From Cliff Richard’s passion for chicken tikka to Noel Gallagher’s favourite cuppa and Tinie Tempah’s love of seafood linguine, music stars give us a taste of their favourite foods and drinks

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Tinie Tempah loves seafood

Life is good when you’re Tinie Tempah. The Plumstead-raised artist – otherwise known as Patrick Chukwuemeka Okogwu Jr – has won a tonne of praise for uniting the disparate music scenes of grime, underground rave and radio-friendly pop without selling any of them out. He’s had two No 1 singles, a No 1 album and two Brit awards.

One of the fringe benefits of fame is that you get to discover new experiences in eating. Born in London to Nigerian parents, Tinie has always appreciated his food. He reminisces about an “amazing” roast chicken with garlic and thyme jus that he had at the Salon Millesime in the Carlton Hotel, New York. “They warned me it would take 45 minutes. After about 35 minutes, they brought out an almost-cooked chicken and told me it was coming along nicely, and 10 minutes later I ate the best chicken I’ve ever had.”

Whenever he visits a new country, Tinie heads off the beaten track to try some traditional food – the old town in Dubai or backstreet places in Australia. “Didn’t enjoy kangaroo,” he says. “It was like a cross between beef and chicken, smoky and really chewy.” He’s kept a picture of the receipt on his phone: stubbie, stubbie, stubbie, kangaroo … and chips.

Nigerian food is a fundamental part of his life. It’s what he grew up with and it builds up the palate because it’s packed with flavour. “Nigerian food is lots of flavour, lots of tomato purée, rice, yam, beans… it’s a whole load of stuff, really good.” His favourite would be pounded yam with egusi soup, a savoury soup with meat and spinach which exists in countless variants across West Africa.

He has a couple of favourite Nigerian restaurants, both on the Old Kent Road in south-east London: the classy 805 and the more home-style Presidential Suya Grill. They’re both family-run businesses, friendly and personal. Presidential, in particular, is one of those places where you feel like you’re in Nigeria, he says. “There is a real nice atmosphere. When I come back from travelling the world, I do like to go there and chill. It’s humbling.”

He’s a recent convert to seafood. Tinie used to be apprehensive about shellfish and squid. Then he saw that his Maltese mate, who ate it all the time, was light on his feet and full of energy, whereas a steak would wipe Tinie out. Then he tried a seafood linguine, “and all my prayers were answered. It just felt right – it was light but it filled me up. I could still run around and do my thing.”

The recipe: Seafood linguine

Serves four as a starter.

325g linguine
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
A knob of butter
75ml olive oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1 red onion, peeled and finely chopped
200g raw prawns, peeled and deveined
4 large scallops, shelled, cleaned and halved
4 langoustines, cleaned
The tail of 1 small lobster, cooked, peeled and sliced
4 ripe plum tomatoes, peeled,

deseeded and diced
8 basil leaves, finely chopped
100g clams, cleaned
Lemon juice, to taste (about ½ lemon)
A pinch of dried chilli flakes
Lemon wedges, to serve

Three-quarters fill a large saucepan with water and bring to a boil. Add the linguine and a good pinch of salt, and cook over medium heat for 10 minutes, or until just cooked.

Meanwhile, heat a large frying pan over a medium heat. Add the butter and all but a dash of the oil, and gently fry the garlic and onion until soft. Add the prawns, scallops, langoustines and lobster tail slices, and fry quickly for about two minutes.

As soon as the pasta is cooked, drain, toss with a dash of olive oil and add to the frying pan, along with the tomatoes, basil, salt, pepper and clams. Pop the lid on the pan for a minute, or until the clams open, then remove from the heat.

Divide between four warm pasta bowls and finish with a squeeze of fresh lemon, a sprinkling of chilli flakes and salt to taste. Serve with a wedge of lemon on the side.

Johnny Borrell loves salmon

Johnny Borrell was a latecomer to the kitchen. “But cooking’s creative – it’s the same impulse as writing or painting. If you’ve got that interest, it will transfer to cooking. There’s the macho gamesmanship aspect, too. I’ve got at least three friends who reckon they’re the best cooks in the world – as all blokes do.”

He likes to cook dishes that take plenty of time: “Something with the quality of a grand project. Get a few cod fillets and leave them salting in your airing cupboard for a week, to get that deep flavour. Something epic.”

Borrell grew up on fish fingers, chips and pizza, and discovered food by travelling the world with his band, Razorlight. (They chose to sign with Universal in part because the label took them out for a better meal than rival bidders.) Most bands don’t take enough advantage of the places they visit, he says, but Razorlight consult the Zagat guide and try to go local.

At home he loves the Bell in Oxfordshire. “I’ll turn up starving and without fail they’ve got an incredible hot, crusty roll with coarse Ardennes pâté.” And the Food Lab in Islington does a brilliant Italian-English breakfast. Then there’s the temple of nose-to-tail eating, St John in Smithfield. “It’s not for the squeamish – it’s brains and hearts and tails – but I’m not squeamish. There’s nothing I wouldn’t eat off their menu.”

But the best thing he’s ever eaten was a little less exalted. When Borrell was first trying to become a musician, he lived on the dole with a friend who wanted to be a writer. One week their benefits didn’t come through and they applied for – “This sounds very dramatic” – a hardship loan. They queued for three hours, filled in the forms and waited. “We’d spent all our money on alcohol and cigarettes, and hadn’t eaten in two days.” When the £35 loan came through, they ran straight to Safeway on Holloway Road, bought lamb chops and ran home. “The feeling of just getting these chops home was sheer delight. We chucked them in the pan – I think we seared them for only a minute on each side – and just devoured them. It’s got to be the most satisfying thing I’ve ever eaten. That’s my Proustian lamb chop, the one I’ll always remember. It’ll never get better than that.”

The recipe: Smoked salt and chilli crispy-skin salmon

Serves four.

Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tbsp smoked sea salt flakes
½ tbsp chopped fresh parsley
½ tsp dried chilli flakes
4 salmon fillets, about 150g each, descaled
Oil, for brushing and frying
4 tbsp soy sauce

In a small bowl, mix together the lemon zest, smoked sea salt, parsley and chilli flakes. Put to one side.

Check over the salmon for pin bones, removing any you come across. Lay the fillets skin-side up on a board and score the skin with a sharp knife. Brush with some oil and rub in most of the salt mixture.

Heat a large frying pan over a high heat and add a little oil. Lay the salmon skin-side down in the pan, fry for three minutes, then turn over and sprinkle with half of the lemon juice. Cook for another minute or two, until the fish is cooked through.

Transfer to warm plates, drizzle with the soy sauce and finish with the remaining salt mixture and a squeeze of lemon.

VV Brown loves Marmite

“My boyfriend says I’m a bit of a jazz cook,” VV Brown says. “I experiment, chuck everything in. You don’t know what you’ll get until you try.” Her successes include lamb joint glazed with chilli sauce and wine, and putting couscous in a pineapple and refrigerating it overnight: “You get pineapple-flavoured couscous in its own bowl.” Among her disasters, salad cream on mince: “It went hard in the fridge and looked disgusting.”

Her parents ran a school in Northampton, and the dinner lady was her Auntie Corinne, who cooked fish and chips, Caribbean and the occasional Chinese. “Much better than ordinary school dinners,” she says proudly.

“I’m a simple girl; I don’t like flashy restaurants.” She prefers quiet Thai or Japanese places, or a “gorgeous” place in Greenwich Village, where her meal is lodged in her memory: fried mushroom, scallops with cauliflower and crème brûlée. “There were maybe 15 people in the restaurant and it was like home cooking, really cute and cosy. Just what I like.”

The recipe: Marmite and red onion scones

Makes eight scones.

75g butter
1 red onion, peeled and diced
180g self-raising flour, plus extra for dusting
100g wholemeal flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tbsp Marmite
1 medium egg
2 tbsp plain yoghurt
3 tbsp milk, plus extra for brushing

Heat the oven to 190C/375F/gas mark 5. Melt 50g of the butter in a frying pan over medium heat and sweat the onion until soft. Set aside to cool.

Mix the flours and baking powder in a bowl, then rub in the rest of the butter until it resembles breadcrumbs. Make a well in the centre. In another bowl, whisk the remaining ingredients, pour into the flour, add the onion and mix to combine (add a little more milk if it’s too dry).

Turn out on to a floured surface and gently roll to about 3cm thick. Using a scone cutter, cut out eight rounds and place on a floured baking sheet. Score the tops and brush with milk. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden. Cool on a wire rack. Best eaten warm.

Noel Gallagher loves Yorkshire Tea

“I am obsessed with Yorkshire Tea,” declares Noel Gallagher, for 18 years the leader of Oasis and now forging a solo career. “I even bring it on tour. It was always on the Oasis rider: ‘Tea – must be Yorkshire.’”

Why does a man whose formative musical years were characterised by cigarettes and alcohol and champagne supernovas feel the pull of this most homely of English beverages? “I’m a northerner,” he says, “and it’s part of our staple diet. Plus, I’m of Irish descent. The kettle always seemed to be on when I was growing up. It’s part of the fabric of your life.”

Gallagher gets through about five cups a day these days, but he used to have a debilitating 20-bag-a-day habit. When he was younger and worked on building sites, his standard brew was two bags, one cup. “I liked it really strong,” he says. “Then, one day, I saw how brown and manky the inside of the cup was and I thought, ‘That’s what my insides look like – better get off it.’”

Like a true tea drinker, Gallagher has rules that must not be broken. Milk goes in last. Put your sugar in first, with the teabag, then fill it up to about an inch from the top and leave it for a good while. And what colour should the tea be? ”You know the Quality Street toffees in the yellow wrapper?” he says. “It’s got to be the exact same colour as them or it’s going down the sink.” When in London, he makes his own cuppa because “there’s a lack of good tea-making down here. Paul Weller’s tea-making leaves a lot to be desired. It’s pretty watery and the colour’s not right.”

And, like a true connoisseur, Gallagher wonders about the mysteries of tea. How old should you be before you start drinking it? Why can’t you get a decent cup of tea in America? “Because the whole country runs on coffee, caffeine and people talking a load of shit.” And why, as Nicky Wire of the Manic Street Preachers has pointed out, do people in London never use teapots? “Tells you a lot about London, that,” says Gallagher.

He admits he is not a great cook, although insists his missus is. “She’s truly excellent – she could have made a profession out of it.” He retains a taste for the things he loved as a kid, like fish and chips. With his mum raising three sons on her own, the Gallaghers were “on the breadline. We were just eating to survive.”

He didn’t go to a Chinese restaurant until he was about 21, and still rates his first ever Chinese – at the famously brusque Wong Kei on Wardour Street, London, with Inspiral Carpets, for whom he used to roadie – as probably his favourite meal ever. “It was like a whole new world,” he says. “I used to live in that place in the 90s. Best hangover cure ever – that and a can of Coke.”

Mick Hucknall loves lobster thermidor

Reputations once earned tend to stick, and Mick Hucknall will always have a name as a lover of both food and women. The latter is a bit out of date – he is now happily married with a daughter – but the former passion remains intact. He’s been a vintner since the late 90s, producing wines under the name Il Cantante (“the singer”) from grapes grown in the volcanic Sicilian soils of Mount Etna, but Hucknall tries to let his own offerings speak for themselves. “It’s all well and good being a pop star, but what does that have to do with wine?” he asks. “I’ve tried to avoid the celebrity angle.”

Hucknall has owned restaurants in the past, too. There was a minor stake in a bar in his native Manchester, and a Parisian restaurant, Man Ray, co-owned with Johnny Depp, Sean Penn and John Malkovich, an experience he recalls with a shiver. “It becomes a chain round your neck. I’d advise any aspiring pop star or actor to never ever invest in clubs or restaurants. You’ll get screwed. Stick with what you’re good at.”

A genuinely disadvantaged youth has made Hucknell appreciate the fruits of his success all the more. His mother left when he was three years old and his father, a barber, brought him up “just above the poverty line”. It was mostly northern dishes on the table at home in Denton: “Lancashire hotpot, steak and cow-heel pie… it sounds like Desperate Dan food, doesn’t it? But when they’re made well, these dishes can stand up to anything in the world.”

After Hucknall left home and moved into a bedsit in Moss Side in the early 80s, he learned to cook by default, picking up a talent for Indian food from shopkeepers in Rusholme. When Simply Red took off, he discovered a love of Italian, then French and German food. “German food’s very underrated,” he says. “It’s so beautifully simple. Roast goose, or Schweinshaxe – a roast knuckle of pork with crispy skin… it’s so good..”

The best meal he ever had, he says, was as a guest of one of the founders of Gambero Rosso, the Italian equivalent to Michelin, who took the band to a restaurant in the back streets of Rome. “We ate until about four in the morning, a beautiful array prepared with such skill and care that it was astonishing. The whole band were fainting because of its brilliance.”

He feels he’s come full circle with high-end cuisine. “Having lived in Paris for a number of years, I now loathe Michelin-starred food. To me, it loses touch with what food should be. I like really good quality, fresh, well-bred food, cooked simply. The Michelin thing underwhelms me. You’re supposed to be grateful for a three-inch piece of fish on a huge plate for 50 quid. It bores me.”

Though he loves lobster, as seen in the photograph, he’s just as happy with a tricolore salad. “Italian food is just genius,” he says. “Tomato, mozzarella and basil. Or garlic, oil and red pepper on pasta – those things are timeless.”

Does Hucknall’s track record prove the old saying that a lad will never be short of a girlfriend if he can cook? “It definitely helps,” he smiles. “I mean, if you can’t take her to a restaurant, you’re either going to her place or yours, aren’t you?’

The recipe: Lobster thermidor with roasted vegetables

Serves four.

2 large lobsters, cooked
40g parmesan, freshly grated

For the sauce
60g butter
2 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
570ml fish stock
2 tbsp medium dry white wine
110ml double cream
½ tsp English mustard
1 tbsp chopped fresh parsley
1 tbsp chopped fresh chives
1 tbsp chopped fresh dill
Juice of 1 lemon
Pinch of cayenne pepper
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Lemon wedges, to serve

For the roasted vegetables
8 tbsp olive oil
2 large red onions, peeled and quartered
10 asparagus spears, trimmed and cut into long diagonal slices
2 courgettes, trimmed, halved and cut into thick diagonal slices
1 fennel bulb, trimmed, halved lengthways and cut into 1cm thick slices
8 garlic cloves, peeled
1 tbsp fennel seeds, crushed
Pinch of sea salt (ideally Fleur de Sel de Camargue)
4 trusses baby plum tomatoes on the vine
Good-quality balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp chopped fresh basil
1 tbsp chopped fresh parsley

Lay the cooked lobsters belly down on a board, hold firmly and cut lengthways in half. Remove all the meat from the claws, tail and head, saving any coral. Cut the meat up into small pieces and place back in the shell, along with the coral.

For the sauce, melt the butter in a large saucepan, add the shallots and cook until softened. Add the stock, wine and cream and bring to the boil. Let bubble until reduced by half, then add the mustard, chopped herbs, lemon juice and cayenne. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Preheat the grill to high. Spoon the sauce over the lobster meat, sprinkle with the parmesan, and grill for three to four minutes until golden brown. Serve with lemon wedges.

For the roasted veg, heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Pour half the olive oil into a large ovenproof dish and place in the oven to heat up. Meanwhile, put the red onions, asparagus, courgettes, fennel, garlic, fennel seeds, salt and remaining oil into a large bowl and toss. Carefully tip it all into the heated dish.

Cook in the oven for 15 minutes, checking after 10 minutes and turning down the heat if the vegetables are browning too quickly. Add the tomatoes on their vines and roast for a further five minutes, or until the vegetables are caramelised.Serve immediately, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with the chopped herbs.

Sir Cliff Richard loves curry

Harry Rodger Webb was born in Lucknow, India, in 1940 and grew up on curries. His father, Rodger, managed a catering company for the sprawling Indian railways, and though the Webbs were experiencing the final days of the Raj, they lived modestly, in Lucknow and later in Howrah.

“Curry will always be my favourite food because it reminds me of my childhood,” Sir Cliff Richard says, relaxing in his converted farmhouse in the Algarve, Portgual, bought with the proceeds of six decades of hits and 260m record sales, and the place where he likes to spend much of the summer. “It’s the most highly flavoured, the most vibrantly scented food there is. After we moved back to England in 1948, my mother used to hold back on the chilli, but we always used to ask her for more.” He pauses. “Well, I say we came back to England, but I’d never been before. Neither had my parents. But we still talked about ‘coming back to Blighty’.”

In India his father had been relatively wealthy, but in England “we had absolutely zero. We went through real poverty.” One of the standard meals of the day would be toast dipped in tea with sugar on it. “It was that bad.”

But a love of curry stayed with him over the years – not so much the heat as the spice. “Spice is what gives curry all its dimensions,” he says. “The cardamom seeds, the coriander, the cloves… Most Brits don’t like the heat. I do, but I like to taste the food, too.”

In particular, Richard loves chicken tikka masala, that peculiar, unbeatable, ever-changing but always dependable dish whose origins are lost in the past. (Is it Punjabi street food, or was it synthesised in the Indian kitchens of Soho and Glasgow? No one knows.)

When he’s back in England, Richard’s favourite curry places are School Of Spice in Shepperton or, a new favourite, the Tiger’s Pad in Sunningdale. He doesn’t like his Indian food too westernised, though. “The Bombay Brasserie had the most fantastic starters,” he says, “but I always thought the main courses were too posh. I like my curries to have a nice, thick sauce, I like a good mound of lentils and rice. I like it traditional-style, lots of everything.”

The recipe: Chicken tikka masala

Serves four.

4 skinless chicken breasts, cut into 3cm cubes
For the chicken tikka marinade
250ml plain yoghurt
2 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp ground cumin
2 tbsp paprika
2 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2.5cm piece fresh ginger, peeled and grated
Sea salt

For the tikka masala sauce
15g butter
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1 green chilli, deseeded and very finely chopped or grated
2 tbsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp garam masala
½ tsp sea salt
400g tin chopped tomatoes
250ml single cream
4 tbsp coriander leaves, chopped

For the marinade, mix together the yoghurt, lemon juice, cumin, paprika, black pepper, cinnamon, ginger and some salt in a large bowl. Stir well and leave for 15–30 minutes. Add the chicken and turn to make sure it is well coated. Cover and leave to marinate in the fridge for at least two hours.

Preheat the grill to medium. Thread the chicken pieces on to skewers and grill, turning regularly, for about 15 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through – when pierced with a knife, the juices should run clear. Place on a plate to rest while you make the sauce.

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over a medium heat. Add the garlic and chilli, cook for a minute, then stir in the spices and salt. Tip in the tomatoes and simmer gently for 30 minutes. Stir in the cream to enrich the sauce, and cook gently for about five minutes.

Pull the chicken off the skewers, add to the sauce and place over a low heat for five minutes, gently and thoroughly to heat it through.

Garnish with coriander and serve immediately.

Ellie Goulding loves sushi

“I never used to eat fish a lot when I was young, but now it’s like my body craves it. If I’m out, I try to order fish for every meal, and sea bass is the best in my opinion. If you don’t have fish often, you’re more inclined to choose cod or tuna, but sea bass is light and delicious. Grilled sea bass with Thai vegetables is perfect.

I hated sushi when I first tried it, and was quite intimidated by it. But curiosity kept getting the better of me and I kept trying it, until it became my favourite thing.”

The recipe: Miso-glazed suzuki (sea bass)

Serves four.

2 tbsp sake
2 tbsp mirin
1 tbsp light yellow miso paste
1 tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp light soy sauce
4 sea bass fillets, about 150g each, skinned
1 tbsp chopped spring onions
1 tbsp chopped fresh basil

In a shallow dish, mix together the sake, mirin, miso paste, sugar and soy sauce. Place the fish fillets in the marinade, turning them to make sure they are entirely coated. Cover the dish with clingfilm and refrigerate for six hours.

Heat the grill to medium. Remove the bass from the marinade and place on a baking tray. Grill, close to the heat, without turning, until the fillets are just about opaque in the centre – about six minutes. Transfer to warm plates, sprinkle over the spring onions and basil, and serve with sticky rice or soba noodles.

Brett Anderson loves blueberries

“Music, food and sex are the three most important things in life,” says Brett Anderson, singer with reunited glam-punk Britpop Suede. “You can’t do without any of them.” He pauses and considers. “Well, you can do without a couple of them. But you shouldn’t.

“In the 90s, I had a phase of only eating brown rice for two months at a time,” Anderson says. “I was very unhealthy and I had this idea that brown rice would somehow be very good for me. Basically, all I was putting in my body was brown rice and cocaine, and that’s not healthy.”

He kicked the drugs before Suede split up in 2003, and in 2007 he went to see a naturopath: “And that changed my life.” (His wife also studies naturopathic medicine.) A diet tailored to his individual metabolism (no mushrooms, corn, milk or wheat) has “really, really worked, to a startling degree… I feel a lot better and I’m very conscious of my diet now.” Hence the love of antioxidant blueberries. Anderson makes his own muesli with oats, flax and crushed pumpkin and sunflower seeds, and the blueberries go on top: “I try to have them every day.”

In Suede, eating well wasn’t at the top of their priorities. “It was pearls before swine. We’d be in Hollywood or Japan, and we just wanted chips!”

The recipe: Blueberry fool

Serves four.

450g blueberries
Juice of 1 lime
425ml double cream
400g mascarpone
Juice of 2 lemons
6 tsp honey
4 fresh mint sprigs
Icing sugar, for dusting

Blend the blueberries and lime juice until smooth. Whisk the cream to peaks. In a bowl, gently combine the mascarpone, lemon juice, honey and three-quarters of the berry mix, then fold in the cream. Spoon or pipe into serving dishes and drizzle over the rest of the purée. Top with a mint sprig and a dusting of icing sugar.

(A behind-the-scenes video of Brett Anderson’s shoot for Love Music Love Food)

Juliette Lewis loves coconut and papaya

Music is a matter of dark and light, heaven and hell, good and evil, and all that sort of stuff. Thus the star of movies and rock and roll Juliette Lewis – who knows a little about such things, having starred in Cape Fear, Natural Born Killers and From Dusk Til Dawn – has both sinful and redemptive modes. “It’s yin and yang,” she says. “I love the healthy stuff and I love chocolate and ice cream, too. You have to balance it.”

She loves papaya – “It goes with anything, it has natural digestive enzymes and the taste is wonderful” – but it’s clear that coconut is her real passion. Oh, the flavour, the scent, the texture… she uses coconut hair and skin lotions and, when at home in Los Angeles, has a regular coconut smoothie from her favourite juice place at home. “It’s decadent and sensual and natural all at the same time,” she says. “On a purely nutritional level, coconut water is pretty much the most hydrating thing you can drink, and much better than man-made sports drinks. If you’re an energetic, physical person like me, it’s hard to imagine anything better for you. Papaya and coconut are like instant vacations in your mouth.”

Lewis is rare in the ranks of actors turned musicians because, unlike certain movie stars’ vanity bands, her music actually stands up on its own – a raw but poppy garage-punk noise with the magnetic Lewis as its focal point. But how does one move from the comfortable world of movie-making to the grind of the touring rock band?

When you play rock festivals, you’re always “pathetically grateful” if the catering is good, she says. You always remember who feeds you well, such as the German festivals, Leeds, Reading and the Isle of Wight. “If you’re tired and haven’t had a shower in days, you are so glad of any home comforts.” But she does love the touring life, only occasionally missing favourite restaurants in LA, such as Little Dom’s in Los Feliz or La Loggia in Studio City.

Movie versus rock and roll – who’s got the best food? “Oh, please, do you even need to ask?” she says, and laughs. “There’s so much more money in the movie world for food. I make a nice living from my touring, but half the time we live off bread and lunch meat.”

The recipe: Virgin detox cocktail

Serves two.

50g papaya
3 fresh mint leaves, shredded
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of 1 fresh coconut, chilled
4 cherries

Put two martini glasses in the freezer to chill for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, peel and deseed the papaya, then cut into small cubes. Spoon the papaya into the chilled glasses, add the shredded mint and squeeze over the lime juice. Pour in the coconut juice and garnish each with a couple of fresh cherries.

Rolf Harris loves curry

“Curry’s my absolute favourite food,” says Rolf Harris – painter and art educator, musician, creator of the wobble board, late-flowering patron saint of Glastonbury and international treasure in both hemispheres. “My wife and I have withdrawal symptoms if we don’t have one every few days.”

Indian food has become central to the lives of Rolf and his wife, Arwen, whom he married in 1958. They started going to London’s new wave of Indian restaurants in the late 1950s, when curry was far from widespread, and they’ve stuck with it ever since. He has now developed a connoisseur’s knowledge of curry houses in the Buckinghamshire-Berkshire area. They don’t like it fiercely hot, they’re in it for the endlessly fascinating mix of spices. “One of the many great things about curry is that you can find your own personal optimum level of heat,” he says.

When touring, he has made it a tradition to take the band out for a curry after every date. “We get the promoters to scout ahead, and we’re rarely disappointed, because England is the world curry capital.” He admits he’s no great shakes in the kitchen – “Scrambled egg is about as good as it gets” – but why bother when every street in the land offers the finest dishes on earth?

His love of bright, assertive flavours surely comes from his childhood in Perth, Australia, where his diet did not exactly sparkle. Rolf grew up on the “very traditional” English food of the years before the Australian culinary explosion. His mum’s approach in the kitchen was “to cook anything – meat, vegetables, whatever – until it was almost incinerated… Australian food is world-famous now, and rightly so, but when I was a kid it was overcooked British food, tomato ketchup with everything, very, very boring and every day your dinner was exactly the same. No wonder I love curry now.”

The recipe: Poori

Serves four.

200g strong white flour, plus extra for dusting
50g chapatti flour
1 tsp curry powder
1 tsp ground turmeric
½ tsp sea salt
Warm water, to mix
Vegetable oil, for frying

Put the flours, curry powder, turmeric and salt into a large bowl and mix well. Slowly mix in enough warm water to make a dough. Turn out on to a floured surface and work with your hands until smooth and elastic. Place back in the bowl, cover and leave to rest for 30 minutes.

Knead the dough on a floured surface until light and springy. Divide into about 12 equal-sized pieces and roll into balls. Keep covered with a damp cloth. Take one ball of dough and roll it out into a 10–12cm round. Repeat with the rest.

Pour a layer of oil into a heavy-based frying pan so it comes a quarter of the way up the sides, and place over a high heat. When very hot, carefully lower a dough round into the oil. Use a fish slice to baste and turn it, so that the poori swells up. It will be cooked in a few minutes. When golden brown, remove from the oil with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper. Keep warm while you cook the rest of the poori.

• This is an edited extract from Love Music, Love Food – The Rock Star Cookbook, published by Quadrille at £30 in support of Teenage Cancer Trust. Concept and photography: Patrice de Villiers (patricedevilliers.com). Interviews: Andrew Harrison. Recipes: Sarah Muir. The book is currently available to buy from Selfridges exclusively, and from high street stores and at a discounted price of £24 from the Guardian bookshop from 5 September

• About Teenage Cancer Trust. Teenage Cancer Trust believes young people shouldn’t stop being teenagers just because they have cancer, so the charity builds units in NHS hospitals that offer young people specialist care, bringing them together so they can support each other in an environment suited to their needs. As well as these specialist units, it also funds a number of services all with the same goal – to help young people fight cancer. To watch a video about the work of the Teenage Cancer Trust, click here

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A tasty, filling and quick lunch or supper

Tasty burgers and herby couscous make a delicious, substantial quick lunch or supper. Serves four.

For the burgers
500g minced lamb
1 small onion, peeled and grated
3 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1 tsp ground sumac (optional)
½-1 tsp chilli flakes, depending on how hot you want them
½ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp flaky sea salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
2 tbsp olive oil

For the minty yoghurt dressing
180g thick Greek yoghurt
1 tsp dried mint
1 good pinch salt

For the couscous
250g large-grain couscous
1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon
Zest of 1½ lemons
2 spring onions, white and pale green part only, trimmed and finely chopped
½ cucumber, cut into small dice
200g cherry tomatoes, halved
1 small handful parsley leaves, finely chopped
1 small handful coriander

leaves, finely chopped
10-12 mint leaves, finely chopped
1 tsp ground sumac (optional)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a large bowl, and using your hands, mix together all the ingredients for the burgers. Set aside for 10 minutes, to let the flavours to develop, while you prepare the dressing and couscous.

In a small bowl, mix together the ingredients for the minty yoghurt.

Cook the couscous according to the instructions on the packet. While it’s cooking, break off a walnut-sized piece of the burger mixture and fry it in a little oil until cooked. Taste and, if necessary, adjust the seasoning of the remaining raw burger mixture, then form into four 2cm-thick patties.

Warm the oil in a large frying pan over a medium-high heat. Fry the burgers for four minutes on one side, flip over and cook for two to three minutes on the other side – this will cook them medium-rare.

Drain the couscous. Add the olive oil, lemon juice and zest, and fluff with a fork. Stir in the remaining salad ingredients. Serve with the burgers and dollops of yoghurt.

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s new book Veg: River Cottage Everyday, is published by Bloomsbury in October at £25. To pre-order a copy for £18 (including UK mainland p&p), go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop, or call 0330 333 6846.

Fiona Beckett’s drink match Lamb and cabernet sauvignon is always a good combo, but when the meat is spiced up as it is here, it’s best to choose a bold, blackcurranty style, such as Claro Cabernet Sauvignon 2010 from Chile’s Central Valley (£5.48, Asda; 13% abv), that will be able to stand up to the strong flavours.

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A herby, citrussy filling works wonders on this seasonal fish dish

Ask your fishmonger to prepare the fish for you, if need be. Serves four.

4 500g-600g whole black bream, heads removed, butterflied and pin-boned

Sea salt and black pepper
8 large basil leaves
½ bunch coriander, leaves picked and chopped
Olive oil
16 large new potatoes, cooked
Juice of ½ lemon

Season the fish inside and out with sea salt. Divide the herbs between the cavity of each fish, then fold the fish up into its original shape, secure with a wooden skewer and season all over. Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Place the fish in an oven-proof dish, drizzle with oil and bake for 20 minutes, until the skin is crisp and the flesh cooked through.

Meanwhile, cut the fennel into quarters. Heat some oil in a large frying pan, lightly colour the fennel for a few minutes, then place in the oven alongside the fish for 15 minutes.

While the fish and fennel finish cooking, cut the potatoes in half, fry in more oil until crisp, and drain.

Remove the fish from the oven and place on warmed plates. Divide the potatoes and fennel between the plates. Squeeze lemon into the fish juices, spoon over the fish and serve.

Mark Sargeant is chef/patron of Rocksalt and The Smokehouse, both in Folkestone. His book, My Kind Of Cooking, is published in October by Quercus at £20. To pre-order a copy for £16 (including UK mainland p&p), go toguardian.co.uk/bookshop

Fiona Beckett’s drink match Vermentino is particularly sympathetic to both herbs and seafood. Try the 2010 Domaine de Torraccia Blanc from Yapp Brothers (£12.75; 12% abv), a lovely pure, minerally organic white from Corsica.

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Bacon and beans, pike and leek pie, grilled steak and chips, and chocolate ice cream recipes from the hotel menu

Lunch: Bacon and beans

SERVES 2

cooked cannellini beans 500g
onions 50g, minced
sage leaves 5, chopped
bay leaf 1
duck fat 1 jar
chopped peeled tomatoes 100g
black treacle 10g
Dijon mustard 15g
chicken stock 200ml
trotter gear (see below) 50g
pig’s cheek, buy it brined from your butcher 1

Trotter gear
pigs’ trotters (all hair removed) 6
onions 2, peeled
carrots 2, peeled
celery 2 sticks
leeks 2, split
garlic 1 head
thyme a bundle
peppercorns a handful
Sercial Madeira ½ bottle
chicken stock to cover the trotters

First make the trotter gear. Place the trotters in a large casserole. Cover with water and bring to the boil. Boil for 5 minutes then drain. Now place the blanched trotters in the pot with the vegetables, thyme, peppercorns and Madeira and cover with the stock. Cook for at least 3 hours until the trotters are totally giving. At this point, strain the cooking liquid and keep. When the trotters are cool enough to handle, pick all the flesh, fat and skin off them tearing the skin to shreds. Add to the cooking liquid, seal in a jar and refrigerate. You now have trotter gear – giving, wobbly trotter captured in a splendid jelly.

To prepare the beans, sweat minced onions, sage and bay leaf in some duck fat until lightly caramelised and aromatic. Add tomatoes and simmer till soft and the fat has started to split. Add the cooked white beans and fold in the black treacle and Dijon mustard. Cover with chicken stock and trotter gear and simmer.

To prepare the brined pig’s cheek, poach the cheek in water till tender to the fork, about 1½ hours. Remove from its bath and press under a heavy weight. Trim edges and slice into thick rashers.

To finish, fry pig’s cheek rashers till golden. In an ovenproof pot, layer beans and bacon finishing with beans. Add extra stock if the beans are looking dry and bake until deeply browned and bubbling.

Pike and leek pie

A magnificent pie. The size of your pike might influence the size of your pie.

SERVES 4

small pike 1
white wine 50ml
white wine vinegar 10ml
carrots 100g
celery stalk 100g
onions 50g
bay leaf 1
parsley stalks a few

For the pie
butter 75g
leeks 300g, chopped
flour 50g
white wine 100ml
hot bouillon 700ml
puff pastry 1 block
beaten egg 1

Find a pan large enough to hold your pike and fill it with water. Add all the court-bouillon ingredients and bring to a simmer. Add the pike and poach gently until the flesh comes easily from the bones, about 20 minutes. Remove the pike from the court-bouillon, which is now a delicious fish stock. Once cool, remove all bones and skin, keeping the pike in fairly sizeable pieces.

To make the pie, sweat the chopped leeks in 25g butter until soft and fold into the pike. For the sauce, melt 50g butter and add the flour. Cook until it smells biscuity. Now add the white wine and then hot bouillon – a whisk is a good thing at this point. From there on, whisk until silky springs to mind. Check for seasoning and pour this sauce over the pike and leeks and leave to cool. Fill your pie dish. Roll your pastry and leave to rest for 30 minutes. Then cover your pie with the pastry and brush with beaten egg. Bake in a hot oven 180C/gas mark 4 for 30-40 minutes until well browned.

Late supper: Grilled skirt steak, chips and mustard

SERVES 2

skirt steak (trimmed of all the sinew) 2 x 250g

For the steak dressing
minced shallots 15g
minced capers 15g
minced parsley 5g
Dijon mustard 15g
olive oil 75ml
red wine vinegar 10ml

For the chips
maris piper potatoes 1kg
beef dripping 3kg (or enough to fill a small domestic fryer)

To make the dressing, mix all the ingredients together and season to taste.

To make the chips, peel potatoes and slice into chips (not fries). Rinse until water runs clear. Place in a pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a gentle simmer and leave till just soft. Remove from pot and drain. Spread out on a tray to dry. Melt beef dripping in a fryer and bring up to 140C. Fry the chips until lightly golden, drain and leave to cool. Now they can be put in the fridge (or freezer) until ready to use.

To finish, season the steaks and grill on a very hot grill to rare to medium. Rest in a bowl and spoon over 2 spoonfuls of dressing. While the steaks are resting, bring the fryer up to 180C and fry the chips until crispy and golden. Slice steaks against the grain, pile on plates and pour over resting juices and dressing. Serve with chips.

Chocolate ice cream

MAKES 1 LITRE

plain chocolate, with at least 70% cocoa solids (we use El Rey Venezuelan chocolate called Apamate) 200g
large egg yolks 6
caster sugar 115g
full-fat milk 500ml
double cream 50ml
cocoa powder 40g

For the caramel
caster sugar 70g
water 75ml

Chop the chocolate into small pieces and place in a bowl set over a pan of simmering water, making sure the water doesn’t touch the base of the bowl. Leave to melt.

Put the egg yolks and caster sugar in a separate bowl and whisk with an electric beater for about 5 minutes, until the mixture leaves a trail on the surface when the whisk is lifted.

Place the milk, cream and cocoa powder in a heavy-based pan and bring slowly to the boil, whisking occasionally to prevent the mixture sticking to the bottom of the pan. Pour it over the egg yolk mixture, whisking constantly to prevent curdling. Return the mixture to the pan and add the melted chocolate. Cook over a low heat for around 8 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat; set aside.

To make the caramel, place the sugar and water in a small, deep, heavy-based pan and bring slowly to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Raise the heat and simmer, without stirring, until a very dark caramel is achieved. Remove from the heat and whisk the hot caramel into the ice-cream base a little at a time. Pour through a fine sieve into a plastic container and cool quickly in an ice bath. Leave in the fridge for two days before churning in an ice-cream machine. Once churned, leave for 3 to 4 days before eating – it will improve in flavour.

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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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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.

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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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Be it smoky, fiery or fruity, paprika is one of the most important weapons in the cook’s culinary arsenal

Sweetly smoky, fiercely fiery or mildly fruity, in shades from lipstick red to earthy terracotta, paprika is one of the most beguiling spices in the culinary arsenal. Today I’m sending out a red alert. Warning: if you are using paprika in your cooking less than once a week, it’s not enough.

Sure, it lends a dash of lively colour to everything from devilled eggs to potato salad, but it’s so much more than a glamorous garnish. It offers its rich depth of flavour to everything from marinades and stews to salads and batters.

Christopher Columbus brought peppers back from the Americas and started a red rush for their sunny sweetness. It’s thought that the first Spanish paprika was made at the Jer?É?í?Ǭ?nimo monastery near La Vera, Spain, and the region’s been famous for its paprika ever since.

Paprika is the dried (by sun, oven or smoke) and ground flesh of various members of the pepper family, though generally not the Asian and south American varieties that we tend to call chillies. Though their forefathers were indeed brought from the Americas, the chilli varieties grown for paprika, especially Capsicum annuum, were developed in Europe, particularly in Spain and Hungary, where paprika has a starring role in so many dishes. And the milder varieties are used in amazingly gung-ho quantities, especially in Spanish and Hungarian cooking ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì those “tbsp” of sweet paprika in this week’s recipes below are not misprints!

In La Vera, peppers are dried over oak fires, which gives the paprika, or piment?É?í?Ǭ?n, its distinctive flavour. It comes in three varieties: dulce, or sweet, which is soft but tangy; agridulce, or bittersweet, which is lively and sharp; and picante, or hot. They’re used in everything from chorizo to patatas bravas and paella.

Hungarian paprika is mostly grown in the Szeged and Kalocsa regions in the south of the country. There are six varieties, from the delicate, sweet K?É?í?Ǭºl?É?í?Ǭ?nleges to fiery Eros. It’s used as a condiment and as an ingredient in many dishes, particularly stews such as p?É?í?Ǭ?rk?É?í?Ǭ?lt, goulash and, of course, chicken paprikash (see today’s recipe).

I warn you that it can become a bit addictive, this paprika business. Of course, you’ll want to add it to traditional dishes, but its warming depth of flavour marries well with other earthy seasonings such as coriander, cumin, cinnamon and cloves. Try adding a sprinkling to spice rubs and marinades.

Paprika has a particular affinity with potatoes and tomatoes ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì they’re both, along with peppers, members of the nightshade group of plants. So make it a family affair by adding it to potato-y, tomato-y salads, sauces and soups. It’s also great with chickpeas and other pulses, which soak up its smoky-sweet flavour in the most delicious way. It’s sometimes just the ingredient to lift a simple dish to another level, too ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì try stirring some into mayonnaise to serve with shellfish or sprinkling a dash into a cheese sauce, and you’ll see what I mean.

If you have a hard time tracking down the more exotic paprikas, try seasonedpioneers.co.uk or thespicery.com. And take care of your stash ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì store it in an airtight container in a cool, dark place, and it should be good for a year or so. A final word of caution: be careful not to scorch paprika on too much direct heat or the flavour will spoil and go bitter, like burned tomato. Treat it with tenderness and it will, without doubt, love you back.

Chicken paprikash

It’s more traditional to use green peppers in this classic Hungarian dish, but I prefer to use sweeter red peppers. Use dill instead of parsley, if you like. Serves six.

1 free range chicken, jointed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tbsp olive oil and 15g unsalted butter, or 25g lard in place of both
2 onions, diced
1 clove of garlic, minced
2-3 tbsp sweet paprika
1 tsp hot paprika
1 tbsp plain flour
3 tomatoes, cored, deseeded and finely chopped
350ml chicken stock
2 red peppers, cut into thin strips
1 small handful parsley leaves, finely chopped
140ml sour cream

Season the pieces of chicken with salt and pepper. Warm the oil and butter (or the lard) in a large, heavy-bottomed casserole and brown the chicken ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì you may need to do this in batches ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and transfer to a large plate. Once all the chicken is done, put the onions in the same pan and saut?É?í?Ǭ© over a low heat until softened and translucent, about 15 minutes. Add the garlic, paprika and flour, and stir for a couple of minutes, being very careful not to scorch the paprikas. Stir in the tomatoes and pour in the stock.

Now return the browned chicken to the pan, bring to a simmer, and cook, partially covered, for 30 minutes. Add most of the peppers and parsley (keep some of both back, to garnish), and simmer, partially covered, for 30 minutes more.

When the chicken is cooked, stir a ladleful of the hot cooking liquid into the sour cream, then pour the lot back into the pot. Taste and adjust seasoning, if necessary. Serve with rice, with the remaining peppers and parsley scattered on top.

Fried halloumi salad

A dash of paprika adds flavour and colour to slices of salty, chewy halloumi. It’s also a great addition to batters for fried squid. Serves four.

1 small red onion, very finely sliced
150g cucumber, cut into chunks
200g cherry tomatoes, halved
50g kalamata or other black olives, stoned
1 big handful mint leaves, roughly shredded
1 big handful flat-leaf parsley leaves
50g plain flour
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp smoked paprika
250g halloumi cheese, cut into 8 slices
2 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
For the dressing
1 tsp clear honey
Juice of half a lemon
1 small garlic clove, crushed
1 pinch dried chilli flakes
1 pinch sea salt
3 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil

First, make the dressing. Stir together the honey, lemon juice, garlic, chilli flakes and salt until well combined, then whisk in the oil. In a large bowl, toss together the onion, cucumber, tomatoes, olives, mint and parsley.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, paprika and some salt and pepper. Moisten the halloumi slices slightly with water, then press into the seasoned flour and shake off any excess. Heat the oil in a large frying pan and fry the halloumi over a medium heat for about two minutes on each side, until golden and slightly softened on the inside.

Toss the salad vegetables with the dressing, turning them over with your hands to make sure everything is lightly coated. Divide the salad between four plates, put two pieces of hot halloumi on each one and serve immediately.

Portuguese paprika potatoes

This looks like a pretty far out way to cook potatoes. But have faith: it’s easy and delicious. Serves four to six.

3 tbsp red-wine vinegar
2 tbsp sweet paprika
1 medium onion, roughly chopped
2 large, ripe tomatoes, cored, deseeded and roughly chopped
4 large potatoes, cut into large chunks
400g cooking chorizo, broken into chunks
1 big handful parsley leaves or fennel tops, chopped
1 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Pour about 700ml water into a roasting tray and add the vinegar. Whisk the paprika into the water, then add the onion, tomatoes, potatoes, chorizo, half the parsley or fennel tops and the salt and pepper.

Bake uncovered for two hours, stirring halfway through, until the potatoes are tender and have absorbed all the other flavours. Scatter with the remaining parsley or fennel tops and serve with a crisp, green salad.

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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.

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