Copyright

4th Estate

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.4thEstate.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2019

Text copyright © Nigel Slater 2019

All recipe photographs © Jonathan Lovekin 2019

Except p. 295 © Nigel Slater 2019

Brushstrokes copyright © Tom Kemp 2019

Nigel Slater asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Design by David Pearson

Author photograph by Jenny Zarins

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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Source ISBN: 9780008333355

Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008336622

Version: 2019-03-21

For James

Tom Kemp

Tom Kemp trained as a calligrapher, absorbing the large number of Western scripts written with a quill pen. It was an introduction to the square-edged brush, however, which led to his current work. He studied the heavily-doubted theory that the best classical Roman inscriptions were first written with the brush directly and swiftly on marble; the subsequent carving was just a way of fixing this handwriting in place. Tom rediscovered many of the techniques needed to prove the theory, summarising his findings in a book, Formal Brush Writing, published in 1999. Since then he has taught this Roman calligraphic technique in classes around the world. At the same time, he started to explore the idea of writing itself and began to abstract away from letters and words, resulting in what he calls ‘writing without language’. Seven years ago, he began to learn the craft of pottery which he now uses to make complex, curved porcelain surfaces on which he writes.

tomkemp.com

Instagram @tom_kemp_

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Tom Kemp

Introduction

In a Bowl

CHICKPEA, PEA, SPROUTED SEEDS

FREEKEH, PEACHES, FETA

GREENS, COCONUT CURRY

MELON, PEPPERS, CUCUMBER

MISO, CAULIFLOWER, GINGER

MISO, MUSHROOMS, PAK CHOI

BULGUR, NECTARINES, PARSLEY

PANEER, AUBERGINE, CASHEWS

PAPAYA, CARROT, RADISH

PEAS, PARSLEY, VEGETABLE STOCK

PEPPERS, CHICKPEAS, GARLIC

POMEGRANATE, CUCUMBER, PUFFED RICE

QUINOA, PEAS, SPROUTED SEEDS

RICE, BROAD BEANS, ASPARAGUS

RUNNER BEANS, CASHEWS, TOMATOES

SHIITAKE, COCONUT, SOBA NOODLES

RICE, COURGETTES, PICKLED VEGETABLES

RICE, PICKLES, NORI

In a Pan

ASPARAGUS, BROAD BEANS, EGGS

AUBERGINE, HONEY, SHEEP’S CHEESE

COURGETTE (OR MARROW), ZA’ATAR, HERB YOGHURT

COURGETTES, DILL, CHICKPEAS

COURGETTES, MUSHROOMS

AUBERGINE, CHILLI, SOY

FENNEL, ONIONS, EGGS

PASTA, TOMATOES

GNOCCHI, TOMATO, RADISHES

HALLOUMI, MINT, AUBERGINE

MARROW, TOMATO, COUSCOUS

PEAS, BREADCRUMBS

SPRING CABBAGE, SPRING ONIONS, POTATOES

SWEET POTATOES, TOMATOES

In the Hand

CARROTS, TOMATOES, BUNS

FETA, BEETROOT, BUNS

MUSTARD GUACAMOLE, MOZZARELLA, BAGEL

In the Morning

STRAWBERRIES, OATS, YOGHURT

In the Oven

ASPARAGUS, PUFF PASTRY

AUBERGINE, HAZELNUTS, ONIONS

AUBERGINE, PUFF PASTRY

HALLOUMI, TOMATOES

BAKED PEPPERS, BEANS, HERB SAUCE

BAKED RICOTTA, ASPARAGUS

BEETROOT, CARROTS, SUGAR SNAPS

GREEN FALAFEL, WATERMELON, YOGHURT

KALE, BLUE CHEESE, ORECCHIETTE

LENTILS, PEPPERS, GORGONZOLA

ORZO, PEPPERS

PEPPERS, PESTO, FETA

ROAST NEW POTATOES, SPINACH SAUCE

ROASTED PEPPER, TOMATO, FOCACCIA

ROAST SPRING VEGETABLES, PEANUT SAUCE

BROAD BEANS, SPRING GREENS, LASAGNE

TOMATOES, BASIL, BREADCRUMBS

TOMATOES, COUSCOUS, HARISSA

On a Plate

BEETROOT, CURRY LEAVES, CRISP ONIONS

BROAD BEANS, PEA SHOOTS, SALTED RICOTTA

BURRATA, BROCCOLI, LENTILS

FENNEL, RADISH, YOGHURT

MUSHROOMS, PEAS, TOAST

NOODLES, SPROUTED BEANS, PEANUTS

POTATOES, SPINACH, POMEGRANATE

TOMATO, PEAS, FETA

TOMATO, BEANS, BREAD

On the Grill

AUBERGINE, FETA, YOGHURT

GRILLED LETTUCE, CARROT SOUP

COURGETTES, RICOTTA, PINE KERNELS

HALLOUMI, MELON, CHILLI

POLENTA, SPINACH, PARMESAN

On the Hob

ARTICHOKE, TAGLIATELLE

ASPARAGUS, MISO, MUSTARD

EGGS, Potatoes

BROAD BEANS, FLAGEOLETS, COURGETTES

BROAD BEANS, COUSCOUS, PINE KERNELS

BROAD BEANS, NEW POTATOES, TOMATOES

BUCATINI, COURGETTES, SPINACH

CAULIFLOWER, PUMPKIN SEEDS, BREADCRUMBS

CAULIFLOWER, GARLIC, SPICES

FETTUCINE, SAMPHIRE, LEMON

FREEKEH, AVOCADO, CHIVES

POTATOES, WILD GARLIC

PEAS, PAPPARDELLE, PARMESAN

NEW POTATOES, GARLIC, PEPPERS

SUMMER SQUASH, TOMATOES, SPINACH

TOMATOES, CHICKPEAS, CASHEWS

TOMATOES, COURGETTES, PEAS

TROFIE, PARSLEY, PECORINO

Pudding

PLUMS, CROISSANTS

BLACKBERRY, APPLE, MARZIPAN

BLACKCURRANT, YOGHURT

CHERRY, SWEET PASTRY

LEMON RICE, MANGO, ICE CREAM

CUCUMBER, BASIL, CREAM CHEESE

FIG, GOAT’S CHEESE, HONEY

CURRANTS, GIN, BREAD

MERINGUE, APRICOTS, BLACKCURRANTS

PEACH, BLACKBERRIES, ICE CREAM

PLUMS, BROWN SUGAR, HAZELNUTS

SPONGE FINGERS, CHERRY, CUSTARD

PLUMS, CLOVES, BAY

RICOTTA, ORANGE BLOSSOM, CHERRIES

STRAWBERRIES, PASSION FRUIT, BALSAMIC

PEACHES, BISCUITS, MASCARPONE

WATERMELON, PROSECCO

Index

Acknowledgements

A note on the brushstrokes

A note on the type

About the Author

Also by Nigel Slater

About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION

There is a little black book on the kitchen table. Neatly annotated in places, virtually illegible in others, it is the latest in a long line of tissue-thin pages containing the hand-written details of everything I eat. This is not one of the kitchen chronicles where I write down recipe workings and shopping lists, ideas and wish lists, but a daily diary of everything that ends up on my plate. If I have yoghurt, blackcurrant compote and pumpkin seeds at breakfast it will be in that little book. Likewise, a lunch of green lentils and grilled red peppers or a dinner of roast cauliflower and a bowl of miso soup. Each bowl of soup, plate of pasta and every mushroom on toast is faithfully logged. I don’t know exactly why or when I started noting down my dinner, but these little books are now filled in out of habit as much as anything else. The notes are often made at night, just before I lock up and go to bed. I suspect my little black books will be buried with me.

I occasionally look back at what I have written, often as I change one journal for the next. One of the points that interests me, and perhaps this is the main reason I have kept the daily ritual going for so long, is that I can follow how my eating has changed, albeit gradually, over the years. There are of course unshakable edibles, (I seem to have started and ended each day’s eating with a bowl of yoghurt for as long as I can remember), but I also find marked changes in what I cook and eat. The most notable is the quantity, I definitely eat less than I used to, and there is a conspicuous move towards lighter dishes, particularly in spring and summer.

But here’s another thing. Despite being resolutely omnivorous, it is clear how much of my everyday eating has become plant-based. Although not strictly vegetarian (the bottom line for me will always be that my dinner is delicious, not something that must adhere to a set of strict dietary rules), much of my weekday eating contains neither meat nor fish. I am not sure this was a particularly considered choice. It is simply the way my eating has grown to be over the last few years. I do know, however, that I am not alone in this.

Greenfeast, like Eat before it, is a collection of what I eat when I finish work every day: the casual yet spirited meals with which I sustain myself and whoever else is around. The recipes are, like those in previous collections, more for inspiration than rules to be adhered to, slavishly, word for word. But unlike Eat, this collection offers no meat or fish. The idea of collecting these recipes together is for those like-minded eaters who find themselves wanting inspiration for a supper that owes more to plants than animals.

HOW I EAT

I rarely hand someone a plate full of food. More hospitable and more fun, I think, is a table that has a selection of bowls and dishes of food to which people can help themselves. And by that, I mean dinner for two or three as much as those for a group of family or friends. That way, the table comes to life, food is offered or passed round, a dish is shared, the meal is instantly more joyful.

In summer there will be a couple of light, easily-prepared principal dishes. Alongside those will be some sort of accompaniment. There may be wedges of toasted sourdough, glossy with olive oil and flakes of sea salt. Noodles that I have cooked, often by simply pouring boiling water over them, then tossed in a little toasted sesame oil and coriander leaves, or an all-singing and -dancing Korean chilli paste.

A dish of red pepper soup might sit alongside a plate of fried aubergines and feta. Crisp pea croquettes may well be placed on the table with tomato and French bean salad. Southeast-Asian noodles might be eaten with roast spring vegetables and peanut sauce and a mild dish of creamed and grilled cauliflower could turn up with a spiced tomato couscous. Two dishes, often three, are very much the usual at home. I find the thought of being able to dip into several dishes uplifting in comparison to a single plate piled high.

Much of what I cook in the spring and summer is exceptionally light, by which I mean it is unlikely to be carb-heavy or based on dairy produce. There are a few things that come out on a regular basis. Bowls of yoghurt that have been folded through with chopped mint and coriander, a splash of rice vinegar and chives. There are often some lightly pickled vegetables: usually carrots, beetroot or red onions. A tangle of sauerkraut turned with an equal volume of chopped herbs, or a tomato and basil salad. Like migratory birds, these are regular visitors to my summer table. There will be others too. Perhaps some rice with crisped onions and coriander or noodles tossed with crushed tomatoes, sea salt and red wine vinegar. There may be a dish of couscous with mint, golden sultanas and green peas, or new potatoes with olive oil, tarragon and lemon zest.

It is no secret that I have a deep affection for the cold months, but my love of summer cooking, its ease and laidback feeling is not far behind. There are highlights that turn up on the table from May to September and often beyond. A few pieces of melon rolled in the juice of a passion fruit for breakfast. A deep cup of miso soup with shreds of spring greens and lemon for lunch. The uppermost points of early summer asparagus tossed with ground sesame seeds and a trickle of toasted oil to accompany a salad of sprouted seeds and green peas. A single misshapen ball of burrata with an emerald ribbon of basil oil, or a cucumber, crushed and scattered with cool ricotta and mint leaves aside a bowl of avocado and green wheat. The list is almost endless.

The recipes throughout the book are light. They are meant to be mixed and matched as you wish. A table with several little bowls of light, unfussy food to please and delight and, ultimately, gently sustain.

A NOTE ON THE RECIPES

Though all are plant-based, the recipes within these pages are not strictly vegetarian. They can, however, be rendered suitable for vegetarian or vegan diets with a bit of informed tweaking.

I am a collector of bowls. Bowls for soup and porridge, bowls for rice and pasta, bowls for pudding. I enjoy choosing which will be most appropriate for my dinner, deep or shallow, with a rim or without, earthenware, lacquer or wood. There is nothing precious about this, I simply feel that food tastes better when you eat it from something that flatters the contents.

When I moved to London, forty years ago, I bought a couple of thick, heavy, white Pillivuyt soup bowls. I have them to this day. They were my only tableware for many years, long before I bought plates or shallow dishes. They are used daily, no longer to eat from, but for beating eggs or blending a dressing. There is always at least one sitting in the fridge, a saucer for a hat, keeping a little treasure safe for another day.

I have two wooden bowls for porridge, made from ash. They form a gentle start to the day. The quiet, beatific pleasure of the movement of wooden spoon across wooden bowl. I feel like Goldilocks, even when they are used for a strawberry Bircher muesli. Occasionally they are commandeered for a soup or rice, but they are without doubt meant for the early hours.

Miso broth is my panacea. It solves every question, soothes every ill, warms, satiates and cossets. Initially a morning ritual, the bowl of miso soup can be enhanced with sliced vegetables, shreds of seaweed, sliced mushrooms and skeins of noodles. If ever I am unsure of what I want to eat, five minutes with a cup of miso broth and I have decided. The darker the miso the more it sharpens the appetite and spurs you to cook.

Serving risotto from a bowl instead of a plate is enough to get you lynched in some circles. I care not a jot. I like my risotto in a bowl, where the last spoonful (and yes, a spoon!) remains as hot as the first rather than chilling on a plate. Or perhaps it is the joy that springs from winding up those whose eating is atrophied by tradition. That said, I am not a prolific eater of rice. There is much to be said though for a bowl of pure white basmati or sticky Japanese rice, seasoned with jewel-coloured tsukemono, the emerald, saffron and magenta pickles of Kyoto. Sometimes, I crumble a sheet of nori over the top, or sprinkle the tiny tea-green flakes over the grains, or add a dusting of chilli and sesame-toasted togarishi.

The holding of a bowl – more like cradling really – comforts us. But it is important how the bowl feels in the hand. Too rough and it can grate on the nerves, like nails down a blackboard or teeth on a pear drop. Too smooth and your soup feels refined and cold-hearted. What I appreciate most is the humble quality of a bowl and the food you put in it. Even the most exquisitely-formed recipe is brought down a peg or two when served in an earthenware dish. The food jumbles unaffectedly in the hollow, the deep sides capture the scent of the food, increasing the enjoyment of every mouthful.

I eat more food from a bowl than I do from a plate. Partly because I can pick it up and get closer to my food, the act of eating becomes more intimate, but also because of my adoration of potters and the work that goes into their art and craft. The idea that something has been on a clay-dusted wheel, moulded and shaped by their own hands and signed with a potter’s mark, only adds to the experience. The only ones that don’t work for me are the square ones, angular, awkward and uncomfortable and no less unattractive than square plates. A bright pattern can cheer or jar as your spirit takes you.

This being a spring and summer book, there are probably fewer bowl-based recipes than in the second autumn and winter volume, but we still have a crisp Vietnamese-inspired salad, a cooling melon gazpacho, a paneer korma and a bowl of green peas and sprouted seeds. There are rice bowls and soup bowls, freekeh salad, a verdant curry and a deep dish of creamy noodles. There are others of course, recipes in the On the Hob chapter in particular. There is not much that isn’t more appealing to me when eaten from the depths of a beautiful bowl.

I don’t think we should spend too much time agonising over the right receptacle for the right food any more than we should play too seriously the wine-matching game. That said, I get pleasure from rummaging through my collection of everyday, utilitarian pieces simply to make my food look comfortable. (Anyone who has ever put tomato soup into a bright blue dish will know what uncomfortable food looks like.) In general, salads need a bit more space so I tend to favour a wide dish. Big soups like a generous home in which to sit – it will keep the contents hotter for longer and shallow ones are good for beautiful ingredients you want to admire. A deep one will also give you the joy of finding a hidden dumpling lurking deliciously at the bottom.

I have a certain reverence for food served in a bowl that I don’t when it is served on a plate. I am not sure why this should be, I only know that it is. I love the way the dressing, sauce or juices sit in the base, to be spooned up as a final treat, which is why so many of the dishes throughout these books are presented the way they are. It is my preferred way to eat.

CHICKPEA, PEA, SPROUTED SEEDS

A can of chickpeas from the shelf. Green peas from the freezer. A store- cupboard supper for a spring evening.

Serves 4

chickpeas 2 × 400g cans

frozen or fresh peas 400g (podded weight)

sprouted mung beans 100g

sprouted seeds such as radish 80g

olive oil 4 tablespoons

ground cumin 2 teaspoons

ground coriander 2 teaspoons

For the dressing:

tahini 1 tablespoon

juice of a lemon

olive oil 4 tablespoons

Bring a pan of water to the boil. Drain and rinse the chickpeas. Cook the peas in boiling water till tender. Drain and refresh in a bowl of iced water. Rinse the mung beans and sprouted seeds in cold water and shake them dry.

Make the dressing: beat together the tahini, lemon juice and olive oil.

Warm the olive oil in a frying pan over a moderate heat, add the chickpeas and ground spices and let them sizzle for a couple of minutes till hot and fragrant. Move the chickpeas around the pan as they brown.

Drain the peas again and put them in a serving bowl with the mung beans and radish sprouts. Fold in the dressing and lastly the chickpeas.

• One of those everlastingly useful ‘suppers in minutes’. Use frozen peas or a packet of fresh, podded peas from the supermarket. If you are podding fresh peas for this you will need a generous kilo.

• Use whichever sprouted peas you have around, including the mixtures of lentils and mung beans from health food shops. The point is to introduce as many differing textures as you can.

FREEKEH, PEACHES, FETA

Sweet-salty cheese and fruit. The comfort of warm grain.

Serves 2–3

freekeh 125g

thyme a few sprigs

bay leaves 2

feta 250g

za’atar 1 teaspoon

a large peach

olive oil 3 tablespoons

a medium onion

mint 10g

parsley 20g

a lemon

Set the oven at 200°C/Gas 6. Put the freekeh, thyme and bay on to boil with enough water to cover by a good third. Salt it lightly and simmer for fifteen minutes.

Place a large piece of kitchen foil on a baking sheet, lay the piece of feta in the middle and sprinkle with the za’atar. Halve the peach, discard the stone, then cut each half into four. Tuck the peach around the feta, then pour over two tablespoons of the olive oil. Pull the sides of the foil up around its cargo and scrunch loosely to seal. Bake for twenty minutes.

Peel and finely slice the onion, then fry till crisp in the reserved oil. Set aside on kitchen paper.

Chop the mint and parsley together. Remove the feta from the oven and open the parcel. Pour the baking juices out into a bowl and mix with the juice of the lemon. Drain the freekeh, discarding the herbs, then dress with the lemon and baking juices. Fold in the mint and parsley, then break up the feta into large pieces and add. Lay the peaches amongst the freekeh, top with the crisp onions and serve.

• A substantial salad of warm, chewy grain, salty cheese and sweet, juicy peaches. The parsley and mint are important, but you could use basil too, or even coriander if you prefer.

GREENS, COCONUT CURRY

Vibrant, verdant.

Serves 2–4

For the curry paste:

white peppercorns 1 teaspoon

coriander seeds 1 teaspoon

ground turmeric 1 teaspoon

lemon grass 2 stalks

garlic 2 cloves

ginger a 3cm lump, peeled

hot green chillies 3 small

groundnut oil 3 tablespoons

fresh coriander a handful, with roots

groundnut oil 1 tablespoon

vegetable stock 200ml

coconut milk 250ml

fish sauce 1 tablespoon

lime juice 2 tablespoons

spring vegetables (such as asparagus tips, broad beans, peas) 450g total weight

shredded greens, such as spring cabbage a handful

pinch of sugar and soy sauce

For the paste, put the white peppercorns and coriander seeds in a dry non-stick frying pan and toast lightly for two or three minutes, then tip into the bowl of a food processor and add half a teaspoon of sea salt, the turmeric, lemon grass, peeled garlic cloves, ginger, green chillies, three tablespoons of groundnut oil and a handful of coriander stems and roots. Blitz to a coarse paste. You can keep this paste for a few days in the fridge, its surface covered with groundnut oil to prevent it drying out.

In a deep pan, fry three lightly heaped tablespoons of the curry paste in a tablespoon of oil for thirty seconds till fragrant, stirring as you go. Stir in the vegetable stock and coconut milk, the fish sauce and lime juice.

Add the asparagus tips, broad beans and peas and continue simmering for five to six minutes, then drop in a couple of handfuls of greens, shredded into thick ribbons. Finish the curry with a pinch of sugar, fish sauce, a little soy sauce and more lime.

MELON, PEPPERS, CUCUMBER

Cold fruit soup. Refreshing. A deep scent of summer.

Serves 6

Romano peppers 3

a large yellow pepper

cucumber 250g

cantaloupe melon, ripe 1.25kg (unpeeled weight)

basil 10g

sherry vinegar 1 tablespoon

half a lemon

ice cubes

Halve and seed the peppers, then cut them into large pieces. Coarsely mince or process them to your preferred consistency, then put them in a large bowl. I prefer quite a smooth soup, but others like a more robust texture. Peel the cucumber and cut into rough chunks, then process to the same texture as the peppers and add to the bowl. Prepare the melon, discarding the skin, seeds and fibre, then cutting the flesh into chunks. Process in a similar way to the other ingredients, then mix with the peppers and cucumber.

Roughly chop the basil and stir into the soup together with the sherry vinegar, lemon juice and a little salt and black pepper. Cover and chill thoroughly. Stir in the ice cubes just before serving.

• A light, bright-tasting soup to serve chilled. By which I mean thoroughly cold and with ice cubes. The consistency can be as smooth or rough as you like, but I prefer it to have a coarse texture, so I use the mincer attachment to the food mixer. I have used a food processor too, but a careful eye is required to avoid reducing it to a purée.

MISO, CAULIFLOWER, GINGER

Gentle soup for a spring day. The warmth of toasted garlic and ginger.

Serves 2

cauliflower 150g

garlic 2 cloves

ginger 30g

groundnut oil 2 tablespoons

dark miso paste 2 tablespoons

light miso paste 2 tablespoons

mirin 2 tablespoons

Cut the cauliflower into florets, then slice them thinly. Peel and thinly slice the garlic. Peel the ginger and cut into matchsticks.

Warm the groundnut oil in a shallow pan, then fry the garlic and ginger for a couple of minutes until pale and soft. Add the cauliflower, turning it over from time to time, letting it cook for four or five minutes until the slices colour lightly. By the time the cauliflower is cooked, the garlic should be a deep honey gold. Divide the cauliflower, garlic and ginger between four bowls.

Bring 1 litre of water to the boil, then stir in the miso pastes and the mirin. Simmer for two minutes, then ladle into the bowls over the cauliflower.

MISO, MUSHROOMS, PAK CHOI

Light, savoury, sustaining. A little bowl of calm.

Serves 4

sugar snap peas or shelled peas 150g

vegetable or chicken stock 750ml

white miso paste 4 tablespoons

spring onions 3

pak choi 125g

enoki mushrooms 100g

Thai basil a small bunch

a lime

light soy sauce

Bring a medium-sized pan of water to the boil. Add the sugar snaps or shelled peas and let them boil for two minutes, then lift them out with a slotted spoon and drop them into a bowl of cold water.

Warm the stock in a large pan. When the stock is hot, add the miso, stirring until it has dissolved. The stock should be very hot but not boiling. Finely slice the spring onions and add half to the stock. Halve the pak choi and push the pieces down into the stock. Remove and discard the roots from the enoki mushrooms, then add to the stock too.

Tear up the Thai basil leaves. Squeeze the juice from the lime. Divide the hot broth between four bowls, and add the remaining spring onions, the peas, basil leaves and the lime juice. Pass soy sauce around at the table, leaving everyone to season as they wish.

• Clear, light, gentle. I look upon this as something for those moments when you want a bowl of soup that is quietly sustaining rather than filling. A full-flavoured vegetable stock is essential, as is a generous hand with the seasoning. I tend to use chicken stock for this. I would leave the addition of soy sauce to individual diners. Just a little for me please, as I find soy sauce all too easily dominates everything in its path.

BULGUR, NECTARINES, PARSLEY

The comfort of grains. The sweetness of ripe fruit. The vibrancy of lemon and parsley.

Serves 2–3, as a main dish

vegetable or chicken stock or water 75ml

bulgur wheat 50g

radishes, mixed colours 20

nectarines, ripe 2

parsley 100g

juice of a large lemon

watercress 50g

Bring the stock or water to the boil. Put the bulgur in a heatproof bowl, pour over the hot stock or water, then set aside.

Trim and thinly slice the radishes and put them into a mixing bowl. Halve the nectarines, discard the stones, then finely dice the flesh into (roughly) 1cm cubes. Add to the radishes, then remove the parsley leaves from their stalks, chop finely and fold in.

Season the radishes and nectarines lightly with salt, then add the lemon juice. Drain any excess liquid from the bulgur, run a fork through the grains to separate them, then fold into the salad. Pile the watercress onto a serving dish, then spoon the bulgur on top and serve.

• Tabbouleh, of which this is a version, comes in many guises, but the most interesting are those that have far more parsley than grain. The herbs and fruit lend an essential lushness.

PANEER, AUBERGINE, CASHEWS

Gentle spice for a summer’s evening.

Serves 2–3 with rice or flatbread

For the spice mix:

garlic 2 cloves, peeled

ginger 20g, after peeling

ground turmeric 2 teaspoons

garam masala 2 teaspoons

ground coriander 2 teaspoons

ground cumin 2 teaspoons

cardamom pods 6

ground chilli 1 teaspoon

groundnut or olive oil 4 tablespoons

double cream 250ml

aubergine, medium 1

vegetable oil 3 tablespoons

paneer 200g

cashew nuts 100g

natural yoghurt 150ml

coriander leaves a small handful

Make the spice mix by grinding the garlic, ginger, turmeric, garam masala, ground coriander, cumin and the black seeds from inside the cardamom pods to a paste in a food processor or blender. Add the chilli and groundnut oil. Cook the paste over a low heat for four or five minutes, then stir in the double cream and a little salt. Set aside.

Cut the aubergine into 3cm cubes, then fry in the vegetable oil till soft and golden. Tear the paneer into rough pieces and add to the aubergine with the cashews, letting the nuts and paneer colour lightly. Add the warm spiced cream to the mixture, get it hot, then remove from the heat and stir in the yoghurt and the coriander leaves. Serve with warm flatbread.

• I sometimes add a pinch of sugar to the spice paste, softening the spices and producing a more mellow flavour.

• Rather than aubergine, I often use brown chestnut mushrooms instead, slicing them thickly and frying them in the oil before adding the paneer.

PAPAYA, CARROT, RADISH

The crunch of carrots. The warmth of radish and the honey-sweetness of ripe papaya.

Serves 4

radishes 12

carrots, medium 3

papaya, ripe 350g

coriander leaves from 12 bushy stems

micro herbs 2 handfuls

Thai basil leaves 15

For the dressing:

palm sugar 3 teaspoons

rice vinegar 2 tablespoons

a juicy lime

lemon grass 2 stalks

fish sauce 3 teaspoons

Make the dressing: crumble the palm sugar into a small mixing bowl and pour in the rice vinegar. Halve the lime – I like to roll it on the work surface, pressing down firmly as I do so before slicing, you get more juice that way – then squeeze the juice into the sugar and vinegar. Season with salt and stir until the sugar has dissolved.

Place the lemon grass on a chopping board and bash firmly with a rolling pin to split and crush the plump end of the stalks. Add them to the dressing with the fish sauce and leave for thirty minutes to infuse.

Halve the radishes and put them into a bowl of iced water. Scrub or peel the carrots, then shave them with a vegetable peeler into long thin shavings. Add them to the radishes.

Shortly before serving, when the radishes and carrots have spent twenty minutes in the iced water and the dressing is well infused, peel the papaya and discard the black seeds and fibres. Slice the fruit into small, thick pieces about the size of a stamp and put them in a large mixing bowl.

Pick the leaves from the coriander and add them to the papaya together with the micro herbs (leaves and stalks) and the whole Thai basil leaves. Dry the carrots in a salad spinner, then toss them and the radishes with the papaya and herbs. Discard the lemon grass stalks and pour the dressing over the papaya before tossing the ingredients gently together, taking care not to crush the fruit.

• I find the large papayas, usually sold in halves, best for salads. They seem to ripen better than the smaller fruit. Their flesh is more luscious. The downside is apparent when you realise that your purchase takes up an entire shelf in the fridge.

PEAS, PARSLEY, VEGETABLE STOCK

A green soup for a sunny day.

Serves 4, generously

butter 30g

spring onions 75g

flat-leaf parsley 300g

a medium potato

peas 200g (shelled weight)

garlic 2 cloves

vegetable or chicken stock 1 litre

Melt the butter in a large, heavy-based pan. Chop the spring onions and stir them into the butter, letting them cook for four to five minutes over a moderate heat.

Chop half the parsley, stalks and all, add it to the spring onions and leave to cook for a minute or two till the colour has darkened. Peel, dice and add the potato. Add the peas and peeled garlic and pour in the stock. Bring to the boil, then lower the heat to a simmer and cook for eight to ten minutes.

Put a pan of water on to boil. Discard the stalks from the reserved parsley, add the leaves to the boiling water and leave for two minutes, then drain. Stir the leaves into the soup, then remove from the heat and reduce to a smooth, green purée in a blender or food processor and serve.

• The brilliant vibrancy of this soup appeals here, but you could soften its healthy green edges by stirring in 100ml of double cream at the end. Take care not to overfill the blender in case the hot soup overflows. I only say this because I invariably do.

PEPPERS, CHICKPEAS, GARLIC

Earthy and garlicky. A smooth cream for warm flatbread.

Serves 4, as a side dish

red peppers 500g

olive oil

garlic 6 cloves

chickpeas 2 × 400g cans

thyme 4 sprigs

bay leaves 2

paprika a pinch or two

Set the oven at 200°C/Gas 6. Slice the peppers in half lengthways, remove the seeds, then place the halves in a roasting tin. Trickle a little olive oil over the peppers, just enough to wet them, then set the unpeeled garlic cloves inside them. Bake for forty minutes or until they are soft and the skin somewhat blackened. Remove from the oven, then peel away their outer skins. Reserve the garlic and any juices in the roasting tin.

Drain and rinse the chickpeas, pop them from their skins if you wish, then tip them into a saucepan, add the thyme and bay and cover with water. Bring to the boil, lower the heat, then simmer for fifteen minutes.

Drain the cooked chickpeas, reserve the thyme (discard the bay), then tip all but a handful of the chickpeas into the bowl of a food processor with the roasted, skinned peppers. Add the thyme leaves (discard the stalks) then pop the roasted garlic from its skin and add it as well. Process to a smooth cream and season generously with salt and black pepper. Scoop the paste out into a serving dish, making a hollow in the centre with the back of a spoon.

Heat the reserved chickpeas in a little olive oil in a frying pan and cook for a few minutes till they start to turn gold. Pour a little olive oil over the paste, letting it trickle into the hollow, scatter the warm chickpeas over the surface, then dust lightly with the paprika.

• A hummus of sorts. (I am uncomfortable with calling something by that name that contains anything other than chickpeas, garlic, lemon and oil.) I do think it is worth skinning the chickpeas (I know, I know, but once you have done so, you may never look back). You can do it painstakingly, pea by pea, or simply rub them together in your palms, a handful at a time. Either way will result in a smoother mash. Your call.

• I have been known to sit with this and a pile of warm Turkish pitta, but it is also a fine side dish for cold roast meats, grilled aubergines, and my favourite, deep-fried artichokes.

POMEGRANATE, CUCUMBER, PUFFED RICE

Aromatic, crunchy, refreshing.

Serves 4, as a side salad

a small pomegranate

cucumber 400g

coriander seeds 1 teaspoon

cumin seeds 1 teaspoon

groundnut oil 2 tablespoons

garam masala 1 teaspoon

curry powder 1 teaspoon

almonds 50g, whole and skinned

chickpeas 1 × 400g can

hemp seeds 30g

sunflower seeds 30g

puffed rice, unsweetened 30g

parsley a handful

olive oil

Crack open the pomegranate and remove the seeds, putting them into a mixing bowl and discarding any white pith as you go. Peel the cucumber, lightly, leaving as much colour as you can, then cut in half lengthways. Scrape out the seeds and pith with a teaspoon and discard, then cut the flesh into small dice. Toss the cucumber and pomegranate together.

Put the coriander and cumin seeds in a shallow pan and warm them over a gentle heat. Let them cook, moving them around the pan, until crisp and fragrant. Remove the pan from the heat and tip the toasted seeds into a mortar. Crush them to a fine powder.

Warm the groundnut oil in the shallow pan, then, keeping the heat low, add the coriander and cumin, garam masala and curry powder, then the almonds. Warm the nuts and spices, moving everything round the pan so it doesn’t burn. Drain and rinse the chickpeas and stir them into the spices and almonds, together with the hemp and sunflower seeds and the puffed rice. Tear the parsley leaves from their stalks and add to the bowl. Tip the warm chickpea mixture into the pomegranate and cucumber, add a trickle of olive oil, then toss gently together and serve.

QUINOA, PEAS, SPROUTED SEEDS

Soft leaves, crunchy, lightly cooked peas. The knubby quality of quinoa.

Serves 6

quinoa 100g

peas 400g (weight with pods)

sprouted mung, sunflower and radish seeds 100g

cress a small punnet

micro leaves and marigold petals a large handful

For the dressing:

pomegranate molasses 2 tablespoons

lemon juice 2 tablespoons

olive oil 2 tablespoons

Put the quinoa into a pan with 175ml of water and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for six minutes before turning off the heat and leaving, covered, for twenty minutes.

Pod the peas and cook them in deep, lightly salted boiling water for four minutes or until they are almost tender. (They are good when slightly undercooked.) Drain and plunge them into iced water.

Mix the pomegranate molasses, lemon juice and olive oil together in a large mixing bowl and season lightly. Run a fork through the quinoa to separate the grains, then tip into the dressing.

Wash the sprouted seeds in a sieve in cold running water and shake dry. Mix the peas, seeds, cress, micro leaves and petals with the quinoa and its dressing and serve.

• Once made, this is a good base in which to use other leftovers, torn into juicy pieces, or simply to put on the table with other dishes. I should add that it makes a sound addition to lunchboxes, and will be fine in the fridge for a couple of days.

RICE, BROAD BEANS, ASPARAGUS

Homely buttered rice. The luxury of new season’s vegetables.

Serves 2–3

broad beans, podded a couple of handfuls

asparagus 18 spears

For the pilaf:

white basmati rice 120g

butter 50g

bay leaves 3

green cardamom pods 6

black peppercorns 6

a cinnamon stick

cloves 2 or 3

cumin seeds a pinch

thyme a couple of sprigs

For the herb butter:

mint leaves 8 large

parsley a small handful

spring onions 2

butter, soft 200g

Cook the beans in deep, lightly salted boiling water for three or four minutes. Drain and pop the largest of the beans from their skins. Any very small beans can be left as they are. Trim the asparagus, removing any tough ends, then cut the spears into short lengths. Boil or steam for five or six minutes until just tender.

Wash the rice three times in a bowl of warm water. This will prevent it sticking together. Melt the butter in a saucepan over a moderate heat, add the bay leaves, the cardamom pods, lightly crushed, peppercorns, cinnamon stick, cloves, cumin seeds and sprigs of thyme. Stir the spices and herbs around in the butter for a minute or two, then, as soon as they are warm and fragrant, drain the rice and add it to the pan. Stir the rice to coat it with the butter, then pour in enough water to cover and leave 2cm of water above the rice.

Season with salt, turn down the heat so the water simmers and cover tightly with a lid. After seven minutes, lift the lid, and fold in the drained asparagus and the broad beans. Replace the lid and continue cooking for a further five minutes. Remove from the heat, leave the lid in place and set aside for three minutes.

Make the butter: put the mint leaves on top of one another, roll them up tightly, then shred them finely. Remove the parsley leaves from their stalks and finely chop. Discard the roots and the darkest green shoots of the spring onions. Finely chop the white and pale green part.

Cream the butter until it is soft and fluffy. Season with a little coarsely ground black pepper and sea salt. Fold in the mint, parsley and spring onions.

Lift the lid from the rice, stir with a fork to separate the grains, then fold in the herb butter. Alternatively, divide the rice between plates, place a spoonful of the herb butter on the hot rice and fold in so the grains are coated.

• If you make the butter in advance, remove it from the fridge a good half hour before using. It should be soft and fluffy.

RUNNER BEANS, CASHEWS, TOMATOES

Crisp, crunchy, refreshing.

Serves 2

runner beans 350g

garlic 2 large cloves

guindilla chillies 3

olive oil 4 tablespoons

cashews 100g

cherry tomatoes 300g

spring onions 3

Put a deep pan of water on to boil. Remove any strings from the edges of the runner beans, then cut the beans into short, thick slices. When the water is boiling, salt it lightly and tip in the beans. Let them cook for two minutes, then drain and plunge them into deep, iced water.

Peel and thinly slice the garlic, chop the chillies, then sauté both briefly in the olive oil. Remove and set aside, then return the pan to the heat, add the cashews and let them turn a light golden brown. Remove from the oil and salt generously.

Quarter the tomatoes and chop the spring onions, then toss them with the drained runner beans, garlic, chillies, cashews and a grinding of black pepper.

• A nutty salad for serving alongside other dishes.

SHIITAKE, COCONUT, SOBA NOODLES

Deeply aromatic. Vibrant. Heart-warming.

Serves 2

For the spice paste:

red chillies, small, hot 3

garlic 3 cloves

ginger a 30g lump

lemon grass 3 stalks

coriander seeds 1 teaspoon

coriander leaves a handful

ground turmeric 1 teaspoon

vegetable oil a little

shallots, medium 6

shiitake mushrooms 150g

vegetable stock 500ml

spinach 150g

soba noodles 200g

coconut milk 400ml

coriander leaves, to finish a handful

Blend the chillies, garlic, peeled ginger, lemon grass, coriander seeds and leaves, turmeric and a little vegetable oil to a paste in a food processor.

Peel and halve the shallots and halve the shiitake. Warm the spice paste in a wok or frying pan over a moderate heat, then add the shallots and mushrooms. Let everything sizzle for a minute or two, then pour in the stock, bring to the boil, lower the heat and simmer for fifteen minutes.

Wash the spinach and whilst the leaves are wet, cook lightly in a pan with a lid. When they have relaxed, remove to a bowl of iced water to stop them cooking any further. Squeeze almost dry and roughly chop.

Put the noodles into a heatproof bowl, pour over boiling water from the kettle and push the noodles down into the water. Leave for five minutes, then drain. Add the coconut milk to the mushrooms, simmer for five minutes, then add the spinach and noodles. Finish with a little fresh coriander.

RICE, COURGETTES, PICKLED VEGETABLES

Quietly pleasing. Frugal.

Serves 2

sushi rice 180g

small courgettes 150g

sesame oil 1 tablespoon

Japanese pickled radish, pumpkin, etc. 75g

pickled ginger 20g

basil leaves a handful

coriander leaves a handful

dried seaweed flakes 2 tablespoons

rice vinegar 1 tablespoon

Wash the sushi rice in a bowl of warm water, pour off the water and repeat. Tip the rice into a medium-sized saucepan, pour in 300ml of water and bring to the boil. Lower the heat so the water is simmering, add half a teaspoon of salt, then cover with a lid and leave to cook for fifteen minutes.

Trim the courgettes, then, using a vegetable peeler, remove slices in long, thin shavings. Toss the slices in the sesame oil and season lightly with salt. Roughly chop the Japanese pickled vegetables. Shred the pickled ginger. Roughly chop the basil and coriander leaves.

When the rice is cooked, remove the pan from the heat and leave to rest for five minutes, still covered by its lid. Remove the lid and fold the raw courgettes, chopped pickles and ginger, basil and coriander into the rice with a fork. Stir in the dried seaweed flakes and rice vinegar and season to taste.

• If some rice has stuck to the bottom of the pan during cooking, empty out the rest of the rice, then pour a little water into the pan, bring to the boil and leave it for a minute or two. The rice will be easy to remove.

• The shavings of courgettes soften in the residual heat of the cooked rice. You could stir in a few other good ingredients instead. Chopped tomatoes that you have marinated briefly in olive oil and basil. French beans, lightly cooked and cut into short lengths or, better still, thin batons of cucumber tossed with a little rice wine vinegar and a few nigella seeds.

RICE, PICKLES, NORI

A bowl of steaming rice. The snap of crisp pickles.

Serves 2

carrots 2, large

a banana shallot, medium-sized

mirin 2 tablespoons

rice vinegar 6 tablespoons

tamari soy sauce 1 tablespoon

sushi rice 190g

dried nori flakes 2 teaspoons

tsukemono (pickled vegetables) 6 teaspoons

Scrub the carrots and slice them into rounds no thicker than a pound coin. Put them into a sealable freezer bag. Peel the shallot, slice thinly, then add to the carrots. Pour the mirin, rice vinegar and soy into the bag and seal it tightly, then refrigerate for at least thirty minutes, though it will keep in good condition for several days.

Wash the rice in warm water, drain, then put it in a small, deep pan, cover with 300ml of cold water and soak for thirty minutes. Bring to the boil, lightly salt, then cover the pot tightly with a lid and simmer for ten minutes. Remove from the heat and leave to rest for another ten minutes, then lift the lid and run a fork through the grains. It will be fluffy and sticky.

Divide the rice between two deep bowls, then sprinkle with the nori flakes and spoon over some of the crisp pickles, the tsukemono and their juice.

I cook many a meal in a shallow pan over a low flame. I put a low-sided pan on the hob, pour in a little olive oil, warm it until its surface shimmers, then lower in vegetables – asparagus, green beans, mushrooms, fennel or summer squash – followed by a generous splash of water, a trio of bay leaves, half a dozen black peppercorns and a clove or two of young mauve-skinned garlic. The vegetables then cook over a low to moderate heat, partially covered by a lid, till fork tender. I finish them with lemon juice and torn basil or mint and bring them to the table with thick slices of toasted sourdough rubbed with garlic and olive oil. There will, depending on how hungry I am, be a dish of new potatoes steamed, crushed and tossed in soured cream and chives or perhaps some rice, steamed then fried in butter. A light, yet not insubstantial summer dinner.

A frying pan was one of the first pieces of cookware I ever bought. I now have two, a thin, flat, non-stick pan I use for pancakes and the like and a heavy, hardwearing cast-iron version that has a non-stick surface built up from years of active service. The cheaper non-stick pans come and go; the cast-iron pan will, I suspect, pretty much see me out.

A shallow pan is probably the most useful of all, unless you eat a lot of soup or pasta. All manner of good things can shape up for dinner in a frying or sauté pan, from a cake of sweet potato with crushed tomatoes, to bubble and squeak with watercress and dill. Or perhaps a frittata, its thin layer of egg topped with asparagus, finger-thick carrots or shredded spring greens.

Yes, I will fry slices of aubergine in olive oil and serve them with crumbled feta, or fill an omelette with steamed asparagus and tarragon butter, but I am just as likely to fry something in a shallow pan as an accompaniment for a bowl of rice. Tomatoes for instance, cooked down to a scarlet slush over a low flame, crushed under my wooden spoon and seasoned with pepper, basil and parsley until I have a thick jam to spoon over steamed, spiced basmati. I might use such a pan to crisp ready-made gnocchi before tossing them with sharp green-shouldered tomatoes and pink and white radishes, or to fry fennel and young carrots to accompany melted cheese or, for those other than myself, a softly cooked egg.

Having a shallow pan to cook in gives us the gift of speed. Supper in minutes. It is also possibly the most successful way to use leftovers. I have made myself many a fine supper from warming a glug of olive oil and a slice of butter in a pan, then adding ‘bits from the fridge’ – leftover cooked potato, sautéed vegetables or mushrooms, a few cold noodles or a spoonful of cooked rice, then folding in harissa sauce or several shakes of za’atar. A bit of a mixed bag to be honest, with some compilations more successful than others, but something of a blessing when you come home tired and hungry. Which is of course what this book is for.

ASPARAGUS, BROAD BEANS, EGGS

Light lunch. The first sign of spring.

Serves 2

broad beans 450g (weight with pods)

asparagus 150g

carrots, slim, young 200g

butter 30g

olive oil

chervil 5g, or parsley leaves 10g

eggs 4

Parmesan, grated 2 tablespoons

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