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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chocolate and hazelnut cake

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pear and hazelnut salad

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

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

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

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

Honeyed hazels

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

500g hazelnuts or cobnuts
340g runny honey

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

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

Hazelnut meringues

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

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

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

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

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

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

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

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

Butternut squash and tahini spread (V)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Batata harra (V)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pork and Puy lentil salad

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slow-cooked aromatic shoulder of pork

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pork tonnato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three quick dips

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

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

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

Falafel

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

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

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

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

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

Tomato and sweetcorn salad

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

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

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

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

Berry sundaes with chocolate sauce

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

White gazpacho

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

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

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

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

Cucumber and lettuce vichysoisse

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

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

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

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

Beetroot soup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roast carrots with butter and cumin

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

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

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

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

Carrot, orange and chervil salad

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

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

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

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

Carrot dip

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

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

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

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

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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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Thyme is so ubiquitous in my cooking, but it’s rarely the star of the show. Let’s set the record straight?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Alas, poor thyme: always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It’s perhaps the herb I reach for most often ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì I rely on it to add flavour to stews, stocks, stuffings, p?É?í?Ǭ¢t?É?í?Ǭ©s and terrines, the bellies of baking fish ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì yet we seldom give it the starring role. It’s destined to work tirelessly in the kitchen, a culinary Cinderella, seldom given top billing like those flashy “finishing” herbs, parsley, basil, mint and coriander. But today it shall go to the ball. It’s thyme (sorry) for a change. I’m celebrating its clean, bracing pungency and putting it centre stage.

There are many different types of thyme, but the ones we use most often are common thyme, Thymus vulgaris, and lemon thyme, T. citrodius. I have a particular affection for the latter and use it almost as much as T. vulgaris; in fact, I’d maybe use it more if it wasn’t such a slow grower. It’s very good with fish, shellfish, lamb, chicken and veal, and even works well in breads and biscuits (see today’s recipe). It has a gentler flavour than old vulgaris, so I often add it at the end, in a final, finishing flourish, as well as at the beginning.

Thyme’s special charm is the extraordinary concentration of scent in those tiny but fleshy leaves which are ready to eke out a living in the meagrest of soils. Thyme grows wild all over the Mediterranean, pushing itself through the rocky earth and perfuming the air with its pungent aroma.

So when you grow it at home, try to replicate these conditions as closely as you can. Plant it in well-drained, poorish soil in the sunniest spot you can find to ensure the best flavour. It grows brilliantly in pots and will put up with all kinds of harsh treatment, apart from overwatering, for which it will not thank you. Pillage your pots often ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì the more you cut, the more it will throw up those fresh, fragrant young leaves that really are the most delicious. Without frequent cutting, it can become woody, so don’t hold back. The dainty flowers are a delicious addition to drinks and fruit salads, and look wonderful scattered over cakes. Once it has flowered, though, give it a good haircut to encourage new growth.

Thyme has found its way into kitchens all over the world, from the Med to Mexico, and into dishes as diverse as casseroles, chillies and chowders. Of course, it is an essential component of bouquet garni because it stands up to long, slow cooking, giving up its mellow flavour without overpowering the finished dish.

But it’s not all about stews and stocks. Rub some thyme leaves on the crackling of your pork joint. Add a sprig or two next time you’re frying onions into creamy softness. Scatter it into the roasting tin with the potatoes, other root veg, and squashes and pumpkins, too. When you’re frying mushrooms, add a few bruised thyme leaves along with the garlic, and finish with a tiny squeeze of lemon for perfect mushrooms on toast. You can sprinkle it, very finely chopped, into bread dough (especially pizza and focaccia) and even, lightly, into yorkshire pudding batter. Next time you make a tomato salad, use young and tender thyme leaves (and flowers, too) in place of the ubiquitous basil. And use today’s gremolata by beating some into softened butter to add a final, melting element of deliciousness to a juicy steak or lamb chop.

If you’re cooking this weekend and want something extra-special, then please, take your thyme.

Lamb cutlets with thyme gremolata

These are delicious served just with boiled new potatoes and a green salad. You can grill them on the barbecue, if you like. Serves four.

2 small garlic cloves, peeled and very finely chopped
1 small lemon, zest finely grated
1?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tbsp lemon thyme leaves, finely chopped
3 tbsp olive oil
12 lamb cutlets
Flaky sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

First, make the gremolata. Combine the garlic, lemon zest and thyme, and put half the mixture in a bowl large enough to hold all of the cutlets. Whisk in the oil and a squeeze of lemon juice. Turn the cutlets over in the mixture until well coated and leave to marinate for 15 minutes.

Heat a large griddle pan or frying pan until hot. Lift the cutlets from the marinade, season with salt and pepper, and cook for two to three minutes on each side, depending on thickness. Transfer the cutlets to a warm plate, leave to rest, then sprinkle with the remaining gremolata and serve.

Za’atar

Different versions of this classic spice blend (pictured left) appear all over the Arab world (some contain oregano, cumin, fennel and coriander seeds). Experiment to find a mix you like, though I think this one is rather good. In Lebanon, parents think that za’atar for breakfast sharpens concentration, so they encourage their children to eat some before an exam.

3 tbsp sesame seeds, toasted
2 tbsp minced fresh thyme leaves
2 tsp ground sumac
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp flaky sea salt

Mix everything together in a bowl.

Five things to do with za’atar

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Fill a small bowl with extra-virgin olive oil and another with za’atar. Dip chunks of flatbread or good, country-style bread first in the oil and then in the za’atar.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Cook asparagus on a barbecue or griddle until just tender, trickle over some extra-virgin olive or rapeseed oil, and sprinkle with za’atar.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Sprinkle it over hummus.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Scatter over labneh. Alternatively, strain labneh or Greek yogurt through muslin until it is very thick, roll into balls the size of small walnuts and leave to dry for a few hours. Roll these in za’atar to make a tasty nibble to go with drinks.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Mix some za’atar with a little honey and olive oil to make a delicious glaze to brush over chicken or lamb before roasting

Lemon thyme shortbread

The thyme adds charm to these simple biscuits. Makes 24-40, depending on the size of the cutter.

55g caster sugar
2 tsp lemon thyme leaves, finely chopped
115g butter, softened
Finely grated zest of 2 lemons
170g plain flour
Extra caster sugar, for dusting (or 2 tbsp caster sugar mixed with 1 tsp finely chopped lemon thyme, for an extra hit)

Preheat the oven to 150C/300F/gas mark 2 and set aside a buttered nonstick baking sheet. Beat the sugar, thyme, butter and lemon zest until pale and creamy (this can be done in a food processor), then scrape into a large bowl and beat in the flour until it forms a stiff dough.

Place the dough on a sheet of greaseproof paper and lay another sheet of greaseproof paper on top. Gently press down with a rolling pin and roll out thinly. Lift off the top sheet and stamp out the biscuits with a floured 4cm- or 6cm-diameter round cutter (or use any size or shape you like). With a palette knife dipped in flour, carefully lift the rounds off the bottom sheet of paper and gently transfer to the baking sheet. Lightly squidge together the dough offcuts, and repeat until all the dough is used up.

Bake in the centre of the oven for eight to 12 minutes, or until tinged a very pale brown around the edges. Transfer the biscuits to a cooling rack (take care: they will still be soft) and immediately sprinkle with extra caster sugar (or the sugar/thyme mix). Serve once cool and crisp..

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