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.

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Hold on, don’t chuck out your chip pan just yet. Every so often, it’s the only thing that will hit the spot

Fried food has had a bad rap. To hear some, you’d think the frying pan was the source of all earthly evils – or at least dietary problems. And if you can get past that, there are those who fear they can’t rustle up a plate of chips without setting fire to the house. Today, I’m flying in the face of fears and fashion – and giving you my favourite deep-fried treats. I don’t advocate you eat them every day, but once in a while the lure of a crisp, golden coating is too strong to resist.

You don’t need a deep-fat fryer, just a large, deep saucepan and a frying basket or a “spider” spatula (the type that has a wide, flattish basket at the end). A cooking thermometer would be handy, too, but if you don’t have one, there’s a simple temperature test – a cube of white bread browns in 60 seconds at 160C, 40 seconds at 180C and 20 seconds at 190C. And just in case, check the batteries in your smoke detector.

When it comes to selecting oils, a high smoke point is what you want. No extra-virgin – it’s too delicate, and burns. Most of the time I use sunflower or groundnut, though rapeseed works well for croquetas.

Before starting, make sure the oil doesn’t come more than a third of the way up the sides of the pan – adding moist food to hot oil makes it bubble fiercely, so give it room. And fry in small batches – throwing in too much at once makes the temperature drop dramatically so the food absorbs too much oil and becomes soggy. And we’re not interested in soggy. Crisp is what we’re after. Here, have a chip…

Churros

Dusting the churros with a little cinnamon as well as sugar isn’t strictly traditional, but it does taste good. Serve your churros with cups of hot chocolate thickened with a little cornflour. Serves four.

120g butter
A pinch of salt
130g plain flour, sifted
½ tsp baking powder
3 eggs, lightly beaten
Vegetable oil, for frying
4 tbsp caster sugar
¼ tsp ground cinnamon (optional)

To make the dough, put 250ml water, the butter and salt into a saucepan and bring to a rolling boil. Lower the heat and beat in the flour and baking powder. Stir vigorously until the batter pulls away from the sides of the pan and forms a ball – about a minute. Remove from heat, beat in the eggs until smooth, then leave the dough to rest for 10 minutes.

Prepare to fry the churros by heating 4cm oil in a deep pan to 160C/325F.

Spoon the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a large, star-shaped tip. Squeeze 8cm strips of dough into the hot oil. Fry four strips at a time until golden brown, turning once – about two minutes on each side – then drain on kitchen paper. Mix the sugar and the cinnamon, if using, and toss the churros in the mixture while still warm. Serve immediately.

Proper chips

If you need to, do the first frying a few hours in advance and finish off with a final fry when you’re ready to serve them. Serves four.

4 large, floury potatoes – Maris Piper, King Edward or Desiree
At least 2 litres of groundnut or vegetable oil, for deep frying
Flaky sea salt

Peel the potatoes and cut them into fairly thin chips. Put them in a large bowl of cold water and swish to remove some of the starch, then drain and pat dry on a tea towel.

Pour the oil into a deep-fat fryer or large, deep pan – it should come no more than about a third of the way up the pan. Heat to 140C/275F. Put a batch of chips into a frying basket and carefully lower them into the hot oil. Fry for five minutes, until the chips have softened but are still floppy and not coloured. Remove from the pan and drain well on kitchen paper. Fry the rest of the batch the same way.

When you’re ready to serve, reheat the fat to 190C/375F on a cooking thermometer and fry the chips, again in batches, until crisp and golden. This should take only about two minutes. Drain well on kitchen paper, sprinkle with sea salt and place in a serving dish in a low oven to keep warm while you cook the rest.

Croquetas

A good way of using up leftover ham or roast chicken, and a delicious starter or nibble. Makes 12-14.

2 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 tbsp plain flour
375ml whole milk
130g cooked ham or chicken, finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A few gratings of nutmeg, optional
2 eggs
100g fine white breadcrumbs
Olive oil (not extra-virgin) or rapeseed oil, for frying

Warm the oil in a frying pan over a medium-low heat and sauté the onion until soft and translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the flour and stir for a couple of minutes. Warm the milk in a separate pan and pour into the onion, stirring as you go. Cook slowly, stirring, until the sauce thickens – about three or four minutes – then add the ham or chicken. Continue to cook, stirring, until the béchamel is quite thick and pulls away from the sides of the pan as you stir, about eight minutes. Taste and season (if using ham, add a few gratings of nutmeg, too).

Pour the béchamel into a shallow dish. When cold, cover with clingfilm and refrigerate for three hours or overnight.

Use two teaspoons to shape the batter into ovals about the size of large walnuts. Arrange a bowl of lightly beaten egg and another of breadcrumbs, and dip a croqueta first into the egg and then roll it in the breadcrumbs, covering the whole surface. If you want them extra crisp, dip and roll them twice.

Transfer to a plate and continue with the rest of the batter. Chill for a couple of hours, or up to 24 hours.

Pour the oil into a heavy saucepan to a depth of 5cm and heat until it reads 180C/350F on a thermometer. Fry the croquetas three or four at a time until golden on all sides. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a plate lined with kitchen paper to drain. Continue until all the croquetas are cooked. Serve hot or warm.

Chorizo scotch eggs

A great twist on an old favourite. Makes six.

For the chorizo
600g minced pork
2 tsp each finely chopped thyme, sage, chives and parsley
2 tsp sweet smoked paprika
2 tsp hot smoked paprika
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 tsp fine sea salt
1 tsp fennel seeds, roughly crushed
¼ tsp cayenne pepper
2 tbsp red wine
Freshly ground black pepper
Plus…
7-8 eggs, room temperature
Plain flour, for dusting and coating
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A couple of handfuls of fine white breadcrumbs
Sunflower oil, for frying

Mix together all the ingredients for the chorizo, cover and refrigerate overnight. Divide the mixture into six, place a piece between two sheets of baking parchment and press with the bottom of a pan until it’s about 5-7mm thick. Repeat with the rest of the mixture and chill for 30 minutes.

Boil six of the eggs (reserve one or two for the coating) for seven minutes, drain and cool under the cold tap. Shell the eggs. Lay out a bowl containing flour seasoned with salt and pepper, the chorizo mixture, a bowl of beaten egg and a bowl of breadcrumbs. Coat each egg with seasoned flour, then place it in the centre of a flattened piece of chorizo mix and carefully gather up the meat, pressing it firmly between your palms to wrap and cover the egg completely. Seal the joins well. Next, dip it in beaten egg and roll it in breadcrumbs until it is completely covered. To give an extra crisp coating, repeat the process, though you will need to use an extra, lightly beaten egg. Repeat with the remaining eggs.

Heat about 5cm of oil in a deep pan up to a temperature of 180C. Carefully lower the eggs into the oil and fry for six to eight minutes, turning frequently, until they are a nice brown colour. Drain on kitchen paper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dried fruit compote

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

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

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

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

Raisin pie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaretti biscuits

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dried mango chutney

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sticky apple balsamic spare ribs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chilli dipping sauce

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

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

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

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

Tarragon vinegar

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

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

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

Strawberry vinegar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chicken paprikash

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

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

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

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

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

Fried halloumi salad

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

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

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

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

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

Portuguese paprika potatoes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roast carrots with butter and cumin

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

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

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

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

Carrot, orange and chervil salad

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

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

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

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

Carrot dip

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Courgette and pine nut muffins

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

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

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

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

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

Red onion, cheddar and bacon muffins

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carrot, spinach and cumin muffins

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

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

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

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

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

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