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

This warm seasonal salad makes a delicious light supper, or a more hearty meal served with lamb

I am a firm believer in making life easier in the kitchen. You don’t need to complicate things with too many accompaniments. Often all that’s needed is a couple of quality ingredients, and they will do most of the work.

I have loved chicory since I was a child. It can be cooked, or eaten raw in a salad, added to salty ingredients such as capers and olives, or sweetened with orange and sugar. And it is in season from November to March, so now is the time to be eating it.

Serve this warm salad with lamb chops if you don’t want to cook a whole leg of lamb on a week night. Chops are easy – put them in a pan with a touch of olive oil, or under the grill. They just need three minutes on either side. Or if you want something light, just have the salad on its own.

Ingredients

Serves 4

1kg piece of lamb leg, bone out
5 cloves of garlic
2 sprigs of rosemary
12 new potatoes, medium size
250ml olive oil
20ml red wine vinegar
1tsp coarse grain mustard
3 large chicory
1 tsp baby capers
5 anchovy fillets, roughly chopped
1 tbsp parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 210C (gas mark 7). Take the leg of lamb and place in an oven-proof dish. Lightly glaze with olive oil. Make about 10 incisions with a small knife and pierce the skin with garlic cloves and rosemary sprigs. Season with salt and pepper. Cook for an hour and 10 minutes (the normal guide for roasting is 30 mins per pound, or 450g, in weight).

While the lamb is cooking, prepare the salad. Put the new potatoes (with the skin on) in salted water, bring to the boil and simmer for 15 to 30 minutes, until a knife can easily pierce them. While they are cooking, make a vinaigrette with the oil, vinegar and mustard.

As soon as the potatoes are ready, drain, slice and season them with a few tablespoons of the vinaigrette (reserve the rest for the chicory). Leave out at room temperature. When the lamb is ready, remove from the oven and allow to rest for 10 minutes. For pink lamb, place a skewer in the centre, then press against the meat. If the juices run pink, it’s nice and rare.

Slice the chicory into wedges and mix with the potatoes. Then add the capers, anchovies, parsley and the rest of the vinaigrette and place in a large bowl. Check seasoning and add more if you feel that it needs it. Remember that anchovies and capers are quite salty. Serve with the sliced lamb or chops.

guardian.co.uk food-and-drink

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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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From their plump curves to the soft down on their blushing skin, peaches are the most seductive fruit…

I hope last week’s plummy feast whetted your appetite for this week’s fruity treat, the peach ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì surely one of the sweetest and most seductive fruits ever. One juicy, dribbling bite, still warm from the tree, is all it takes to convince me that Genesis is wrong. The fruit that got Eve into trouble must have been a peach. From the plump curves, the subtle, suggestive cleft, the soft down on its blushing skin to its yielding, tender, juice-trickling flesh, a ripe peach must surely be the most tempting fruit of all. Frankly, it’s a sin not to eat one.

The first peaches grew in China, where wild trees still grow, though their fruit is rather mean and sour. They were transported along the Silk Road to Persia, where they flourished so marvellously they came to be regarded as a Persian fruit, hence their Latin name Prunus persica. It’s thought Alexander the Great took them from Persia to Greece and that, yet again, we have the Romans to thank for spreading them even farther afield.

Some think me adventurous, ridiculously optimistic, growing peaches in my Devon garden, but I’m not. Peach stones have been found in a second-century site near the old Billingsgate fish market in London, and peaches from their grand greenhouse have been the pride of country houses for centuries. But you, too, can grow peaches, especially if you happen to have a small, sheltered garden with a sunspot, ideally against a wall. In fact, townies often grow better outdoor peaches than us country bumpkins.

Mark Diacono, head gardener at River Cottage and enthusiastic embracer of the agricultural upside of climate change, is the one who convinced me to give it a go. Peaches need to ripen on the tree; they won’t get any sweeter once picked. That’s why many imported peaches are so disappointing. They’re picked before they’re ripe to make them easier to transport and biting into their woolly flesh serves only to remind you of the possibility of what a real peach can be; like trying to grab at something in a dream, the harder you try the more elusive it seems. So to get the full, sweet, nectar-dribbling-down-the-chin effect, you really should try growing your own.

The varieties we’re growing at home and at River Cottage are Peregrine in those warm, sheltered spots, Rochester and Redwing in slightly less sunny positions. These last two flower later, which gives them a chance of avoiding late frosts. If you have limited space, try Bonanza, a dwarf variety that will grow to about 1.3m in a large pot, never needs pruning and is remarkably productive for such a small tree. All will do well in a greenhouse, of course ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì but they do get big.

When you get your hands on truly ripe peaches, there’s nothing better than devouring them as they are, savouring every luscious mouthful. Try them at breakfast ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì could there be a more life-affirming way to start the day? Or as a simple and spectacular end to a rich meal. But I can’t help myself. When I’ve consumed more peaches au naturel than one might think possible, I can’t resist dabbling with them in recipes, too. It’s no crime to cook a peach ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and, frankly, it’s a kindness to any peach that has not been allowed to ripen fully. Nothing elaborate, though ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì a simple grilling with raspberry sauce, a salad, a slump, all designed to let their essential peachiness shine.

Caramelised peaches with raspberry sauce

This is my take on Peach Melba, the dish created by Escoffier in 1893 in honour of Dame Nellie Melba. Serves four.

4 peaches
2 tbsp clear honey
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 vanilla pod, split
For the sauce
350g raspberries
1 tbsp fresh lemon or lime juice
About 2 tbsp icing sugar
To serve
Vanilla ice-cream (optional)

Preheat the oven to 220C/425F/gas mark 7. Halve the peaches, remove the stones, then place the fruit in an ovenproof dish, cut side up. Brush with the honey and place a scrap of butter in each one. With a small, sharp knife, scrape the seeds from the vanilla pod and smear them over the peaches. Snip the vanilla into eight pieces and put a piece in each peach half. Bake for 15-20 minutes until tender and slightly caramelised.

While the peaches are cooking, make the raspberry sauce. Pur?É?í?Ǭ©e half the raspberries in a blender with a splash of water. Press through a sieve to remove the seeds, then stir in the lemon or lime juice and icing sugar to taste.

When you’re ready to serve, arrange two hot peach halves on each plate, spoon over the raspberry sauce and scatter with the remaining raspberries. If you like, you can also add a scoop of vanilla ice-cream.

Peach, prosciutto and rocket salad

This is an easy, tasty summer salad that combines the sweetness of peaches with salty prosciutto and soft dollops of ricotta. Serves four.

4 ripe peaches, halved, stoned and cut into wedges
8 mint leaves, shredded
1 tbsp red-wine vinegar or apple balsamic vinegar
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp Dijon mustard
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
A big handful of rocket
12 thin slices prosciutto
200g ricotta

Combine the peaches and mint in a large bowl. Whisk together the vinegar, salt and mustard, then whisk in the oil. Pour three-quarters of the dressing over the peaches and toss gently to combine.

Divide the rocket between serving plates, drape over the prosciutto, dot with dollops of ricotta, then scatter over the peaches. Trickle over a little dressing and grind on some black pepper. Serve immediately.

Peach slump

This easy American pud is the essence of simple summer eating. Add a handful of blackberries if you like, too. Serves four to six.
8 peaches
3-4 tbsp light muscovado sugar, depending on peach ripeness
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? vanilla pod, split
180g plain flour
2 tsp baking powder
4 tbsp caster sugar
Pinch of salt
Pinch of cinnamon (optional)
80g unsalted butter, cut into chunks, plus a little more for greasing
100ml whole milk
75g whole milk yoghurt or 75ml buttermilk
1 egg

Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Peel the peaches by scoring a small X at the base of each one, then lowering into a pan of boiling water. Simmer for up to a minute, until the skins are loosened. Transfer to a bowl of iced water, then peel as you would tomatoes. Halve them, remove the stones and cut each half into thirds lengthways.

Lightly butter an ovenproof dish. In a bowl, toss together the peaches, sugar and vanilla. Tip them into the dish and dot with a little butter.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, caster sugar, salt and cinnamon if using. Rub the butter into the flour mixture until it has the consistency of coarse crumbs. Whisk together the milk, yoghurt or buttermilk and egg, and stir into the flour, being careful not to over-mix. Drop spoonfuls of the mixture on to the peaches. Try to cover them evenly, but don’t worry about a few gaps. Bake for about 25 minutes, until the top is golden and the juices are bubbling. Cool on a wire rack for about five minutes before serving.

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?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Read about wild peaches and a whole lot more in the latest in the River Cottage Handbook series, Edible Hedgerow, by foraging expert John Wright. To order your signed copy, go to rivercottage.net.

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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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sticky apple balsamic spare ribs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chilli dipping sauce

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

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

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

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

Tarragon vinegar

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

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

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

Strawberry vinegar

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

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

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

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

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