Copyright

Fourth Estate

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First published in Great Britain in 2008

Text copyright © Rose Prince 2008

Photographs copyright © Laura Hynd 2008

The right of Rose Prince to be identified as the author of this work and the right of Laura Hynd to be identified as the photographer of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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Source ISBN: 9780007250943

Ebook Edition © JULY 2017 ISBN: 9780007522736

Version: 2017-08-08

From the reviews of The New English Table:

‘The cook book of the season is The New English Table by Rose Prince, a food writer peerless for her knowledge, passion and practicality. The inventiveness of this bulging culinary treasury is balanced by reassurance.’

Independent

‘Rose manages to turn traditional and unfamiliar ingredients into something special – but without the angst. We love how she recycles leftovers in ingenious ways to make really good food go further. Even nervous cooks will be won over!’

SHE

‘Quintessentially English and pretty, this collection is set to expand your knowledge of new ingredients and ways to use them.’

Sainsbury’s Magazine

‘The emphasis here is on food that tastes fantastic but doesn’t cost the earth – good news in these belt-tightening times.’

Good Housekeeping

‘A proper kitchen book, made to spend time on the kitchen table. A book that chimes with the ‘new austerity’ ethos of buying wisely and making it last.’

Time Out

‘If ever a book was perfectly timed, this is it. Just as we’ve begun to value good-quality food, along comes the promise of a recession. In this heavyweight food bible featuring 200 recipes, Rose Prince explores affordable and easy-to-cook food, and proves that good eating doesn’t have to cost the earth.’

Woman & Home

‘A beacon of talent and intelligence, Prince has generated a devoted and appreciative following … writing in a tone that is all her own, her recipes are moral, healthy, economical and (in case this sounds too uplifting for words) extremely tasty.’

Independent on Sunday

‘What is new about the recipes is the way [Rose Prince] takes traditional English foods and uses them with a twist … this book is the antidote to officious nutritionists and State nannies. It’s a call to treat food with love and reverence rather than guilt.’

Country Life

‘No one bears Mrs Beeton’s mantle better.’

The Economist

‘Making the most of British ingredients has always been at the heart of food writer Rose Prince’s recipes.’

BBC Olive

Dedication

In memory of

Mary Goloubeff Kapnist and her white farmhouse

Epigraph

A man dies and is buried, and all his words and actions areforgotten, but the food he has eaten lives after him in the soundor rotten bones of his children.

George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier (1937)

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Epigraph

Introduction

List for All Recipes

Apples

Asparagus

Bacon

Barley

Beans

Beef

Blackcurrants

Broccoli

Buckwheat

Buffalo Milk

Cauliflower

Glorious Rehash – a New Generation of Leftovers

Celery

Cheese

Chestnuts

Chicken

Chickpeas

Chicory

Cobnuts

Cocoa

Courgettes

Crab

Crayfish

Cucumber

Damsons

Eggs

Elderflower

Faggots

Figs

Goose

Gooseberries

The Local Table

Grouse

Gurnard

Haddock

Ham and Gammon

Honey

John Dory

Lamb and Mutton

Langoustines

Lemons

Lentils

Mackerel

Megrim Soles

Mushrooms

Oats

Olive Oil

The Lost Kitchen

Ox Tongue

Oysters

Partridges

Peas

Pheasant

Pistachio Nuts

Pomegranates

Pork

Potatoes

Prawns and Shrimps

Quince

Rabbit

Radishes

Rice – Short Grain

Rice – Long Grain

Roots

Roses

Runner Beans

Sardines

Sausages

Scallops

Squash and Pumpkin

Sweetbreads

Tea

Tomatoes

Trotters and Knuckles

Rhythms of Dinner and a Time to Eat Soup

Turkey

Veal

Watercress

Wheat

Wild Salmon

Woodpigeon

Bibliography and Sources

Index

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Introduction

My one table is two tables. Mostly it is an everyday table, a busy junction where plates arrive and leave, sometimes in a hurry, sometimes late. But they leave empty, I hope. Food for every day might be an economical bean and herb soup; juicy threads of braised ham hock beside a pile of buttery potato, or something good rehashed from something left over. But every now and then we sit at the ‘other’ table, for a weekend lunch or dinner, supper with others or a seasonal feast. Then we eat dishes cooked with ingredients that are more luxurious and precious: a whole baked Cornish fish, or roast game birds; a dish of new-season asparagus and pea shoots; a creamy pudding piled with summer berries and decorated with flowers.

It is a rhythm of eating that I enjoy. I have been good, so I can be bad; some meals are tempered, so others can be rich. It rejuvenates the old concept of ‘fast and feast’ and has become quite natural. But oscillating between those dishes of leftovers, cheap cuts and humble raw materials on the one hand and richer meals based on more valuable ingredients on the other is not just a feel-good diet; it forms part of a solution to a wider predicament.

There is a strong bond between good human health and the health of the environment. What you choose to eat has both an intrinsic and an ecological impact. If, in place of eating fillets of chicken, you decide to cook a whole chicken, eat the meat, then make an ambrosial broth from the bones to use in a creamy soup scented with tarragon, you can afford to buy a traditionally reared bird that has been fed on natural forage. Feeding chickens grass rather than cereals not only saves considerable quantities of fossil fuel (used in fertiliser and processing) but also benefits you: grass-fed livestock have a higher proportion of essential fatty acids in their meat, which are good for heart health and help guard against becoming overweight. There is also the diversity factor in this equation. As well as reducing uneconomic waste, recycling food left over from other meals encourages the use of many more appetising ingredients, such as herbs, salad vegetables and pulses. Growing a greater variety of crops and so eating a more diverse diet is again a plus for both people and planet. The meals on our table form part of a cycle that can, collectively, make a positive difference.

Currently, the main challenges and threats we face are food related. ‘Peak oil’ – the point after which demand for fossil fuels outstrips supply – has pushed food prices up, and inflation on some foods is now as high as 20 per cent. Rising levels of obesity are costing the National Health Service an estimated £1 billion per year; in children the obesity epidemic is especially tragic and poignant. But in our own warm kitchens, we can go some way to addressing issues that the authorities seem uninspired, or politically afraid, to deal with.

The problem of methane-emitting food waste and higher prices can be tackled by turning, say, some surplus cooked beef into a rich braise, enlivened with puréed tomatoes, red wine, garlic and thin shreds of wild fungi, to eat with buttered pasta ribbons.

One answer to the peak oil question lies in an earthily delicious dish of home-grown purple sprouting broccoli and tender green lentils, both of which are crops with a low environmental impact.

Given the known benefits of eating a more diverse menu than red meat, white bread and King Edwards potatoes, poor diet can be addressed by exploring a wider variety of foods, trying new types of grain, sprouted seeds and leafy green vegetables. We can do good by choosing from battalions of pretty squashes, rare potato and apple breeds, less familiar seafood and game birds – even edible flowers. If any of the above were medicine, it would taste of honey and lemon.

But what to put on the table … what is English, or British? A peculiar aspect of our progress over centuries, during which artists have created works of genius and scientists have developed life-saving cures, is that the English larder has become culturally primitive. Once we were imaginative and knowledgeable about the art of food, and more democratic in the share of it. Now, the majority paint by numbers in crude colours.

So this is a book of ingredients: how and when to buy them, all the many things that can be made with them and, in many cases, how to use up what is left. There is an economic divide between the foods listed. Some are obvious candidates for an occasional feast, others plainly everyday items. Some fall between the two – they can be cheaper to buy in a glut moment, or depending on where you live. Many are recognisably home grown – beef, Cheddar, wheat and watercress, for example. Some are produced here but are underexploited – sardines, sweetbreads, barley and rabbit. Others could be grown here commercially but are not – buckwheat, lentils, quince and chestnuts. Others cannot be produced here but are non-controversial imports embedded in our history – olive oil, tea, lemons and rice. All these foods belong here, or were English once. Have confidence. There’s no need always to look to the Mediterranean for something good.

With your new knowledge and ideas, choose when is right to eat what. Try new things. Add herbs, leaves, flowers and spices to the kaleidoscope and suddenly the English table has food on its plates that is interesting, pretty, honest and so good to eat. Choosing to cook and not waste a diverse range of foods, in a rhythm that is economical and healthy in every sense, will become the essence of a New English Table.

List of All Recipes

Apples

Apple Soup

Apple, Red Cabbage and Watercress Salad

Hot Apple Juice

Russet Jelly Ice

Asparagus

Asparagus with Pea Shoots and Mint

Boiled or Steamed Asparagus

Bacon

Bacon and Shellfish

Bacon and Potatoes

Bacon Gravy for Sausages

Light Bacon Stew

Bacon and Apples

Bacon and Potato Salad with Green Celery Leaf and Cider Vinegar

Barley

Barley Cooked as for Risotto

Pot Barley and Lamb Broth

Pearl Barley with Turmeric, Lemon and Black Cardamom

Barley Water (the Queen’s Recipe)

Spiced Barley with Leeks, Root Vegetables, Oregano, Nutmeg, Allspice and Butter

Barley in Breadcrumbs

Beans

Bean Sprout and Herb Soup

Baked Beans with Bacon, Molasses and Tomato

Pinto Beans and Venison

White Bean Broth with Buttered Tomato and Lettuce

Bean and Herb Salads

Quick Braised Butterbeans

Beef

Grilled Goose Skirt with Salad Leaves and Berkswell Cheese

Top of the Rump with Lemon and Parsley Butter

Flank with Tarragon Butter Sauce

Braised Shin of Beef with Ale

Cold Salt Beef and Green Sauce

Roast Rare Aged Beef Sirloin with a Mustard and Watercress Sauce

Raw Beef with Horseradish, Sorrel and Rye Bread

Beef with Horseradish Sauce on Crisp Bread

Beef with Pumpkin Seeds and Carrot

Sauce for Pasta

Braised Beef and Fungi

Beef Stock

Dripping

Blackcurrants

Blackcurrant Tarts

Venison Marinated in Blackcurrants

Redcurrant Cake

Broccoli

Purple Sprouting Broccoli with Little Brown Lentils

Creamed Broccoli Soup

Romanesco Salad

Buckwheat

Kasha Salad

Buckwheat Pancakes

Herrings in Buckwheat Groats

Buffalo Milk

Buffalo Milk Yoghurt with Lavender Honey and Pear Salad

Cauliflower

Cauliflower with Lancashire Cheese

Crisped Cauliflower with Breadcrumbs and Garlic

Cauliflower Soup

Glorious Rehash – a New Generation of Leftovers

Celery

Green Celery, Crayfish and Potato Salad

Celery Soup

Celery Stock

Cheese

Melted Cheese and Ale, to Eat with Bread

Pasta with Ricotta and Woody Herbs

Beetroot, Red Cabbage and Goafs Cheese Salad

Stinking Bishop Tart

Fried Fresh Goat’s Cheese with Apples, Victoria Plums and Orange Blossom Honey

Flowerpot Cheesecake Decorated with Flowers

Chestnuts

Hot Chestnut and Honey Soup

Potted Duck with Chestnuts

Chicken

Whole Poached Chicken, Leek and Bean Broth with Real Ale and Garlic Sauce

Dry-roast Chicken

Chicken Stock

Chicken Noodle Broth

Hot Chicken, Herb and Cream Soup

Cold Chicken, Mustard, Dill and Cucumber

Coconut Chicken

Chicken Curry with Fresh Tomato and Ginger

Chickpeas

Squash and Chickpea Soup with Single Gloucester Cheese

Sprouted Chickpea Hummus

Blue Cheese and Gram Flour Biscuits

Chicory

Creamed Chicory Soup with Pink Pepper, Parsley Oil and Soft-boiled Egg

Chicory and Goat’s Cheese Puff Pastry Pie

Braised Chicory with Butter and Lemon Juice

Cobnuts

Squirrel with Cobnuts and Walnuts

Pheasant Halves Stuffed with Cobnuts, Bread and Butter

Cobnut and Watercress Salad with Potato Bread

Cobnut Ice

Cocoa

Flourless Cocoa Cake

Courgettes

Courgettes with Garlic Butter

Courgette Shavings with Olive Oil, Lemon, Pistachio, Basil and Chives

Crab

Potted Crab

Crab Broth

Crab with Spelt

Crab and Mustard Omelette

Crayfish

Boiled Crayfish with Watercress and Egg Sauce

Crayfish-scented Broth with Trout and Rice

Cucumber

Hot Spiced Cucumber

Chilled Cucumber Soup with Mint, Yoghurt and Green Chilli

Proper Cucumber Sandwiches

Damsons

Damsons, Boiled Gingerbread and Lemon Cream

Damson Gin

Eggs

Eggs in Jelly with Tarragon

Poached Eggs with Rainbow Chard and Pink Pepper

Soft-boiled Eggs, Raw Vegetable Crudités, Mayonnaises (Basil, Nasturtium and Chilli)

Elderflower

Elderflower Fritters

Elderflower and Ginger Syllabub

Elderflower Syrup

Elderflower and Mead Marinade for Poultry

Faggots

Faggots and Watercress

Fried Faggots with Caper and Parsley Sauce

Figs

Breakfast Figs

Spiced Neck of Lamb with Figs

Baked Figs with Pear Purée

Goose

Roast Goose with Apples and Blackberry Jelly

Cold Goose and Wild Rice

Cold Goose and Cucumber

Goose Fat

Gooseberries

Gooseberry Sauce for Duck

Gooseberry Fool

The Local Table

Grouse

Roast Grouse

Grouse with Heather Honey Toast

Grouse Stock with Oat Groats and Bacon

Gurnard

Gurnard with Sweet and Sour Violet Aubergine and Celery

Fish Stock

Cockle, Potato and Garlic Hotpot

Haddock

Spiced Haddock Pasties

Baked Haddock Soup

Raw Haddock with Apples

Creamy Haddock Cakes

Ham and Gammon

Ham and Peas Dressed with Mayonnaise, Capers and Chives

Gammon and Lentil Broth

Honey

Greengage and Almond Tart with Honey Sauce

Honeycomb Cream with Hazelnut Meringue and Raspberries

John Dory

Spiced John Dory

Fried John Dory with Brown Butter, Parsley and Hazelnuts

Lamb and Mutton

Curried Lamb and Brown Lentil Broth

Lamb Braised with Thyme and Rosemary, Served with Egg Pasta

Skewered Spiced Mutton

Flatbreads

Barbecued Somerset Salt-marsh Mutton

Lamb Shoulder Steak with Broad Beans, Shallots and Mint

Lamb with Tomatoes and Garlic, Finished with Spring Vegetables

Leg of Mutton Slow-roasted with Woody Herbs, Butter and Hay

Shepherd’s Pie

Pistachio and Lamb Rice

Lamb stock

Langoustines

Langoustine Tartare with Hot Olive Oil

Langoustine Cocktail

Langoustine Stock

Langoustine Soup with Lemon Grass and Coconut

Lemons

Water Pudding

Leg of Hogget with Lemon

Lentils

A Lentil Store

Brown Lentils with Red Wine, Carrots and Thyme

Lentils and Rice

Mackerel

Grilled Mackerel

Cured Mackerel

Megrim Soles

Fried Megrim Sole

Mushrooms

Any-mushroom Soup

Mushroom Salad with Lemon, Parsley and Prawns

Mushrooms on Toast

Guinea Fowl Stuffed with Mushrooms, Groats and Herbs

Oats

Bircher Muesli

Haggis and Vegetables that are not Tatties and Neeps’

Oatcakes

Split Mealy Pudding, Scrambled Eggs and Cress

Olive Oil

Little Lemon and Olive Oil Cakes

Raisin, Currant and Sultana Pie in Olive Oil Pastry

Mayonnaise

The Lost Kitchen

Ox Tongue

Braised Tongue

Sandwiches

Hot Tongue with Potato Salad

Hash

Oysters

Grilled Oysters with Butter, Watercress, Celery and Aniseed

Partridges

Pot-roasted Partridges with Breadcrumbs

Partridge Legs

Partridge and Pears

Potted Partridge and Pistachio

Cold Partridge with Wood-roasted Peppers

Partridge Stock

Peas

Pea Stock

Pea Soup with Lettuce and Herbs

Pea and Wild Garlic Broth

Living Pea Salad with Mint

Pea Pies

Pheasant

Bacon-wrapped Pheasant

Stir-fried Pheasant with Ginger and Black Beans

Pheasant Stock

Cold Pheasant with Chickpeas, Pine Nuts, Aubergine and Mint

Pistachio Nuts

Pistachio Biscuits

Pistachio and Lamb Rice

Pomegranates

Fresh Pomegranate Jelly

Mutton Leg Chops with Ginger and Pomegranate Salsa

Pork

Roast Middle Loin of Pork

Roast Spare Rib of Pork Stuffed with Prunes

Warm Pork Sandwiches with Apple Sauce

Cold Pork with Anchovy and Caper Sauce

Potted Pork with Basil

Toast

Butter and Radishes

Leek Jam

Pickled Pears

Lettuce with Dressing

Cucumber Pickle

Pork Chump Chops Braised with Lentils, Cider and Cream

Raised Pork and Duck Pie

Braised Hand of Pork with Wine

Potatoes

Whipped Potatoes with Lancashire Cheese

Potato and Fresh Cheese in an Olive Oil Pastry Pie

Prawns and Shrimps

Prawn Salad with Raw Apple, Rhubarb and Walnut Oil

Pint of Shell-on Prawns with Scrumpy Butter

Shrimp (or Prawn) Shell Broth with Ale and Straw Mushrooms

Potted Shrimps with Egg Pasta

Prawn and Shrimp Stock

Mathias’s Prawn Curry with Coconut Tea’

Quince

Roast Quince

Rabbit

Potted Rabbit with Pork, Rosemary, Pink Pepper and Lemon

Radishes

Butter and Radishes

Radish and Horseradish Sauce

Rice – Short Grain

Tornato Rice

Rice – Long Grain

Spiced Rice with Cauliflower, Coconut, Cloves and Ginger

Brökens Pudding with Caramelised Pineapple

Roots

Roasted Mixed Root Vegetables

Raw Roots

Sweet Potato Stew with Crab, Coriander, Lime and Butter

Carrot Butter Sauce

Carrot Soup

Roses

Lamb with Rose and Almonds

Blancmange with Crystallised Rose Petals

Runner Beans

Runner Beans with Shallot, Mustard, Oil and Vinegar

Beans, Beans and Beans

Sardines

Grilled Sardines with Bread, Walnut and Chilli Sauce

Canned Pilchards with New Potatoes

Sausages

Sausage Meatballs and Farro Broth with Mustard

Wurst with Butterbeans, Tarragon, Leeks and Cream

Scallops

Scallops Baked in Their Shells with Mace

Squash and Pumpkin

Baked Gem Squash

Pumpkin Soup

Sweetbreads

Lamb Sweetbreads Wrapped in Ham with Peas and Lovage

Tea

Tea-soaked Fruitcake

Lemon Lapsang Souchong Jelly

Tomatoes

A Cooked Tomato Store

Tomato and Spelt Soup

Chilled Tomato, Lime, Basil and Lemon Grass Soup

Skinned Tomato and Dandelion Salad

Trotters and Knuckles

Spelt Groats, Knuckle of Pork and Herbs

Pig’s Trotter, Woodpigeon and Wheat Soup with Cobnut and Watercress Sauce

Rhythms of Dinner and a Time to Eat Soup

Turkey

Roast Turkey with Dried Cherry, Apple and Cornbread Stuffing and Duck and Chestnut Forcemeat

Turkey Legs Stuffed with Nettles and Garlic

Using Turkey Stock

Using Cold Turkey

Veal

Baked Short Pasta with Veal Meatballs and Green Ricotta

Stuffed Breast of Veal

Watercress

Watercress Soup

Watercress and Radish Sauce for Pasta

Wheat

Bread Soups

Wild Yeast Bread

Thin Breads

Three-minute Spelt Bread

‘Saffron’ Buns

Airy Buns

Berkswell Cheese Scones

Farro with Potatoes and Basil Oil

Spelt and Lentil Salad with Lots of Parsley

Wild Salmon

Poached Wild Salmon

Wild Salmon and Halibut Cured and Served in Soy, Lime and Garlic Broth

Woodpigeon

Pigeon Breasts with Buttered Shrimps

Potted Pigeon Salad with Celery and Mustard Dressing

Pigeon Rice with Figs and Whole Wheat

APPLES

Apple Soup

Apple, Red Cabbage and Watercress Salad

Hot Apple Juice

Russet Jelly Ice

An apple is often the earliest of our food memories. From the moment an infant takes its first carefully sieved apple purée, to the apple in the lunchbox or the one pinched from a tree in next door’s garden, apples are always close by. For busy students and workers, they are a constant – reliable pocket fodder or desktop picnic regular. Apple turnovers and doughnuts are just another, naughtier, form of the fruit. Then young families make their first apple crumble, and over time come apple snow, pies, tarts and charlottes. Non-pudding eaters never tire of apples with cheese. Then after this lifetime with a fruit that is a symbol of the heart, some of us will face the end with the occasional bowl of apple purée again. I hope I do, teeth or no teeth.

Apples are an emblem of what is wrong and what is right about our food supply. There are thousands of varieties but only a handful of them are grown commercially – a monoculture that squanders custom and harms the environment. But this dent in diversity is now – slowly – reversing, with apple farmers bringing traditional varieties to city markets and even supermarkets putting a few unfamiliar apples on their shelves. There has been a revival of apple customs, community orchards and ‘Apple Days’, when children can taste some odd things made with apples and adults get squiffy on farmhouse cider. Yet Britain grows a shamefully small crop. It was once enormous, but the creation of a free market with other European countries in the 1970s saw British farmers chop down every tree, grub them up and plant a more valuable crop. Did they know at the time that to destroy an orchard is to terminate the survival of a menagerie of wildlife, including the vital wild bee population? They do now, and so does Defra (the Department of Food and Rural Affairs), which is offering incentives to farmers planting orchards. So there’s hope – a long way still to go, but I feel optimistic.

Sold in every greengrocer’s, every paper shop, everywhere, apples have become an everyday thing to take for granted – eating one is like brushing your teeth or taking a bus. Like it or not. I like it when the home crop is in season and varieties jig in and out of the autumn and winter months, but not when the stickers on the fruit show that it has travelled long haul even though our own are in season. I’d rather feel the rough skin of a Russet on my lip and taste its firm, mellow flesh than have my face sprayed with the acidic juice of an import that has been bred for looks but not taste. I am happy not to eat peaches in late summer, preferring to wait for those anonymous native apples that drop off local trees, whose red skin stains their white insides pink. That’s what I call exotic.

But why are English apples just that bit better? Here is a fruit that, unlike tomatoes, likes its adopted country. The chemistry between the apple tree, our climate and our soil yields a fruit that has intricate melodies of taste and texture. Commercially grown French apples have tarty PVC skin and astringent flesh; our ordinary Cox’s, on the other hand, are dressed for the weather, with sturdy, windcheater hides holding in their mellow juices.

Perhaps we should rethink when to eat apples. For almost ten months of the year, from late July to early May, there is the home-grown supply: the Pippins, Pearmains, Russets and other esoteric types. There are even free apples if you can get at some windfalls. You don’t have to own a tree, but good contacts help. My mother-in-law brings us hers when she visits us in town. Fallen apples are not always the best to eat in the hand, having been bashed about a bit, but they cook well.

Buying apples

For the interesting ones, visit your local farmers’ market and buy lots. Store them in the dark, where they will keep well, then it won’t be the end of the world if the weekly market trip cannot be made. To find a farmers’ market, look at your local council website. London markets can be located at www.lfm.org.uk. There are other independently run produce markets, such as Borough Market in southeast London, and you will sometimes find locally grown apples in ordinary street markets across the country. Look out also for country markets, run by the WI – your nearest can be located on www.country-markets.co.uk.

A novel way to buy apples is by post. Try Charlton Orchards (www.charltonorchards.com; tel: 01823 412959). For information about starting or locating community orchards, or learning about apple varieties and customs, contact the Dorset-based organisation, Common Ground (www.commonground.org.uk).

Which apple to use

The season for British apples runs from July to May. Early varieties ripen on the tree and do not store well, then the later ones start to come in. Some of these can be eaten immediately, but others need time in storage for the sugars to develop. Sometimes this can take months, hence the long apple season. Cox’s, for example, are picked in late September but are not ripe until late October. Modern storage facilities have also lengthened the season. There are a few varieties that are specifically for cooking (like the Bramley) but the truth is that you can cook with any eating apple. It is best, though, to cook them when they are still a little unripe, so the flavour will be stronger.

Good apples tend to be very good on the inside but a little knobbly in looks. They may have rough bumps, come in odd shapes or have some pest damage but, providing the flesh is not bruised or discoloured and the juice is sweet, this will not affect the way they cook.

Familiar native apples

Bramley The prototypical cooking apple, tart and firm, but not the one with the most interesting taste. Bramleys have a thick skin, normally pared away for cooking, and a flesh that cooks to a pale and puffy soft purée. They always need sweetening and are traditionally used in pies and crumbles. I prefer to bake smaller dessert apples, but a baked Bramley with its foaming hot flesh is something of a classic.

Cox’s Orange Pippin An eating apple (that can also be cooked) with a mellow, yellow-tinted flesh and a slightly rough, red-and green-tinted skin. British commercial growers like to grow Cox’s because they last until March in storage. They are a good apple, sweet enough to cook without sugar yet they work well with savoury things, too (see Bacon and Apples). When shopping, look out for their Pippin relatives for new aromas, colours and flavours.

Egremont Russet Their smallness makes these eating apples irritating to prepare for cooking but, used slightly underripe, they have a beautiful sharpness and can hold their shape. I put them in tarts, and make an ice with a jelly prepared from whole Russets. They are ideal for the soup. They ripen in late October and there is a good supply until December.

Discovery My favourite apple to eat raw. The pink from the skin tints the flesh and they have a knockout scent. Use in salads with toasted pumpkin seeds and fruity cheeses like Cheddar, or cook them with blackberries. They ripen on the tree in July/August and must be eaten quickly.

Worcester Pearmain This is the classic bright-red striped English eating apple, available in winter (but rarely after Christmas). The juice is sharp and fragrant. The colour fades when cooked, so Worcesters are better eaten raw. Use them in salads, with walnuts and blue cheese.

Unfamiliar native apples

Blenheim Orange These eating apples are often mentioned in old cookery books as excellent cooking apples, too. They cook down to a drier, more textured purée than regular cooking apples and are thought to be ideal for charlottes (a fruit pudding baked in a straight-sided dish lined with buttered bread, then turned out to serve).

Newton Wonder A sweet cooking apple that ripens in late December and is available through January. Remove the core, stuff the cavity with dried figs and treacle, then bake in a low oven and eat with good vanilla ice cream.

Laxton’s Fortune An early eating apple with Pippin ancestors, this ripens in September and should be eaten quickly, raw.

Tydeman’s Late Orange A dry-skinned Russet with plenty of aromatic juice, this eating apple ripens in January. Core it, stuff the cavity with raisins, wrap in shortcrust pastry, then brush with egg and bake. Eat with custard or sweetened cream cheese.

Scarlet Pimpernel An adorable small, fragrant apple that ripens in August. Fry them in a pan, sprinkle with brown sugar and serve with barbecued pork chops. Or eat raw, with cobnuts.

Ashmead’s Kernel An eating apple that doubles as a cider apple, with yellow, firm-textured flesh that keeps well. Good for making Apple Soup, or peel, core and braise with duck and haricot beans for a sweet, winter dish.

Crab apple The parent species of every apple, crab apples are always sour, very fragrant and have a nice habit of turning rusty pink when cooked. The best possible use for them is to make a syrup or jelly. Put the quartered apples in a pan with some water and simmer until soft. Suspend a muslin jelly bag over a chair, place a bowl beneath and tip the cooked apples into the bag. Do not force it; let the juice drip through naturally. Measure the juice, add 500g/1lb 2oz granulated sugar for every 600ml/1 pint liquid, boil for about 15 minutes then put into jars. It will set into a delicate pink jelly.

Breakfast apple There isn’t any such species but I use this as a catch-all word for apples I cannot identify. I peel and core them and then cook them to a soft purée. This is my regular breakfast, which I eat with honey, yoghurt and linseed.

Apple Soup

This is a buttery, sweet and sour soup that makes an ideal everyday lunch reheated from the fridge. It can be made with any apple but it is better if they are slightly unripe or sour. Its flavour will change depending on the apple variety, and it is a good way to use up those wrinkly apples that have been sitting in the fruit bowl for too long. I recommend using a food processor to chop the fruit and vegetables. You don’t have to use homemade chicken stock – water or even apple juice is fine. If you use water, you will probably need to add more salt.

For a bigger meal, put this soup on the table with bread and cheese, or ham or potted meat with toast.

Serves 4

85g/3oz unsalted butter, plus extra to serve

1 large or 2 small white onions, roughly chopped

2 garlic cloves, chopped

12 apples, peeled, cored and chopped small

2 celery sticks with their leaves. chopped

leaves from 2 sprigs of thyme

5 allspice seeds, ground in a mortar and pestle (or ½ teaspoon ready-ground allspice)

1.2 litres/2 pints chicken stock, pressed apple juice or water

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Melt the butter in a large pan and add the onion, garlic, apples, celery, thyme leaves and allspice. Cook over a low heat until the onion and apples soften. Add the stock, bring to the boil and cook until the apples are quite tender. This should take about 15 minutes – don’t overcook it or the fresh flavours will be lost. Add black pepper, then taste and add salt if necessary. Serve with a knob of creamy unsalted butter melting in each bowlful.

Kitchen note

To make the soup richer still, stir in a splash of apple brandy or strong cider and put a spoonful of double cream into each bowlful when serving. For a different kind of soup, fry small pieces of smoked bacon or black pudding and add to each bowl. Adding a teaspoonful of toasted medium oatmeal will give this soup more muscle still.

Apple, Red Cabbage and Watercress Salad

I want to eat smaller, mayonnaise-bound salads instead of large bowls of rocket and mizuna dressed with olive oil and smothered in cheese. I like those spiky salad leaves but, after 10 years of enthusiasm, it is nice to turn instead to neat forkfuls of vegetables, herbs, nuts, fruits, perhaps cured meat or leftover chicken, clinging together with the help of an oil—egg emulsion like mayonnaise. Even a small amount fills and fuels you through an afternoon. These salads keep for 2 or 3 days in the fridge, so are a useful everyday graze. Leaves need not be left out. In the following recipe, they are part of the dressing.

This apple-based salad is lovely eaten alone but good, too, with hot boiled gammon, cold ham or cured sausage.

Serves 4

6 apples (the red skins of Worcesters are effective with the cabbage)

a squeeze of lemon juice

¼ red cabbage

2 tablespoons walnut halves

a little oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the dressing:

2 egg yolks

1 heaped teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 bunches of watercress, chopped

300ml/½ pint light olive oil, sunflower oil or groundnut oil

1–2 tablespoons white wine vinegar, to taste

1 tablespoon cornichons (baby gherkins), drained and finely chopped

First make the dressing: put the egg yolks and mustard into a bowl and mix well with a small whisk. Add the chopped watercress, then beat in the oil, a few drops at a time to begin with, then adding it a little faster once a third of it has been incorporated. If you add the oil too quickly it may curdle. Mix in the vinegar with the cornichons and set to one side.

Quarter the apples, remove the cores and slice them thinly, leaving the skins on. Dress with a little lemon juice to stop discoloration. Shred the cabbage as finely as possible, keeping the crunchy stalk. Put both the apple and cabbage into a bowl, then pour over enough of the dressing to give a good covering (set the rest aside; it will store well in a jar in the fridge).

Mix the salad gently so the apple slices do not break. Taste a little and add salt if necessary. Season with black pepper.

Toast the walnut halves in a pan with a little oil over a medium heat, then grind them in a pestle and mortar or chop them to a rough consistency. Scatter the nuts over the plates of salad as you serve it, spooning the salad on to the plates in appetisingly high mounds.

Hot Apple Juice

I am no fan of flasks filled with old tea for car journeys, but it is good to stop and sip something hot that was not bought at gross prices from service stations. This is a family invention to solve the problem. Pressed apple juice, with a little spice and light muscovado sugar, lasts all day as long as there is a decent Thermos to store it in. Try to use the best pressed apple juice, not one made from concentrate – juice made from concentrate can taste metallic. I sometimes buy direct from farmers’ markets in the city, although you can buy pressed apple juice in supermarkets, too.

Heat 1 litre/1¾ pints apple juice to boiling point and add ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon and a tiny pinch of ground cloves. Sweeten with light muscovado sugar to taste. If you are putting the juice into a flask, remember to wash it out first with boiling water.

Kitchen note

Hot cider is the adult alternative for non-drivers, and can be made using the same spices and sugar to sweeten, as above.

Russet Jelly Ice

I like this ice when it has a slightly bruised, windfall scent, like the musty inside of an apple store. The base is a jelly, extracted from whole apples or leftover apple peelings. Fresh apple is grated into the jelly before freezing but not before allowing it to brown a little – for that orchard-floor taste.

This is not a quick recipe but it is a very worthwhile one, especially if you use up windfalls. Try it with various apple varieties, including crab apple – you should see some interesting fluctuations in taste. Using slightly unripe apples will heighten the flavour.

Serves 6–8

10 Russet apples, plus 6 more to grate in at the end

golden granulated sugar 2 egg whites

Chop the 10 apples into quarters, leaving the cores, stalks and skin on, and put them into a big, heavy-bottomed pan. Cover (only just) with water, bring to the boil and cook very slowly – it should murmur and bubble rather than simmer fast. This ensures the apples do not change flavour, and they will turn a pretty, rusty-pink colour. When you have a thick, sloppy purée, line a colander with muslin and set it over a bowl (or use a jelly bag, if you have one). Spoon the purée into the muslin. Do not push the purée or stir it; just let the juice drip naturally into the bowl through the cloth. Make sure the cloth is high above the bowl so it will not touch the juice in the bowl as it fills. This can take at least a couple of hours or overnight – you need to extract every last bit of juice.

Measure the volume of juice and add 450g/1lb granulated sugar for every 600ml/1 pint. Put it into a saucepan and bring to the boil. Simmer for about 10 minutes – the liquid will clarify as it boils and become syrupy. Allow to cool down to about 40°C/104°F (hotter than bathwater). Meanwhile, grate the flesh and skin of the 6 remaining apples – leave to brown a little, then add to the syrup. Whisk the egg whites until stiff and fold them into the apple mixture. Pour into a container and place in the freezer. After an hour or so, stir to loosen the ice, then freeze again (or use an ice-cream maker if you have one). Serve with Pistachio Biscuits – made with another nut (walnut, for example), if you prefer.

ASPARAGUS

Asparagus with Pea Shoots and Mint

Boiled or Steamed Asparagus

Being one of those slow-growing vegetables with a short (eight-week) glut, British asparagus comes at a price too high for it to be anything but a treat. Having said that, I would be happy to live off bread and lentils at that time if I could eat asparagus by the kilo. Its arrival in the shops is a happy moment, an affirmation of spring. When the supply begins to dwindle and the spears begin to look a little hairy and overblown, it’s like the end of a birthday.

British asparagus should be all over the place in season, which, depending on the weather, runs from late April to the third week of June. Look for it in greengrocer’s shops and supermarkets; the boxes are usually heavily emblazoned with Union Jacks. Buying asparagus locally not only supports farmers in the region where you live, it also makes sense in terms of freshness. Competing with it will be the Spanish. I have to say I am not unhappy about using Spanish asparagus before the British season begins because it can be very good. Air-freighted baby Peruvian and Thai asparagus is tasteless and pointless.

Buying asparagus

To find your nearest asparagus grower, see www.british-asparagus.co.uk (tel: 01507 602427). To find a farmers’ market, check your local council website or www.lfm.ore.uk for London markets.

For mail-order asparagus, contact Sandy Patullo, who grows exceptional asparagus and sea kale (another delicious edible stalk) in Scotland: Eassie Farm, By Glamis, Angus DD8 1SG; tel: 01307 840303.

All the major supermarkets sell British asparagus in season.

Asparagus with Pea Shoots and Mint

Pea shoots are an established vegetable now. They have been stocked by Sainsbury for the past three years and I often see them in markets. They are increasingly available in good food shops, too, and you can get them via mail order from Goodness Direct (www.goodnessdirect.co.uk; tel: 0871 871 6611).

When they are cooked – lightly fried in a little oil or butter, or even steamed for a minute – they have all the taste of a good, sweet garden pea, or indeed a frozen pea, but with the added bonus of being lively plants. They appear around the same time as English asparagus and, while I am always happy to eat asparagus plain, the combination of the sweetness in the pea shoots and the unique grassy flavour of the asparagus is joyfully vernal.

Serves 4–6

1kg/2¼lb new-season asparagus

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

4 punnets of pea shoots

a few small mint leaves

finely grated zest of ½ lemon

sea salt and freshly ground white pepper

For the sauce:

1 shallot, chopped

a grating or two of nutmeg

2 wineglasses of white wine

1 teaspoon white wine vinegar

225g/8oz unsalted butter, softened

Pare away the outer skin of each spear, taking off about 6cm/2½ inches from the base of the stem. Bring a large, shallow pan of water to the boil. Before cooking the asparagus, however, make the sauce. Put the shallot, nutmeg, white wine and white wine vinegar in a small saucepan and bring to the boil. Cook until the liquid has reduced to about 3 tablespoons, then strain it through a sieve and return it to the pan, discarding the shallot. Add the butter, about a teaspoon at a time, whisking it into the liquor over a low heat. When all the butter has been used, the sauce should be thick and creamy.

Add the asparagus to the pan of boiling water; it will need about 5 minutes’ simmering to become just tender. Meanwhile, put the oil in a small frying pan and fry the pea shoots in it until they collapse slightly.

Using tongs, lift the asparagus out of the water and drain on a cloth (I find asparagus breaks up if you tip it into a colander, and that it needs the cloth to get rid of excess water, which can make it soggy). Divide the asparagus between 4–6 warm serving plates and heap the pea shoots over the tips. Give the sauce one final whisk over the heat to amalgamate it (it will split a little if left, but it will ‘come back’), then pour it generously over the asparagus. Season with a little salt and pepper and scatter the mint leaves and lemon zest over the top. Eat immediately and, if you are in festive mode, serve as a starter before Fried Megrim Sole or the lamb with spring vegetables.

Boiled or Steamed Asparagus

I cook asparagus loose, either in boiling salted water in a shallow pan or in a steamer. Today’s varieties seem to take only about 5 minutes for a thick stem. If you have time, pare away the outer skin of the spears up to about 6cm/2½ inches from the base before cooking. This enables you to eat the whole spear, and allows the butter to sink in. Melt about 30g/1oz butter per person, pour it over the cooked asparagus and serve with loose sea salt.

BACON

Bacon and Shellfish

Bacon and Potatoes

Bacon Gravy for Sausages

Light Bacon Stew

Bacon and Apples

Bacon and Potato Salad with Green Celery Leaf and Cider Vinegar

Unhappiness reigns if there is no bacon in the house. It is my mainstay meat, the inexpensive strip of flesh that is the difference between having nothing to cook with and the ability to produce a meal quickly for everyone. It glamorises and adds body, not least its great and addictive flavour, to things such as lettuce and spring greens, and it keeps for weeks.

But be fussy about the bacon you buy. The food industry’s record in the cheap pig meat business is abysmal on both welfare and quality grounds. Pigs reared intensively in Holland and Denmark, major providers of budget pork products to the UK, suffer some unacceptable conditions. Two-thirds of sows (mothers) are tethered and confined in stalls with hard, slatted floors for all their lives. The idea is to make pig rearing super efficient and tidy, to the miserable detriment of the pigs themselves. They are no more than breeding machines, expected to shoot out three litters a year until their bodies pack up. Stalls and tethers are not permitted in indoor pig farms in the UK but sows are kept in farrowing crates during birth and for four weeks after, before being transferred back to a pen – a system that is not ideal but is less cruel. Feed for pigs in both systems is high protein, often heavy in soya (these omnivores consume little flesh), which grows the animal to its bacon weight in swift time so that it will become a highly profitable pig. Processing this meat into bacon, and maximising profit, means injections of brine and phosphates; liquid that you will see seeping from the rasher as it cooks. A big, heavy pack of Danish bacon, the supposed great budget buy, will become shrunken watery slivers in the pan. It is hard to see what is economical about that for the consumer but we assume the industry that produced it is laughing all the way to the till. There is better value in a pack of best smoked streaky from a pig that has been kindly and naturally reared; best of all, if the streaky is cured on the butcher’s premises. Ask for it to be sliced very thinly, so that all the rind is edible and the bacon cooks to a crisp stained-glass window in just a few minutes. Back rashers have their place, too, and it is good to have both cuts at the ready. Smoked bacon tends to be less salty, as it goes through two curing processes, and its flavour pervades other ingredients in recipes in a non-aggressive way. But these flavour comments are personal. Like tea, everyone likes bacon in a different way.

Buying bacon

Buy dry-cured bacon made as near as possible to your home. Ask butchers where they source either the bacon they sell or the pork they make their own from. If you cannot buy anything local, one of the best bacons via mail order is made by Peter Gott, at Sillfield Farm near Kendal in Cumbria (www.sillfield.co.uk; tel: 015395 67609). The flavour of his dry-cured bacon and ‘pancetta’ is beautifully balanced, and is made with pork from free-range rare-breed pigs and wild boar. Furness Fish, Poultry and Game Supplies deal with the mail order: www.morecambebayshrimps.com; tel: 015395 59544.

Bacon and Shellfish

Bacon can switch from being stock food to something exceptional when it is put in the pan with one of its most natural partners. Spend a happy hour piling through a bowl of shell-on North Atlantic prawns that have been added, at the last minute, with 2 tablespoons of butter to a frying pan of bacon. Throw over a handful of chopped dill as you serve. Big king scallops, griddled on a hot plate, can be put on the same plate as streaky bacon ‘sugar canes’: rashers of very thin bacon that are twisted before being roasted in the oven or cooked in a pan over a medium heat for 10 minutes. Serve the scallops and bacon with small beet leaves or baby chard. Tabasco on the table – as it often seems to be.

Bacon and Potatoes

A rasher of bacon, wrapped around a lump of butter or cream cheese with chopped parsley and placed inside a part-baked potato, will, once returned to the oven wrapped in foil for a further 20 minutes’ cooking, make a supper eons more exciting than a wrinkled brown pebble with a sad lozenge of butter sliding around on the top.

Bacon Gravy for Sausages

I use bacon to make instant onion gravy for bangers and mash when I have no stock. Put a chopped rasher into the pan with a chopped onion, add a little butter or oil and cook over a low heat until the onion turns golden. Add a teaspoon of flour, stir well over the heat until it browns a little, then slowly add about 150ml/¼ pint water, stirring all the time. The result is a pale, buff-coloured sauce, not gravy brown, but it tastes fine.

Light Bacon Stew

Smoked pork belly can be cut into chunks, browned in a pan with garlic, onion and celery, then simmered in stock until tender. Serve with boiled potatoes and plenty of parsley. If you have any joints of poultry or fresh rabbit, add and simmer with the bacon.

Bacon and Apples

An easy small lunch dish that can be woven into a plate of cooked yellow lentils and a slice of Appleby Cheshire cheese. Nearly perfect. It will be no good, though, made with any one of that terrible trinity of juice bombs – Gala, Braeburn or Granny Smith – and, sad to say, Bramleys will fall to bits. Cox’s Orange Pippins are best, or another apple with a good, fibrous texture and matt skin (see here).

I prefer to use thinly cut smoked streaky bacon for this, but if you like a thick cut, or prefer to use back or middle rather than streaky, that’s fine, too.

Serves 2

a large knob of butter

4 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, cut into 2cm/¾ inch strips (remove the rind first if they are cut thick)

2 eating apples, cored and cut into segments

light brown muscovado sugar

freshly ground black pepper

Melt the butter in a frying pan, add the bacon and cook until it loses its transparency and becomes crisp. Add the apples and fry both for 4–5 minutes until the apples are tender, gently turning them occasionally but not too often or they will break up. Sprinkle a pinch of muscovado sugar over the apples, then twist over some black pepper. With the bacon, salt is not needed.

Serve with yellow-brown Umbrian lentils – cooked as for green lentils but substituting real ale, more stock or water for the wine.

Bacon and Potato Salad with Green Celery Leaf and Cider Vinegar

Be sure to chop the celery leaves finely for this warm salad so there is all the flavour and no fibrous texture. This is a perfectly good and economical dish to eat alone – the bacon means you need no other protein, but you could follow it with some cheese and buttered oatcakes.

Serves 4

20 new potatoes

6 rashers of smoked streaky bacon. cut very thin, or the rind cut off

1 teaspoon sugar

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

175ml/6fl oz light olive oil or sunflower oil

1 tablespoon cider vinegar or apple vinegar

2 tablespoons water

a handful of celery leaves, finely chopped

2 shallots, chopped

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Cook the potatoes in boiling water until just tender but not too soft. Drain, cut each one in half and set aside. Meanwhile, cut the rashers in half and put them in a frying pan (with no fat). Place over a medium heat and cook for about 10 minutes, turning once or twice, until crisp as a cracker.

Put the sugar, mustard, oil, vinegar and water in a bowl and mix until well emulsified. Stir in the celery leaves and shallots. Taste and add salt if necessary, then season with black pepper.

Put the potatoes in a big bowl, throw the crisp rashers over the top and pour over the dressing. Mix well. It doesn’t matter if the rashers break up – that way it just tastes better.

BARLEY

Barley Cooked as for Risotto

Pot Barley and Lamb Broth

Pearl Barley with Turmeric, Lemon and Black Cardamom

Barley Water (the Queen’s Recipe)

Spiced Barley with Leeks, Root Vegetables, Oregano, Nutmeg, Allspice and Butter

Barley in Breadcrumbs

Superseded by wheat in almost all recipes, and now mainly used in brewing, barley is an ideal grain to rediscover from the annals of lost food plants and bring back into use in modest, everyday recipes. Now is a good time to think about eating grains other than the obvious ones, and to enjoy as many food plants as possible.

Before getting on to the science bit, I have to start by saying that since using new grains in my kitchen, life has got a lot more interesting. After years of pasta, risotto and pilav, suddenly I am tasting something with a totally new feel, scent and taste. I am yet to get some of these new grains past my children, who are happier to fork up basmati and penne. But my mother, who tried to feed us the then unfashionable Puy lentils in the 1970s, provoked a memory that must have steered me towards them when they properly arrived on the scene nearly 20 years later. So now when I put the new grains on the table and hear the inevitable refusal from the children, I know that they hear adults praise the dish, and I hope their curiosity will one day provoke them to have a try. I am sure they will do it when I am not looking, but I have learned that there is no point in making a child eat something when they are not ready.

Discovering, cooking and eating new grains matters. According to scientists at Biodiversity International, the organisation campaigning to preserve the gene bank of ‘lost’ foods, we depend on wheat, rice and maize for 50 per cent of our diet – a fact that challenges human health and opens to question our ability to deal with the effects of climate change. They say that people who eat more diverse diets are less prone to killer diseases, such as cardiovascular illness, cancer and diabetes. They also claim that avoiding the bank of over 7,000 edible plants means we miss out on essential nutrients.

It’s a bit of a tall order to expect anyone to keep 7,000 foods in their larder, but the basic message is that the balance of our diet has been lost. Daily bread should not always be wheat but occasionally another grain or, better still, a combination of several. In terms of the environment, demand for a diverse diet encourages more innovation in agriculture. The monoculture dominated by wheat, rice and maize is vulnerable to disease and pests but widening the range of crops ‘confuses’ these threats – one crop’s enemy is not that of another. A pest that destroys a certain breed may not touch others. Hence less need to treat with pesticides, a longer season (given that different strains of species ripen at intervals) and so more food. There is also evidence that cultivating a greater number of grains, vegetables and fruits can benefit the wealth of farming communities in developing countries. It’s obvious, though, isn’t it? With just three main grain plants dominating the food chain, and every country fighting to make money from farming and be a part of the global marketplace, there are going to be those at a natural disadvantage – namely those farmers who do not receive subsidies and nations who pay levies on exports.

In the UK, the range of grains we can include in our own diet includes rye, oats, spelt and the various strains among these species. Likewise we could expand our repertoire on the vegetable and fruit front, too (see Apples). Barley is a good starting point. It is the oldest cultivated grain in not only Europe and the Middle East but also possibly the world. Some historians believe that it may have been grown in China before rice. Looking at my store of pearl and pot barley, I wondered about this. Pearl barley, like white rice, has had all the bran milled away, leaving a mild-flavoured grain; pot barley still retains some bran, whose oils turn up the flavour volume. Barley has lower protein levels than wheat, hence its gradual decline – it was thought the poor could never be fed on such a grain – but it is sad to miss out on its delicate nature. Why not use it in a recipe and divert attention away from rice for a change?

Buying barley

Pearl barley is available in every supermarket but you may have to go to a wholefood store for pot barley – the one with the bran. The Infinity Foods brand of organic pot barley is widely available (www.infinityfoods.co.uk; tel: 01273 424060).

Barley Cooked as for Risotto

White pearl barley can be treated in exactly the same way as Arborio rice to make an Italian-style risotto. For 2 people, melt a tablespoon of butter in a heavy-bottomed pan, then add 1 finely chopped shallot. Cook for a minute, then add 150g/5/½oz pearl barley. Cook for another 30 seconds, then pour in a wineglass of white wine and bring to the boil. Begin to add either chicken, vegetable or veal stock a ladleful at a time, allowing the barley to absorb the stock before adding more. When the barley is tender, beat in another tablespoon of butter. Season with salt and pepper and serve with grated cheese. For an indigenous dish, use a British hard, aged ewe’s milk cheese, such as Lord of the Hundreds or Somerset Rambler, or a cow’s milk cheese such as Twineham Grange (a Parmesan taste-alike made in the southeast). Add a vegetable, if you wish – the green kernels of broad beans, or Cos lettuce. The barley would also be good with shellfish, omitting the cheese: add North Atlantic prawns at the second butter stage, first using their shells to make the stock that ‘feeds’ the barley.

Pot Barley and Lamb Broth

More soup to eat regularly, leaving a store of it in the fridge and returning to it until it is finished. This time a broth, heartened with lamb or mutton. You don’t want a soup that is too thick and grainy here but a clear, brown broth, with just enough pearl barley to make it a lunch. The sauce will brighten it, dragging a winter dish into spring. If you use mutton instead of lamb, be aware that there is often a lot of fat on it. If you make the broth the day before you eat, skim off the hardened fat but leave a little – it is not only very good for you but carries a robust, muttony taste.

Serves 4

1 teaspoon dripping

1kg/2¼ shank of lamb, or mutton (neck, shank), including the bone

1 large carrot, roughly chopped

1 onion, roughly chopped

1 celery stick, roughly chopped

1 bay leaf

1 sprig of thyme

6 tablespoons pearl barley

sea salt

To serve:

1 garlic clove, peeled and cut in half

4 sprigs of flat-leaf parsley, very finely chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil

freshly ground black pepper

Heat the dripping in a large casserole, add the meat and brown on all sides. Add the vegetables and herbs, then pour in enough water to cover and bring to the boil. Skim away any foam that rises to the surface. Simmer for about 1½ hours, until the stock has taken on the flavour of the lamb – taste it – and the meat is falling from the bone. Strain the contents of the pan through a large sieve or colander, retaining the broth. Put the broth back into the pan. Discard the vegetables and herbs and pick the meat off the bone. Add the meat back to the pan with the barley. Bring to the boil again and simmer gently for 25 minutes, until the barley is cooked. It should be slightly chewy in the centre. Taste the broth and add salt if necessary. Skim off any surplus fat.

Rub the garlic clove around the inside of a small bowl to release its juice but no flesh. Add the parsley, oil and black pepper and stir. Add a teaspoon to each bowl of hot broth as it is served.

Pearl Barley with Turmeric, Lemon and Black Cardamom

We eat this as an alternative ‘lemon rice’ with curries and dals, or with grilled meat and fish. It is quite possible to adapt this recipe to other grains, such as basmati rice, oat groats, spelt grains or quinoa, if you wish. I like the feel of barley in the mouth – little springy cushions of grain that easily absorb the flavours of whatever they are cooked with.

Serves 4

2 tablespoons sunflower oil

1 white onion, finely chopped or grated

1 teaspoon black mustard seeds

1 black cardamom pod

2 level teaspoons ground turmeric

200g/7oz pearl barley

juice of ½ lemon

sea salt

Heat the oil in a pan, add the onion and mustard seeds and cook over a medium heat until the onion begins to take on some colour – the mustard seeds will make a popping sound. Add the other spices, stir and add the barley. Stir the barley to coat it with the oil and spice mixture, then pour in enough water to come just over 1cm/½ inch above the surface of the barley. Bring to the boil, cover the pan, then turn the heat right down and cook for 25 minutes. Have a peep from time to time – you may need to add a little more water if it is becoming too dry.

When the barley is just tender, add the lemon juice, then taste and add salt if necessary. Try to avoid eating the black cardamom – while it smells heavenly, it is a nasty thing to chew.

Kitchen note

Eat with the curries on here, here, here, here, Spiced John Dory or Skewered Spiced Mutton.

Barley Water (the Queen’s Recipe)

Jeremy Lee is a chef who likes to be called a cook. He grew up with good food in his mother’s kitchen and is now dedicated to making it for others. Since meeting him and eating at his restaurant, the Blueprint Café in London, I have been awed by his knowledge, and love his simple approach to good ingredients. He is one of those chefs who resist the temptation to add another ingredient to a dish, and he makes a mustardy salad dressing that will activate your tear ducts at 20 paces. The table and cooking of his mother, Eileen Lee, must have rubbed off; you will always find bottled fruit and pickles lined up on shelves in his restaurant and they are not there for décor. Eileen died suddenly in 2006 but, during a conversation that strayed inexplicably to barley (my, how you’d enjoy my company), Jeremy told me about the barley water she would make for her ‘little clucks’, keeping it in a glass jug in the fridge. ‘The recipe, which was called the Queen’s barley water, was pulled from a newspaper,’ he wrote when he sent me the recipe. ‘It was so refreshing, nourishing and also very good for your skin.’ Making it yields a nice little by-catch – a dish of barley to dress with olive oil, shallots and herbs.

225g/8oz approx. pearl barley

2.5 litres/4 pints water

6 oranges

2 lemons

Demerara sugar to taste

Wash the barley well. Tip it into a pot and cover with the water, then bring to the boil. Lower the heat to a gentle simmer and cook gently for up to an hour, until the barley is tender. Strain the barley (reserve it for another dish) and leave the liquid to cool. Stir in the grated zest of 3 oranges and 1 lemon, then the juice of all the fruits. Add sugar to taste; it should not be too sweet. Pour into a jug and keep in the fridge, drinking within a day or two.

Kitchen note

Add the cooked barley, which will be quite soft, to a broth with vegetables, or dress it with olive oil, finely sliced shallot, plenty of chopped parsley (as much as it will take before becoming more parsley than barley) and lemon juice. Serve with Flatbreads or grilled or barbecued fish or meat.

Spiced Barley with Leeks, Root Vegetables, Oregano, Nutmeg, Allspice and Butter

Another useful way to eat barley. For 2 people, sweat (gently fry) 1 thinly sliced young leek in butter until soft, then add 150g/5½oz pot barley with a large pinch each of dried oregano, ground nutmeg and ground allspice. Cook for a minute, then add dried root vegetables such as Jerusalem artichokes, beetroot, turnips or squash. Cover with water and simmer for 20 minutes, until the barley is tender. Eat with roast meats – poultry, game birds and lamb – or try with a little fresh soft goat’s cheese, briskly mixed with the barley just as you sit down to eat. A little leafy salad beside …

Barley in Breadcrumbs

Leftovers of the above barley recipe and the recipe on can be rolled into small balls, dipped in seasoned flour, then beaten egg, followed by breadcrumbs, then fried and eaten as a little appetiser.

BEANS

Bean Sprout and Herb Soup

Baked Beans with Bacon, Molasses and Tomato

Pinto Beans and Venison

White Bean Broth with Buttered Tomato and Lettuce

Bean and Herb Salads

Quick Braised Butterbeans

Rifling through the bags of beans in the kitchen drawer, it’s easy to imagine how a geologist feels about his collection of favourite pebbles. Beans make funky percussion noises as they fall around in the bags, a hollow sound reminding us that here is a dry store, a useful source of food. And they are so pretty. Spotty like bird’s eggs, black, purple, white, red and green – it’s a glamorous palette for a humble, economic food. But what a food. My week never passes without a foray into the drawer for one type or another and, depending on whether I use dried beans or canned cooked ones, a pan will soon be simmering with something good under the lid. White beans, garlic and tomatoes are a classic combination; meaty-flavoured brown beans taste good with a hint of sweet-sourness and the richness of added pork; Mexican black beans are a favourite, because they are not too floury; green flageolet beans with shallots and butter is a dish I will keep going back to all my life. More recently, I have discovered that mung bean sprouts are lovely in herby soups.

However, with names like flageolet, haricot and cannellini, we are not talking of one British pulse. All beans sold dried or cooked and canned are imported. But they belong in our kitchens on various counts. One is that we do not grow them – we could, and should, develop some varieties, however – and the other is that we, the British, not famous for eating any beans other than Heinz, would discover that they make a valuable addition to our diet. Beans, along with lentils, grains and peas, need to become a central quotidian food. This is why:

Buying into beans is a humanitarian deed. They are the ultimate low-impact food, being as good for the places where they grow as they are for human nourishment. Their virtues are remarkable: they need little water compared to other food crops, tending to grow well in dry climates (major producers are Africa, India, Pakistan, Turkey and the Middle East); there are hundreds of varieties, so they are a diverse, anti-monoculture food crop whose cultivation benefits soil fertility and increases protection against disease and pests; bean plants also fix nitrogen in the soil, and so are intrinsic to traditional crop rotation as a ‘green manure’ – they also grow well without chemicals in an organic system and tend to be grown with the assistance of pesticides only when the farmer can afford it. A pulse grown in a developing country is usually free of spray. When last tested by the UK’s pesticides residue committee, only 11 out of 81 samples tested positive for residues. These results are quite favourable for the consumer, but it is easy to buy pulses from an organically certified source.

On the downside, beans are still largely a commodity crop and there are very few fairly traded beans on the British market, although Suma, an organic supplier, sells fairly traded aduki and black beans.

On a more selfish note, we should eat more beans because they are so good for us. They are a low-cost way of eating a high-protein food containing plenty of healthy complex carbohydrates. They are packed with vitamins, iron and calcium. It is important to note, however, that while fresh beans are very high in vitamin C, dried beans contain virtually none. The good news is that canned beans, which tend to be cooked using fresh pulses, retain about 50 per cent of their vitamin C. I was delighted to discover this, as I have always felt guilty about buying canned beans, believing I should virtuously go through the whole cooking process. The truth is I rarely have the time, although it must be said that there is a much wider range of dried beans available, including some rare ones like appaloosa beans from America and black turtle beans from China.

Buying beans

I buy from Infinity Foods, a workers’ co-operative in Brighton that sells a vast range of high-quality pulses. (See www.infinityfoods.co.uk; tel: 01273 424060). Monika Linton imports great beans for her London-based business, Brindisa, both dried and bottled, rather than canned (www.brindisa.com; tel: 020 8772 1600).

Basics when preparing dried beans

Unlike lentils, beans need to be soaked before cooking or they will split. If you soak them in cold water for several hours or overnight, then boil them for the correct amount of time, they should stay intact and slip lightly around the pan, mixing well with the other ingredients. It would be good to have a chart of cooking times for beans but no such thing can exist. The cooking time depends on size and type and also, more crucially, on how recently the beans were picked and dried – the older a bean is, the longer it takes to cook. It must be said that most beans sold in the UK are fairly aged, so expect to leave them for a good 1½–2 hour simmer. Test after about 50 minutes, though, just in case they are done. Overdone beans are floury and disgusting.

Bean Sprout and Herb Soup

A light soup, finished with a herb sauce. With a supply of fresh chicken stock, brewed from the bones after the roast (see here), this broth can be made in about 5 minutes. I have used mung bean sprouts, which are popular in Southeast Asian cooking. It is easy to buy fresh ones, but I have a three-tier clear plastic seed ‘sprouter’, known to the family as the ‘farm’, in which the beans grow to a useable sprout within a week or so. Mung beans have very little flavour when raw but take on a delicate, fresh, beany taste as soon as they land in the pan.

Serves 2

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 spring onions, chopped

1 garlic clove, chopped

2 handfuls of mung bean sprouts and seed sprouts (any kind)

225g/8oz canned or cooked lentils, drained of any liquid

600ml/1 pint chicken stock

sea salt

For the sauce:

leaves from 3 sprigs of parsley, finely chopped

1 teaspoon chopped chives

4 basil leaves, torn

2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese (or other mature cheese, such as Twineham Grange or pecorino)

1 tablespoon pine nuts, toasted in a dry frying pan until golden

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Heat the oil in a pan, add the spring onions and garlic and cook for about 2 minutes, until soft and translucent but not browned. Add the sprouts, lentils and stock and bring to the boil. Simmer for 1 minute and then remove from the heat. Taste and add salt if necessary.

Mix the sauce ingredients together, breaking up the pine nuts as much as possible with the back of a wooden spoon. Spoon the sauce over the soup once it is ladled into bowls.

Baked Beans with Bacon, Molasses and Tomato

The nation’s favourite canned meal was once a pottage, which was exported to the Americas by early settlers and became Boston baked beans – a dish of salt pork and haricot beans sweetened with molasses (but not tomatoes, which I have added here to keep up with modern tradition). An earthenware pot or cast-iron casserole with a well-fitting lid prevents the beans and sauce drying out during cooking. Try to find good bacon – dry-cured from naturally reared pork will let a gentle meaty flavour seep into the beans.

Serves 4

175g/6oz white haricot or navy beans

4 tablespoons cold-pressed sunflower oil (or extra virgin olive oil)

2 thick slices of green (unsmoked) back bacon

1 onion, finely chopped or grated

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

200ml/7fl oz passata (puréed tomatoes)

1 dessertspoon molasses

1 tablespoon English mustard

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

sea salt

Soak the beans in plenty of water overnight or for 24 hours, then drain.

Preheat the oven to 150°C/300°F/Gas Mark 2. Heat the oil in a casserole and add the bacon, onion and garlic. Cook over a medium heat until soft. Add the beans, then the passata, plus enough water to cover the beans by 3cm/1¼ inches. Add the molasses and bring up to a simmer. Cover, place in the oven and bake for about 3 hours, until the beans are tender. You may need to add more water to prevent them drying out. About half an hour before you eat, add the mustard and Worcestershire sauce. Finally, add a little salt to bring out the flavour of the beans. Eat with fried eggs or any type of hot sausage, including black pudding.

Pinto Beans and Venison

The suet in this dish is optional but it does give it an amazing flavour. This is a good braise to eat with polenta or wild rice. Alternatively, serve with boiled long grain rice, or sourdough bread that has been brushed with oil and toasted.

Serves 6

225g/8oz pinto or Mexican black beans

1 tablespoon beef dripping or extra virgin olive oil

1kg/2¼lb venison, cut into

1cm/½ inch cubes

2 heaped tablespoons grated beef suet (optional)

2 onions, finely chopped

4 garlic cloves, chopped

4 chipotle chillies, soaked in hot water for 30 minutes, then deseeded and chopped

2 teaspoons ground cumin

½–1 teaspoon cayenne pepper (to taste)

½ teaspoon ground cloves

600ml/1 pint beef stock – plus more to make it soupy, if necessary (see here)

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Soak the beans in plenty of water overnight or for 24 hours. The next day, drain the beans and put them in a pan. Cover with fresh water, bring to the boil and simmer for 1–1½ hours, until tender. Drain and set aside.

Heat the dripping or oil in a large casserole (preferably cast iron) and brown the meat well over a reasonably high heat. Lower the heat, then add the suet, if using, plus the onions, garlic, chillies and spices and cook for 2–3 minutes. Cover with the stock and simmer with the lid partly on for approximately 1 hour, until the meat is tender. Add the beans and cook over a very low heat for 15 minutes. Skim off any fat that floats on the surface. Taste for seasoning and serve.

White Bean Broth with Buttered Tomato and Lettuce

White beans make textured soups that keep their elegance. They are the favourite bean of Italian cooks for this purpose. They have a mild, slightly floury taste and texture that absorbs the flavours of other ingredients.

Use cannellini beans or white haricots for this soup. Haricots are usually only available dried; they are a round bean, staying firm and smooth even after a long simmer in the pan. Cannellini are kidney shaped and can become quite soft. They are the better choice for busy cooks, since canned ones are easily available. The best lettuce to use is Cos, sometimes called Romano, or the heart of any other large-leaf lettuce.

Serves 4

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 white or red onion, finely chopped

1 celery stick and leaves, chopped

1 small fennel bulb and leaves, chopped

1–2 pinches of dried oregano

2 cans (about 470g drained weight) of white cannellini beans, drained – or use 200g/7oz dried haricot beans, soaked in cold water overnight, then simmered in fresh water for 1–1½ hours, until tender

1.2 litres/2 pints vegetable or meat stock (see here, here and here)

sea salt

To serve:

55g/2oz butter

1 garlic clove, chopped

4 small Cos hearts, cut into quarters, or the hearts of 2 larger lettuces, roughly chopped (use the outer leaves for salad)

4 plum tomatoes, skinned and diced

4 tablespoons grated Twineham Grange cheese (English Parmesan), or a hard ewe’s milk cheese such as Lord of the Hundreds or Somerset Rambler – or real Italian Parmesan

a small handful of basil leaves

a little extra virgin olive oil

Heat the oil in a large pan and add the garlic, onion, celery, fennel and oregano. Cook over a low heat for about 2 minutes until their edges begin to soften. Add the beans and stock and bring to the boil. Cook for about 5 minutes, then taste for salt.

Melt the butter in a separate pan, add the garlic and lettuce hearts and cook gently until soft; add the tomatoes and stir once. Divide the soup between 4 serving bowls and spoon the lettuce-tomato mixture on top. Scatter the grated cheese over the top with the basil. Shaking over a few drops of extra virgin olive oil will turn up the flavour.

Kitchen note

Omit the tomatoes and use lovage for this recipe if you grow it. Lovage has a floral celery scent and is a rare treat.

Bean and Herb Salads

Plain cooked beans, either drained straight from the can or from a store you have prepared yourself, can be mixed with herbs, olive oil and lemon juice then seasoned to make a salad that can be eaten with almost anything. I tend to choose either white haricot beans or cannellini beans for this job because they have the tenderest skins. You can make an exotic and piquant version, however, with black Mexican beans (unavailable canned but will cook in about an hour), chopped grilled peppers, garlic, red chilli and coriander. It is very important not to overcook the beans. Their skins should remain intact and the ‘kernels’ inside must not be floury but should have a little bite to them.

Quick Braised Butterbeans

I can buy tins of butterbeans from the late-night grocer’s across the road. Drained, then flung into a pan with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, a chopped garlic clove and spring onion, a teaspoon of organic Marigold stock powder and a little water, they make a bean stew in no time. I throw over a chopped hot red chilli, shake on some extra virgin olive oil, then eat them from a bowl.

BEEF

The cheap cuts

Grilled Goose Skirt with Salad Leaves and Berkswell Cheese

Top of the Rump with Lemon and Parsley Butter

Flank with Tarragon Butter Sauce

Braised Shin of Beef with Ale

Cold Salt Beef and Green Sauce

The valuable cuts

Roast Rare Aged Beef Sirloin with a Mustard and Watercress Sauce

Raw Beef with Horseradish, Sorrel and Rye Bread

Leftovers

Beef with Horseradish Sauce on Crisp Bread

Beef with Pumpkin Seeds and Carrot

Sauce for Pasta

Braised Beef and Fungi

Beef Stock

Dripping

My attitude to beef has recently moved into a new phase. It is easy to pinpoint when my original decision to eat less but better beef was made, because it was at the same time that I had the urge to write about food. My first piece 15 years ago was about a butcher. At the time I was motivated by the plight of the closing high-street butcher’s shops. They were – on the whole – the best place to source delicious beef, but they were closing down due to the arrival of the larger ‘superstores’. I was equally motivated by the matter of welfare: free-ranging animals, travelling only a short distance to the slaughterhouse, produce beef with a low PH and so more tenderness. When livestock are stressed, the acidity in their muscles is raised, affecting the finished result when cooked. But then, a year later, the BSE scandal exploded, when the link was made between the cattle disease bovine spongiform encephalitis and the human form, vCJD, and the whole subject of beef once more needed some examination. Two significant events had come to light. The first was that, revoltingly, beef animals had been fed the remains of their own species. This had been done purely in the name of profit – give an animal high-protein feed and it will grow at an alarming rate, becoming ready for slaughter, with lots of meat on its bones, nice and quick. The full, disgraceful disclosure of the participation of the livestock feed industry and the attitude of the Ministry of Agriculture (now Defra) and many (but not all) farmers was mind-blowing. The second significant event was the remedy introduced by the authorities to wipe out the disease in the British herd.

Meat changed by a scandal

The remedy dreamt up by the Ministry and its scientific advisers became known as the Over-Thirty-Month Scheme (OTMS), and simply meant that no cow – dairy or beef – was allowed to live longer than 30 months, because scientists said that the disease only developed in animals over this age. This had the peculiar effect of shortening the time farmers had to fatten up their beef steers, putting them under pressure in a way that has damaged the quality of beef and the national herd itself. Every farmer had to comply with it, including the substantial number who had never fed their beef animals meat and bone meal. It is not known whether the OTMS was actually responsible for reducing the number of cases; it was rumoured to be the idea of the supermarket chains, which wanted a clear-cut strategy that would boost consumer confidence.

It is nearly impossible for farmers to get their beef animals up to a saleable weight in just two and a half years. So what can they do? They can’t feed meat and bone meal protein, because that is now banned – so in comes the cereal diet: soya, maize and other grains that are high in proteins and speed up growth. They then cross breeds with large, fast-growing Continental-type cattle and take the animals off that windy hill where they burn up far too many calories, instead making sure they spend more time in the shelter of a barn, getting pig-fat. Out of this the consumer gets flavourless, loose-grained meat, unsuitable for British butchers’ cuts (the only exception is when butchers take the trouble to hang the meat on the bone for as long as possible). Consumers are further compromised because such beef, even though cross bred with non-native cattle, is still called by its British breed name – Aberdeen Angus, for example.

This news has altered my view of beef again. I now choose beef guided by three principles:

Pure native breed

Naturally slow grown

Grass fed

Slow grown means that, where possible, I buy ‘aged’ beef that is over 30 months old – the OTMS was lifted in November 2005. The farmers who rear such beef must jump through hoops to do this: completing extra paperwork, moving livestock in separate transportation from others, and using abattoirs specially dedicated to the slaughter of older animals. Farmers who produce ‘aged’ beef complain that it is hard to profit from the extra effort, but the resulting meat is well worth it in terms of flavour. What really matters now, however, is the third principle: grass fed. Feeding beef animals grass ticks all the boxes in terms of healthy environment and healthy consumers.

Grass-fed beef is good food. The fat that is marbled through it contains higher levels of essential omega-3 fatty acids, including the nutritionally important EPA and DHA. Beef animals fattened on a high-protein (from grain such as soya and maize), high-energy diet, rather than on grass, will have a low ratio of omega-3 in their fat compared to other fats. To be healthy, humans need to eat fats in the correct proportion or the risk of disease, specifically heart disease, is increased. It is now thought that it is not so much burger culture that made one in four Americans fat and unhealthy but the way in which beef steers were reared. Eating meat containing the right balance of the right fats raises dietary levels of conjugated lineolic acid (CLA), protecting against cancer and – essentially – discouraging weight gain because our bodies know exactly how to process such fat: burning it and not storing it as body fat.

US beef farmers are great proponents of maize feed, and ‘park’ their cattle in ‘feedlots’ – sheds or grassless fields where they are literally stuffed with maize. If you have been fed beef with yellow fat, you will recognise this beef. In the UK there is often that depressing sensation as you drive through the countryside that the crops growing in fields are mostly there to feed animals and not you. Even the wheat in the field could be for the feed bin rather than the bread bin. Compare the amount of pasture you see to the quantity of grain crops. We also import great quantities of cereal across the Atlantic to feed livestock, especially soya – much of it GM – which is high in protein and used to fatten beef animals before slaughter.

Feeding cattle grass slows down their growth. If it were the only feed available, there would be fewer beef animals on the market. We would be healthier, and so would the economy, unburdened by the cost of an obesity epidemic. However, the price of all beef would rise steeply towards the price now paid for organic and grass-fed beef. This is unavoidable, but using beef differently in the kitchen will help offset the cost. Learn to identify which are the cheap cuts to enjoy regularly and which are special. Pay more but make better use of the beef you buy. Use up leftovers, learn ways with cold beef, make stock and cook with the dripping (see here).

Buying beef

For beef to cook well, it must be hung properly. Hanging beef on the bone in temperatures just above 2°C breaks down the tough fibres – the meat is slowly decomposing. Beef should be hung for at least three weeks but I have bought joints from sides that have hung for up to five weeks. This beef will be visibly darkened by oxidisation on the outside but don’t be put off – it will taste delicious. Always ask if the beef has been actually hung and not matured in plastic bags stacked in a freezer. This method never has the same effect but meat is increasingly matured this way, partly due to new regulations that insist that the cuts destined to be beef mince should not be hung for as long as the roasting joints. This means the sides have to be cut up and jointed early, and cannot physically hang.

It is impossible to choose good beef by inspection alone, but joints of native beef tend to be small and the grain finer. The colour of beef flesh varies and does not always relate to a long period hanging on the bone. This is why it is better to buy beef and other meat from a place where you can ask questions about feed, breed and welfare. Ideally, you want to hear that the animal, a native breed, was slowly reared on grass or forage, at a local farm.

Buying beef from local farms reduces carbon emissions, shortens journeys, reducing stress to the animals, and supports the local economy. To find locally reared beef, speak first to your nearest high-street butcher or visit a local farmers’ market. If no joy, look at www.bigbarn.co.uk, put in your postcode and check their area maps, which highlight local producers – but ask specific questions about feed and breed before buying from any of their suppliers.

In London I buy beef from the butcher Jack O’Shea, at 11 Montpelier Street, London SW7 1EX (www.jackoshea.com; tel: 020 7581 7771). He hangs it for weeks and knows everything about cutting in both the Continental and the British way. He is an expert on cheap cuts that can be put on the grill, worth a visit for this alone (see recipes below).

Buying beef via home delivery is another option. Below are producers that I have used regularly:

Pipers Farm in the West Country rears handsome Devon Ruby cattle, then hangs and butchers them expertly: www.pipersfarm.co.uk; tel: 01392 881380.

Donald Russell is another great butcher whose beef is carefully matured and cut: www.donaldrussell.com; tel: 01467 629666.

Blackface.co.uk in Dumfries and Galloway rears Galloway beef on the hill for up to four years, well beyond the OTM limit: www.blackface.co.uk; tel: 01387 730326.

Edwards of Conwy sells Welsh beef, including cuts from native Welsh Black cattle: www.edwardsofconwy.co.uk; tel: 01492 592443.

Andrew and Sybille Wilkinson at Gilchester Organics rear cattle on their organic pasture in Northumberland: www.gilchesters.com; tel: 01661 886119.

Beef – the cheap cuts

With beef I need to solve a problem. It is not a meat I eat often because, much as I love it braised for hours until tender, the truth is that I cannot always plan ahead. The kind of beef that it is best to buy, the slow-reared native breeds fed on grass, is pricy stuff. The sirloin, forerib, rib eyes and rump steaks are the easiest meals to make but come at an extraordinary cost. So, to find pieces of the best beef that are affordable for routine meals yet quick to cook, what is needed is an exceptional butcher. Most butchers insist that all cheap cuts must be minced or cut into cubes and slow cooked, but butchers who understand Continental cutting know differently. If the side of beef has been well hung – and this is almost the single most important element in successful beef cookery – it is quite easy to fast cook some of the more extreme cuts.

Cheap cuts on the grill

The following is a new series of recipes, the basic ideas borrowed from European butchery and cooking but adapted to British ingredients. They rely on your willingness to eat the meat medium rare or rare. All are cooked as whole pieces of meat and then sliced. If they are brown all the way through – ‘well done’, as the oxymoron goes in this context – the effect is ruined.

Grilled Goose Skirt with Salad Leaves and Berkswell Cheese

Goose skirt is a dark meat with a wide grain (it is a different cut from the plain flank or skirt in the recipe on here). It is essential that the beef has been well hung. If seared quickly, it will be very tender. Serving it with leaves and a hard, mature ewe’s milk cheese is a good antidote to the richness of gravies and butter sauces. You could substitute Lord of the Hundreds, Somerset Rambler or Italian pecorino for the Berkswell.

Serves 4

750g/1lb 10oz goose skirt steak, left in whole pieces

4 large handfuls of young salad leaves

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

115g/4oz mature Berkswell cheese. pared into thin slices

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Have ready 4 warm (but not hot) plates. Season the beef with salt and pepper. Heat a ridged grill pan until smoking, then sear the beef for about 2 minutes per side. Ideally, it should be eaten very rare in this dish. Transfer to a wooden board, leave to rest for a minute and then slice thinly. Lay the slices on the warm plates, scatter the leaves on top and shake over the olive oil. Put the pared cheese over the top and eat immediately.

Top of the Rump with Lemon and Parsley Butter

This is a tender muscle, taken from the cheaper end of the rump, with a strip of fat attached. In Portugal and Brazil it is known as the picanha, and thought far superior to a rib-eye or fillet steak. Unlike the skirt and flank in the previous and following recipes, it is grilled in individual helpings. If you like a peppery taste, add a tablespoon of crushed pink or green peppercorns to the butter.

Serves 4

4 top rump steaks

For the lemon and parsley butter:

140g/5oz unsalted butter, softened

juice and grated zest of ½ lemon

a large handful of very finely chopped parsley

freshly ground black pepper

First prepare the butter, putting all the ingredients in a bowl and stirring carefully until well mixed. Place the mixture between 2 sheets of greaseproof paper (or 2 butter papers). Roll it to about 1cm/½ inch thick and put it in the fridge to harden. When hard, remove from the fridge and use a small, round biscuit cutter to cut out discs (or other shapes). Leave the discs in the fridge.

Grill or fry the steaks, seasoning them with a little black pepper first. Ideally they should be served rare (see guide on here). Leave to rest in a warm place for about 10–15 minutes. Warm 4 plates. Serve the steaks with a disc of the lemon and parsley butter melted on top. Have some English and Dijon mustard ready on the table.

Flank with Tarragon Butter Sauce

Sometimes called skirt or bavette, flank is a cut taken from the diaphragm muscle of the beef animal. Here it is grilled whole, then sliced and served with a buttery sauce sharpened with shallots and vinegar. It must be cooked so it is rare in the centre or it will be dry. If you like steaks well done, I am afraid you will have to use conventional rump or sirloin.

Making the sauce requires a certain amount of patience, and a small, heavy-bottomed pan to prevent overcooking. It can be made in a food processor, however, if the butter is melted first and trickled in warm. Serve with green vegetables – the courgette salad is good, fried potatoes even nicer …

Serves 4–6

2 whole pieces of flank

a little olive oil

freshly ground black pepper

For the tarragon butter sauce:

4 tablespoons tarragon vinegar

4 tablespoons dry white wine

2 shallots, finely chopped

3 egg yolks

175g/6oz unsalted butter, at room temperature

a small handful of French tarragon leaves, chopped

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Season the beef with pepper, then rub it with a little olive oil. Set to one side (leaving it at room temperature).

Put the vinegar, white wine and shallots into a small, heavy-bottomed pan and heat to boiling point. Simmer until the liquid has reduced to 1 tablespoon, then remove from the heat and add 2 tablespoons of cold water. Leave to cool, then mix in the egg yolks.

Return the pan to a very low heat and whisk in the butter, one hazelnut-sized piece at a time, until the sauce is thick and glossy. Add the tarragon, then taste and season with salt and pepper. If it becomes grainy or begins to ‘split’, add a dessertspoon of iced water and whisk hard. Once made, the sauce will remain stable for half an hour or so if kept in a warm place; just whisk again before serving.

To grill the meat, set a ridged grill pan over a high heat. When it begins to smoke, lay the meat on the pan and cook for 2–3 minutes on each side, turning down the heat a little if it becomes too smoky. The meat will be rare in the centre. Remove from the heat and leave to rest in a warm place for 10 minutes. It should not be so warm that the beef continues to cook. Meanwhile, warm some dinner plates.

To serve, slice the beef across the grain and place a few slices on each plate, with a dollop of sauce beside it.

How to grill or fry meat

Very rare Sear the steak on both sides; a finger pressed on the surface will leave an indentation.

Rare Sear one side, then continue to cook until droplets of blood are visible on the surface. Turn the meat and cook the other side for an equal time. Some resistance should be felt when pressing a finger on to the surface.

Medium Sear one side, wait until juices (not blood) begin to emerge on the meat surface, then turn and cook the other side.

Other cheap cuts

The onglet is a muscle that connects the last rib to the kidney. It is brownish in colour and there is a faint delicious flavour of kidney. It is not generally used as a grilling steak in the UK, but if you visit a Continental butcher they will know it immediately – if not as onglet (the French name), then perhaps as lombatello (Italian), or solomillo de pulmón (Spanish). In America it is known as the hanging steak. A keen British butcher, with experience in cutting the Continental way, may be able to prepare it for you. Have a discussion when he hasn’t got an enormous queue.

The onglet weighs about 500g/1lb 2oz and, when trimmed of gristle, it can be grilled or roasted whole (but left rare in the centre), then sliced and served with any of the sauces in the previous two recipes.

In Cork City in Ireland, butchers cut a muscle from the shoulder called the Jewish fillet. It is removed whole and totally trimmed of any connecting tissue or gristle, then – as with the other cuts – grilled whole and sliced. It can be served with the lemon and parsley butter, or with the tarragon butter sauce.

Other butchers elsewhere will have different names for the cuts in the recipes above. I once saw an Italian butcher cut the shoulder muscle as above, but my Italian was too appalling to ask about the name for it. Some butchers call onglet thin steak, others call it feather steak, because it is a V shape with grains leading from a central join. Disagreement over the terms leads only to a healthy debate between butcher and customer – I advise getting stuck in.

Cheap cuts in the pot

Almost any forequarter beef or shin meat is suitable for a slow braise. This is easy territory for butchers, who have loads to spare and are longing to get rid of it. If you can make time, encourage the butcher to give you some of the bones, to roast and then simmer with water the day before the braise so you have a ready supply of stock. Preparing stock takes just minutes – then all you have to do is wait until the pot has done its work.

Braised Shin of Beef with Ale

A slow simmer of beef is the best winter food. Supplemented with mash and piles of roasted root vegetables, a little goes a long way towards feeding a big table of people. Bread brushed with dripping or olive oil and rubbed with garlic, then baked until crisp, can be put in baskets on the table. Make sure you have handfuls of parsley to scatter over the top. If you want to be more adventurous still, grate a little orange zest into the parsley. In February use the zest of blood orange, which is somehow just right with red meat.

Serves 6–8

5–6 tablespoons olive oil or dripping

2 garlic cloves, chopped

2 onions, finely chopped

2 celery sticks, finely chopped

2kg/4½lb braising beef, cut into 4cm/1½ inch chunks

1 bay leaf

a pinch of dried thyme

2 parings of orange peel

600mt/1 pint real ale

2 tablespoons plain flour

beef or other meat stock, to cover

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat about a third of the fat in a large, deep pan and gently cook the garlic, onions and celery in it until soft. Remove the vegetables with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add more of the fat to the pan, turn up the heat and brown the beef on all sides, cooking it in batches and setting it aside as soon as it is done. Add more fat as necessary. Add the herbs, orange peel and ale to the pan and bring to the boil, scraping away at the base of the pan with a wooden spoon to deglaze it. Return the meat and vegetables to the pan, sprinkle with the flour and stir well. Add enough stock to cover, then stir and bring to the boil, skimming off any foam that rises to the top. Turn down the heat to a slow bubble and cook, covered, for 1½–2 hours, until the meat is tender. Skim off any fat. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Cold Salt Beef and Green Sauce

If you are lucky enough to know a butcher who puts brisket and silverside in a brine cure, it is an easy and quite economical dish to cook for one meal. Hopefully, there will be leftovers for following days, to eat in sandwiches with mustard or as a salad with a herb sauce.

Serves 6–8

1.5-2kg/3¼4½lb piece of boned. rolled salt-cured silverside or brisket

1 clove

1 star anise

1 bay leaf

For the green sauce:

5 sprigs of parsley, chopped (or chervil, if you can find it)

3 sprigs of tarragon, chopped

4 sprigs of basil, chopped

about 2 tablespoons chopped chives

1 tablespoon chopped cornichons (baby gherkins)

1 heaped teaspoon capers, rinsed and chopped

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

6 tablespoons olive oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Soak the beef in cold water for a few hours or overnight, changing the water once or twice. Drain the beef and put it in a large pan with enough water to cover. Add the clove, star anise and bay leaf, bring to the boil, then turn the heat down so the water is barely boiling – ‘murmuring’ is a good description. Simmer for 2–3 hours, until the meat is tender when pierced with a knife. Lift out, wrap in foil and leave to rest for a good hour.

To make the sauce, mix all the ingredients together, seasoning with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve slices of the lukewarm beef with the sauce and a potato salad. You could make the bacon and potato salad, omitting the bacon.

Beef – the valuable cuts

Now and again I turn to the special parts of beef for food to feast on – the sirloins, fillets, rump steaks and forerib. All can be cooked quickly, can be eaten rare and never toughen. Eating a grilled steak is an easy task – sometimes too easy with fillet steak, which can be tender to the point of dullness and lacks the flavour of a good rump steak.

These cuts form a small percentage of the meat on a beef animal, and have prices that match their economy of scale. Economic to buy they are not. It is not unusual to see well-trimmed fillet sold at over £35 per kilo. That’s more than £8 per helping, so it is a meal that I will not serve for supper any old day.

What matters is to recognise that these are not cuts that should be eaten every day, even if your means make them affordable. A farmer goes to immense trouble over the years to rear a steer to perfection, yet there is only enough fillet to feed about 20 people from it. A butcher must trim off a good proportion of the fillet once it has been extracted from the carcass, because it is unsaleable with the untidiness of stray pieces of beef and some membrane. This meat is chucked into the mince and sold for pence, not pounds. For every fillet in a beef side there’s an awful lot of much less valuable meat that is a hard job for the butcher to sell. It’s not really acceptable for someone who says they love beef to eat only the fillet or sirloin. Demand for fillet is a demand for a whole animal to be reared and slaughtered and there is – bossy as it sounds – a collective responsibility to find uses for the other cuts. I am not suggesting buying the whole cow, but you can buy beef boxes from some butchers and mail-order services. You can also ask for bones. They are free, and a source of good stock, marrow or even canine happiness. Butchers and meat producers pay to have bones and waste material removed and disposed of.

So, if I haven’t made you feel too guilty …

Roast Rare Aged Beef Sirloin with a Mustard and Watercress Sauce

Now that the Over-Thirty-Month rule has been lifted, it is possible once again to buy beef from steers that have reached their full maturity. So we now have four-year-old beef and it is unbelievably good, both to cook and in its vintage flavour. I buy four-year-old well-hung Galloway beef from Ben Weatherall, of Blackface (see Buying beef). Its texture and the way it cooks so beautifully, barely losing an ounce as it roasts, is confirmation that growing an animal slowly is the best approach to rearing beef.

When you buy your sirloin, ask the butcher for the ‘cradle’ of detached ribs for it to sit in as it roasts; they can be used to make stock for other dishes.

Serves 6

1.25kg/2¾lb whole piece of rolled sirloin

fennel seeds

6 small sprigs of thyme

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the mustard and watercress sauce:

leaves from 2 bunches of watercress

1 tablespoon English mustard powder

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

4 tablespoons chicken stock

1 shallot, roughly chopped

1 garlic clove, roughly chopped

200ml/7fl oz olive oil

lemon juice

Allow the beef to come to room temperature before you begin roasting. Preheat the oven to 240°C/475°F/Gas Mark 9.

Season the beef all over and put it in a roasting tin. Scatter the fennel seeds and thyme on top. Put in the oven and roast for 10 minutes, then turn the heat down to 175°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4 and continue roasting for about 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and test for doneness. To do this, insert a skewer into the thickest part of the meat, leave it there for 1 minute, then take it out and test the temperature of the skewer by touching it with your finger where it would have been in contact with the centre of the sirloin.

For rare beef, it should be above blood temperature (about 50°C/125°F if you use a meat thermometer) – this is not a dish to eat well done. If the meat is cooked, remove from the oven and leave for a good 20 minutes to rest. If not, return it to the oven for 10 minutes and then test again.

Meanwhile put the watercress, mustard, vinegar, stock, shallot, garlic and oil in a liquidiser and blend until smooth. Taste and add salt if necessary. Finish with a squeeze of lemon juice and stir well.

Carve the beef in thick slices and serve with the sauce in a bowl on the table so everyone can help themselves. Serve mustard, too – and have a big leafy salad afterwards.

Kitchen note

The same sauce can be eaten with roast whole fillet or a rolled forerib roast.

Raw Beef with Horseradish, Sorrel and Rye Bread

Two years ago I travelled to Copenhagen on an assignment. The story was a young chef whose restaurant, Noma, was attracting much attention. Rene Redzepi has since won awards for his curious cooking, which uses only Nordic raw materials on a strictly seasonal basis. He made a ‘tartare’ similar to this one, and advised that we should eat it with our fingers. I recommend it (if occasion allows); somehow the absence of a cold fork is just right. It is a nice primitive way to eat a dish that feels northern European down to its boots, yet would not be out of place in Venice.

Redzepi made this with the fillet of a Musk Ox, a native Greenland breed. With none to hand, seek out any of the pure native British breeds: Angus, Hereford, Red Poll, Galloway, Devon, Highland, Welsh Black, White Park, Dexter and so on. Use only beef that has been hung for a minimum of three weeks, preferably four.

Serves 4

450g/1lb prime fillet beef

4 small pinches of sea salt

4 thin slices of rye bread, each slice trimmed of the crust and cut into 4 squares (pumpernickel is the closest alternative to Danish rye bread)

4 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons grated fresh horseradish

a handful of sorrel leaves – or sorrel sprouts (see Kitchen Note below)

2 shallots, very thinly sliced

1 tablespoon juniper berries

1 teaspoon coriander seeds

1 teaspoon caraway seeds

For the tarragon sauce:

6 sprigs of tarragon

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

1 tablespoon chicken stock or water

½ shallot

½ garlic clove

150ml/¼ pint olive oil

lemon juice

sea salt

Begin with the tarragon sauce. Put the tarragon, vinegar, stock or water, shallot, garlic and oil in a liquidiser and blend to a smooth cream. Season to taste with salt and a few drops of lemon juice, then refrigerate.

Using a very sharp knife, ‘scrape’ the meat into fine strips along the grain, parting the grain. Divide it between 4 serving plates. Sprinkle each portion with a small pinch of salt. Fry the rye bread lightly in the oil, then scatter it randomly over the beef, followed by the horseradish. Finish off with the sorrel and sliced shallots.

Heat the spices in a deep frying pan until they begin to brown, then grind to a fine powder using a mortar and pestle or a redundant coffee bean grinder. Put a large pinch of the spice mixture on the side of each plate. Serve with little bowls of the sauce to one side of each plate, eating the tartare with your fingers by taking a pinch of the raw meat and dipping it first in the sauce, then in the spice.

Kitchen note

Sorrel takes just 2 or 3 weeks to grow in a bed or pot but is sometimes available from specialist greengrocers. Alternatively, try a peppery leaf such as rocket or even cress, instead of the lemon-flavoured sorrel.

Beef leftovers

In 2006 a stunning statistic revealed that the average person throws over £400 worth of food away each year, and I’ll bet a proportion of that will be leftover meat, carcass bones and fat. If, after reading the introduction to the beef section, you are convinced that spending more on naturally reared beef is essential, then absorb the extra spend by making use of the leftovers. This food is a bonus, and a strong point in favour of the argument that good eating is more a question of knowing what to do with food than one related to money.

Cold meat

Beef with Horseradish Sauce on Crisp Bread

Making sandwiches with cold beef seems dull when you could brush a piece of bread on both sides with olive oil, then toast it in a pan, turning once. Meanwhile, make a sauce for 2 people by mixing together 2 teaspoons of mustard (English, French, whichever is your favourite), 1 tablespoon of grated horseradish or a teaspoon of ‘Gentleman’s Relish’, a chopped shallot, about 3 tablespoons of double cream or crème frâiche, ½ teaspoon of cider vinegar and some salt. Place a slice of cold roast beef rolled up with 1 tablespoon of the sauce on the crisp bread, and throw over some chopped herbs or cress – or other salad leaves.

Beef with Pumpkin Seeds and Carrot

I have become as fond of green pumpkin seeds as pine nuts, and have a weakness for the sweet sourness of grated carrot, mixed with lemon and oil, then seasoned with salt. For 2 people, put 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a pan and toast 2 tablespoons of pumpkin seeds in it until they are tinged with gold. The oil will turn a beautiful green. Grate 2 carrots, dress them with about 3 tablespoons of olive oil and the juice of ½ lemon, then add a pinch of salt. Stir well. Divide between 2 dishes. Place slices of beef on top, then spoon over the seeds, with their lovely oil. Black pepper is essential.

Minced cold meat

Sauce for Pasta

Mince the cold beef using an old-fashioned mincer (available in hardware shops) or chop it into small pieces. For 4 people, fry approximately 450g/1lb mince with 1 finely chopped onion, 2 chopped garlic cloves and 2 chopped chicken livers. Add 2 pinches of dried thyme, a wineglass of white wine and a tin of tomatoes and cover with beef stock. Simmer for about 1 hour, then taste and add salt. Serve with spaghetti, noodles or penne – and have a bowl of grated Parmesan cheese ready.

Braised Beef and Fungi

Make as for the sauce above, but omit the chicken livers and tomatoes, adding a handful of dried porcini that have been steeped in a mug of boiling-hot water until soft (add the soaking water, too). Simmer for an hour and serve with rice, or the cooked barley, or the farro. Use fresh mushrooms instead of dried, if you wish, and add a mugful of stock.

Beef Stock

To make beef stock, put the bones left over from a roast into a deep saucepan with a carrot, an onion, a celery stick and a bay leaf. Cover with water and bring to the boil. Simmer for about \Vi hours. Skim off surplus fat. Don’t be put off by the time this takes; once everything is in the pan and simmering, the stock makes itself and you have a bountiful supply to use in other recipes. I like to call stock a half-made meal.

Dripping

Once the beef has been roasted, pour off the dripping (fat) through a sieve into a little bowl and store in the fridge. Use it to fry or roast potatoes. Spread the jelly that sets underneath the fat on to hot toast and throw over some sprouting seeds – broccoli seeds are perfect for this. You can buy them from Goodness Direct (www.goodnessdirect.co.uk; tel: 0871 871 6611).

Blackcurrants

Blackcurrant Tarts

Venison Marinated in Blackcurrants

Redcurrant Cake

I went on a radio programme once to discuss ‘blackcurrants as a superfood’ with a representative of the Blackcurrant Foundation. Asked by Jenni Murray, of BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour, where the fruit originated, the expert said France. Well, it seemed rather rude to embarrass this blackcurrant expert in front of millions of people so I buttoned my lip. But it is not true. Blackcurrants, like white and redcurrants, are very northern-and originally grew wild all over Europe and Northern Asia, including Nordic countries. They love our climate, and grow well in Scotland. It is nice, for once, to look at a fruit and not think of it as better grown in France or Italy, like peaches, apricots and grapes. Blackcurrants are high in vitamin C, and the subject of many glowing tabloid health claims, since they have a high level of antioxidants (nutrients that help protect against cancer). The only problem with these claims is that currants of all colours usually taste even nicer with rather a lot of refined white sugar, which negates the goodness somewhat. But as a treat, puddings made with blackcurrants are among my favourites: their midnight inkiness, the rich and delicate flavour of the juice, the heaven that is blackcurrant jam, and the way you can use the leaves to add more blackcurrant flavour. And don’t forget white and red currants – the latter make an extraordinary cake.

Buying blackcurrants

I see a lot of blackcurrants during the season, in vegetable markets and farm shops, and they are an excellent buy at pick-your-own farms. Double check the label – it is better, and always cheaper, to buy British.

Blackcurrant Tarts

Sweet, intensely flavoured little tarts. Serve them warm after baking and spoon some vanilla ice cream on top. Alternatively, if the season for blackcurrants lingers on into that for cobnuts, try them with Cobnut Ice. If you don’t feel like making pastry, a West Country producer will come to your rescue. Dorset Pastry is made with proper butter and all natural ingredients. Its sweet shortcrust pastry is impressive – available from Waitrose, or contact Dorset Pastry for other stockists: www.dorsetpastry.com; tel: 01305 854860.

Makes 24

For the jam:

1kg/2¼lb blackcurrants, plus 6 blackcurrant leaves

1kg/2¼lb granulated sugar

For the sweet pastry:

55g/2oz icing sugar

250g/9oz plain flour, plus extra for dusting

a pinch of salt

125g/4½oz softened unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing

1 large egg yolk

1-1½ tablespoons double cream

Make the jam the day before. Pull the blackcurrants off the stalk using a fork, then put them in a ceramic or stainless steel bowl. Cover with the sugar, give them a stir and leave for an hour or so to soften. Then put them in a pan, bring to the boil slowly and boil for 15 minutes. You don’t need to boil it to a traditional jam setting point – sloppy jam is much better. Leave it to cool and set overnight.

To make the tarts, you will need 2 bun trays, greased lightly with butter (if you don’t have any bun trays, it is possible to make one large tart in a 20cm/8 inch tart tin). For the pastry, put the icing sugar, flour and salt into a food processor and whiz for a few seconds. Add the butter and egg yolk, plus enough double cream to form a paste when the mixture is whizzed briefly. Do not overwork it. Remove from the food processor, place on a well-floured board and lightly work into a ball. Wrap in cling film and leave to rest in the fridge for about 1 hour.

Roll out the pastry on a well-floured surface, dusting the rolling pin frequently with flour, until it is about 3mm/⅛ inch thick. Work lightly and quickly – this is a rich pastry that can become greasy and difficult to handle. Using a glass or a pastry cutter that is about 2cm/3/4 inch wider than the circumference of the bun moulds, cut out 24 circles of pastry. Press them into the bun trays, then refrigerate for about half an hour, until cold and solid.

Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/Gas Mark 6. Remove the pastry cases from the fridge and fill each one three-quarters full with jam. Bake for about 20 minutes, until the pastry is crisp. Remove them from the oven, leave for a minute or two, then lift the tarts out on to a cooling rack. Serve warm.

Venison Marinated in Blackcurrants

There is something very right about eating deer accompanied by berries. Deer can be a pest, roaming the countryside on an endless raid. They nibble the young shoots of brambles, preventing them cropping, and given half a chance will do the same with cultivated fruit in gardens. There is only one way to combat deer break-ins, and that is to feast on the intruders themselves. Revenge is a dish served hot.

Serves 4–6

1.25kg/2¾lb well-hung venison saddle, boned and rolled

450g/1lb fresh blackcurrants

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 small onion, chopped

85g/3oz butter, at room temperature

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the vegetables:

55g/2oz butter

2 shallots, finely chopped

200g/7oz pot barley

450g/1lb curly kale, shredded into fine strips

Put the venison in a ceramic dish and cover with the blackcurrants. Leave to marinate in the fridge for several hours, turning occasionally.

Preheat the oven to 240°C/475°F/Gas Mark 9. Lift the venison out of the marinade and put it in a roasting tin. Season with black pepper, place in the oven and roast for about 10 minutes, then turn the heat down to 175°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4 and roast for another 20 minutes. Test with a skewer (see the roast beef) or a meat thermometer. Rare venison should give a reading of about 50°C/125°F in the centre. Leave the meat to rest for 20 minutes, covered with foil in a warm place.

While the venison is roasting, prepare the vegetables: melt half the butter in a pan, add the shallots and cook until soft. Add the barley, stir-fry for a minute or two, then cover with water. Bring to the boil, turn down to a simmer and cook for about 15 minutes. Add the kale and cook for another 10 minutes, until both barley and kale are tender. Beat in the remaining butter and season with salt and pepper. To make the sauce, put the oil in a pan, add the garlic and onion and cook gently until tender. Add the blackcurrants from the marinade and cook until they are soft. Beat in the butter and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Have ready some warm plates before you carve the venison, as it cools very quickly. Serve a few slices to each person, with a little sauce and the barley and kale beside.

Redcurrant Cake

Due to their extraordinarily high nutrient content, more blackcurrants are grown in Britain than their relatives, red or white currants. Both have a more subtle, elegant flavour – especially redcurrants, which are delicious used in fools, ice cream and also in this pudding, which I like to call a biscuit that becomes a cake after it has sat for a while. It is quite easy to make, needing patience more than anything, but the end result will look like the work of a master pâtissier. Eat it with clotted cream or thin, creamy vanilla custard.

Serves 8

225g/8oz softened unsalted butter

70g/2½oz light brown muscovado sugar

175g/6oz ground almonds

225g/8oz superfine plain flour or Italian ‘00’ flour, plus extra for dusting

a few drops of vanilla extract, or the seeds scraped out from ‘A vanilla pod

approximately 450g/1lb redcurrants, pulled off the stalks with a fork (you can use previously frozen fruit)

caster sugar

Cream the butter and sugar in a mixer or using an electric beater until light and fluffy. Fold in the ground almonds, followed by the flour and vanilla, and mix to form a dough. Wrap the dough in a plastic bag and put in the fridge to rest for about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 150°C/300°F/Gas Mark 2. Divide the dough into quarters. Roll out each on a piece of baking parchment dusted with a small scattering of flour. Use a 23cm/9 inch plate as a template and cut around it, discarding the pastry trimmings to leave a neat round. Transfer each sheet of pastry to a baking sheet and bake for 12–15 minutes, until golden. The colour of the biscuit is important; it should be reasonably ‘high baked’ – so a good golden colour without being burnt. Leave to cool on the baking sheets.

To build the cake, transfer the least perfect biscuit round to a flat plate. Scatter a third of the redcurrants over the whole surface in an even layer. Sprinkle just a little caster sugar over them before lowering the second biscuit on top. Repeat with the remaining layers, using all the redcurrants so the top of the cake is biscuit, not fruit. It really does not matter if layer 1, 2 or 3 breaks (the biscuit is necessarily fragile) but try to keep number 4 intact for looks purposes.

Leave the cake to sit for at least 2 hours – the juice from the redcurrants will seep into the biscuit and the whole thing should amalgamate nicely into a crumbly cake you can cut (using a very sharp knife) into slices and serve with cream or custard.

BROCCOLI

Purple Sprouting Broccoli with Little Brown Lentils

Creamed Broccoli Soup

Romanesco Salad

I could write poetry to welcome purple sprouting broccoli, when the fresh new season’s spears hit the shops. It is just at that moment when potatoes are getting big and carrots enormous; the frosts are killing the softer vegetables and no other way can be found to eat squash. I have written before how purple sprouting, at its best, jostles for position with asparagus as a favourite seasonal pleasure – it wins because it is cheaper.

Buying broccoli

Farmers’ markets are the best source of the freshest broccoli, both purple sprouting and the boring kind. Supermarkets sell plenty, but the delay as the broccoli travels from farm to depot for cleaning, trimming and packing is reflected in its slight toughness and reduced sweetness. To find a farmers’ market near you, look at your local council website or for a London farmers’ market, see www.lfm.org.uk.

Purple Sprouting Broccoli with Little Brown Lentils

When you want vegetables to sit patiently and ready on the table while you get on with other things, this is the way to do it. When I made this originally, I liked it a lot, but when I ate the leftovers as I did the washing up I liked it ten times more – so make in advance and leave it. Do not refrigerate; if it is served chilled, the flavour is lost. For a warm dish, reheat any leftovers the next day, when the broccoli will darken and the whole thing amalgamate. Eat with red chilli and lumps of fresh acidic cheese.

Choose broccoli that feels tender right down to the tip of the stem and whose flowers are still closed. The leaves should not be enormous, but young enough for the flower heads to be visible.

Serves 4

200g/7oz small brown lentils

2 garlic cloves, peeled and pressed with the flat side of a knife to crack them a little

2 wineglasses of red wine

water or chicken stock

2 sprigs of thyme

450g/1lb purple sprouting broccoli

6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Put the lentils in a pan with the garlic and wine, then cover with enough water or stock to come about 1—2cm/½—¾ inch above the pulses. Add the thyme, bring to the boil and simmer for about 25–35 minutes. Test – the lentils should be soft in the centre but the skins should not be falling off.

Strip any big tough leaves from the broccoli, and peel away any tough skin on the stalk using a potato peeler. Bring 4cm/1½ inches of salted water to the boil in a large pan and add the broccoli. Cook until just tender, then lift out with a slotted spoon and leave to drain on a dry cloth.

Put the broccoli in a bowl. Stir the oil and vinegar into the lentils, then season with salt and black pepper if necessary. Tip this mixture over the broccoli and leave the whole dish to perform its alchemy.

Creamed Broccoli Soup

When very lightly cooked until it is just tender and still grass green, then blitzed with stock and finished with a lemon-scented cream, broccoli soup is a heavenly way to eat what can be a tedious vegetable. The key to giving this soup a light, fresh spring vegetable flavour is in timing the cooking perfectly, and gentle reheating.

Serves 4–6

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 white onion, chopped

1 garlic clove, sliced

1 litre/1¾ pints chicken or vegetable stock

2-3 whole broccoli heads, weighing approximately 700g/1lb 9oz, separated into spears

4 tablespoons double cream

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

To serve:

4-6 tablespoons double cream withgrated zest of ½ lemon or Greek-style yoghurt

Heat the oil in a large saucepan, add the onion and garlic and cook over a medium heat for a few minutes, until soft and translucent but not browned. Add the stock and bring to the boil. Simmer for a minute, then add the broccoli. Simmer until the stalks are just tender when pierced with a knife – they should still have some ‘bite’. Remove from the heat immediately and transfer to a bowl so the soup cools a little faster. Liquidise the soup with the cream until smooth. Taste and add salt and pepper if necessary.

To serve, mix the cream with the lemon zest. Just before you eat, reheat the soup gently, then serve straight away with a spoonful of the lemon cream, or yoghurt, in every bowl.

Romanesco Salad

I sometimes see this pointy, pale-green vegetable in local greengrocer’s shops and farmers’ markets. Although it is a relative of the cauliflower, it is known as Romanesco broccoli, and has a delicate flavour somewhere between cauliflower and broccoli. It is delicious served raw, for dipping into sauces, and when cooked it needs very little treatment at all except a drizzle of olive oil and lemon juice and parings of a hard cow’s or ewe’s milk cheese. Cut into quarters, then steam it for about 8 minutes. Test the stalk with the point of a knife – you do not want it too soft or the flower head will turn to mush. Much better that there is a firm stalk. Slice into big chunks, then serve in bowls with the oil, lemon, salt and cheese.

BUCKWHEAT

Kasha Salad

Buckwheat Pancakes

Herrings in Buckwheat Groats

My first encounter with buckwheat came in the form of a plate of blini, the Russian pancakes eaten with caviar or smoked fish. My step-grandfather was a Russian émigré, who adored them but liked them thick and heavy. My mother then found an authentic recipe in the Time-Life Russian cookbook – it was a revelation. Light, airy yeast pancakes with a taste of wholesome grain. Spoonfuls of melted butter, smoked fish and dollops of soured cream went on top; this was richness and earthiness combined. So you see, I am a fan of this brown flour with its dark flecks, but then recently I found kasha, the whole grains of buckwheat. They are shaped like a spearhead and are pale green. They need a short boil, then a wash to remove the starch. Added to salads or eaten hot with a dressing of oil, butter and fresh dill, they are exciting and totally different.

Buckwheat is not a wheat at all, but the grains from a flowering plant dating back thousands of years. It can, though, be used to make bread (with other flours) and noodles, notably soba noodles.

Buying buckwheat

Wholefood stores usually stock buckwheat flour, and often the groats as well. Organic buckwheat is available from Infinity Foods of Brighton. For stockists, contact them on www.infinityfoods.co.uk; tel: 01273 424060.

Kasha Salad

Kasha is whole buckwheat grains, sometimes sold as buckwheat groats. It has a green tinge and a fresh vegetable flavour, and cooks conveniently in a very short time. This simple salad has a gentle, grassy flavour. It is lovely with cold chicken, smoked fish or soft-boiled peeled eggs (bring eggs and cold water to the boil and cook for 4 minutes, cool in cold water, then peel)

Serves 4

2 garlic cloves, peeled

a pinch of dried thyme

200g/7oz buckwheat groats

1 ripe avocado

juice of 1 lemon

6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

a small bunch of dill, roughly chopped

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Put the garlic cloves, thyme and buckwheat in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to the boil, turn down to a simmer and cook for about 15–20 minutes, until the buckwheat is tender but not a mush. Drain and rinse quickly in cold water to remove any foamy starch. Leave to drain for a few minutes; it should not be wet.

Peel, stone and dice the avocado. Put it in a salad bowl and dress with the lemon juice, then add the olive oil, buckwheat, dill and seasoning and toss quickly. Do not make this salad too far in advance or the avocado will discolour.

Buckwheat Pancakes

These are my English blini, adapted from the Russian recipe of my childhood made in an English kitchen. Earthy but light, thanks to the use of both whipped egg whites and yeast, they should be drizzled with melted butter and eaten with smoked fish (see the Cured Mackerel), chopped dill and soured cream. Freshly ground black pepper is a must. They could also be eaten with Bacon and Apples or perhaps a little thin slice of dry-cured beef, in which case serve with chopped spring onions and a little melted butter.

Serves 4–6

125g/4½oz brown buckwheat flour

250g/9oz fine white flour (if you want gluten-free pancakes, you could use rice flour)

½ teaspoon fine sea salt

30g/1oz fresh yeast

1 teaspoon caster sugar

450ml/¾ pint lukewarm milk

3 eggs, separated

2½ tablespoons soured cream

2½ tablespoons melted butter, plus extra for brushing

To serve:

smoked fish of any sort

fried mushrooms

chopped dill

300ml/½ pint soured cream

175g/6oz butter, melted

Put the flours in a bowl with the salt and leave in a warm place. Mix the yeast with the sugar until it breaks down to a paste, then add the milk. Leave for about half an hour, until the yeast is activated and a foam forms on the top. Make a well in the centre of the flours and pour in the yeast mixture, beating as you go. When you have a smooth batter, leave the mixture to rise for about 1½ hours, covered with a tea towel, until doubled in size.

Beat in the egg yolks and fold in the soured cream and melted butter. Leave in a warm place for 20 minutes. Whisk the egg whites until they form stiff peaks, then very carefully fold them into the bubbly pancake mixture. You do not want to break down the bubbles made by the yeast.

Heat a flat griddle or pancake pan and brush with a little melted butter; it should be hot but not smoking. Drop a tablespoonful of the mixture on to the pan and cook until bubbles rise to the surface and pop. Flip the pancake over and cook until puffed. Do not allow the pancake to burn – keep the heat steady. You should be able to cook 3 pancakes at a time in an average-sized pan. Keep the pancakes warm in a bowl lined with a tea towel, or eat them as you go, with any of the accompaniments listed above, finishing with chopped dill, a dollop of soured cream and a little melted butter drizzled on top.

Herrings in Buckwheat Groats

Herring fillets rolled in eggs and buckwheat, then shallow-fried and eaten with a good, piquant sauce. It is essential to buy very fresh herring. Herring roes are also good prepared like this.

Serves 4

200g/7oz buckwheat groats

4 large or 8 small herring fillets

1-2 eggs, lightly beaten

sunflower oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the sauce:

2 egg yolks

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

300ml/½ pint light olive or sunflower oil

lemon juice, to taste

3 hardboiled egg whites, chopped (see Kitchen Note below)

1 tablespoon capers, rinsed, squeezed and chopped

5 cornichons (baby gherkins), chopped

1 shallot, finely chopped

leaves from 1 sprig of parsley, chopped

leaves from 2 sprigs of tarragon, chopped

leaves from 2 sprigs of chervil, chopped (if available)

First make the sauce. Put the egg yolks in a bowl with the mustard, then gradually whisk in the oil bit by bit until you have a thick emulsion. Add the remaining sauce ingredients, taste and add a pinch of fine sea salt if necessary. Set to one side.

Season the groats with salt and pepper. Dip the herring fillets in the beaten egg, then roll them in the buckwheat groats. Pour enough oil into a heavy-bottomed frying pan to cover the base well. Heat the oil and fry the herrings over a medium to high heat for about 2 minutes on each side, until the groats are golden and the fish is firm. Eat hot, with the sauce.

Kitchen note

Grate the hardboiled egg yolks over the braised chicory, to make a richer dish.

BUFFALO MILK

Buffalo Milk Yoghurt with Lavender Honey and Pear Salad

There has been an invasion, a friendly one, that has won the hearts and minds of food lovers everywhere. Buffalo roam the English fields – but not the entire countryside, thank goodness. They like to wallow to cool their muscles and, while it is a cute sight to see their ears and nostrils poking above the water in rivers and shallow ponds, it is a terrible job for the herdsmen to winch them out of their happy, wet haven and milk them.

Milking is the best possible use for them. Their meat is almost fatless, which makes it attractive to some, but I’d rather eat native beef with its marbling of fat, and on other days, buffalo yoghurt and cheese. Buffalo milk is a little volatile – it needs to be very fresh when made into yoghurt or fresh cheese, or it will have an overripe flavour that can be off-putting. I am not a milk drinker, so turn it into a rich, creamy, white-as-chalk yoghurt and serve it with flower honey and ripe pears – a healthy breakfast, but I would not be at all ashamed to put it on the table as a hurried pudding after lunch. There’s no need, if you are short of time, to arrange it on plates as in the recipe below. Instead, just let everyone d-i-y. The yoghurt can go, ice cold, into a large earthenware bowl with a ladle, the honey on the table and a bowl of pears.

Buying buffalo milk

Higher Alham Farm, near Shepton Mallet, produces milk, yoghurt and an excellent, not quite authentic, organic buffalo cheese to eat fresh with salads. Its products are available at Pimlico, Notting Hill, Stoke Newington and Archway farmers’ markets in London. Mail order is available for a minimum quantity: www.buffalo-organics.co.uk; tel: 01749 880221.

Buffalo Milk Yoghurt with Lavender Honey and Pear Salad

To make the yoghurt, you will need four 250ml/9fl oz jars, spotlessly clean, and a warm place such as an airing cupboard. Automatic yoghurt makers are available from Lakeland Ltd (www.lakeland.co.uk; tel: 015394 88100).

You can, of course, buy the yoghurt, or use a good whole dairy milk brand that you are devoted to, but …

Serves 8

1 litre/1¾ pints fresh buffalo milk

4 tablespoons live yoghurt

For the lavender honey and pear salad:

6 Cornice pears, peeled, quartered and sliced

juice of ½ lemon

2 heaped tablespoons lavender honey

a few lavender buds, if available

Warm the milk to boiling point, then leave it to cool to just above blood temperature – about 38°C/100°F. Stir in the live yoghurt and put it into jars. Seal and put in a warm place (about 29°C/84°F) for about 6 hours, until set.

Put the pears into a bowl, squeeze over the lemon juice, then pour over the honey. Gently stir, or turn the pears over so they get a good coating of the honey, which will thin as you do this. Add a little pinch of lavender buds. Eat the yoghurt with the pear salad spooned over.

CAULIFLOWER

Cauliflower with Lancashire Cheese

Leftovers

Crisped Cauliflower with Breadcrumbs and Garlic

Cauliflower Soup

I am an admirer of cauliflower but I am not sure about anyone else. It was astonishing to hear from a farmer, standing with him in a giant cauliflower patch near Preston, that the British are colour sensitive about the vegetable. Unless it is spotlessly white, no one will buy it. On the day of my visit to this mecca of cauli growing, the sun was out and the cauliflowers were swiftly turning yellow. The farmer told me he would grub the whole lot into the ground: it wasn’t just the supermarkets who would be reluctant to buy them, the shoppers wouldn’t touch them.

On that basis, I think we need some recipes for this vegetable that, when fresh, is less sulphurous, less aggressive, more … poetic than a cabbage. Mark Twain was right when he said that a cauliflower is a cabbage with a college education.

Cauliflower with Lancashire Cheese

The cheese sauce for this dish is a basic that you can pour over other leafy vegetables to make a filling supper – try it with Swiss chard, Brussels sprouts, curly kale, spinach, lettuce hearts and beetroot tops.

Serves 4–6

1 large cauliflower, broken into chunks (use the leaves if they look fresh, slicing them into thin strips)

a pinch of ground mace or a few gratings of nutmeg

600ml/1 pint milk

1 bay leaf

40g/1½oz butter

40g/1½oz plain flour

200g/7oz Lancashire cheese, grated

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Fill a large pan with water and bring it to the boil. Add a pinch of salt and the cauliflower and boil for about 7 minutes, until just tender but not soft. Meanwhile, put the spice, milk and bay leaf into a small pan and bring to the boil. Pour into a jug and set to one side. Melt the butter in the same pan and add the flour. Mix to a paste and cook over a low heat until the paste has a sandy texture. Gradually whisk in the hot milk (having removed the bay leaf), making sure there are no lumps. Bring the sauce to the boil, stirring all the time. Add the cheese and stir once more, then remove from the heat. Season with salt and pepper.

Put the cauliflower in a shallow ovenproof dish and pour the sauce over the top. Either brown it under the grill or bake for a few minutes in an oven preheated to 240°C/475°F/Gas Mark 9, until browned on top.

Kitchen note

You can make this dish without flour, whisking together 5 egg yolks and 600ml/1 pint single cream or crème fraîche. Bring very slowly up to the boil but do not let it bubble. Season with nutmeg, salt and pepper and add the Lancashire cheese. Pour the sauce over the cooked cauliflower and bake to brown the top. The result is more of a rich, baked custard.

Cauliflower leftovers

Crisped Cauliflower with Breadcrumbs and Garlic

I like to fry previously boiled cauliflower with fresh breadcrumbs in a little oil, with a peeled garlic clove (to be removed later), then eat it with orecchiette, the little ‘ears’ of pasta that so effectively collect the broken, crisp pieces of cauliflower and crumbs. Grate some Parmesan cheese over the top.

Cauliflower Soup

Gently fry a chopped onion in butter or oil, then add the cooked cauliflower. Season with a little English mustard powder, cover with milk and stock (50/50) and bring to the boil. Liquidise and season, then serve hot with a little cream and chopped chives – or my favourite herb, chervil, if you can get it.

Glorious Rehash – A New Generation of Leftovers

Thin, melting slices of rare roast beef, eaten with a mustard dressing tinted with anchovies and capers; cockles in a hotpot of seafood broth, served with a garlic sauce; little cauliflower florets crisped in a pan with breadcrumbs and olive oil; the lightest shrimp shell and straw mushroom broth, made warmer still with needles of fresh ginger; a radiant, creamy squash soup, flavoured with melted, brandy-washed cheese; or perhaps a dish of rice spiked with allspice and green pistachios, cooked in a pan with shards of roast lamb …

A menu that sounds richly indulgent but which is a good deed: in all these dishes there is something that might otherwise have been thrown away. Leftovers – the skeletons, shells, skins and extra flesh of foods deserving of a better future. Landfill that became a tummy full.

If you pay more for the best raw materials, it makes sense to use up every little bit. When a cut of well-hung meat from a slow-reared, grass-fed animal costs between twice and four times as much as one that was reared indoors and forced to grow fast on an unnatural diet, spreading the cost becomes an economic necessity. But this is not the only reason to reduce waste. It is estimated that one-third of the food bought in the UK is thrown away, ending up in landfill where it rots, emitting methane, a major contributing factor to climate change. The value of this food is estimated at £8 billion yearly – sympathy wanes, in certain cases, with complaints about paying more for better food.

The case for eating leftovers has not historically been helped by gloomy offerings of unidentifiable rissoles, khaki-hued ‘mystery’ vegetable soups, or bubble and squeak. An occasional plate of fried, leftover greens and mash is bearable but taken weekly it is tedious. There are other ways: using the colour and fragrance of fresh herbs from a pot on the windowsill, trying interesting seasonings, adding piquant dressings, wrapping with good bread or thin, olive oil pastry. Abandon bubble and squeak, take those cooked sprouts or spring greens, shred them and fry them instead in butter with cooked rice or whole grains of wheat; add ras al hanout, a Moroccan spice mix, then perhaps some chopped celery and shredded cold cooked chicken, game or lamb; sprinkle with black onion seeds once piping hot, then serve with creamy Greek yoghurt and fresh coriander. Suddenly you have in front of you a feast, even if one grown from humble beginnings. As for the spare cooked potato, mix it with a little potato flour and beaten egg, then make it into little patties; fry them and eat with smoked haddock, fresh peppery watercress and soured cream. Two typical leftover Sunday lunch foods become two extra, economical meals.

Broth, or stock, is the tea of bones. How can a nation that is self-confessedly addicted to tea not feel the same about stock made from chicken carcasses, beef shins, fish bones or prawn shells? Like tea, stock warms the soul and revives flagging energy levels. It is impossible not to feel good after eating food made with stock. It is even time-economic: once in the pan, it bubbles along unassisted, ready to use in an hour, or to bottle and freeze. A risotto or soup made with real stock has reserves of natural, heavenly flavour that underpin the goodness in the other ingredients and cut the need for salt. Doctors should prescribe stock – and go some way to preventing heart trouble. Casting pearls before swine may seem all too easy, but eat the pig from the tips of its toes to the end of its ears and there will be money for gems.

CELERY

Green Celery, Crayfish and Potato Salad

Celery Soup

Celery Stock

Farmers and shops are dismissive of celery – you only have to watch the harvest to witness this, which I did one horrible wet day in Cambridgeshire. It is a magnificent-looking crop, tall and leafy, its big strong heart and root deep in the Fens. But as it is pulled out of the ground, the pickers immediately cut off all or most of the heart, then lop all but a few leaves from the top, leaving just 30cm/12 inches of stalk. I have a nasty suspicion that this execution, which is not practised in southern Europe where celery is sold in its gorgeous entirety, is carried out in order that the celery head will fit in the average carrier bag. It is true that no one is quite sure what to do with celery, except use it as a base for stews or stick it in a jug and put it out with the cheeseboard.

It’s nice to emerge from a market with a mane of foliage flying out behind you, and tap into a vegetable that has a flavour I can only describe as important. Celery is as much a seasoning as a main ingredient. Even the leaves, where the flavour is at its most intense, are useful and should not be wasted.

Buying celery

The original ‘Fenland’ celery is still grown in deep furrows in the Fens, and is available from October to December in Waitrose. You can use ordinary celery in any of the following recipes, but look out for heads with leaves.

Green Celery, Crayfish and Potato Salad

Jane Grigson’s salad of mussels, potatoes and celery inspired this rare, crayfish-packed version, which I made on my return from the Fens clutching a whole celery plant saved from the picker’s knife. I fancied that freshwater crayfish roam the streams around the fields where the celery and potatoes grow, circling them. So, as it does with other things that share a landscape, like pork and apples, it seemed right that they ended up in the same bowl. The result is a fresh and unusual salad, the sweetness of the crayfish pitched against the sharp, savoury celery, with the potato in between, mopping up the dressing.

For information on buying crayfish.

Serves 4 as a main course

600g/1lb 5oz new potatoes

280g/10oz celery sticks

200g/7oz shelled, cooked crayfish

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

juice of 1 lemon

leaves from 2 sprigs of flat-leaf parsley

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Put the potatoes in a pan of water and bring to the boil. Cook until the point of a knife will slip in with just a little resistance. Remove from the heat, drain and immediately rinse with cold water to prevent further cooking. Allow to cool, then cut into slices 5mm/¼ inch thick. Put in a large bowl.

Pull any tough strings from the celery sticks and wash off any dirt. Slice them thinly across the grain, then rinse and pat dry.

Add the celery and crayfish to the bowl of potatoes and toss together with the oil, lemon juice, parsley, some freshly ground black pepper and a pinch of salt flakes. Use celery leaves for decoration.

Celery Soup

Celery has awkward bits – namely the strings that run up the length of the stalks. Removing some of them will make this a smoother, creamier soup. Using a mixture of stock and milk gives it a more velvety texture still. The important part is the stewing of the vegetables in butter or oil at the beginning, because it helps to extract the maximum flavour.

Serves 6

½ head of celery, with leaves

85g/3oz butter or 4 tablespoons olive oil

2 white onions, chopped

4 medium potatoes, peeled and cut into dice

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