover and leave to marinate in a cool place for at least an hour, several hours if possible, turning them from time to time.

Heat the oven to 170C/335F/gas mark 3. Turn the ribs in their marinade one final time, cover the dish with foil and bake for 45 minutes. Raise the temperature to 190C/375F/gas mark 5.

Remove the foil and turn the ribs again, basting them with the sauce. Return the uncovered dish to the oven and cook for 35-45 minutes longer, turning and basting the ribs two or three more times, until they are glossy and dark and coated in the caramelised sauce.

Lift the ribs on to a serving plate and spoon any remaining sauce over them. Leave until they are cool enough to pick up with your fingers, then tuck in. Serve with steamed rice and wilted greens.

Chilli dipping sauce

This easy sauce is delicious with deep-fried squid, tempura vegetables and Thai fish or crab cakes. It will keep, sealed in a jar, for a week, and is the perfect thing to perk up all manner of dressings and marinades. Before serving, when the sauce is cool, add some chopped coriander if you like, too.

3 tbsp redcurrant or crab apple jelly
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 tsp soy sauce
1 red chilli, deseeded and very finely chopped
1 small garlic clove, very finely chopped
A few twists black pepper

Tip all of the ingredients into a small saucepan and stir over a very low heat until the fruit jelly has dissolved and you are left with a silky syrup.

Bring up to a simmer and allow to bubble gently for a few minutes ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì this will mellow the harshness of the garlic. Set aside to cool and serve at room temperature. If the sauce re-sets to a jelly when it’s cool, simply whisk in a splash of warm water.

Tarragon vinegar

Use this vinegar in mayonnaise to dress egg or chicken salads, or in a light vinaigrette to dress still-warm potatoes, French beans or leeks. Makes about 500ml.

500ml white-wine or cider vinegar
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp pink peppercorns (optional)
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp black peppercorns (optional)
6 large sprigs French tarragon

Pour the vinegar into a Kilner-type jar and add the peppercorns and tarragon. Seal and refrigerate for a couple of weeks. Strain, discard the herbs, and seal in sterilised bottles.

Strawberry vinegar

This works equally well with raspberries, blackcurrants or blackberries, too. It’s a recipe from the queen of all things bottled and jarred, Pam Corbin, who wrote River Cottage Handbook 2: Preserves (Bloomsbury, ?É‚Äö?Ǭ£12.99). Use in salad dressing, trickled over goat’s cheese or ice cream, or as a cordial to make refreshing summer drinks. Makes 1.5 litres.

1kg strawberries
600ml cider vinegar or white-wine vinegar
Granulated sugar

Put the fruit in a bowl and crush lightly with a wooden spoon. Add the vinegar, cover and leave to steep for four to five days, stirring occasionally. Pour the fruit and vinegar into a scalded jelly bag or piece of muslin suspended over a bowl, and leave to drain overnight. You can squeeze it a bit if you like.

Measure the liquid, pour into a saucepan and add 450g of sugar for every 600ml of fruit vinegar. Over a low heat, bring gently to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Boil for eight to 10 minutes, removing any scum as it rises. Take off the heat and set aside to cool. When cold, bottle and seal. Use within 12 months.

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What to eat on a hot summer’s day? You could do a whole lot worse than a bowl of cold soup

I’m an optimistic sort. As I write, this morning’s gloom has just been banished by glorious unpredicted sunshine, now streaming through the window and blurring my computer screen. Surely it’s a sign. As if the weather gods were trying to tell me something important: “Yes, Hugh, this summer really will be lovely. Not like last year’s debacle, honest. We won’t let you down. OK, let’s not mention barbecues, just in case. But feel free to write about chilled soups?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶” Great! Thanks! It’ll be my pleasure.

First off, being soups, they’re incredibly simple to make. And being chilled soups, they’re particularly laid-back and forgiving. No heart-sink instructions to “serve immediately”, rather “serve in a few hours, when you’re ready, in your own time. Would you like a beer first?” Chill while your soup is chilling, in other words.

Gazpacho is perhaps the best-known chilled soup of them all (just don’t tell the borscht or the vichysoisse). From Andaluc?É?í?Ǭ?a, the southern-most province of Spain, this refreshing combination of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, olive oil, vinegar and garlic has rather humble origins as a quick lunch to cool and nourish field labourers. But today’s white gazpacho is even older. Some say it’s a soupy descendant of the Roman habit of dipping bread into vinegar, others that it arrived in Spain with the Moors in the eighth century and is based on an Arab soup of bread, olive oil, water and garlic. It was only when the conquistadors brought tomatoes back from the Americas to Spain that it turned into the red soup we know today.

Vichysoisse, a silky mixture of potatoes, leeks, onions and cream, was invented in the early 1900s by Louis Diat, head chef at the Ritz Carlton in New York. I’ve played around with the original, tossing in lettuce and cucumber, and I’d urge you to play, too. Use whatever lettuce you have to hand, try courgettes instead of cucumbers, and throw in some sorrel or watercress if the mood, and the veg plot, suggests it.

Borscht ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì that unbeatably hued soup originally from the Ukraine but enjoyed all over the eastern European borscht belt ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì is, of all today’s soups, the one that benefits most from being made well ahead. Its paler cousins are better chilled for no more than four hours, or their flavours begin to lose their vitality. The borscht just gets better the next day. The beets go on, you could say.

Whizzing your veg into chilled soups really allows the flavours to shine. But their very simplicity will show up shoddy ingredients like nothing else. Use the freshest produce you can, thin with the best stock, and season carefully.

It’s funny, but it always feels rather grown up, rather elegant, to serve a chilled soup, but when all the guests are gone and it’s just me and the fridge, I’m happy the next day to discover any leftovers. After a sticky morning working in the garden, a chilly bowlful makes the perfect quick, refreshing lunch. It makes me wonder why I don’t make chilled soups more often, just for us. Well, this summer I will.

White gazpacho

Read the recipe, and you might imagine you’re going to come up with a kind of oily bread goo. But bear with me. This classic Spanish ajo blanco is simple, elegant and delicious. It’s really worth the trouble of buying unblanched almonds and peeling them yourself. It’s not such an awful job, and the flavour is far better. If you prefer, finish the soup with little slices of melon or crisp apple instead of the grapes. Serves six.

140g almonds, unblanched are much better if possible
170g good white bread, stale and trimmed of its crust
2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
Salt
About 220ml extra-virgin olive oil
3-4 tbsp sherry vinegar
Green grapes, to garnish
First, blanch the almonds by dropping them into a pan of boiling water and simmering for about 30 seconds, and certainly no more than a minute. Drain, refresh under the cold tap, then peel by squeezing between your thumb and forefinger.

Soak the bread in just enough cold water to cover for around 10 minutes. While it’s soaking, put the garlic and almonds in a food processor and pulse until smooth. Add the bread, drained of the water, and about half a teaspoon of salt, and blitz until smooth. Gradually trickle in the oil through the feed tube until the soup is the consistency of cream, then add the vinegar. Add a little more salt or vinegar to taste

For a very fine texture, press through a sieve into a container, cover and refrigerate for a couple of hours. Serve in chilled bowls with halved grapes floating on the top.

Cucumber and lettuce vichysoisse

Pretty, green and light, this is a great way to start a summer meal. Serves six.

50g unsalted butter
2 leeks (white part only), sliced
1 large, floury potato, peeled and cut into large chunks
1 litre chicken or vegetable stock
2 cucumbers, peeled and cubed
2 Little Gem lettuces, shredded
3 tbsp double cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
For the croutons
4 slices of white bread
4 tbsp olive oil, for frying
Chives and/or cr?É?í?Ǭ®me fra?É?í?ǬÆche, to serve

Melt the butter in a large pan and sweat the leeks until soft. Add the potato and stock, bring to a boil and simmer until the potato is almost cooked. Add the cucumbers and lettuce, and simmer for four minutes. Remove the potato with a slotted spoon and rub it through a sieve into a bowl. Strain the veg, reserving the liquid, then pur?É?í?Ǭ©e in a blender along with a little stock until smooth. Tip everything back into the pan and stir in two tablespoons of double cream. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and chill for a couple of hours.

Cut the bread into cubes and fry on a medium-high heat until golden brown. Serve the chilled soup with croutons, chopped chives and/or a swirl of cr?É?í?Ǭ®me fra?É?í?ǬÆche.

Beetroot soup

Roasting the beetroot adds a greater depth of flavour. The tartness of the sour cream is great with the sweet, earthy soup. Serves four to six.

550g beetroot
4?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tbsp olive oil
2 bay leaves
2 thyme sprigs
4 garlic cloves, 2 unpeeled and bashed, 2 peeled and minced
1 onion, diced
1 small carrot, diced
800ml good vegetable stock
4 tbsp sour cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Fronds of dill, to garnish

Give the beetroot a scrub, but leave the roots and part of the tops attached. Toss in a roasting pan with three tablespoons of olive oil, the bay, thyme sprigs and the bashed, unpeeled garlic, cover tightly with foil and roast at 200C/400F/gas mark 6 for 60-75 minutes, until you can pierce them easily with a knife. Leave to cool slightly, then peel (the skins should just slip off) and chop into 2.5cm cubes.

Warm the remaining oil in a saucepan over a medium-low heat and saut?É?í?Ǭ© the onion until soft, for around 15 minutes, add the carrot and saut?É?í?Ǭ© for a further five minutes. Add the beetroot and garlic, stir for a minute or two, then add the stock. Simmer for 20 minutes, set aside to cool a little, then pur?É?í?Ǭ©e until very smooth. Thin with a little stock or water if too thick, taste, season, cover and chill for at least four hours or overnight ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì it’s even better served the day after you’ve made it.

To serve, ladle the soup into bowls and serve with a swirl of sour cream and a sprinkling of dill.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Want to join us at River Cottage for one of our Preserved Days, taught by Pam Corbin? Guardian readers get 10% off the usual price. To book, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian.

Last week, Hugh won two awards at the Guild of Food Writers Awards 2010, the Evelyn Rose award for Cookery Journalist of the Year for this weekly column, the other the New Media of the Year award for his work with Landshare.

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There’s not much that heralds the onset of summer as much as a new-season carrot ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì so get grating, chopping, roasting, even baking now

The carrot is the banana of the vegetable world; that is to say, iconic. No doubt Bugs Bunny, and the fact that we’d all rather have a carrot than a stick, has played a role in that, but the real reason is that it is so central to our cooking culture ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and most of the world’s, come to that. After the potato, what’s the first thing on the veg shopping list? The carrot.

As well as boiling them to oblivion in institutional kitchens up and down the land, we also do some very agreeable things with carrots: crunch them raw, grate them into salads, toss them into stews, roast them and even bake them in cakes. There’s something fundamentally comforting about carrots, their sweetness, their cheerful colour, so it’s surprising to note that they’re a relatively recent addition to our table. True, they’re listed in the record of plants grown in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in the 8th century BC, but they were probably grown for their foliage and seeds. They were certainly grown in Afghanistan as far back as the 7th century, but those examples were purple and rather bitter. Jane Grigson, in her excellent Vegetable Book, described how ladies in the Stuart court wore its leafy foliage like plumes in their hats and hair.

But it took the breathtakingly energetic Dutch gardeners of the 17th and 18th centuries to breed a carrot that we, and Bugs Bunny, might recognise today. And thank goodness they did.

I am particularly grateful to them at this time of year when I begin to pull up the first exquisite specimens, no bigger than my little finger and with a sweetness that would rival any confectionary. At River Cottage and at home, I grow nantes and chantenay for nibbling on throughout summer. They’re best sown directly into the soil, which I’ve worked to a decent depth of fine tilth to allow them to grow long and straight without any comical, Esther Rantzen-worthy malformations. They need plenty of water and protection from carrot fly ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì companion planting with onions, chives or spring onions helps a lot. But, all in all, they’re one of the least demanding and most rewarding veg in the plot.

When you get them into the kitchen, don’t peel the youngest carrots because there’s so much flavour in their tender skins. Just give them a decent wash and tuck in. With new-season carrots ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì as opposed to those winter workhorses, the large, donkey-friendly roots that simmer their sweetness into thick, comforting stews ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì I eat them raw with dips, sliced into long, thin batons for salads dressed lightly in lemon juice and olive oil, perhaps with a scattering of toasted nuts; I cut them into batons and stir-fry them, or gently steam them whole, dress with a little butter and parsley, and serve alone or with a handful of broad beans and/or peas. Once they get half an inch or more thick at the base, I leave them whole and lightly roast them, as in today’s recipe.

It’s a family affair, too. Carrots are part of the umbelliferae clan, along with dill, caraway, chervil, parsley and cumin, with all of which they have a wonderful culinary affinity, the earthy or sprightly nature of the rest adding depth to the carrot’s addictive sweetness.

So enjoy your carrots this week, either using these recipes for inspiration or whipping up carroty concoctions of your own. For now, as Bugs would say, that’s all folks.

Roast carrots with butter and cumin

A fantastic side dish for roast meats, and a great way to serve small to medium (as opposed to baby) new-season carrots. If you have only larger ones, cut into batons, before tossing in butter. Serves four to six.

1 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil
1 large knob of unsalted butter
750g carrots ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì small ones scrubbed and halved lengthways, large ones peeled and cut into thick batons
2 tsp cumin seeds
Finely grated zest of 1 orange, plus some juice
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Put the oil and butter into a large roasting dish and leave in an oven preheated to 180C/350F/gas mark 4 for a couple of minutes, until the butter melts. Remove from the oven and add the carrots, cumin and plenty of seasoning. Toss together, cover with foil and return to the oven or 30-40 minutes, until the carrots are tender.

Remove from the oven, take off the foil and give everything a good stir. Return to the oven, uncovered, for about 20-30 minutes, so the carrots start to caramelise.

Take the dish out of the oven, stir in the orange zest and a good squeeze or two of the juice, and serve at once.

Carrot, orange and chervil salad

A light, bright and refreshing salad that’s a great combination of sweet, tart, soft and crunch. I particularly like to serve it alongside smoked fish ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì I sometimes even toss flakes of warm kipper or smoked mackerel fillet into the salad, too. Serves two to three.

2 oranges
2 small carrots (or 1 large one)
50-60g mixed pumpkin and sunflower (or other seeds)
A few sprigs of chervil or tender parsley
For the dressing
1 tbsp lemon juice or cider vinegar
1 tbsp sunflower oil
2 tbsp rapeseed or extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Cut the top and bottom off one of the oranges, so that you can stand it on a chopping board. Using a small, sharp knife, work your way around the orange, cutting off the peel and pith in strips so the juicy flesh is exposed. Then, holding the peeled orange in the palm of your hand and working over a bowl to catch the juice, slice down as close as you can to the sides of each membrane, and release the fruit segments. Drop these into the bowl as you go. Repeat with the other orange.

Peel the carrots and, using a sharp knife or a mandolin, cut into matchsticks. Add these and the seeds to the orange segments, and toss to mix.

To make the dressing, whisk together all the ingredients, along with any juice you’ve collected from peeling the oranges. Add the chervil or parsley to the salad along with the dressing, toss and serve at once.

Carrot dip

Tinker with this dip to get just the balance of creaminess or fire that suits you. Add more cr?É?í?Ǭ®me fra?É?í?ǬÆche or yoghurt if you prefer it on the creamy side, more chilli if you like the heat. Makes enough for four people as a nibble to go with drinks.

About 750g carrots, peeled
2 tsp cumin seeds
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp freshly squeezed orange juice
4 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
?É‚Äö?Ǭº-?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp chilli powder (or use a spicy paste such as harissa)
2 tbsp cr?É?í?Ǭ®me fra?É?í?ǬÆche or Greek-style yogurt
2 tbsp chopped parsley (optional)
1 tsp rapeseed oil
Salt and pepper
Crudit?É?í?Ǭ©s, tempura vegetables and/or warm flatbreads to serve

Cut the carrots into small batons and steam until very soft, then mash them or pass them through a mouli. Warm three-quarters of the cumin seeds and all the coriander seeds in a dry frying pan until just fragrant ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì 30 to 60 seconds ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì then grind to a fine powder in a pestle and mortar (or crush in a small bowl with the end of a rolling pin).

When the carrots are cold, add the ground spices, citrus juices, chilli, yoghurt and parsley, if using. Adjust the quantities to suit you, and season to taste. When ready to serve, warm the oil in a frying pan over a medium heat, add the remaining cumin seeds and fry for a few seconds until just fragrant. Trickle over the carrot dip and serve with crudit?É?í?Ǭ©s, tempura vegetables and/or flatbread.

Want to join us on for a day of meat curing and smoking (next course on 28 June)? We have an exclusive 10% off offer to Guardian readers. For details, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian;rivercottage.net for more details.

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American muffins don’t have to be heavy and sugary. Made well, they can be tasty, light and, best of all, a cinch. What’s more, they don’t have to be sweet, either

I feel a bit sorry for the muffin. Not the yeasty, bready, English ones ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì the centrepiece of many a jammy afternoon tea ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì but their cakey American counterparts. Too often, we associate them with the sweet, cellophane-wrapped offerings on many a coffee-chain counter, cloying with too much sugar and sticky with cheap oil, or worthily stuffed with bran and heavy enough to take out a bear at 20 paces, if you have a half-decent throwing arm.

But it doesn’t have to be so. They can be tasty, light and flavoursome, and, better yet, they’re incredibly easy to make. Personally, I’m particularly partial to a savoury muffin. You can whip up a batch in half an hour and have a perfect homemade offering to tuck into lunchboxes and picnic baskets, to enjoy as a mid-morning or mid-afternoon snack, or to serve with soup as a quirky alternative to a bread roll.

Savoury muffins are a great way of using up the garden’s bounty, too. If you have abundant courgettes, carrots, beetroot, spinach (or even a few handfuls wallowing in the salad drawer, about to expire from neglect), whip them into a batch of muffins. I’m not saying this because it’s a good way of ensuring your five a day ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì though it is ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì but because grated or pur?É?í?Ǭ©ed vegetables are delicious and help to keep a savoury muffin moist, light and, well, savoury.

I hope you’ll try my recipes today, but I hope you’ll also use them as a blueprint to create your own. It’s kind of like fancy bread-making without all the hassle of proving dough. So, experiment with different flours ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì substitute a third of the flours used here with cornmeal, buckwheat or spelt. Toss some grated apple in with grated carrot, try them with different cheeses ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì dollops of soft goat’s cheese or cubed feta stirred into the mix work well. Add a handful of toasted nuts and be generous with the herbs. Stir in some chopped olives or strips of roasted red pepper. Roasted and pur?É?í?Ǭ©ed squash or sweet potato with a few grinds of nutmeg are delicious later in the year, too.

I have a few tips to avoid the bear-missile situation. First, and perhaps most importantly, work quickly. Fold the ingredients in with a spatula until only just combined. This will ensure the finished result is light, not rubbery. I use yoghurt or buttermilk to moisten, because it gives a good flavour and pleasing texture. If you don’t have buttermilk, just add a good squeeze of lemon juice to whole milk and leave it for 10 minutes or so before adding to the mix.

When it comes to ladling the batter into the muffin tin (you will need a proper, deep-cupped muffin tin, but they’re easy to get hold of and pretty cheap), use an ice-cream scoop if you have one. It ensures you get evenly-sized muffins that bake at the same rate. Alternatively, use a large spoon and rub it with a little cooking oil, which helps the batter slip off easily. When you get them out of the oven, leave them to cool in a tin for a few minutes, so they firm up a bit, then transfer to a rack. They’re best eaten on the day you make them ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì while they’re still warm, if possible ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì but will freeze quite well for a month, too.

Courgette and pine nut muffins

In summer, I like to toss hot pasta with saut?É?í?Ǭ©ed courgettes, pine nuts and parmesan. The combination works very well in a muffin, too. Makes 12.

200g plain flour
40g jumbo oats
2 tsp baking powder
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp bicarbonate of soda
1-2 tsp flaky sea salt (depending on how salty your parmesan is)
A few grinds of black pepper
8 large basil leaves, shredded
60g parmesan, coarsely grated, plus another 20g or so to sprinkle on top
2 eggs
250g whole milk yoghurt
4 tbsps olive or rapeseed oil
200g courgettes, coarsely grated
40g cup pine nuts, toasted
40g sultanas

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6 and line a muffin tin with 12 paper cases.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, oats, baking powder, bicarb, salt, pepper, basil and parmesan. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, yoghurt and oil, pour this over the dry ingredients and stir with a spatula until roughly combined ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì don’t overmix. Add the courgettes, pine nuts and sultanas, and stir just until evenly distributed.

Spoon or scoop the batter into the muffin tin and sprinkle over the rest of the parmesan. Bake for about 18 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of a muffin comes out clean.

Red onion, cheddar and bacon muffins

These strong flavours work well together, but you can always play around with the combinations. Try spring onions instead of red, pancetta instead of bacon, and any strong cheese in place of the cheddar. Makes 12.

1 tsp oil
100g streaky bacon, cut into 1cm pieces
1 red onion, finely diced
250g wholemeal self-raising flour
2 tsp baking powder
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp bicarbonate of soda
?É‚Äö?Ǭº tsp salt
2 eggs
80g unsalted butter, melted and cooled
200ml buttermilk
1 tbsp finely chopped chives (optional)
150g strong cheddar, grated

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6 and line a muffin tin with 12 paper cases.

Warm the oil over a medium heat and fry the bacon in it until just crisp. Lift the bacon from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper. In the same fat, saut?É?í?Ǭ© the onion until just softened, about five minutes, then set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt. In a jug, whisk the eggs, butter and buttermilk, stir them into the flour mixture with a spatula until just combined, then fold in the cooled bacon, onion, chives, if using, and two-thirds of the cheese until just evenly distributed.

Spoon or scoop the mixture into the muffin tin, sprinkle on the rest of the cheese, and bake for about 18 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick inserted into the centre of a muffin comes out clean.

Carrot, spinach and cumin muffins

Cumin adds great flavour to these muffins, and the seeds add a little crunch. If you don’t have pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds make a good substitute, or use a combination of the two. Makes 12.

80g unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus 10g for frying
1 onion, finely diced
2 tsp ground cumin
150g spinach, tough stalks removed and very finely shredded
250g plain flour
2 tsp baking powder
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp bicarbonate of soda
1?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp salt
2 eggs
275g whole milk yoghurt
150g carrots, grated
40g pumpkin seeds, toasted

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6 and line a muffin tin with 12 paper cases.

Warm the 10g of butter in a large frying pan and saut?É?í?Ǭ© the onion with a pinch of salt until soft and translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the cumin, stir for a minute, then add the spinach and stir until wilted and soft. Cool.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt. In a jug, whisk the melted butter, eggs and yoghurt. Pour the wet ingredients over the flour and stir with a spatula until just combined. Fold in the cooled onions and spinach, the carrots and seeds. Spoon into the cases and bake for about 18 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Visit River Cottage in August for just ?É‚Äö?Ǭ£11 ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì go to rivercottage.net for details.

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Jelly is back in vogue ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and about time, too

I’m guessing I have only to say the word “jelly” to bring a smile to your face. Or, if you’re really slow in the mornings, perhaps I have to say “wibble wobble” as well.

Ah, jelly?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶ So much the childhood party favourite, layered with tinned fruit, served with evaporated milk or ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì let joy be unconfined ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì ice-cream. But it was once a very grand pud indeed. In the days of expensive gelatine, and before there was a fridge in every kitchen, its presence on the dining table was a mark of sophistication and success. Well, it seems jelly is going through something of a revival. It’s eager to reclaim its elegant, transparently lovely place in our hearts. London pair Bompas & Parr, self-proclaimed jellymongers, have carved, or moulded, a niche for themselves by making fabulous jellies for the fashionable crowd. And there’s nothing stopping you from giving them a go at home. They may not be in the forms of castles and cathedrals, they may not fluoresce, but they will, I promise, be quiveringly delicious.

Essentially, all you need to do is make a liquid, a syrup, an infusion, sweetened and perfumed with the flavours of the season. This could include primroses or even lilacs in spring, apple or pears in autumn, citrus in winter. But, for my money, summer is the time when jelly really comes into its own, with the abundance of berries just begging to be captured in clear, jewel-like magnificence.

But here’s the problem. It seems many suffer from jelly anxiety. More specifically, setting anxiety. Don’t. Plunge in. There are many different setting agents around, from agar agar flakes, carrageen moss and powdered gelatine to leaf gelatine in various grades from bronze through to platinum. Pick one. Get to know it, learn how it reacts with various fruits and liquids ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì specifically, alcohol, which inhibits setting a bit. At River Cottage, we most often use silver-grade leaf gelatine and we have good results with it. It has bothered me for a while, though, that it has been so hard to track down an organic source of leaf gelatine, so I’m rather excited to discover that Doves Farm, the flour people, have developed a new, organic pork-based gelatine that’ll go on sale later in the year .

I know you might well be tempted to take a belt-and-braces approach and just chuck in a bit more gelatine to be on the safe side. Resist, resist. You want as little as you can get away with to guarantee that seductive, melt-on-the tongue, quivering etherealness, rather than the feeling of chewing on cheap sweets. To quote Constance Spry, your concoction should “shiver like a jelly, not just hold its shape”. So follow the manufacturer’s instructions as to how much of the product will set how much liquid, adding a little less, if you dare, and a little more only if the jelly contains alcohol. Now there’s an idea?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Sparkling strawberry jelly

“Champagne” jellies can often be, well, a bit flat. By making sure that the jelly is only just still liquid and the fizz very, very cold when you pour it in, you ensure as many bubbles as possible are captured in your fruity pud. Serves six.

250g strawberries
150g caster sugar
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Zest and juice of 1 orange
5 gelatine leaves (we use silver-grade)
500ml sparkling wine (English, preferably)

Hull the strawberries and pop them in a pan along with the caster sugar, citrus zest and juice, and 250ml water. Simmer for five minutes, until the strawberries are soft. Strain, either through a jelly bag or tied in two thicknesses of muslin and suspended over a large pan, to get a strawberry syrup ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì squeeze it a bit, if you like, to get out as much syrup as possible.

Soak the gelatine in cold water for five to 10 minutes to soften. While they’re softening, warm the syrup in a pan ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì do not let it boil; you want it just hot enough to dissolve the gelatine. Drain the gelatine leaves in a sieve for a minute, then stir into the hot, fruity liquid until they dissolve. Set aside to cool, then chill in the fridge until it’s quite thick and syrupy.

While you’re waiting for it to thicken, put a bottle of sparkling wine in the freezer (you want to freeze it for at least 30-40 minutes. Heresy, I know, but it works for our purposes). When both syrup and wine are very cold, pour 500ml of the sparkling wine slowly down the side of the bowl and into the jelly ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì the more slowly you pour, the less it will foam, which is what you want. Pour gently into a serving dish or dishes, cover and refrigerate until set, at least four hours.

Gooseberry and elderflower jelly

A pretty and delicate summer jelly. Serve with a splash of very cold double cream. Serves six to eight.

450g gooseberries
150g caster sugar
6-8 fresh elderflower heads (or 30ml elderflower cordial)
45ml white wine
5 gelatine leaves

Put the gooseberries into a non-reactive pan with the sugar and 750ml water. Warm over a medium-low heat, stirring, until the sugar dissolves, then simmer for five minutes or so, until the gooseberries are soft and starting to break down. Add the elderflowers and stir for a couple of minutes (if you’re using cordial, hold off with that until later). Remove from the heat and allow to infuse for 20 minutes. Strain through a jelly bag, or tie in a double layer of muslin and suspend over a large pan, squeezing slightly to extract the liquor. Add the wine (and the cordial, if using). Taste, add a little more sugar, if necessary, and stir to dissolve.

Soak the gelatine for five to 10 minutes in cold water. While it’s soaking, warm the gooseberry liquid until hot but not boiling. Drain the gelatine in a sieve for a minute, then stir into the gooseberry liquid until dissolved. Pour into a bowl or bowls, cool, cover and refrigerate for at least six hours.

Yoghurt and vanilla panna cotta

One of our most popular puds at River Cottage. Not a jelly, sure, but silky, set perfection nonetheless. Serve on its own, with a little shortbread biscuit and/or a few ripe berries. Serves eight.

200ml whole milk
550ml double cream
75g unrefined caster sugar
3 vanilla pods, split
4 leaves of gelatine
300g whole milk yoghurt

Stir the milk, cream, sugar and vanilla pods together in a pan over a medium-low heat until the sugar dissolves and tiny bubbles begin to appear around the edge. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly.

Soak the gelatine in cold water for five to 10 minutes. Strain through a sieve. Add to the warm milk and cream mixture and stir until dissolved. Pass through a sieve into a bowl and leave to cool. Run a small, sharp knife down the inside of each vanilla pod and stir the sticky black seeds into the creamy mixture. (Wash and dry the pods, and use them to make vanilla sugar later.) Mix in the yoghurt until smooth. Pour the mixture into ramekins or dariole moulds, cover and chill for eight hours or overnight.

Just before serving, dip the moulds in hot water for a few seconds, then turn them out on to plates.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ A special offer for Guardian readers: come and preserve with our expert Pam Corbin, using up those summer gluts, on Monday 6 July; ?É‚Äö?Ǭ£130. To book, call 01297 630302 or go to rivercottage.net

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