Pheasant can be tough if not cooked correctly. This quick method keeps the bird tender

The next week or so offers the last opportunity to eat pheasant, as the season is drawing to a close. Pheasant has a tendency to be quite tough if not cooked correctly. I’ve adapted the usual way of pot-roasting it whole to make it quicker and keep the bird tender.

(Serves six)
6 pheasant legs
Groundnut oil
2 carrots
1 onion
2 sticks celery
1 bulb of garlic
2 sprigs of thyme
2 tbsps chopped parsley
3 crushed black peppercorns
½ tsp tomato puree
200ml red wine
300ml chicken stock

In an ovenproof pan add a touch of groundnut oil. Season the meat and sear in the pan till it colours lightly. Remove and set aside. Add the vegetables, garlic, herbs and spices to the pan, then the tomato puree, and cook for two minutes. Put the pheasant legs back into the pan, add the wine and reduce.

Add the chicken stock and enough water to cover the meat and place in the oven for 10-20 minutes at 180C/gas mark 4. The legs will be ready when you can bend them easily. If the sauce is too thin, reduce on the stove (having removed the vegetables and meat).

Serve with crushed swede or mashed potato and finish with chopped parsley.

• Angela Hartnett is chef patron at Murano restaurant and consults at the Whitechapel Gallery and Dining Room, London. Twitter.com/angelahartnett

The sap won’t be rising for a few weeks, but when it does you need to be ready to tap it

Nothing in the forager’s calendar is more seasonal than birch sap. Blackberries, wild garlic and most other wild foods are around for months; with birch sap you have two weeks, three at the most. In Dorset, where I live, it is approximately the middle two weeks of March, but it can be slightly earlier or later, depending on the weather. It may seem a little early to talk about it now but you do need to be prepared for birch tapping – mentally, physically and administratively – so I am giving you a head start.

I am going to come clean. I do not see the point of birch sap wine. With most alcoholic drinks the ingredients are there to provide the flavour or the sugar and sometimes both. Birch sap wine contains very little of either so it cannot do these things – it just supplies the water. But I know that a lot of people swear by the stuff and will disagree with my dismissal of what they consider to be a first class wine. If you like birch sap wine let me know and tell me why I am wrong. No, really.

Having said all that, I do love collecting birch sap so, apart from the odd batch of wine to remind myself how right I am, I make birch sap syrup to pour on my pancakes. I boil the fresh sap down until half of the water has gone, then transfer to a bain-marie (to stop it “burning”) and continue until only 10% is left. I then strain out all the bits through some muslin and add sugar to form the syrup. You can reduce it all the way to a syrup (less than 2% of what you started with!) without adding the sugar but the flavour is far too strong and bitter for most people.

So how do you go about collecting this arcane ingredient? First, of course, you will need to find some mature silver birch trees with trunks at least 25cm in diameter (downy birch won’t work) and obtain permission to drill holes in them from the owner – not always easy. (The ones outside the Tate Modern in London are too small, by the way).

You’ll also need some kit. A hand drill and drill bit, a bucket to collect the sap (I sometimes use a four litre milk container with a hole strategically cut in the side near the top), some tapered wooden plugs (candle waxed at the sharper end to seal them), a mallet and something to carry the sap home in.

You will also need some spigots or spiles. These are virtually impossible to obtain in the UK so you will have to find them online from Canada or the US where they are uses for sugar maple tapping. You can rig up something with tubes and pipes but I have never been able to stop it all leaking. Check, using a scrap of wood, that your plugs and spiles tightly match the drill bit you will be taking with you.

Off to the woods. Drill a slightly upward slanting 5cm deep hole into your chosen tree at waist height. If nothing comes out when you are half way in, the tree is dry. Stop drilling, hammer in a plug and try another tree. After three no-shows it will be worth waiting another week. If all is well, hammer in a spile, hook on your bucket through the little hole you will have made in the rim and cover it. Come back the next day to collect your sap – if you are lucky you will get about two to three litres from each tree. Very carefully plug the holes – if you don’t the sap will continue to flow and the poor tree may not recover from this added insult.

Birch sap tastes almost exactly like water – but the freshest water you have ever tasted, with just a hint of sweetness (0.7% sugar is the highest I have ever found). It does not keep very long – about four days in the fridge – so use it as soon as you can. Here is how you make the wine.

4.5 litres of birch sap
200ml white grape juice concentrate
Juice from two lemons
1.2 kg white sugar
Sachet white wine yeast
Yeast nutrient – follow instructions on packet

Gently heat the sap in a pan with the lid on to 75C and keep at that temperature for 20 minutes. Take off the heat and stir in the sugar until it is dissolved. Closely cover the pan and allow to cool. Transfer to a fermentation bucket and add the lemon juice, grape juice concentrate, yeast and yeast nutrients.

Keep the bucket closely covered for five days then siphon into a demi-john, fit the bubble-trap and leave for about two months. Rack-off into a fresh demi-john and bottle when it is all nice and clear. This stuff goes bad for a pastime, so be extra careful making sure everything is sterile and the bottles well sealed.

The flavour? Light, dry, fruity, with a faint piquancy of wet paper bag.

It’s time to take advantage of one of our great native harvests – and, best of all, it’s free, too. But get your skates on before the squirrels take the lot

If you go down to the woods today, I can’t guarantee a big surprise, but there’s a very good chance of a delicious little snack. For it’s about this time of year that I rev up my efforts to gather hazelnuts and cobnuts before the squirrels get their mercilessly efficient little paws and jaws on them.

Hazelnuts can be found all over our ancient woodlands and hedgerows, and down the centuries they’ve supplied so much more than sustenance. They have long been associated with wisdom, even druidic magic, and everything from witches’ wands, royal sceptres and water dowsing rods were made from their precious and pliable wood.

The common wild hazel grows in abundance all over Britain, and seeking out its nuts is perhaps one of the easiest foraging jobs going, (alongside blackberrying, which you can often do at the same time). Fresh, green hazelnuts are quite different from the crunchy dried nuts you buy in the shop. Their flesh is crisp, slightly sweet, and I can run through a stash of them with a brisk and squirrel-like efficiency myself.

If you don’t have time to gather your own, at this time of year some greengrocers and farmers’ markets sell cobnuts, as commercially cultivated hazelnuts are known. Cobnuts are bigger than wild hazels, and just as delicious when very fresh – check the frilly casing is still sprightly and not too dried out.

Cobnuts were first cultivated around Maidstone in Kent probably as far back as the 16th century. Plantations, as growers called their nut farms, spread out as far as Sussex, Devon and Worcestershire, and by the time of the first world war there were 7,000 acres of hazelnut orchards, or “plats”, in Britain. By 1990, this had declined to 250 acres and today most of our hazelnuts come from Turkey.

All the more reason to keep alive the tradition of our seasonal cobnut harvest. If you’d like to track some down, kentishcobnutsassociation.org.uk gives details of pick-your-own places, farm-gate and mail-order sales, as well as advice on growing your own trees, should you have the space and inclination.

As well as cobnuts, there are also filberts about. If you want to make a distinction, cobnuts (Corylus avellana) are round with short, frilly husks that expose the end of the nut (their Latin name comes from the Greek for helmet, korys, because of the shape of the husk), while filberts (C. maxima) are longer, thinner and covered by their husks – they take their name from St Philibert’s Day on 22 August, the date by which hazelnuts are meant to start ripening. And just to keep you confused, one of the most widely available “cobnuts” is C. maxima ‘Kentish Cob’, which is actually a filbert.

Once you’ve had your fill of fresh hazels, dry any you have left over. Store in a dry, airy room or shed in shallow layers in slatted boxes, or hang them up in mesh bags. Turn them regularly, or give the bag a shake, to ensure they’re drying evenly and, once dry, remove the husks and store in a cool, dry place. And then you’ll have hazelnuts!

Dried hazelnuts are a great addition to all kinds of savoury and sweet dishes – toasting brings out their complex flavours. Whole or roughly chopped, they add crunch to autumn salads and stuffings; ground, they’re very good in biscuits and cakes, particularly when paired with chocolate (see today’s recipe). Look out for hazelnut oil, too – its distinctive flavour is good in dressings and baking, though it turns rancid quickly, so refrigerate after opening and devour swiftly and greedily.

Chocolate and hazelnut cake

This rather splendid-looking cake is really quite easy, and demonstrates perfectly the seductive combination of hazels and chocolate. Serves eight.

For the cake
400g shelled dried hazelnuts
1 tsp cocoa powder
250g dark chocolate, about 70%, broken into pieces
200g butter, plus a little more for greasing the tin, softened
200g caster sugar
5 egg yolks
Pinch of salt
1 tbsp brandy (optional)

For the chocolate glaze
100g caster sugar
50g dark chocolate (about 70%)
20g butter

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Put the hazelnuts on a baking tray and roast until browned, checking regularly they aren’t burning – about five minutes.

Turn down the heat to 150C/300F/gas mark 2. Tip the hazelnuts into a clean tea towel, wrap them up and leave for a minute, then rub vigorously with the tea towel to loosen and remove their papery skins. When cool, reserve about 30g of the nuts to garnish the cake at the end and pulse the rest in a food processor until fine.

Grease the bottom and sides of a 23cm springform tin, then dust the insides with cocoa powder. Line the base with baking parchment and butter the parchment.

Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl and place over a pan of barely simmering water – the water should not touch the bottom of the bowl. Melt the chocolate, remove the bowl from the pan and leave to cool.

With a stand mixer or hand mixer, beat together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition and adding a pinch of salt with the last yolk. With a rubber spatula, fold in first the hazelnuts and then the chocolate and alcohol, if using. Spoon into the tin, smooth over the top and bake for about 45 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out with just a few moist crumbs clinging to it. Place the tin on a wire rack and leave for 20 minutes before releasing the sides of the cake tin and leaving to cool completely. Invert the cake on to a plate, and remove the base and the paper.

To make the glaze, tip the sugar into a small pan with 100ml water and warm over a low heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Bring to a boil and boil hard for three minutes. Remove from the heat and cool until it’s very warm, rather than volcanically hot (you can put the base of the pan into the sink filled with a couple of centimetres of cold water to speed this up). Stir in the chocolate and butter until it’s melted, blended and glossy. Pour over the cake and finish with the remaining nuts.

Pear and hazelnut salad

Sweet, ripe pears and hazelnuts are a classic and delicious combination. Serves two as a starter.

30g dried hazelnuts or cobnuts (prepared weight)
1 pear
5 tbsp ricotta
2 tsp hazelnut oil
2 tsp runny honey
1 tsp sherry vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper

If using dried hazelnuts, toast them (see the preceding cake recipe); fresh hazels or cobnuts can be used as they are or fried lightly in a little olive oil with a sprinkling of flaky sea salt. Chop the nuts roughly.

Core the pear and slice thinly. Divide the slices between two plates. Scatter on the hazelnuts and then dot with ricotta. Trickle the oil, honey and vinegar on top, and finish with a few grinds of black pepper.

Honeyed hazels

This recipe is from my friend Pam Corbin, who runs our preserving courses at River Cottage, and is one of my great autumnal favourites. It’s a great way to squirrel away fresh cobnuts, for spooning on yoghurt for breakfast or ice-cream after dinner. Makes two 225g jars.

500g hazelnuts or cobnuts
340g runny honey

Crack all the nuts and remove the kernels. Heat a frying pan over low heat, and toast the shelled nuts in batches for four to five minutes, jiggling and shaking the pan to make sure they don’t burn. Remove from the heat and allow to cool.

Pack the nuts into sterilised jars, adding a tablespoon of honey every third or fourth layer. Continue until the jars are tightly packed with nuts and completely covered with honey. Seal securely with a lid and store in a cool, dry, dark place. Use within a year.

Hazelnut meringues

Hazelnuts are a great addition to a meringue, making a chewier, more substantial pud than the usual light-as-air concoction. Serves six.

5 egg whites
200g caster sugar
75g light muscovado sugar
1 tsp ground cinnamon (optional)
100g toasted hazelnuts (see preceding cake recipe), half finely ground and half roughly chopped
220ml double cream
2 tbsp icing sugar

Heat the oven to 110C/225F/gas mark ½. Line two baking sheets with parchment.

In a scrupulously clean bowl, whisk the egg whites to stiff peaks. In a separate bowl, whisk the sugars and cinnamon. Add the sugar to the egg whites a couple of tablespoons at a time, whisking as you go; once you’ve added half the sugar, you can begin to add the rest more swiftly. Keep beating until the meringues are stiff and glossy. Use a metal spoon or spatula to fold in the ground and chopped nuts.

Drop large tablespoonfuls of the mixture on to the parchment, leaving some space between them so they can spread out. Bake for about an hour and a half, until the meringues peel easily away from the paper and sound hollow when tapped. Turn off the oven and leave to dry out in the cooling oven for a couple of hours.

Whip the cream with the icing sugar until thickened, and use generous dollops to sandwich the meringues together in pairs.

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

A squash paste that’s incredibly moreish, plus a classic Lebanese and Syrian take on roast potatoes

Butternut squash and tahini spread (V)

Tara Wigley, who assists me in my recipe testing, emailed me about this one with “I could eat this by the bucket” in the subject field. And she’s right – once you start eating it, it is hard to put aside. Once made, and assuming you can keep your mitts off it that long, it will keep in a jar in the fridge for a few days, in which case allow it to come back to room temperature before piling over pitta or fresh bread, just like hummus.

Date syrup is a natural sweetener that has wonderful richness and treacly depth; I drizzle it over semolina porridge. It is available from many healthfood shops, but it’s not the end of the world if you can’t get hold of it – this spread is perfectly fine without it. Serves six to eight.

1 very large butternut squash, peeled and cut into chunks (net weight 970g)
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp salt
70g tahini paste
120g Greek yoghurt
2 small garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1 tsp mixed black and white sesame seeds (or just white, if you don’t have black)
1½ tsp date syrup
2 tbsp chopped coriander

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Spread the squash out on a medium-sized baking tray, pour over the olive oil and sprinkle on the cinnamon and salt. Mix well, cover the tray tightly with tinfoil and roast for 70 minutes, stirring once during the cooking. Remove from the oven and leave to cool.

Transfer the cooled squash to the bowl of a food processor, along with the tahini, yoghurt and garlic. Roughly pulse so that everything is combined into a coarse paste – you don’t want it too smooth (you can also do this by hand using a fork or masher).

To serve, spread the butternut in a wavy pattern over a flat plate and sprinkle with sesame seeds, a drizzle of syrup and finish with chopped coriander.

Batata harra (V)

This Lebanese and Syrian dish is probably my favourite way with potatoes. It is spicy and soothing at the same time, and is wonderful served on its own or as a side dish; I particularly love it with grilled fish. You can adjust the degree of heat to suit your threshold; just remember, it’s meant to be pretty spicy. Talking about heat, chilli flakes vary widely, so test how hot yours are before adding the full amount. Serves four.

1 kg charlotte potatoes, peeled and cut into 2cm dice
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp sunflower oil
7 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1 tsp pul biber (Turkish flaked chilli) or ½ tsp another flaked chilli
2 red peppers, cut into 2cm dice
30g chopped coriander
Grated zest of 1 lemon, plus 1 tbsp lemon juice
Maldon sea salt and black pepper

Heat the oven to 240C/465F/gas mark 9. Bring a saucepan of salted water to a boil, throw in the potatoes and cook for three minutes. Drain and leave in a colander until completely dry.

Mix the potatoes with the oils, two teaspoons of salt and some black pepper, and spread on a medium roasting tray lined with tin foil; the potatoes should fit in snugly in one layer. Put them in the oven to roast and, after 10 minutes, stir in the garlic, pul biber, red pepper and half of the coriander. Return to the oven and roast for a further 25-30 minutes, until the potatoes are nicely coloured and completely tender. Stir once halfway through the cooking.

Remove the potatoes from the oven and transfer to a large bowl. Stir in the lemon zest and juice, taste and add salt and pepper if needed.

Serve warm or at room temperature, stirring in the remaining coriander at the last minute.

• Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi and Nopi in London.

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

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

• Interactive: Love music love food

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

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

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.

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

A rich, moreish Iraqi-inspired combination of aubergine, egg, bread and all manner of other tasty goodies

Iraqi immigrants to Israel in the early 1950s brought with them the fascinating combination of fried aubergine and hard-boiled egg stuffed into fresh pitta (along with plenty of other big-flavoured ingredients). It sounds weird, but it’s one of the most exciting street foods you could wish to come across. This is a plated version. Zhoug is a wonderful Yemenite green chilli sauce, but to save time, a good commercial savoury chilli sauce will do. Other traditional elements are a sharp mango pickle and a good hummus, so add them, too, if you fancy. Serves four.

2 large aubergines
About 300ml sunflower oil
4 slices rustic white bread, toasted

4 free-range eggs, hard-boiled and cut into 1cm-thick slices
Salt and black pepper

For the tahini sauce
100g tahini paste
80ml water
20ml lemon juice
1 small garlic clove, crushed

For the salad
2 ripe tomatoes, cut into 1cm dice
2 mini cucumbers, cut into 1cm dice
2 spring onions, thinly sliced
1½ tbsp chopped parsley
2 tsp lemon juice
1½ tbsp olive oil

For the zhoug
35g coriander
20g parsley
2 green chillies
½ tsp ground cumin
¼ tsp ground cardamom
⅛ tsp sugar
¼ tsp salt
2 garlic cloves, crushed
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp water

Using a vegetable peeler, peel off strips of aubergine skin from top to bottom, so they end up like a zebra, with alternating black-and-white stripes. Cut both aubergines widthways into 2.5cm-thick slices.

Heat the sunflower oil in a wide pan. Carefully – the oil spits – fry the aubergine in batches until nice and dark, turning once, for six to eight minutes; add oil if needed as you cook the batches. When done, the aubergine should be completely tender in the centre. Remove from the pan, leave to drain on kitchen paper, then sprinkle with salt.

To make the zhoug, put all the ingredients in a food processor and blitz to a smooth paste. For the tahini sauce, put the tahini paste, water, lemon juice, garlic and a pinch of salt in a bowl. Mix well, and add a little more water, if needed, so its consistency is slightly runnier than honey. Make the salad by mixing the tomato, cucumber, spring onion, parsley, lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt and pepper to taste.

To serve, place a slice of bread on each plate. Spoon a tablespoon of tahini sauce over each, then arrange overlapping slices of aubergine on top. Drizzle over some more tahini, without completely covering the aubergines. Season each egg slice, and lay on top of the aubergine. Drizzle more tahini on top and spoon over as much zhoug as you like – be careful, it’s hot! Serve the salad on the side; spoon a little on top of each sabih, too, if you like. Store any leftover zhoug in a sealed container in the fridge – it will keep for a week at least.

Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi and Nopi in London.

Fiona Beckett’s drink match This is not a dish that would traditionally be drunk with alcohol, so I’d stick to a soft drink such as pomegranate juice or the interesting new Crone’s Apple & Sour Cherry Juice (£3.60, Vintage Roots).

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

Here’s something to get your claws into on a sunny day

You can make this with brown crab, but it’s worth searching out spider. Cook and pick the crab yourself, or get a fishmonger to do it; ask for the shells, too, as they’re great for serving it in, though individual gratin dishes, or one big one, will do. Serves four.

Olive oil
100g finely chopped leek, white part only
1 clove garlic, peeled and finely crushed
10 cherry tomatoes, quartered
80g brown spider crab meat
A pinch of saffron
1 small dried birds’ eye chilli
A splash of brandy
A splash of dry sherry
25ml double cream
150g white spider crab meat
1 tbsp chopped tarragon
Salt and pepper
1 handful fine breadcrumbs
1 tsp finely chopped parsley
1-2 small knobs butter

Heat two tablespoons of oil in a pan, add the leek, garlic and tomato, and cook for a minute or two. Stir in the brown meat, saffron and chilli, add the brandy and burn off the alcohol. Repeat with the sherry, then add the cream. Stir in the white meat, cook for a couple of minutes to combine the flavours, then add the tarragon and season to taste. Spoon into cleaned crab shells or gratin dish(es), sprinkle with breadcrumbs and parsley, dot with butter and grill until bubbling and golden. Serve with a wedge of lemon, crusty rustic bread and a summery salad.

Mitch Tonks is chef/co-patron of The Seahorse and Rockfish, both in Dartmouth, and Rockfish Grill in Bristol. His book, Fish: The Complete Fish and Seafood Companion, is published by Pavilion at £25 To order a copy for £20 (including UK mainland p&p), go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop. His follow-up book will be published next year.

Fiona Beckett’s drink match This rich dish needs a full-bodied white: try the lush Asda Extra Special Adelaide Hills Chardonnay 2009 (13% abv), made by Petaluma and brilliantly well priced at £8.67.

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

A gently spiced first course to get your meal off with a bang

Tawa jhinga is a type of griddle cooking carried out on a flat iron disc; it’s known as tak-a-tak in northern India and Pakistan.

2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp ajwain seeds (they’re from the lovage family)
1 medium onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 green chilli, finely chopped
1 tsp grated ginger
3 medium tomatoes, chopped
12 large head-on prawns, deveined but shell left on
¼ tsp red chilli powder
1 tsp coriander powder
½ tsp turmeric powder
Salt (optional)
¼ tsp fenugreek leaf powder
¼ tsp garam masala
1 tbsp finely chopped coriander leaves
Mixed cress, to garnish

Heat the oil in a pan, add the ajwain seeds and, when they begin to sizzle, add the onion, chilli and ginger, and sauté until the onion is translucent. Add three-quarters of the tomatoes and cook until reduced to a nice, saucy consistency. Add the prawns, cook until they curl up, then add the powdered chilli, coriander and turmeric, plus a little salt, if using. Cook until prawns are done, stir in the remaining tomatoes, fenugreek and garam masala, and sauté for a minute or two more. Serve sprinkled with coriander and garnished with cress. Serve with chapati.

Atul Kochhar is chef/patron of Benares in London.

Fiona Beckett’s drink match Aromatic wines such as Argentina’s torrontés work really well with gently spiced dishes: try the Alma Andina Torrontés Sauvignon Blanc 2010 (£7.49 as part of a half-case, Laithwaites; 13.5% abv).

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

A light starter to kick off a summer’s meal

Yes, our asparagus season is over (sob!), but even with imported stuff, this is a lovely starter. Serves four.

2 bunches asparagus
Sea salt and black pepper
100ml olive oil, plus a bit extra
25ml red-wine vinegar
½ tsp Dijon mustard
100g goat’s cheese, crumbled
100g fresh peas, blanched
Fresh mint (chop it at the last minute, otherwise it’ll go black)
Grated zest of ½ lemon
1 handful mixed salad leaves
1 tsp pine nuts, toasted

Cut the woody ends off the asparagus spears, season and rub with a little olive oil. Heat a ridged griddle pan (a normal cast-iron frying pan will do, if need be) and griddle the asparagus for three minutes. Transfer to a bowl, add the oil, vinegar and mustard, and mix. Add the remaining ingredients and mix gently, so as not to bruise the leaves. Serve on a large plate, so everyone can help themselves.

Angela Hartnett is chef/patron of Murano, London W1. Her new book, A Taste Of Home, is published by Ebury at £25. To order a copy for £18.49, go to guardian.co.uk/ bookshop, or call 0330 333 6846.

Fiona Beckett’s drink match This dish is a shoo-in for sauvignon blanc, but try a lightly oaked one for a change, such as the gentle, aromatic Domaine Rives-Blanques Sauvageon 2009 Pays d’Oc (£12.25, Leon Stolarski; £12.99, Cambridge Wine Merchants; 13.5% abv).

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle