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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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Don’t save barbecues for parties and special occasions ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì they’re far more suited to when you’ve got friends or family over for lunch

As I write, three solid weeks of outstanding barbecue weather have just been broken by a night-long downpour. Has that put me off writing about barbecues? Not at all. I’m sure there’s a load more sunshine on the way. And you know what, even if there isn’t, it really doesn’t matter. Here’s the thing about barbecuing ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì a liberating secret I’d like to share, and one that keen barbecuers should never forget ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì it doesn’t have to be a scorching, sunny day to cook outside over smouldering charcoal or wood. It just has to be not pouring with rain. The rest of the summer may be rubbish, but we’re not actually expecting a biblical 40 days and nights of ceaseless rain? Are we?

It surprises me that we often save barbecues for special occasions or parties when, frankly, it can be quite stressful catering for such numbers over fire. Really, the barbecue is just another agreeable weapon in the thinking cook’s arsenal, more appropriate for a family lunch or friends over for supper than for feeding the whole village/street/cricket team.

Here are a few pointers for making it all go swimmingly (but not in the Noah’s flood sense). Most important of all, you need to light the fire well in advance so the coals are glowing red and covered in a layer of white ash. This will take at least 30 minutes with charcoal, longer with gathered wood. By far the best charcoal, incidentally, is that made from sustainably coppiced British woodland. It’s easy to light, and burns fast and even. And if the heat starts to fade, a quick top-up will have it back in business within 10 minutes.

You need to get the bars really hot to stop food from sticking to them. Better lightly to oil the food and lay it on searing hot bars than attempt to oil the bars themselves. And don’t be tempted to move things about too quickly or too often. You need the food to build up a burned edge at the point of contact with the bars, so it won’t break up or tear when you flip them.

Then you can really give your imagination free rein, cooking everything from whole birds and large pieces of meat (see today’s spatchcocked chicken) to sweet and delicate fruit. I’ve experimented with whole fish wrapped in layers of wet newspaper; oysters and mussels in their shells, which open up miraculously as they cook; and practically the entire contents of the vegetable garden ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì grilled lettuce hearts and spring onions with olive oil and shaved goat’s cheese are a great favourite. But you don’t have to be obsessively experimental. I hear weird tales of people attempting brownies and all sorts of cakey stuff on barbecues, but that seems a bit bonkers to me. They’re never going to be as good as ones made in the oven, are they?

You want your ingredients to be enhanced by barbecuing, not merely to survive it. For me, when it comes to pudding, fruit wins every time, whether in the form of kebabs or halved stone fruit, slices of pineapple or, that barbecue stalwart, the banana. Just add a few scoops of ice-cream for summery perfection. But not until you’ve taken the fruit off the barbecue, obviously?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Five barbecue inspirations

My favourite griller thrillers?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶

Tomatoes Cut in half lengthways, brush with olive oil and grill, cut side down, for about three minutes.

Garlic Trickle whole garlic bulbs with olive or rapeseed oil, wrap in foil and grill until tender, about 20 minutes. Cool slightly, then squeeze cooked cloves on to steak or toasted bread, or use them to make a?É?í?ǬØoli.

Sardines Rub gutted sardines with a little olive oil and season with chopped garlic, thyme, salt and pepper. Ideally, put them into a barbecue fish basket to make it easier to turn them, and cook for two to three minutes a side.

Fruit kebabs Thread cubes of apple, pear, banana, mango, pineapple, halved figs or plums on to skewers. Brush with honey thinned with a little apple or orange juice and grill over a low, fading barbecue, turning very frequently, until lightly caramelised, about five minutes.

Peaches or nectarines Halve, then brush the cut sides with a little melted butter, sprinkle lightly with brown sugar and grill, cut side down, for three to four minutes. Serve with ricotta, ice-cream or mascarpone and a sprinkling of toasted flaked almonds or chopped hazelnuts.

Roasted artichokes and lemons

These grilled lemons go wonder-fully well with artichokes, but they’re great with barbecued fish, chicken and lamb as well. Serves six as a starter.

6 small to medium-sized artichokes
4 tbsp olive oil
2 large lemons, quartered lengthways
Flaky sea salt

Simmer or steam the artichokes whole until just tender, about 15-25 minutes ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì you can tell they’re done by tugging at one of the lower leaves: it should pull away easily. (Incidentally, if you grow your own, they’ll take less time to cook, so reduce the cooking time to around seven or eight minutes.) Lift the artichokes from the pan and leave for a few minutes to steam and lose some of their moisture, then cut in half lengthways and use a teaspoon to scrape out the hairy choke. Brush the cut sides with olive oil. Brush olive oil over the lemon quarters, place on the grill and cook until just charred on one side, about three minutes, then turn and cook on the other side for two to three minutes. Now grill the artichokes cut side down, until the leaves just begin to char ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì about three minutes. Serve with a trickle of olive oil, a sprinkling of sea salt and the grilled lemons to squeeze over the top.

Yoghurty spatchcocked chicken

Even though you have to be careful about controlling the temperature, cooking a whole chicken on the grill is less trouble than fiddling with lots of drumsticks. This really needs to be done on a relatively low barbecue, to avoid burnt-on-the-outside-but-raw-in-the-middle syndrome. If you are not sure how to spatchcock a bird, ask the butcher to do it for you. Serves six.

1 spatchcocked free-range chicken
Salt
For the marinade
8 tbsp whole milk yoghurt
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Juice of ?É‚Äö?Ǭ? lemon
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp chilli flakes
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp freshly ground black pepper

Mix together all the ingredients for the marinade. Put the chicken in a non-reactive bowl and pour on the marinade. Turn the chicken over with your hands, making sure the marinade gets into every nook and cranny, cover, refrigerate and leave to marinate for at least two hours. Make sure it is at room temperature before grilling. Sprinkle with salt.

Place the bird breast side up towards the edge of the grill where it’s slightly cooler, and cook for 20-25 minutes, then turn over and cook for a further 15-20 minutes, spraying from time to time with a little water if it’s browning too fast. Deploy the lid, if your barbecue has one, or simply use an upturned roasting tin, to reflect the heat back down and semi-roast your barbecuing chicken.

The bird is done when the juices run clear when pierced between the thigh and breast bone (or when it reads 80C on a meat thermometer). Remove from the heat and leave to rest for 10-15 minutes before carving.

Roasted courgette and spring onion tabboule

Courgettes and spring onions are delicious barbecued, but you can also make this salad with other grilled vegetables such as peppers, red onions or aubergines. If you like, toss in some toasted sunflower or pumpkin seeds for crunch and some chopped, dried apricots for sweetness. Serves four to six.

5 courgettes, cut lengthways into 1cm slices
10 spring onions, trimmed
2-3 tbsp olive oil
250g bulgur wheat or couscous
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 handful fresh mint, tough stalks removed and chopped
1 handful fresh parsley, tough stalks removed and chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Brush the courgettes and onions with oil and grill, turning from time to time, for about five minutes, until lightly charred and tender.

Cook the bulgur wheat or couscous according to the packet instructions, toss with the zest of half the lemon, a good squeeze of lemon juice, a trickle of oil and the herbs, season and serve with the grilled vegetables.

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

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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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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.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Want to join us for one of our Friday Night At River Cottage dinners? Guardian readers get 10% off the usual price. To book, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian, or go to rivercottage.net for more details.

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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.

Want to join us on for a day of meat curing and smoking (next course on 28 June)? We have an exclusive 10% off offer to Guardian readers. For details, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian;rivercottage.net for more details.

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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.

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Visit River Cottage in August for just ?É‚Äö?Ǭ£11 ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì go to rivercottage.net for details.

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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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There are few dishes that can’t be improved by the addition of a small handful of seeds

I’m feeling seedy today, but there’s no three-day stubble or whiff of cheap booze involved, I promise. In fact, it couldn’t be more wholesome. I’m simply hungry for the reproductive organs of plants ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì the sort of seeds you might throw into a pan or mixing bowl. These microdots of flavour punch way above their weight in the kitchen, though that’s hardly surprising when you consider that a whole future plant ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì and all of its potential, flavour and promise ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì is contained within their gritty carapaces.

The happy crunch of poppy, the aniseedy bite of fennel, the creamy sweetness of sesame are what’s preoccupying me in today’s recipes, but these aren’t the only seeds in my larder. Cumin and coriander are scattered liberally throughout some of my favourite spice blends, pastes and rubs, while pumpkin and sunflower find their way into my breads, salads and breakfast muesli.

Of course, you can sprinkle, pound and stir seeds just as they are, but their flavour is magnified by toasting. Think of coriander seeds, grassy and almost soapy in their natural state, yet given a much greater depth of flavour with the introduction of a little heat. Or, indeed, pine nuts. Raw, they’re more of a texture than a flavour. It takes toasting to bring out their true complexity and richness. To toast seeds, warm them gently in a dry frying pan until they just begin to release their aroma, then tip them on to a plate to stop them cooking. Don’t be tempted to multitask at this point. They can burn in the time it takes to turn on the dishwasher or take out the rubbish.

Many seeds turn rancid quickly because they are so rich in oils, so buy them only in small quantities and/or store them in airtight containers in the fridge or freezer so you don’t lose a scrap of flavour.

Once you have your stash, the possibilities are limitless. Sprinkle toasted pumpkin, sunflower or sesame seeds on to salads, or enjoy them speckled over the surface of, or mixed into, the dough of your bread, bun or scone. Toss them into stir-fries or pilaffs, or scatter them over roasted or steamed veg. Pounded and mixed with chopped herbs, perhaps with some citrus zest and breadcrumbs, too, some seeds make a good coating for grilled fish or meat ?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ǩ?ì try coriander seeds with some thyme and lemon zest on pork, or sesame seeds, breadcrumbs and lemon zest on meaty fish fillets.

Experiment, play, scatter with abandon?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¶ Some may land on thorny ground, but most will thrive and prosper. At least until you scoff them, that is.

Poppyseed lemon cake

This is a deliciously moist and tangy cake, speckled with a blizzard of poppy seeds. It keeps really well, too, if you’re the self-restrained sort. Makes one 23cm cake.

170g plain flour
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp salt
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp baking powder
50g poppy seeds
Zest of 2 large lemons
170g unsalted butter, softened
170g caster sugar
4 eggs, separated
170g wholemilk yoghurt
2 tsp vanilla extract

For the syrup
Juice of 2 large lemons
5 tbsp icing sugar
Zest of 1 lemon, pared off with vegetable peeler and cut into thin strips
1 tbsp icing sugar, for sifting

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Butter a 23cm springform cake tin and dust with flour.

Sieve together the flour, salt, bicarb and baking powder. Stir in the poppy seeds and lemon zest. Beat together the butter and 120g of sugar until light and fluffy. In a jug, whisk together the egg yolks, yoghurt and vanilla

In a scrupulously clean bowl, beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt until they hold soft peaks. Add the remaining sugar a spoonful at a time, beating until the meringue mix holds stiff peaks.

Beat the flour mixture and the egg mixture alternately into the butter and sugar, starting and ending with the flour (ie, flour/eggs/flour/eggs/flour). Stir about a third of the meringue mixture into the batter to lighten it, then gently fold in the rest. Spoon the cake mix into the tin, smooth the top and bake for 40-45 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

While the cake is baking, make the syrup. Combine the juice, sugar and zest in a small saucepan and heat gently, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved. Simmer for two minutes, then remove from the heat.

Take the cake out of the oven and spike all over the top with a skewer. Pour the syrup over, letting it trickle over the top and down the sides. Leave to cool in the tin, then dust with icing sugar before serving.

Fennel meatballs

The Italians love the combination of pork and fennel, and I think they’re on to a winner. Try this mixture as meatballs, or turn it into burgers. Serves six.

200g bread from a good white loaf, crusts removed and torn into rough pieces
200ml whole milk
3 garlic cloves, chopped
3 tsp fennel seeds, lightly toasted
?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tsp freshly ground black pepper
1?É‚Äö?Ǭ? tbsp salt
500g minced beef
750g minced pork, coarse if possible
1 onion, finely diced
8 tbsp minced flat leaf parsley
2 tbsp minced fresh oregano
60g parmesan, finely grated
1 egg, plus 1 yolk
2 tbsp olive oil
Tagliatelle, to serve

For the tomato sauce
3 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 carrot, finely diced
1 small celery stick, finely diced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 800g tins good-quality chopped tomatoes
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Sugar

First make the sauce. Heat the oil in a saucepan over medium-low heat and saut?É?í?Ǭ© the onion until softened and just beginning to turn golden. Add the carrot and celery, fry for five minutes, then add the garlic and cook for a couple of minutes more. Tip in the tomatoes, season and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat and cook until the sauce is slightly thickened, about 20 minutes. Adjust the seasoning, and add a pinch of sugar if it’s a touch acidic.

To make the meatballs, put the bread into a bowl, pour the milk over the top and leave to soak for 15 minutes. While it’s soaking, pound the garlic, fennel, salt and pepper in a pestle and mortar until you have a rough paste.

Mix the beef and pork in a large bowl with the bread, onion, fennel paste, parsley, oregano and parmesan until well combined. Stir in the eggs until just incorporated. Fry off a small piece of the meatball mix to test for seasoning, and adjust accordingly. Using your hands, roll the mix into meatballs of about 5cm in diameter.

Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium heat. Brown the meatballs well on all sides (you may have to do this in batches), then transfer them to a heavy casserole. Pour the tomato sauce over the meatballs, give the pan a gentle shake and bring to a simmer. Cook, partially covered, for about an hour, stirring from time to time. Serve with tagliatelle.

Sesame dressing

This is great trickled over roasted, grilled or barbecued steak, chicken or asparagus.

3 tbsp tahini
Juice of ?É‚Äö?Ǭ? lemon
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp finely grated ginger
1 clove garlic, finely minced
2 tbsp sesame seeds, toasted
2 tbsp finely chopped parsley or coriander

In a pestle and mortar, pound the tahini, lemon juice, soy, ginger and garlic (or blitz them in a blender). Thin with about 80ml of hot water, or as much as is needed to get the mix to the consistency of double cream. Now either stir in the sesame seeds and parsley or coriander and use within a couple of hours, or store for a few days, sealed in a jar in the fridge, and add the sesame and herbs an hour or so before serving

?ɬ¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ǭ¢ Desperate to grow your own but no space to do it in? Hugh may be able to help. Go to landshare.net for details.

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