Copyright

4th Estate

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

This eBook edition published by 4th Estate in 2017

Copyright text © Anna Jones 2017

Copyright photography © Ana Cuba 2017

Art direction by Rachel Vere

Cover photography by Ana Cuba

Anna Jones asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source ISBN: 9780008172459

Ebook Edition © October 2017 ISBN: 9780008172466

Version: 2019-12-04

For Mum and Dad

Your kindness and love are limitless.

Parents and humans don’t come better.

And in memory of Laura Plane, a shining beacon to how life should be lived.

Your unstoppable kindness, grace and sense of fun sparkle on.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction

Start of the year

Herald of spring

First warm days

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Basics

Index

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Introduction

There is something so joyful about eating food at its very best. Damsons as the nights draw in, apricots when the nights are at their longest, watermelon on a searing hot day, squash at Halloween. It is about an ingredient at its peak, the apex of its flavour, but more than that it’s about a time, a place and the memories of summers, Christmases and days past that are wrapped up in every bite of food we eat.

In London, where I live, the ebb and flow of the year is so apparent, the seasons come and go with force and how we eat changes dramatically. As a young chef, learning to cook with the seasons was truly the most miraculous discovery. Every Saturday would start with strong coffee alongside almost every London chef at Borough market. Then I’d walk over to Tony Booth’s veg stall, smell peaches, squeeze tomatoes, bite sharp little apples. It reconnected me with nature, with what was growing.

For me a year divided into four seasons feels too vague. Anyone who has stepped into a greengrocer on the winter side of spring and then again at the summer end will tell you that the two are very different. There are so many more subtleties to what’s growing than spring, summer, autumn and winter. It’s this rhythm, this relationship with nature, which I encourage you to foster. No June is the same, wild garlic will fill the hedgerows up at different times each year, the French apricots will arrive a few weeks later. The seasons are a useful tool but our eyes and taste buds should be our guide. This book is written in six chapters, which roughly knit together two months at a time, but let your senses, and the fruits and vegetables you find at your market, lead you. As each year comes and goes I am led to cook dishes at slightly different times and find the very best day for an ingredient does vary. With this in mind I encourage you not to think too rigidly about the seasons and the chapters of this book, use the produce on your doorstep to make the food that you feel like eating. If that’s macaroni cheese in July, so be it. The pages of this book are intended as a guide; you are the cook and the eater.

As much as the ripeness and readiness of an ingredient, and how it is cooked are important, the feeling at a certain time of year can inform how I cook too. A cool green salad eaten outside with little fuss suits the hot impatience of summer, a bowl of soup eaten with a spoon from a cushion balanced on a lap is homely, comforting and grounding like autumn. A just warm salad of freshly podded peas, broad beans and the first asparagus, echoes the promise, the smell of new-mown grass, the verdant green of spring. It’s my desire as a cook to feel and allow others to share these emotions, to punctuate the year with the memorable meals I have loved again and again, to nourish those I love with more than the flavour of food.

With that in mind I have included milestones and things I do at different times of year here too, from antique shopping at Christmas to resetting my culinary clock in spring. I hope they help to weave a picture of the year.

The techniques I lean on in the kitchen change too as the year unfolds. In winter my heavy cast-iron pots never leave the hob, always full of soup, or a vegetable braise. In spring vegetables which are tender and fresh need only a lick of heat from a hot frying pan. In summer, I use my mandoline most, to finely slice fennel and courgettes, for grilling and for raw salads. The dishes, the way I cook and the time I want to spend doing it change as dramatically as the contents of my fruit bowl and fridge.

While summer cooking tends to be the quickest I am somewhat of an impatient cook all year round. There are odd days when I linger in the kitchen but most often I cook dinner for the three of us in under an hour and those are the kind of recipes you will find in this book. A few use quite a few ingredients, for layering flavour and texture, which I feel is such an important part of cooking vegetables. I work with a palette of ingredients throughout the recipes in this book, so I hope that if you do invest in something new you will find lots of ideas for cooking with it in these pages.

Eating with the seasons naturally leads us to putting vegetables at the centre of our tables. This is how I eat every day and increasingly how many of us are eating. In the five years since I started writing my first book, the food landscape of how we eat has changed dramatically for the better. Vegetable- focused meals a few nights a week have become the norm for many and for that I am deeply grateful. We have damaged this planet, there have been decades of misuse and eating mostly vegetables, and shopping and eating in season and locally, are huge personal steps we can take in a better direction.

I have wherever possible tried to include vegan alternatives in lots of recipes; my brother and sister are both vegan so I cook this way often. For me it’s also important not to rely too heavily on dairy and eggs; while I do include good organic versions in my diet, I make sure a few meals each week are completely egg- and dairy- free, helping further reduce our load on the world around us.

The UK is a small country so when I think about seasonal eating I include Amalfi lemons, apricots from Provence, rice from Puglia. While I shop as locally as possible and my focus is on British produce, where I need to I lean on our European friends and their incredible offerings. Never has it been more important to foster the links that food creates, the trade it encourages and the barriers it breaks down.

A note on shopping

I long for a vegetable garden and to grow what I eat, but that’s not the reality just now; I shop for all my food (with the exception of a little foraging). The bulk of what I buy is from local shops and our excellent farmers’ market, topped up with the odd supermarket delivery for bulky things and dry goods.

My weekly trip to the market is my connection with nature, with food at its source. Seeing the first courgettes appear or the array of apples in autumn is my connection with the earth. Of course, I walk in the parks and trees and escape to the sea often but in the city it’s this trip that connects me with nature, with a place in time. I don’t need to be told when asparagus is in season any more; having cooked for years I know when it will arrive but I still go, I still walk the stalls, even if there is very little to buy and even if my fridge is full. It grounds me, reminds me of the wonder of food and the weeks I can’t make it I miss it.

I know the reality for many is that their shopping is done at a supermarket or online, and for a few months when my son was small so was mine (and our local shops are less than a five-minute walk away). Supermarkets are getting better at stocking and championing seasonal, local produce so it is absolutely possible to eat seasonally and shop at supermarkets. If you aren’t in tune with the season then perhaps remind yourself of what’s growing and good to eat now before you shop, look at labels, buy local food if you can. Even if sometimes it does cost a little more it will without doubt taste superior. The more we buy ethical, local and seasonal produce from our supermarkets the more they will stock, so with each purchase you are making a change.

Start of the year

Best of the season

Kale

Leeks

Swede

Purple sprouting broccoli

Savoy cabbage

Brussels sprouts

Winter tomatoes

Cavolo nero

Radicchio

Winter citrus

Pomegranate

Forced pink rhubarb

Flowers

Mimosa

Hellebores

Magnolia

Anemone

Grapefruit with honey and coriander seed toasted oats

I eat fruit for breakfast every day but at the start of the year I find my fruit bowl a little empty. We eat pears, apples, pomegranates and, when they arrive, blood oranges, but it’s not the offering of spring or summer and I get a bit bored. That’s when I turn back to grapefruit. I ate them growing up, an inch of sugar as a roof, with a special serrated spoon to scoop out each segment. This is now a breakfast we eat on repeat. It feels grown-up and delicate but requires little more than a few minutes at the stove.

Coriander seeds find their way into as many sweet things as savoury in my kitchen these days, their lemony character a perfect pep to a bright bit of winter citrus. This is as good at the end of a meal as for breakfast.

SERVES 2

2 grapefruit

½ teaspoon coriander seeds

2 tablespoons honey or agave nectar, plus more to finish

1 teaspoon butter

4 tablespoons rolled oats

1 teaspoon vanilla paste

100g yoghurt (I use coconut yoghurt)

Peel and segment or slice your grapefruit, taking care to get rid of any big bits of bitter pith. If you have any pieces of grapefruit peel with juicy flesh attached, keep them to use in the syrup. Bash the coriander seeds in a pestle and mortar until they have broken down a little and smell fragrant.

Put a small pan on a medium heat, add the coriander seeds and toast them for a minute until they smell toasty and more fragrant. Take the pan off the heat and add 2 tablespoons of cold water and the honey then squeeze in the juice from any of the bits of grapefruit you have saved. Put the pan back on the heat and simmer for a minute or so until the liquid all bubbles down into a thick syrup.

In another pan melt the butter until it’s foamy, then add the oats and toast, stirring them all the time until they are buttery brown and smelling great. Add the vanilla paste and stir for another minute or so.

Put the grapefruit slices on to two plates, pour over the warm syrup and top with the yoghurt and oats and a little more honey if you like things sweet.

Saffron breakfast kheer

Kheer is an Indian rice pudding eaten on high days and at feasts. It is a calming mix of gentle spice, milk and rice, which I find especially good to eat at breakfast time. There is nothing more nourishing to my mind than milk and rice together – easy to eat and cleansing in the best possible sense of the word. We make a double batch of this and reheat it with a little extra milk on the following days; sometimes it’s dessert too. Kheer is used in the Ayurvedic tradition to balance the system during the winter; the sweet cinnamon helps digestion and the warmth of the rice and milk protects against any wintery cold.

I use brown rice here but white rice would be just as delicious. I suggest soaking the rice overnight – it is a 2-minute job and will vastly speed up the cooking process. If you don’t remember to do it overnight, then soaking it as long as you have will be okay. If saffron is a bridge too far for breakfast, then you can just leave it out, the other spices will hold up.

SERVES 4

150g long-grain brown rice

100g cashew nuts

50g blanched almonds

1 litre almond milk (I use unsweetened)

6 cardamom pods

100g raisins (I use golden ones)

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

a pinch of saffron threads, soaked in 50ml boiling water

1 small cinnamon stick

2 tablespoons runny honey

TO SERVE

the zest of 1 unwaxed lime

a small handful of toasted coconut flakes

Soak the rice in one bowl and the cashews and almonds in another in cold water for at least 30 minutes but ideally overnight.

In the morning drain the rice and put it into a saucepan with the milk and 500ml of cold water and bring to a simmer. Cook for 20 minutes at a gentle bubble until the rice has puffed up and the liquid is beginning to thicken.

Meanwhile drain the nuts and finely chop them – you can do this in a food processor if you like. Bash the cardamom pods using a pestle and mortar and remove the fragrant seeds, then discard the pods and grind the seeds until you have a powder.

After 20 minutes add the nuts, raisins, spices and honey to the rice and cook for another 15 minutes until thick and creamy, somewhere between rice pudding and porridge. You want to reach the sweet spot where the rice is soft, with very little bite, and the kheer is creamy but not too thick. If it looks like it is thickening too fast, turn the heat down and top up with a little boiling water from the kettle. Serve spooned into bowls with the lime zest and coconut flakes on top; if you have a sweet tooth you could add a little extra honey on top.

Baked apple porridge with maple butter

The snap of cold that comes at the start of the year is perfect porridge weather. I’ve never understood those who eat it like clockwork, regardless of the temperature. I love the warmth of it on a cold day, a bowl in my hands like a morning hot-water bottle, the quick but nourishing time spent stirring at the stove a welcome interruption to the busy rush of the morning and a few minutes to let my mind wander at the start of the day.

This porridge is a bit different in that it is baked so the edges crisp and the starry apple slices on top soften and burnish. I top it with a maple cream so good it’s hard not to spoon it all straight from the dish before the porridge is ready. It takes a little longer to make than a regular porridge – it’s a weekend one.

I make it to feed a crowd, or on a Sunday with intentional leftovers so that I know we have a good breakfast in the fridge to start the week. This keeps well in the fridge for a few days and any extra can be reheated with a little extra milk in a small pan. I make a big batch of spice mix, which I keep in a jar and add to my stovetop porridge through the week too, hence this making more than you’ll need for the baked porridge, but if you prefer you could add a pinch of each spice to the recipe rather than making a large batch. I make this without dairy, using almond milk and coconut oil, as that’s how I like to eat it, but regular milk and butter work just as well.

SERVES 6

FOR THE SPICE MIX

2 tablespoons ground cardamom

2 tablespoons ground ginger

½ teaspoon ground nutmeg

½ teaspoon ground cloves

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

coconut oil or butter

3 large apples

1 unwaxed lemon

200g rolled oats

1½ teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon fine sea salt

100g nuts, toasted and chopped (I use pecans and hazelnuts)

750ml almond milk

125ml pure maple syrup, plus extra for drizzling

FOR THE MAPLE CREAM

2 tablespoons nut butter (I use cashew)

2 tablespoons maple syrup

4 tablespoons almond milk

a tiny pinch of fine sea salt

a drop of vanilla extract or paste

Make the spice mix first by stirring the spices together in a small jar, then set aside.

Preheat the oven to 210ºC/190ºC fan/gas 6. Grease a deep ovenproof dish, about 20 x 20cm, with coconut oil.

Grate two of the apples. Turn the last apple on to its side and slice it very thinly, so that you get a lovely star pattern. Grate the zest from half the lemon to use later, then cut the lemon in half and squeeze the juice from one half over the sliced apple to stop it browning.

In a large bowl, combine the oats, baking powder, salt, 1 teaspoon of the spice mix, the grated apple and most of the chopped nuts (saving a small handful for the topping). Stir to combine. In a jug or separate bowl, mix the milk with the maple syrup, the juice of the remaining half lemon and the reserved zest.

Tip the oat and apple mixture into the greased dish, pour over the milk and maple syrup mixture, arrange the sliced apples on top and drizzle over a little maple syrup. Dot the top of the oats with little pieces of coconut oil or butter. Bake for 25–30 minutes, or until the top of the porridge is golden brown and all the liquid has been absorbed.

While the porridge bakes, make the maple cream. In a medium bowl, whisk together the nut butter, maple syrup, milk, salt and vanilla. You are looking for something totally smooth and pourable. If the mixture seems too thick, add a little more milk.

Serve the baked porridge hot, spooned into bowls with the maple cream for pouring over.

Lentils on toast

We all, even chefs and cooks, sometimes sit down to a dinner of beans on toast. I am sure the childhood comfort of it is as nourishing as the actual food on the plate. These yoghurt-spiked lentils are something I have taken to making as an alternative to beans when we want something quick without a trip to the shops, but that feels a bit more put together. The lentils are warming and filling and have a depth of flavour which would make you think they’d taken much longer than five minutes.

This recipe is intended to be made from fridge and store-cupboard staples, so the herbs are optional – if you have some in the fridge or on the window sill all the better. The same goes for the cheese; I always have a piece of Parmesan in the top of my fridge, but pretty much any hard cheese would work here.

SERVES 2

50g nuts (I like walnuts or almonds)

olive oil

1 clove of garlic, thinly sliced

1 x 400g tin of green lentils (or 250g home-cooked, see here)

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

a squeeze of runny honey

4 tablespoons thick Greek yoghurt

TO SERVE

a few slices of good toast

a small bunch of soft herbs (basil, parsley, dill, tarragon), leaves picked and roughly chopped

a little grated cheese (I use a vegetarian one)

First, toast your nuts in in a dry pan over a medium heat until they smell toasty and are beginning to brown. Once toasted, tumble them into a bowl and when they are cool enough to handle, chop or crumble them.

Meanwhile, put the pan back on a medium heat and add a good glug of oil and the garlic. Sizzle until the edges of the garlic are beginning to brown, then add the lentils and their liquid (if you are using home-cooked lentils you’ll need about 150ml of their cooking liquid) along with the vinegar and honey. Cook for about 5 minutes until all the liquid has been absorbed.

Now add a pinch of salt and a good grind of pepper to the lentils along with a good drizzle of olive oil. Taste and add more salt, honey, pepper or vinegar if needed. Once they taste great, take them off the heat and stir in the yoghurt.

Drizzle olive oil over hot toast and serve the lentils piled on top with the herbs, nuts and a good grating of cheese. Any leftover lentils can be eaten hot or cold and will keep for 3–4 days in the fridge.

Cooking with grace

I have spent time in ashrams and been to more yoga classes than I can remember. When I was pregnant I became really interested in the power of the mind and hypnotherapy. All of these things – meditation, yoga and positive thinking – are tools I use in my life to make it happier and better. And the more I have delved into how to keep my life as happy, free of stress and joyful as possible the more I know that my kitchen is where I find my calm space. Not every night. Some nights I clatter around, throwing things in a pan with very little grace, and the end result, while usually edible, is never repeated. But I know that the kitchen can be a transformative place, and that goes for anyone – you don’t need to consider yourself a cook.

When I centre myself and take in every little nuance of what’s going on, cooking becomes my solace, my meditation. Whether it’s the pleasing glide of my favourite potato peeler, taking in the intoxicating perfume of a bunch of mint or basil, or the searing splattering of juice that sprays up when I cut into a lemon, noticing these moments connects me with my food and reminds me of the wonder of where it has come from. Cooking is an offering: to me, to my body and to those I love – the people I cook for. And it is healing, not just through the nourishment it provides but in the very act and process of doing something physical and practical. It calms my mind and allows me to focus on just one thing.

A big part of this grounding, nourishing practice has been lost in cooking. Sure, we all know that making a loaf of bread, or jarring up some jam from heavy-laden fruit trees will give us a deep sense of satisfaction. But I think that our everyday cooking can be as much an act of meditation, escape and dare I say it, mindfulness. This may be nothing new, and it is by no means groundbreaking information but if, like me, you tend to get caught up in the day-to-day of life let this be my encouragement to you to remember that even the simplest of tasks in the kitchen can be something to embrace and delight in.

I truly believe that when we cook the emotions, thoughts and feelings of the cook get translated into the food. That may sound a little far out, but having cooked thousands of dishes, I know that when I’m paying close attention to what I am doing, giving each task and ingredient the reverence it deserves, the food tastes infinitely better. Equally sometimes I throw everything in a pan with a million other things going on as that’s all I can manage, and when I do I don’t give myself a hard time.

For me, focusing on how I cook means turning off other things like TV or music, following each task with dedication, taking as much care as I have time to do. To appreciate and even, if I don’t sound like too much of a hippy, marvel at my ingredients, our natural treasures. Make sure you take time to smell, taste and immerse yourself in the amazing process of cooking, and then finish it by putting the food on each plate with care if you can. When I cook like this I find it soothing, rewarding and everything I cook tastes better.

Our state of mind as we eat has a huge effect on how we digest our food and how we take in the nutrients and energy from it. Stress and anxiety around food and eating is something I try to avoid in my recipes and in my kitchen. I truly believe that a pizza and a beer enjoyed in good spirits, slowly and calmly with friends, can be as nourishing as endless green smoothies, which are inhaled on the run or sipped while reading emails at our desks with no real thought about the true meaning of nourishment. We’ve lost the connection with how we eat our food, the emotions going on around eating and the sense of offering that comes with feeding ourselves. I don’t manage it every time I eat but a couple of seconds to slow down and be thankful for the food on my plate before diving in seems to set a good tone for the meal and often allows me to appreciate the flavours, textures and sensations a little more.

A few observations on cooking and eating mindfully and with grace

— Turn off music, radio and phones, if you can, so that you can focus on all the sensations of cooking.

— Try to notice the little things – the colour change in the skin of a peach, the tiny pores on the skin of an orange, the condensation on the lid of a pan.

— Notice the sounds – the sizzle of frying, the bubbling of a pot. These tell you as much about what you are cooking and where you are in the process as anything you can see.

— Follow the process with all your senses, smell the changes as ingredients are added, feel how a mixture firms up as you stir it, notice the change in colour as you fry or blanch. And notice how you feel, whether ingredients or smells bring up memories or emotions.

— Try and keep your attention totally focused on your food and if your mind wanders, don’t worry, just bring it back to the food.

— Tune in to even the most mundane parts of the job – peeling carrots, picking herbs – immersing yourself totally in the detail of each task will allow you to switch off from other pressures.

Broken eggs with cavolo nero, ricotta and chickpeas

Broken eggs are somewhere between scrambled and poached eggs. They cook gently in the pan with a couple of turns of the spoon, then finish their cooking at the table. A heavy or cast-iron frying pan is great here, as it holds on to the heat better.

I first ate eggs like this at Raw Duck, a favourite breakfast spot near where I live. Cooking eggs this way means the last bit of cooking is controlled at the table, which means no overcooked, rubbery eggs, and that you can spoon them out when they are cooked just as you like, leaving some in the pan for people who like their eggs less runny.

You can use kale or any greens you have, and any other beans would work in place of the chickpeas – if they are home-cooked so much the better. A scattering of toasted almonds or hazelnuts or even dukkah would be welcome here too.

SERVES 4

1 head of cavolo nero (about 300g)

olive oil

1 x 400g tin of chickpeas, drained (or about 250g home-cooked – see here)

1 clove of garlic, thinly sliced

1 red chilli, finely chopped

the juice of 1 unwaxed lemon and the zest from half

a good grating of nutmeg

6 medium organic eggs

4 rounds of toast or toasted flatbreads, to serve

100g ricotta or thick Greek yoghurt

Strip the leaves from the cavolo nero, shredding any larger ones. Finely chop the stalks, discarding any really thick sinewy ones.

Heat a heavy, ideally cast-iron, medium frying pan (about 28cm) on a medium heat. Add a little olive oil, then the chickpeas, cook for a couple of minutes to crisp a little, then add the chopped cavolo nero stalks, garlic and chilli. Cook for another few minutes until the stalks are tender and the garlic has started to brown, then add the leaves. Add the lemon juice, zest, a good pinch of salt and pepper and the nutmeg, then cook for 4–5 minutes until the cavolo nero leaves have softened.

Next break each egg into a bowl and get your flatbreads or toast ready. Spoon the ricotta into the pan, dotting it around, then pour the eggs one by one gently on top of the cavolo nero mixture. Keep the pan on the heat and gently stir the eggs a couple of times, just to break them a little. You want the whites and yolks to stay separate, not to mix them together as you would with scrambled eggs. Quickly take the pan off the heat and carry it to the table along with a wooden spoon; the residual heat of the pan will continue to cook the eggs. Use the wooden spoon and continue to stir until the eggs are set to your liking, I like mine to be soft and curdy. Serve right away with charred flatbreads or hot toast.

Twice-baked potato skins with crispy buffalo chickpeas

These double-baked potato skins bring back childhood memories of American diners but, rather than the inch-deep cheese, these are piled high with spicy baked chickpeas, which pick up a pleasing crunch in the oven, and a grown-up ‘sour cream’ dip. I make the dip using cashews, which I blitz to a cream, but you can use yoghurt instead of the cashews if you’d prefer. I serve these with a salad for dinner but they would be great as a party snack if you used smaller potatoes. Kids love them if you go easy on the spice.

SERVES 4

4 medium baking potatoes

olive oil

1 red onion, finely chopped

1 stick of celery, finely chopped (reserving the inner leaves)

1 teaspoon smoked sweet paprika

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 clove of garlic, finely chopped

2 x 400g tins of chickpeas or other white beans, drained (or 500g home-cooked chickpeas, see here)

200ml passata or blitzed tinned tomatoes

a pinch of dried chilli flakes (I use a generous pinch of a mild Turkish variety called pul biber)

a small bunch of flat-leaf parsley, leaves picked

FOR THE DIP

100g cashew nuts, soaked in cold water for about an hour or 150ml thick Greek yoghurt

the zest and juice of 1 unwaxed lemon

a small bunch of chives, chopped

Preheat the oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6. Set up two oven racks in the middle of the oven. Wash and dry the potatoes, prick with a fork and rub with a little olive oil, then sprinkle over some salt and rub in with your hands. Place the potatoes directly on the top oven rack. Bake them until they feel tender and the skin is crisp, about 1–1½ hours.

While the potatoes are baking, get on with the chickpeas. Heat a pan on a medium heat. Pour in a little olive oil, add the onion and cook for 10 minutes, until soft, then add the celery, paprika, cumin and garlic and cook for another 10–15 minutes until soft and sticky.

Add the chickpeas, passata and chilli and stir again. Season with a little salt and pepper and cook for another 10 minutes, until the passata has thickened and it has all come together nicely. While the chickpeas are cooking, make the dip. If you are using the cashews, drain them and put them into a blender with 5 tablespoons of cold water and blitz until very smooth, then mix with the other ingredients. If using yoghurt, simply mix everything together.

Once the potatoes are baked and cool enough for you to handle them, cut them in half lengthwise. Lay the halves on a baking tray. Scoop out a couple of tablespoons of potato from each half, season the inside of the potato with salt and drizzle with olive oil.

Save the scooped out potato for another meal. Divide the chickpeas between the potatoes and bake in the oven for another 10 minutes so that the chickpeas crisp a little. Serve each potato topped with the parsley and celery leaves and the dip.

Caper, herb and egg flatbreads

This recipe is really quick to make and is one of the most flavourful fast lunches I know. Corn tortillas crisped and filled with egg, herbs and some punch from capers and cornichons; it’s a recipe that crosses continents, but that’s often how I cook. It’s as quick as making a sandwich, and while we eat this all year round it’s something I make most often in the winter, when I want food from the stovetop and warmth. It is loosely based on a much-cooked recipe from my friend Heidi Swanson.

This recipe serves two as a lunch or light dinner, but scale it up as you need. For the herbs I use dill and basil, but mint, tarragon, parsley and chives would all work too. I buy large corn tortillas online from a good Mexican supplier (the Cool Chile company: coolchile.co.uk); the standard ones in the shops just aren’t the same. Flour tortillas will work well here too.

SERVES 2 AS A LIGHT MEAL

200g thick Greek yoghurt

1 unwaxed lemon

2 avocados

2 organic eggs

olive oil

2 medium corn or flour tortillas or wraps (about 12cm)

a few sprigs of soft herbs (see note above), chopped

2 tablespoons small capers

a few cornichons, roughly chopped

25g freshly grated Parmesan (I use a vegetarian one)

First, in a bowl mix the yoghurt with the grated zest and juice of half the lemon, a pinch of sea salt and a good grind of black pepper.

Cut the avocados into quarters and remove the stones, then cut each one down to the skin in thin slices. Squeeze over the juice from the remaining lemon half and set aside. Beat the eggs in a little cup with a pinch of salt.

It’s best to cook the tortillas one by one. Heat a frying pan big enough to fit your tortilla over a medium heat. Add a tiny splash of olive oil, then add half the egg and let it set into a kind of pancake for 10–15 seconds. Working quickly, place a tortilla on top of the egg; you want the egg still to be a bit runny so that it will attach itself to the tortilla as it sets. When the egg has set, use a spatula to turn the whole thing over, sprinkle over half the herbs, half the capers and cornichons and half the cheese. Cook until the cheese has melted. Repeat this process for the second tortilla.

To serve, fold the tortillas in half and top with the yoghurt and slices of the avocado. To make a meal of them, serve with a little lemon-dressed green salad.

Beetroot and mustard seed fritters with cardamom yoghurt

This time of year gets a tough write-up; grey, dark and rainy, and yes, sometimes it is. But my kitchen is filled with arguably the most colourful produce of the year: blood oranges, pink radicchio and creamy Castelfranco, splattered with pink like a Jackson Pollock painting. There is so much deep red, orange, pink and scarlet.

Beetroots too, in all their colours: neon yellow, bright burnt orange, candy-cane stripes and of course the deep magenta of the red beets. You can use any beetroot you like for these spiced fritters; I often make them with ready-cooked ones.

Vegans can add some extra flour and a tablespoon of chia seeds mixed with 3 tablespoons of water in place of the egg, and use coconut yoghurt.

SERVES 4

1 x 400g tin or jar of chickpeas, drained (or 250g home-cooked, see here)

coconut or groundnut oil

2 teaspoons mustard seeds

2 teaspoons cumin seeds

250g cooked beetroot, peeled

2 tablespoons chopped coriander

2 spring onions, chopped

the zest and juice of ½ an unwaxed lemon

1 organic egg

FOR THE YOGHURT SAUCE

2 cardamom pods

150g thick Greek yoghurt

the zest and juice of ½ an unwaxed lemon

TO SERVE (OPTIONAL)

chapatis or flatbreads

a few handfuls of green salad leaves

First, put two thirds of the chickpeas into a food processor and pulse until you have a rough paste, Roughly squash the remainder with a fork so they break into smaller pieces.

Next, make the yoghurt sauce. Bash the cardamom pods to remove the seeds, then lightly toast the seeds in a dry frying pan over a medium heat. Grind in a pestle and mortar until you have a fine powder. Transfer this to a bowl, add the yoghurt, lemon zest and juice and a good pinch of salt to taste. Stir well and put to one side.

Put the frying pan back on the heat, add a splash of oil, then add the mustard and cumin seeds. When the mustard seeds begin to pop and start to smell more fragrant, tip them into a mixing bowl.

Grate the beetroot using a coarse grater, then squeeze the beetroot to remove excess liquid and transfer to a mixing bowl with the seeds. Add the other fritter ingredients, season with salt and pepper and mix well. Using the palms of your hands, take heaped tablespoons of the mixture and shape into small fritters (about 12). Put a little oil into a large frying pan and place it on a medium heat. Fry some of the fritters for 2–3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Transfer to a plate lined with kitchen paper and repeat with the rest.

Serve warm with the cardamom yoghurt, some green leaves and chapatis or flatbreads.

Gentle potato chowder with toasted chilli oil

This soup is like yin and yang: a very gentle, warming potato chowder, cooked in milk, with lentils for sustenance, that I top with a searing chilli and toasted almond oil. The oil sits on top of the white soup like lava, a serious punch of toasty fire. It’s one of the most comforting soups and warms you right down to your toes.

I use ancho chilli flakes. Ancho is a lot milder and has a more rounded, complex, dried fruit flavour than the supermarket dried chilli flakes, which can just add heat, so if you are using those I would suggest a teaspoon, unless you like things very hot. The chilli oil makes more oil than you need but keeps for months. It can be made in the time it takes to simmer the soup, but shop-bought chilli oil will stand in.

SERVES 4

25g unsalted butter or 2 tablespoons coconut oil

2 leeks, washed, trimmed and cut into 1cm-thick rounds

2 tablespoons flour (I use spelt)

1 tablespoon vegetable stock powder or 1 stock cube

800g floury potatoes, peeled and cut into rough chunks

300ml whole milk or soy milk

1 x 400g tin of green lentils, drained (or 250g home-cooked, see here)

FOR THE CHILLI OIL

2 red chillies

1 teaspoon to 1 tablespoon dried chilli flakes (see note above)

2 cloves of garlic

1 heaped tablespoon almonds

200ml mild-flavoured oil (light olive or rapeseed)

Fill and boil a kettle. In a medium-large pot, melt the butter over a medium heat. Add the leeks with a pinch of salt, lower the heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are soft and sweet; this should take about 10 minutes.

Stir in the flour and allow to cook for another minute or so to get rid of the raw flour flavour. Gradually add 600ml of hot water from the kettle, a bit at a time, then add the stock powder or cube. Add the potatoes and bring the mixture to a simmer. Cook until the potatoes are cooked through, which should take about 25 minutes, making sure you stir the soup from time to time to stop it sticking.

Meanwhile, make the chilli oil. Put the fresh and dried chilli and garlic into a food processor and pulse until fine, then add the almonds, a good pinch of salt and a generous amount of black pepper. Pulse again, put the lot into a small saucepan with the oil and cook slowly for 10 minutes or so, until everything is toasted and golden, then remove from the heat and set aside. The oil can be used warm (not hot) on your soup. The leftovers should be left to cool completely, then stored in a jar in the fridge for up to 3 months.

Back to the soup. Add the milk to the pot, stir in the lentils, and heat until the milk is just simmering. Serve the soup ladled into deep bowls, topped with a slick of the chilli oil.

Kimchi and miso noodle soup

I make kimchi purely so that I can make this soup. It is clean-tasting and enlivening, nicely sharp with spice and the mellow vinegary punch of the kimchi. I don’t care much for kimchi on its own (John eats it by the jar), but I do think that it is an incredible ingredient to use as a flavourful base for stews, in dressings, and in wraps and sandwiches. The amount of kimchi that you use is quite dependent on how strong it is. My home-made one (here) is quite mellow but shop-bought ones can be much more potent, so taste it first and use your tastebuds as a guide, adding more if you need.

I cook with miso a lot and it happens to be really good for you too. I learned recently that if you heat it too much it loses a lot of its goodness, so now, when I can, I mix it with a little of the liquid I am adding it to, then stir it in at the end like a seasoning and don’t cook it for ages.

I have used gochujang paste here, which is a fermented chilli paste from Korea with complex flavours. It’s getting easier to find and it does add an extra edge to the soup. If you can’t get the paste, dried chilli works just fine. Do be careful to check the paste’s ingredients list, as some varieties contain ingredients I’d rather not eat!

SERVES 4

200g Asian mushrooms (enoki, shimeji, shiitake, oyster)

1 tablespoon tamari or soy sauce, plus a little extra to season and serve

juice of ½ a lemon

2 tablespoons runny honey or agave nectar

250g soba noodles (I use 100 per cent buckwheat ones)

3 tablespoons sesame oil

6 spring onions, trimmed and finely chopped

a small thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated

1 teaspoon gochujang paste or dried chilli flakes

4 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced

100–150g cabbage kimchi, (see here) drained

250g purple sprouting broccoli, woody ends removed and cut into thumb-length pieces

3 tablespoons miso paste (I use a brown rice one)

250g extra-firm tofu

TO SERVE

sesame seeds

squeeze of lemon or lime

some coriander or shiso leaves (optional)

First, put your mushrooms into a bowl with the tamari, lemon juice and 1 tablespoon of the honey, and put to one side to marinate for at least 15 minutes.

Cook the soba noodles according to the packet instructions. Drain and run under cold water then toss in tablespoon of the sesame oil.

Heat the remaining oil in a large soup pan over a medium to high heat. Once the mushrooms have had their marinating time, drain them but keep the marinade. Add the mushrooms to the pan in a single layer with a pinch of salt (you can do this in batches if you need to). Cook until the mushrooms are golden where they meet the pan, then toss and keep cooking until the mushrooms are deeply browned all over – this should take 5 minutes or so. Remove from the pan and set aside.

Fill and boil the kettle. Put the empty pan back on a medium heat, add the spring onions and sauté for a few minutes before adding the ginger and gochujang paste. After another minute or so, add the garlic and the drained kimchi. Sizzle until the garlic is starting to brown around the edges. Add 1¼ litres of water from the kettle along with the remaining tablespoon of honey and bring to the boil. Now, add the broccoli and simmer for 1 minute, or just until the broccoli becomes bright green.

Remove the soup from heat. Place the miso in a small bowl and whisk it with a splash of the broth to thin it out. Stir the thinned miso into the soup. Taste your soup; you really need to get the balance right here. If the broth tastes a bit flat, you might need more salt or miso, or a splash of soy sauce.

Just before serving, cut the tofu into little 2cm pieces and drizzle it with the reserved marinade from the mushrooms.

To serve, divide the noodles between four bowls and ladle over the soup. Top with the tofu, mushrooms and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Finish with more soy if you like, a squeeze of lemon or lime and the shiso or coriander leaves if using.

Green peppercorn and lemongrass coconut broth

This is what we eat when we feel like the cold has got the better of us. It’s packed with immune-system-boosting turmeric, ginger and garlic to fight off colds, and some fiery green chilli to blow away cobwebs. I use green peppercorns too, as I love the grassy punch they give; seek out the fresh ones on tiny branches if you can, but if not the brined ones in jars will do just fine. The paste can be made in advance or in a double batch and the leftovers will keep in the fridge for a few days and in the freezer for a couple of months.

SERVES 4

4 tablespoons coconut oil

a thumb-sized piece of ginger (about 50g), peeled and roughly chopped

2 cloves of garlic, peeled

1–2 small green chillies, stalk removed

4 spring onions, trimmed and roughly chopped

a small bunch of coriander (leaves and stalks)

a few sprigs of mint, leaves only

1 heaped teaspoon ground turmeric or a small thumb of fresh, grated

15 fresh or brined green peppercorns (see note above)

2 x 400ml tins of coconut milk

2 limes

1 tablespoon vegetable stock powder or ½ a stock cube

1 tablespoon tamari or soy sauce

1 stalk of lemongrass

½ a medium butternut squash, deseeded and peeled

100g thin vermicelli brown rice noodles

100g spinach or winter greens, shredded

1 tablespoon coconut sugar or honey

Gently melt the coconut oil in a pan over a low heat – you don’t want to heat it, just melt it. Put the ginger, garlic and chilli (the amount you use and whether you keep the seeds in depends on how hot you like things) into your food processor with the spring onions, almost all of the coriander and the mint leaves (keep a few leaves back for serving). Add the coconut oil, then blitz for 30 seconds or until you have a smooth, deep green paste.

Place a deep, medium-sized pan over a medium heat and add the herb paste, stirring it for a minute while it warms. Stir in the turmeric, peppercorns, both tins of coconut milk, the juice of one of the limes, the stock powder and the tamari. Fill one of the tins one and a half times with hot water from the kettle and add the water to the pan.

Using a rolling pin or pestle, smash the lemongrass so that it splinters but remains together, then tuck it into the pan. Bring the liquid to the boil, then lower the heat and leave to simmer, bubbling gently.

Fill and boil a kettle. Meanwhile, slice the squash as thinly as you can and add this to the pan too. Place the noodles in a heatproof bowl and pour over enough of the boiling water from the kettle to cover them.

Once the squash is cooked through, add the greens to the soup and allow the liquid to come to a simmer again. Check the seasoning of the soup, adding the coconut sugar if it needs some sweetness and more lime and salt as needed. Drain the noodles, then divide them between four deep soup bowls. Ladle over the soup and vegetables, adding a generous squeeze of lime juice and, if you like, a few of the reserved coriander and mint leaves.

Not-chicken soup

This is a soup for the soul; chicken soup without the chicken and with no apology. It’s the get-well soup I have been searching for, to cure whatever ails you, whether that’s a cold or a broken heart. As gentle and as nourishing as they come, the soup has a base of slow-cooked sweet fennel and leek, layered with old friends celery and carrot, with a pep of ginger and lemon and a warmth from a generous amount of white pepper. Crisp little pieces of tofu top the broth, sticky from a minute or two in a pan, with some soy and a sprinkling of seasoning.

The seasoning, nutritional yeast, adds depth and umami and tastes much more complex and gentle than its ungenerous name suggests (though it is a great source of elusive B vitamins for vegetarians and vegans). If you don’t have it the soup will still be delicious without. Be sure to save the fronds from your fennel and leaves from your celery for finishing it prettily.

SERVES 4

olive oil

1 onion, finely sliced

1 leek, finely sliced

3 bulbs of fennel, trimmed and finely sliced, fronds reserved

3 sticks of celery, chopped into 1cm pieces, leaves reserved

1 carrot, peeled and chopped into rough 1cm pieces

8 cloves of garlic, very thinly sliced

a small thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated

1 lemon

1 teaspoon whole white peppercorns, plus more to taste

50g small pasta or broken up spaghetti pieces

extra virgin olive oil, to serve

FOR THE TOFU

200g firm tofu, sliced roughly into 1cm sticks

3 tablespoons soy sauce

1 heaped teaspoon nutritional yeast

Pour a little olive oil into a large soup pot and place over a medium heat. Add the onion, leek, fennel, celery and carrot, turn the heat down low and cook gently for 20–30 minutes, until everything is very soft and sweet, without browning too much. Add a splash of water if it looks like anything is going to stick.

Add the garlic and ginger, cook for another couple of minutes, then squeeze in the lemon and add the peppercorns. Add 2 litres of cold water (or you can use vegetable stock) and a good pinch of sea salt. Bring to the boil and simmer for 20–30 minutes.

Once the soup is nearly ready, toss the tofu in 2 tablespoons of the soy sauce. Heat a pan with a little olive oil, fry the tofu over a medium to high heat until crisp then add the final tablespoon of soy sauce and toss quickly – the soy should stick to the tofu and give it a rich stickiness. Remove from the heat, add the nutritional yeast and toss again.

Roughly break or bash your pasta into bite-sized pieces or lengths, add to the soup and cook for another 8 minutes (or as long as your pasta takes). Taste and add more salt or water or even a squeeze more lemon. Ladle into shallow bowls, top with the tofu, some fennel fronds and celery leaves and a good drizzle of olive oil.

Pomelo and peanut winter noodles with carrot and coconut dressing

Cheerful and layered with flavour, this is a bright bowl that makes the most of January citrus. I use pomelo, but you can use another citrus if pomelo is hard to come by; clementines and blood oranges are both great. The carrot and coconut milk dressing makes more than you will need, which is intentional, as it’s easier to make in a big batch and I love having it in the fridge to use through the week. I have made suggestions on how else to use it opposite but if you’d prefer not to have extra, halve the ingredients.

I use 100 per cent buckwheat soba noodles, as I love their super savoury note, but any noodles you like would work here. If you are using soba, be careful not to overcook them and be quick to refresh them in cold water so that they don’t stick together.

SERVES 2 AS A MAIN MEAL, 4 AS PART OF A MEAL

200g soba noodles

200g shelled edamame (fresh or frozen)

½ a medium pomelo

2 big handfuls of watercress or other peppery leaves

100g unsalted peanuts, toasted

a small bunch of coriander, leaves picked

FOR THE DRESSING

50ml full-fat coconut milk

a generous pinch of ground turmeric

a large thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated

1 carrot, peeled

1 green chilli

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

1 tablespoon maple syrup

2 tablespoons brown rice vinegar

1 shallot, peeled and roughly chopped

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil and cook the noodles according to the packet instructions. When the noodles are nearly cooked, add the edamame to the pot for a quick swim. Remove from the heat, drain, rinse with cold water to stop the cooking and shake off as much water as possible.

Meanwhile, make your dressing. Put the coconut milk, turmeric, ginger, carrot, chilli, olive oil, sesame oil, maple syrup, brown rice vinegar, shallot and some salt into a blender and blend until very smooth. Taste and adjust, if needed, with more salt or vinegar, or any other ingredient you think might need a little boost.

Cut the peel from the pomelo and use your knife to slice between the membrane to cut it into segments, removing as much of the pith as you can.

Transfer the noodles and edamame to a large serving bowl, add a few tablespoons of the dressing and toss well. The noodles really absorb the sauce, so start by adding a couple of tablespoons at a time, then mix and add more if needed as you don’t want to drown them. Finish with the watercress, peanuts, pomelo and coriander and toss everything together gently.

How to use your dressing

• Add to grated winter roots with rounds of citrus and some toasted seeds

• Use it to finish a bowl of simple steamed rice and green veg and top with a few toasted nuts

• Use it to finish some flash-fried tofu and serve with rice noodles and some greens

• Toss a packet of feta cheese in a little of the dressing, then roast for 25 minutes until golden and toss through a salad of leaves or grains

Winter tomatoes with whipped feta

In the last few years I have been buying my favourite tomatoes of the year in the winter. January, February and March see a few winter tomato varieties make their way to UK shores from Spain and Italy: the salty Ibérico tomato; the pert and pleasingly green-flavoured Marinda and the deeply red, sometimes almost black Camone. They are an entirely different affair from the ripe summer fruits we think of when we talk about tomatoes. For me these have more interesting and individual flavours; you can taste the saltiness of the sea where some of them grow and the green scent of their vines comes through.

SERVES 2

50g stale sourdough bread

800g winter tomatoes (I like the Camone, Marinda and Ibérico varieties)

1 tablespoon of the best quality extra virgin olive oil you can find, plus a little extra

½ tablespoon sherry vinegar

the zest and juice of 1 unwaxed lemon

200g feta cheese

2 tablespoons thick Greek yoghurt

1 teaspoon nigella seeds

4 sprigs of marjoram or oregano, leaves picked

Preheat your oven to 220ºC/200ºC fan/gas 7. Roughly tear the sourdough into pieces and pulse in a food processor until you have rough breadcrumbs. A bit of texture is good here, so try not to go too far, otherwise your crumb will be too fine and sandy.

Toss the breadcrumbs in a roasting tray with a drizzle of olive oil, a pinch of salt and some black pepper. Place in the centre of the warmed oven for 4–5 minutes, or until the breadcrumbs have turned toasty and golden.

Meanwhile, cut the tomatoes into slices and wedges, keeping them quite irregular and making the most of the shape of each tomato. Place the lot in a bowl with the tablespoon of olive oil, sherry vinegar, lemon zest and a couple of generous pinches of salt and some black pepper. Leave to one side while you get on with the feta.

In a food processor, whip the feta and yoghurt together until the cheese is completely smooth and creamy. Taste and add salt if necessary, pepper and some of the lemon juice. Scoop into a bowl and top with the nigella seeds.

Spoon the tomatoes with their olive oil and vinegar on to plates and dot the whipped feta around the tomatoes to fill in any empty spaces. Sprinkle over the breadcrumbs, scatter over the marjoram and drizzle with a little more oil.

Cauliflower rice with eggs and green chutney

I make this because I love it. It’s quick and can be eaten from the bowl. Our weeknight dinners, and even dishes on restaurant menus, have more and more become a collection of elements eaten from a bowl. Often though, when I eat them outside of my kitchen I find they lack a cohesiveness – they need something to bring them together as a whole. That’s where a chutney or pesto comes in.

Here I use a quick, zippy chutney of green chilli, coriander and mint, with coconut backing them all up. This is my guess at a chutney made by a friend’s mum, a great Gujarati cook, that we enthusiastically pile on everything we eat when we are at their house. I haven’t had the nerve to ask for the recipe, as it seems a proud inherited family one; I hope this does it justice.

SERVES 4

FOR THE CHUTNEY

a large bunch of coriander

2 green chillies

a few sprigs of mint

juice of 1 lime

50g coconut cream

½ teaspoon runny honey

1 tablespoon groundnut or mild olive oil

800g–1kg cauliflower

coconut oil

6 spring onions, peeled and finely sliced

a thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled

1 teaspoon ground turmeric

1 head of chard or other winter greens, stalks finely sliced, leaves roughly shredded

1 lemon

50g coconut cream

4 organic eggs

1 tablespoon nigella seeds

100g roasted unsalted peanuts, roughly chopped

First, make your chutney. Put half the coriander (reserving the rest for later) into a food processor with all the other ingredients and blitz until grassy green and smooth, adding a little water as you go if it looks too dry. You are looking for a spoonable consistency, a little thinner than a pesto.

Take the leaves and gnarly root off your cauliflower and chop it into big pieces, using the stalks too. Put them into the food processor and pulse until you have a rice-like texture. You could also use the coarse side of a box grater.

Put your largest frying pan on a high heat (if you don’t have a nice big one, two smaller ones will work). Add a large knob of coconut oil along with the spring onions. Cook for 5 minutes, until soft, stirring from time to time.

Meanwhile, grate the ginger and finely chop the stalks of the remaining coriander, keeping the leaves for later. Once the spring onion is soft, add the ginger and turmeric and cook for a couple of minutes, then season well with salt.

Turn the heat right up. Add the cauliflower rice and cook, stirring every couple of minutes to make sure all the rice gets a little browned on the bottom of the pan; this will take about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat another pan on a medium heat and add a teaspoon of coconut oil. Add the shredded greens, a little splash of water, a tiny squeeze of lemon juice and a good pinch of salt. Once the water has evaporated and the greens are wilted, take the pan off the heat and cover to keep warm.

Once the edges of the cauliflower rice have nicely browned, squeeze over the rest of the lemon juice and grate in the coconut cream. Cook until it has all been absorbed by the rice and there is a slightly caramelly smell. Push the rice to one side of the pan and spoon the greens into the other.

Put the pan that had the greens in back on the heat and add another teaspoon of coconut oil, then crack in the eggs and cook on a medium to high heat until the edges are crispy and the yolks are just cooked. Sprinkle the eggs with the nigella seeds and take off the heat.

Serve the cauliflower rice in bowls, topped with the greens, chutney, peanuts, crispy eggs and with the rest of the coriander leaves for sprinkling over the top.

Ways to use this chutney

• Next to any curry or dhal.

• To marinate paneer or tofu before frying or baking.

• Diluted with a little oil and used to dress a simple salad of grated carrot and shredded cabbage, topped with toasted cashews.

• On top of scrambled eggs.

• Mashed into some avocado for an Indian riff on guacamole.

• To add some punch to some roasted beetroots.

• Mixed with oil and a little lemon or lime juice as a dressing for any grain or rice salad.

Golden miso potato salad

Potatoes are pretty magical in all their forms: the crispy-edged golden brown crunch of a roastie; cloud-like mash; a little new potato, boiled and tossed with grassy green herbs, good oil and flaky salt… This warm potato salad has become a household staple, a dinner for cold nights and wet homecomings: bolstering, full of flavour and comfort. I bake the potatoes in miso until deeply golden brown, then slather them in a tomato and ginger dressing before mixing them with lentils and toasted almonds. A complete meal.

Although new potatoes aren’t around yet, I find this recipe works well with smaller potatoes, so I buy them from the loose bin and pick out the smallest ones I can find. If yours are bigger you might want to cut them in half or quarters.

SERVES 4

1kg small floury potatoes

2 teaspoons white miso paste

2 tablespoons olive oil

the cloves from 1 head of garlic, skin on

1 x 400g tin of Puy lentils or 250g home-cooked, (see here), drained

100g almonds, skin on, toasted and sliced

a handful of basil, leaves picked

FOR THE DRESSING

2 tablespoons sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil, chopped, plus 2 tablespoons of their oil

the zest and juice of 1 unwaxed lime

a thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and finely chopped

Preheat the oven to 220ºC/200ºC fan/gas 7.

Rinse the potatoes, scrubbing off any gnarly bits, and dry well. Mix the miso and olive oil with 1 tablespoon of water. Put the potatoes into a large baking tray or two smaller ones, add the miso mixture and toss well to coat.

Put the garlic cloves into the tray as well. Roast the potatoes until they are fluffy inside and golden outside: this should take 25–35 minutes depending on the size of your potatoes.

Meanwhile, make your dressing. Mix the sun-dried tomatoes and their oil with the lime zest and juice and the ginger, and mix well.

Remove the potatoes from the oven and spoon out the garlic cloves. Squeeze the softened cloves from their papery outsides, mash them and add them to the dressing.

Tumble the potatoes into a large bowl, add the lentils and the dressing and toss together. Top with the almonds and tear over the basil.

Roasted Savoy and squash with Cheddar and rye

In the colder months of the year I find it all too easy to lean on Asian, Indian or Mexican flavours to perk me up and create a bit of excitement when the offerings of the season have become a bit monotonous. But truthfully it’s at this time of year I want simple British flavours most, and this salad sings with them. The sometimes forgotten Savoy cabbage is roasted into crisp-edged wedges, more pleasing to me than the now ever-present roasted broccoli or kale, and paired with plump roasted squash, caraway seeds, a rye crumb and a mustard-spiked dressing, all finished with a crumble of sharp Cheddar (though vegans can happily leave this out). This dish is so rooted in time and place, and that’s when eating and cooking feels best to me.

SERVES 4

a small Delicata or butternut squash (about 500g)

1 Savoy cabbage (about 400g), tough outer leaves removed

olive oil

1 teaspoon caraway seeds

50g rye bread (about 2 thin slices)

2 tablespoons baby capers, drained

100g good sharp Cheddar, crumbled

FOR THE DRESSING

1 tablespoon wholegrain mustard

1 teaspoon honey

1 tablespoon cider vinegar

3 tablespoons good extra virgin olive or rapeseed oil

Preheat the oven 220ºC/200ºC fan/gas 7.

Halve and deseed the squash and cut into wedges 2cm thick. Cut your cabbage into eight chunky wedges. Place them both on a large roasting tray and sprinkle with a good amount of salt and pepper. Add a good drizzle of oil and the caraway seeds and roast in the hot oven for 35 minutes until the squash is soft and cooked through and the cabbage is golden and crisp and charred at the edges.

Meanwhile put the rye bread into a food processor and blitz until you have rough breadcrumbs – you still want a good bit of texture here. Put the crumbs on a baking tray with a drizzle of olive oil, a good pinch of salt, a generous grind of black pepper and the capers, and toast in the hot oven for 5 minutes until they smell toasty and have a pleasing crunch, being careful not to burn them – with the dark colour of the rye bread it can be easy to overcook them.

Mix the dressing ingredients, season well and put to one side.

When the cabbage and squash are cooked, take them out of the oven and tumble on to a platter with the Cheddar. Drizzle generously with the dressing, mix well, then scatter over the rye crumbs and take to the table.

Toasted quinoa, roast brassicas and spiced green herb smash

There is something about the burnished edges of a vegetable, especially brassicas, which suit the darker nights and more complex flavours I love. These roasted florets sit next to some lemon-scented toasted quinoa and are topped with a Yemeni herb and spice smash called skhug. It’s good stirred into hummus, to finish a soup or mixed with oil to dress a salad.

SERVES 4–6

1 small head of broccoli (about 400g)

1 small cauliflower (about 400g)

a pinch of dried chilli flakes

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

a good drizzle of olive oil

250g quinoa (see note above)

1 unwaxed lemon

½ a vegetable stock cube or 1 teaspoon of vegetable stock powder

100g almonds, skin on, toasted and roughly chopped

FOR THE HERB SMASH

a large bunch of coriander

the juice of 2 lemons

1 clove of garlic, roughly chopped

1–2 green chillies (depending on how hot you like things), roughly chopped

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

½ teaspoon ground cardamom (or the crushed seeds from 5 pods)

a pinch of ground cloves

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Preheat your oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6.

Roughly chop your broccoli and cauliflower into small florets, about 2–3cm, and the stalks and root into thin slices. You want to cut your cauliflower a little smaller than the broccoli as it cooks a little slower. Place the lot on a baking tray with the chilli, cumin seeds and a good pinch of salt. Drizzle with the olive oil and roast in the hot oven for 20–25 minutes.

Next, cook the quinoa for a couple of minutes in a large dry saucepan over a medium heat, letting it crackle and toast. This will give it a deep nutty flavour. Once it is beginning to smell fragrant, cut the lemon in half, place both halves in the pan and quickly pour over 600ml of water. Crumble in the stock cube and bring the liquid to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 15 minutes, until most of the water has been absorbed. Top up with more boiling water, if needed, as you go.

To make the herb smash, put all the coriander, including the stalks, the juice of one of the lemons and the other ingredients into a food processor along with 2 tablespoons of cold water and blend on a high speed to make a smooth grassy-green sauce. Taste and adjust the seasoning as necessary, adding more lemon, garlic or oil as you see fit. (Any leftovers can be stored in the fridge for up to one week.)

Once the brassicas are roasted and the quinoa is cooked, tumble them all into a bowl and pour over one third of the dressing. Scatter over half the almonds, mix well and finish with the rest of the almonds and a good squeeze more lemon.

Little pea and white bean polpette

This recipe is made out of stuff I always have on hand in the store cupboard, freezer and fridge. It’s at this time of year that I rely on these staples: frozen peas and preserved lemons add a flash of green and some freshness, an interruption from the roots and grains while we wait for the fresh green march of spring. I make a batch of these and turn them into a few meals: served with a grain and greens for dinner, in a wrap with some pickles or with spaghetti and a spiced tomato sauce (see here). I add a little Parmesan to balance the flavour here, but vegans can use nutritional yeast.

SERVES 4

FOR THE STORECUPBOARD SALSA VERDE

a small bunch of flat-leaf parsley

2 tablespoons capers, drained

1 tablespoon cornichons, drained

2 sun-dried tomatoes, drained

the zest of 1 unwaxed lemon

10 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

FOR THE POLPETTE

1 red onion, peeled and roughly chopped

2 cloves of garlic, peeled

2 teaspoons coriander seeds

a generous pinch of dried chilli flakes

olive oil

300g frozen peas

1 x 400g tin of white beans (or 250g home-cooked, see here), drained

50g breadcrumbs or roughly blitzed oats

½ a preserved lemon, flesh removed and discarded, peel finely chopped

1 teaspoon flaky sea salt

the zest of 1 unwaxed lemon

4 sun-dried tomatoes

50g freshly grated Parmesan (I use a vegetarian one) or 1 tablespoon nutritional yeast

Preheat the oven to 200°C/180ºC fan/gas 6 (if you are baking your polpette).

To make the salsa, roughly chop together all the ingredients except the oil. Put in to a bowl and add the oil little by little, stirring well. Taste as you go – you may not need all the oil.

Put the onion into your food processor with the garlic, coriander seeds and chilli and pulse until the onion is finely chopped. Heat a frying pan, add 3 tablespoons of olive oil, and fry the onion mixture gently until it’s soft and fragrant. Next, add the rest of the polpette ingredients to the food processor with a good grind of black pepper and mix until the beans have been mashed and everything has come together.

Shape the polpette. Wet your hands and roll into balls using roughly a tablespoon of mixture for each one (you should get about 18), then place on a baking sheet. If you are baking them, drizzle the balls with a little olive oil and bake in the oven for 20–25 minutes, or until golden. To cook them in a frying pan, chill them for at least 20 minutes, then simply fry them in a little olive oil on a medium heat for about 10–15 minutes, turning every few minutes. Serve with the salsa verde.

If you are freezing the polpette, cook them for a few minutes less, then let them cool completely (they firm up as they cool down). Transfer to containers or bags and freeze.

Spelt with pickled pears and pink leaves

This warm winter salad has everything going for it. It’s the prettiest of salads, with gentle off-white celeriac and caramel-coloured spelt offset by the dusky rose of pink radicchio and the Expressionist pink and cream splatter of Castelfranco lettuce. If you haven’t guessed already, I love these bitter lettuces; they cheer up my January table and happily, they are now much more widely available, though a few heads of chicory would do fine in their place. Be careful not to use overripe pears; you need them to be a little on the firm side so they hold their shape as they cook.

SERVES 4

5 tablespoons white wine vinegar

½ teaspoon black peppercorns

2 tablespoons golden caster sugar

a generous pinch of flaky sea salt

4 just-ripe pears

400g celeriac or parsnip, peeled and cut into small 2cm pieces

1 tablespoon runny honey

1 tablespoon white miso paste

2 tablespoons wholegrain mustard

200g pearled spelt

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

2 heads of bitter salad leaves (see note above)

50g blue cheese

Put 4 tablespoons of the vinegar, the black peppercorns, caster sugar and salt into a saucepan with 100ml of water and bring to the boil. Meanwhile, peel the pears, halve them and scoop out the cores with a teaspoon. Lower the pears into the pickling liquid, lower the heat and leave to cook until tender (about 10 minutes). Remove from the heat, cover with a lid and leave to rest.

Preheat the oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6. Roast the celeriac in the oven on a baking tray, with a little oil, for 20 minutes. Mix the honey with the miso and mustard. After 20 minutes take the tray out of the oven and add 1 tablespoon of the miso mixture, toss through the celeriac, then return to the oven for a further 5–10 minutes, until crispy and golden.

Meanwhile, cook the spelt. Bring a pan of salted water to the boil, then add the spelt and cook for 20–25 minutes or until cooked through and tender. Mix the remaining miso mixture with the remaining tablespoon of vinegar and the olive oil, drain the spelt and toss in the dressing.

Once everything else is ready, tear all the leaves from your bitter lettuces and lay on plates. Top with the spelt, celeriac and the pickled pears and crumble over the cheese.

Quick carrot dhal

This dhal has its roots in South India. It comes together quickly but has rich layers of flavour which might lead you to think it had spent hours on the hob – pops of mustard seeds, warming cinnamon, everything I love in a dhal.

The turmeric and carrots make this a vibrant sunny-hued bowl, and on top lies a colour pop of sweet-shop pink radish pickle. I serve it with poppadoms scrunched into shards over the top for a welcome bit of crunch. We have dhal in some form or another at least once a week, and this is one I keep coming back to. If you really wanted to speed things up you could do all your grating in the food processor.

SERVES 4

2 cloves of garlic

1 green chilli

a thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger, peeled

1 red onion, peeled

coconut or vegetable oil

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 teaspoon coriander seeds

1 teaspoon black mustard seeds

1 teaspoon ground turmeric

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

200g red lentils

1 × 400ml tin of coconut milk

600ml vegetable stock

6 carrots, peeled

2 large handfuls of spinach

juice of 1 lemon

FOR THE PICKLE

a thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger, peeled

1 green chilli

1 unwaxed lemon

2 handfuls of radishes

1 tablespoon nigella seeds

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

honey or agave nectar

a bunch of coriander, chopped

TO SERVE

plain yoghurt

cooked brown basmati rice

a few poppadoms

Finely grate the garlic, chilli and ginger (I use a sharp Microplane grater; if your grater isn’t quite up to the job, finely chop them), then coarsely grate the red onion. Put a large saucepan on a medium heat, add a little oil and everything you have grated and cook for 10 minutes until soft and sweet.

Pound the cumin and coriander seeds a bit in a pestle and mortar, then add to the pan with the other spices and cook for a couple of minutes to toast and release their oils. Add the lentils, coconut milk and stock to the pan and bring to a simmer, then turn the heat down and bubble for 25–30 minutes. Meanwhile, grate all the carrots and add those too.

While that is cooking make a little pickle to go on top. Finely grate the ginger, chilli and the zest of the lemon into a bowl, then use a coarser grater to grate the radishes into the bowl. Add the nigella seeds, vinegar, a squeeze of honey, half the coriander, a good pinch of salt and mix well.

To finish your dhal, take it off the heat, then stir in the spinach and allow it to wilt a little, stirring in the other half of the coriander and the juice of the lemon too. Pile into bowls and top with the radish pickle, spoonfuls of yoghurt and brown basmati rice. At the table, crumble over your poppadoms.

Beetroot, rhubarb and potato gratin

This might just get the all-time gratin crown. There’s gentle comfort from the potatoes and cream, with an unexpected pop of sweet acidity from the rhubarb, a foil for the unrepentant earthiness of the beetroot. The lively warmth of the pink peppercorns tops things off. It’s a pretty beautiful-looking dishful too; there are some amazing colours at play: whites, neon pinks, magenta and the dots of fluoro pink peppercorns – you’d struggle to find one pinker.

I tend not to cook with a lot of dairy but here I make an exception, using the best I can get my hands on. Vegans might try this with almond or oat milk, or even some vegetable stock in place of the creams. I make the stock for this with about half the powder or stock cubes that the packet suggests, so the flavour of the stock doesn’t overwhelm; if you have homemade stock (see here), all the better.

SERVES 4–6

butter, for greasing

1kg potatoes, preferably waxy ones, such as Desiree or Charlotte

500g cooked beetroot (the ones in vacuum packs or home-cooked), peeled

300ml weak vegetable stock (see note above)

300ml double cream

150ml sour cream

2 bay leaves

2 teaspoons pink peppercorns or ½ teaspoon black peppercorns

200g forced rhubarb, thinly sliced

Preheat the oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6. Butter a large gratin dish.

Peel the potatoes and slice them very finely – a mandoline or the fine slicer attachment on a food processor is the best way to do this; just watch your fingers if you’re using a mandoline. Cut the beetroot into fine slices as well – they don’t have to quite be as thin, so you could cut them with a knife.

Put the stock and both the creams into a large saucepan, along with the bay leaves and 1 teaspoon of the peppercorns. Bring the liquid to just under the boil, then take off the heat and leave to sit for 30 minutes or so. Remove the bay leaves, leaving the peppercorns in, then bring the liquid to just below a simmer. Add the sliced potatoes and cook gently for 5 minutes.

Remove from the heat, season really well with salt and pepper, and spoon half the potatoes into the gratin dish. Put half the beetroot and rhubarb on top, seasoning as you go, then top with the rest of the potatoes and their cream, followed by the rest of the beetroot.

Roughly bash the remaining pink peppercorns in a pestle and mortar and sprinkle on the gratin. Bake for 1 hour, or until the vegetables are completely tender. Cover the top with foil after about 45 minutes if it looks like it is becoming too dark.

Butter bean stew with kale and sticky blood oranges

This is a seriously comforting bowl. Sweet spiced beans, burnished blood oranges and the bright green goodness of kale, all topped off with a hazelnut and sesame seed crunch; full of flavour and texture. It’s quick but nourishing, with the satisfying depth of a pot that’s been very slowly ticking away on the stove for hours.

SERVES 4

olive oil

3 cloves of garlic, finely sliced

1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes

2 bay leaves

a small bunch of thyme (4 or 5 stalks)

1 red onion, finely chopped

2 x 400g jars or tins of butter beans, drained (or 250g home-cooked beans, see here)

2 blood oranges, or normal oranges, peeled and sliced

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar

1 teaspoon honey

300g curly kale, leaves pulled away from the stalks and roughly torn

100g hazelnuts

2 tablespoons sesame seeds

the zest of 1 unwaxed lemon

1 tablespoon sumac

feta or goat’s cheese, to serve (optional)

Fill and boil the kettle. First put a little olive oil into a pan, add 2 cloves of the garlic and fry for a minute or two, then add the tomatoes, herbs and a good pinch of sea salt and simmer for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat a frying pan on a medium heat, add a little oil, then add the onion and the other garlic clove and cook for 10 minutes until soft and sweet. Add the butter beans to the tomatoes, then half fill the tomato can with hot water from the kettle, add this too and simmer for 10 minutes.

Once the onions are cooked, add the blood oranges, sherry vinegar and honey to the frying pan and cook for 3–4 minutes until the orange slices are starting to caramelise and catch around the edges. Add the kale, put a lid on the pan, turn the heat down and cook until wilted, about 8 minutes. Meanwhile, roughly chop the hazelnuts and mix with the sesame seeds, the lemon zest and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Fry in a pan on a medium heat for 2–3 minutes until crisp and starting to toast brown.

By now the bean mixture should be nicely reduced. Remove the thyme and the bay leaves, season and add a good drizzle of olive oil.

Serve the beans topped with the kale and oranges and a good sprinkling of the hazelnuts, sumac and sesame seeds. Crumble a bit of feta or goat’s cheese over the top if you like too.

One-pan squash, caper and kale pasta

This may not be for traditionalists, but I think this way of cooking pasta is clever – the starch from the pasta water comes together to make a velvety, creamy sauce that you wouldn’t get if they were cooked separately. I’m not suggesting all pasta is cooked this way, but when a quick dinner is needed this is where I look.

You can swap in any pasta that cooks in about 8 minutes. I’ve gone for a wholewheat rigatoni here, but I’ve had success with normal, quinoa and corn pasta too. I use Delicata squash, but you could use butternut squash instead – the skin is tougher, so it’s best to peel it.

SERVES 4

1 small Delicata squash (about 400g)

250g curly kale

2 tablespoons good olive oil

3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

350g pasta (I use wholewheat rigatoni or penne)

the zest of 2 unwaxed lemons

½ x 400g tin of green lentils, drained

a pinch of dried chilli flakes

½ a vegetable stock cube or 1 teaspoon vegetable stock powder

2 tablespoons baby capers, drained

50g Parmesan (I use a vegetarian one)

Halve the squash and scoop out the seeds, then thinly slice the squash halves into half moons about 5mm thick. Strip the kale leaves from their stalks and roughly tear any big pieces. Finely slice the stalks, discarding any particularly sinewy ones.

Heat a tablespoon of the olive oil in a large shallow pan over a medium heat and add the squash with a generous pinch of flaky sea salt. Cook the squash in the pan for about 10 minutes, stirring every couple of minutes, so that the pieces of squash start to catch and brown at the edges. Fill the kettle and put it on to boil.

Once the squash has had its 10 minutes, add the garlic and kale stalks and stir for a minute or so before adding the pasta, lemon zest, lentils, chilli, stock cube and a litre of water from the kettle. Cover with a lid and cook on a medium heat for 6 minutes.

Next, remove the lid and add the kale leaves and capers. Cover with the lid for a couple more minutes, until the kale is starting to wilt and turn bright green. If your pasta is a little dry you can add a tiny bit more water, about 100ml. Remove the lid and simmer for another 2–3 minutes, until the water has been absorbed, then take the pan off the heat and stir through the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and half the Parmesan. Taste and add a little more salt if needed, then leave to sit for a minute or so before piling into bowls and topping with a good grating of the remaining Parmesan.

Turmeric and coconut baked aloo gobi

There is something grand and celebratory about roasting a vegetable whole. It becomes a centrepiece, which is something I think people look for in vegetable-centred cooking. The food I make most nights celebrates vegetables in some way, but cooking them whole like this takes a cauliflower one step further: golden and crackled, its colour intensified, in all its glory as nature intended.

Whole roasted cauliflower is something that has been finding its way on to restaurant menus the last couple of years, partly due to the cauliflower renaissance spearheaded by vegetable magician Yotam Ottolenghi. Burnished and browned, a whole cauliflower is such a pleasing thing to put in the middle of the table, with a sharp knife for everyone to cut brave wedges for themselves and uncover the buttery clean white inside, a sharp contrast to the crisp and highly flavoured outside.

This is my favourite way to eat cauliflower: the sweet note of coconut milk, the punch of ginger and green chilli, the earthiness of mustard seeds and the clean spiced note of turmeric are perfect sidekicks to the neutral-flavoured, buttery roasted cauliflower. I add some halved potatoes to the pan to absorb the coconut and lemon goodness. There are few things which are as friendly in the way they soak up flavour as a cauliflower.

SERVES 4

1 large cauliflower or 2 small ones

600g potatoes

4 tablespoons coconut oil

a thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled

4 green chillies

4 cloves of garlic, crushed

1 tablespoon black mustard seeds

2 teaspoons ground turmeric

1 x 400ml tin of coconut milk

1 unwaxed lemon, cut in half

TO SERVE

thick Greek or coconut yoghurt

almonds

a small bunch of coriander, leaves picked

Preheat the oven to 220ºC/200ºC fan/gas 7. Fill and boil the kettle.

Using a pair of scissors cut the large leaves and stalks away from the cauliflower. You can leave the little leaves close to the florets – they will go nice and crispy when roasted. Turn the cauliflower upside down and, using a small paring knife, carefully cut a hollow in the middle of the stalk, so that it cooks evenly. Take a pan big enough to hold the cauliflower, half fill it with water from the kettle and bring it to the boil. Season the water with salt, then immerse the cauliflower and simmer for 6 minutes. Drain the water away, put the lid back on and leave the cauliflower to steam in the residual heat for a further 10 minutes. Meanwhile, cut the potatoes into 2cm pieces, leaving the skin on.

Take an ovenproof dish or pan (that can go on the hob as well) large enough to take the cauliflower. Spoon in the coconut oil, and grate the ginger into the oil. Finely chop the chillies, discarding the seeds if you wish, then add them to the pan. Add the garlic, then place over a medium heat and let the spices and aromatics cook for a few minutes, until fragrant. Stir in the mustard seeds and continue cooking until the garlic has softened, then add the turmeric and a big pinch of salt.

Pour the coconut milk into the spice mixture, stir well and season with a little black pepper. When the milk starts to bubble gently, turn off the heat, place the drained cauliflower in the dish, then baste it with the coconut-spice mixture. Throw the lemon halves into the side of the dish too, then scatter the potatoes around; they will sit in the coconut milk.

Bake the cauliflower, basting it occasionally with the spiced sauce in the dish, for 40–45 minutes. You want it to catch a little on top. To test if the cauliflower is cooked, insert a small sharp knife into the middle – it should be really tender and the potatoes and cauliflower should have soaked up most of the sauce. Once it’s perfect, take it out of the oven and transfer to a serving dish, then squeeze over the roasted lemons. Serve in the middle of the table, with little bowls of yoghurt, almonds and coriander for sprinkling on top.

Wholegrain spelt, date and molasses scones

These are not scones to keep in a tin but scones to eat warm, with salted butter and tea. These are everything I want from something baked on a cold day: rounded deep sweetness from molasses, caramel notes from the dates and maltiness from the spelt.

I have intentionally made them in quite a small batch; they are very quick to whip up and taste much more decadent than their ingredients might suggest. You can use whatever black tea you like here – I love the bergamot kick of Earl Grey, brewed strong, but I can imagine a smoky lapsang souchong might be amazing.

MAKES 6

125g pitted dates

150ml freshly brewed strong black or Earl Grey tea

125g wholegrain spelt flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon ground allspice

¼ teaspoon flaky sea salt

30g cold unsalted butter, cubed

1 tablespoon molasses

75g buttermilk or thin natural yoghurt

FOR THE GLAZE

1 organic or free-range egg

1 tablespoon milk

a handful of rolled oats

Preheat the oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6. Line a baking tray with baking paper.

Soak the dates in the hot tea for 15 minutes, until the tea has cooled a little. Mix together the flour, baking powder, allspice and salt with your fingertips, then add the butter until the mix looks like breadcrumbs. You could also do this by pulsing it in a food processor.

Drain, then roughly chop the dates and add them to the mix, along with the molasses and buttermilk. Mix slowly and lightly until the mixture forms a soft but not too sticky dough. Shape into a rough round ball, place on your prepared tray and use a knife to score across the top to mark out 6 portions, stopping before the knife reaches the tray; it should look a bit like a loaf of soda bread.

Mix the egg and milk for the glaze with a pinch of salt and brush it over the top, then sprinkle with the oats, pressing them into the dough lightly to stick them down.

Bake for 15 minutes, then turn the tray and reduce the heat to 180ºC/160ºC fan/gas 4 and continue to bake for about 10 more minutes, until the top is a dark golden brown and when you turn the scone over and tap it, it sounds hollow. Serve warm from the oven and break up as required. The scones are very good with the curd here.

Brewing your own kombucha

We have been drinking kombucha for years, mostly when I have travelled to visit my sister in LA where it seems to be as available as water. When I started drinking it every day I noticed really positive changes in how I was feeling. Back home I have found it harder to get my hands on and it’s very expensive so I started brewing it myself. I am sure it has helped us ward off a few winter colds.

Kombucha is a drink that’s been around for thousands of years. It’s a sweet fermented green or black tea with a bubbly character that I think is totally delicious. Kombucha has been widely praised as being good for you as it contains digestion-supporting probiotic enzymes that lots of us are lacking in our diets. It supports the healthy bacteria in our guts and can help improve our digestion and how we absorb the nutrients from our food. By making kombucha yourself it will be completely raw (some commercial ones are pasteurised) so it has maximum health benefits; you can also control the fizziness and how long it’s brewed to your taste.

The first thing I will say is that I’m not an expert; brewing kombucha is a huge topic and there are books and blogs entirely devoted to the subject. The brewing process is pretty simple: all you need is a bit of time, food (sugar) and good bacteria to create the brew (the scoby). Outlined below is how I brew mine and so far it’s been very successful. Before I started I was quite daunted by the process but after you’ve done it once you’ll get into the rhythm and it becomes really easy. Before you brew I recommend you read this explanation a couple of times; it may look like a lot of information but if you have a level of understanding it makes the process easier and quicker.

The scoby

The scoby, which stands for Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast, is what you will need to ferment your tea. A scoby is a very strange-looking thing that I am weirdly fascinated by; it is like a big rubbery pancake. You can buy scobys online but as they are live they multiply so there are lots out in the world waiting for owners. A kombucha-brewing friend will have one or a quick search on the internet will probably unearth one for free.

The water

Filtered or at the very least boiled water is essential for kombucha brewing as some of the chemicals in tap water can affect the fermentation process.

The tea

You can use black or green tea but I prefer the flavour of my kombucha when it’s made with green and it will be lower in caffeine. Flavoured and herbal teas don’t work, as I discovered when I tried to make a batch with Earl Grey; it’s best to add any flavours after brewing. The caffeine in kombucha contains only about a third of that in brewed tea.

The sugar

The scoby and the fermentation are fed with sugar. It may seem like you are adding a lot of sugar but during the brewing process it will turn from a very sweet tea into something far less so.

The alcohol

Whilst your kombucha is brewing, it will contain a very small amount of alcohol, about 0.5 per cent. It’s all part of the fermentation process, but it’s something to bear in mind if people are sensitive to alcohol and I certainly wouldn’t give kombucha to children.

The equipment

— 1 large or a couple of smaller teapots or jugs to brew your tea

— 1 × 5- or 6-litre jar or kombucha crock (mine has a tap at the bottom)

— a clean piece of tea towel or muslin to cover

— a piece of string or a rubber band

— a funnel

— 4 × 1-litre bottles to store your finished kombucha

The ingredients

— 1 scoby

— 500ml pre-made kombucha tea (shop-bought or from your last batch)

— 250g sugar (I use golden caster sugar)

— 4 litres filtered or boiled water

— 2 heaped tablespoons green or black tea

The method

First brew your tea. Bring your 4 litres of pre-boiled or filtered water to the boil and pour it over the tea leaves of your choice; I do this in a couple of teapots and measuring jugs. Let it steep for 20–30 minutes, so it’s good and strong.

Add the sugar, stir to dissolve then allow the tea to cool. This step is important as the scoby will die if it’s too hot.

Remove any metal jewellery and from this point on don’t use any metal sieves or spoons as they react with the scoby. Get the jar or crock you are using for the brewing and pour in the pre-made kombucha. Add the cooled tea, then carefully place the scoby on top of the mixture. Cover the jar with a piece of fabric and secure it with string or a rubber band. Some kitchen paper would also work; you just want air to be able to pass into the jar. Place the kombucha container in a place where it will not be disturbed, out of direct sunlight. I leave mine on my work surface where I can keep an eye on it.

The fermentation can take anything from 7–14 days, depending on the heat of the room, the scoby and how you like your kombucha. The longer you leave it the more acidic it will become. During the brewing process it’s normal to see things happening in the brew: the scoby moving, bubbles of air. After a few days the surface of the tea will start to look opaque, this is your new scoby forming and a very good sign.

How long to brew?

After it’s been brewing for about a week I start to taste mine every day (remembering to use a non-metal spoon). If you like a sweeter drink you may want to bottle yours now, if you like things more tart perhaps wait a full 14 days.

Once your kombucha tastes good to you, you can bottle it. Lift the scoby into a bowl or rimmed plate (remembering to keep any metal away). Divide your kombucha between the 1-litre bottles (a funnel is useful here), saving 500ml for your next batch. Once the kombucha is bottled you can start from the beginning on your next batch.

Once bottled you have a few options:

— Store it in the fridge and drink it as it is (it keeps for several months).

— Flavour your kombucha. I find the best way to do this is using freshly-squeezed or juiced fruits (I’ve found sweeter ones, such as strawberry, mango, peach, plum, pear, guava and watermelon, work best). You’ll need about 600ml so about 150ml per bottle, but you can adjust this to your own taste based on the sweetness of the fruit. Sometimes I add spices too: for each bottle I add a teaspoon of grated fresh turmeric or ginger, some bashed cardamom seeds, a few rose petals, or even fennel seeds. Now you can either put this straight into the fridge or do a second fermentation.

— Ferment it a second time in the bottle to make it bubbly. I always do this as I love the Champagne-like bubbles. Seal the bottles and keep them on the work surface. It’s really important to open the bottles every day to let the air out so the tops don’t pop off (this is called burping). At the same time I taste for fizziness and when it’s nicely bubbly (usually 2–3 days) I put the lot into the fridge to store.

Taking time off

You might want to take a break from brewing. To pause the process, take the scoby out of the jar, separate the new scoby (the baby) from the original one (the mother) and put them into separate glass jars with enough of your brewed kombucha to cover. Place in the fridge and seal, remembering that nothing can come into contact with metal. They will keep like this in the fridge for a few months at least. When you are ready to brew again bring the scoby to room temperature and start the process above, adding all the liquid you stored the scoby in too. If you are organised you can plan your second fermentation to finish on the day you go away.

Basic dos and don’ts

— Ideally use filtered but at the very least boiled water to brew.

— Avoid using any metal during the brewing process; take any rings off when you handle the scoby.

— Use real sugar. Honey and other natural sweeteners don’t work as well; I’ve tried.

— Use green or black tea; I use loose-leaf organic. Flavoured and herbal teas don’t work.

— Wash your hands before handling the scoby, being sure to wash off any soap residues.

— I wash my equipment every couple of brews using hot water and vinegar (not soap).

— Make sure the brew is covered at all times, to prevent flies getting in.

— If you see mould or anything unsavoury on the scoby, discard everything and start again.

— While I brew with green tea the most, every 5 brews or so I use black tea as it helps the scoby stay healthy; I don’t understand why but it works.

— If I have a bad batch I brew the next batch a little sweeter and use black tea; it usually solves the problem.

— As you brew each batch a new scoby will form on the top of your kombucha; this means it’s a good healthy brew and it’s a good sign. When you go to make another batch you can separate the old scoby (the mother) and the new one (the baby) and make an additional batch. Give the old scoby away or keep it in the fridge; I tend to separate my scobys every few batches. If you have too many to find a use for they can be composted.

Resources

There are some amazing expert resources online; you can get very specific answers to any kombucha problem in great detail. My favourite is culturesforhealth.com.

Super chocolate tiffin bites

These little chocolate bites were born of two childhood obsessions: Terry’s Chocolate Orange bars and chocolate tiffin. I love both but the super-sweet versions I lapped up as a kid now make me a bit crazy, so I came up with these. I make them in batches and keep them on hand for that time of day when I need something sweet. Sure, they have a bit of sugar, but I find the nuts and seeds balance out the hit of sweetness. They are spiked with orange zest, salt and vanilla. I’m always a bit happier after one of these.

You can mix up the nuts and fruit you use here. I imagine any citrus zest, sweet spice or even a hit of chilli would work well. I use little silicone moulds which double up for freezing curry pastes, pestos and even baby food. You could also make this mixture into a bark if you prefer by just pouring the chocolate into a tray lined with baking paper and sprinkling over the toppings.

MAKES ABOUT 20

400g dark chocolate (at least 70% cocoa solids)

100g almonds, skin on

75g pumpkin seeds

2 tablespoons sesame seeds

1 tablespoon coconut oil

1 teaspoon vanilla paste

the zest of 2 unwaxed oranges

a good pinch of flaky sea salt

75g raisins

Preheat your oven to 200ºC/180ºC fan/gas 6.

Break your chocolate into small pieces (this will help it melt evenly) and put into a small heatproof bowl that fits neatly over a saucepan. Put a couple of centimetres of boiling water in the pan, put your chocolate on top and leave to melt.

Roughly chop your almonds and put on a tray with the pumpkin and sesame seeds. Toast in the hot oven for about 4 minutes – you want the almonds to be just toasted but still a little white and buttery within – then remove from the oven and tip into a bowl.

Once the chocolate is melted, add the coconut oil and stir until this has melted and is incorporated, then add the vanilla, orange zest and salt and mix gently. If you don’t have moulds and are making the tiffin in a tray, pour it into a baking tray lined with baking paper, then scatter over the toasted nuts and seeds and the raisins. If using moulds, add the toasted nuts and seeds and raisins to the mixture and gently stir again. Pour into moulds and leave to set.

Once set, turn the tiffin bites out of the moulds. Store in a tin or Tupperware box, where they will keep for up to 2 weeks.

Brownie energy bites with maple pumpkin praline

I am something of a snacker. I marvel at people who stop at three meals a day. Since becoming a mum, I have had less time to cook than ever before, but it has been really important that I feed myself well. In the kitchen, this has put the spotlight on traybake dinners prepared during Dylan’s nap, meals that can be cooked with one hand, and ready-to-go bites of energy that perk me up when dinner seems a long way away.

Half truffle and half brownie, of all the things I have tried these have been the quickest to leave the jar. Covering these little bites in chocolate takes a little longer and can be skipped, but I welcome any opportunity to pretend I am in a chocolate factory. I use raw cacao powder here as I prefer its deep pure chocolate flavour (its health benefits are well reported too). If you’re using standard dates, soak them in boiling water for 10 minutes first.

MAKES ABOUT 30

200g pecans

100g cashew nuts

4 tablespoons raw cacao or cocoa powder

1 teaspoon vanilla paste

½ teaspoon fine sea salt

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

175g pitted Medjool dates

1 tablespoon coconut oil

FOR THE PUMPKIN AND MAPLE PRALINE

50g pumpkin seeds

a pinch of flaky sea salt

1 tablespoon maple syrup

FOR THE CHOCOLATE COATING

3 tablespoons coconut oil

2 tablespoons raw cacao or cocoa powder

1 teaspoon maple syrup

In the bowl of a food processor, pulse the pecans and cashews until you have a rough powder. Add the cacao, vanilla, sea salt and cinnamon. Pulse to mix evenly. Add the dates and coconut oil and blitz, scraping down the sides of the bowl here and there. The mixture should ball up, appear glossy and come together in your fingers; if it’s still a little powdery, add a teaspoon of water and blitz again until it comes together, but is not too sticky and wet.

Scoop out the mixture in heaped teaspoon-sized bites and roughly roll into balls. Put on a tray lined with baking paper and chill in the fridge for at least 20 minutes. Make the praline by toasting the seeds in a frying pan until they start to pop, then add the salt and maple syrup and toss well. Allow to cook for 1 minute, then tip on to a plate. Once cool, roughly chop.

Make the chocolate coating. In a small saucepan, combine all the ingredients and whisk over a low heat until it thickens slightly, taking care it doesn’t catch on the bottom. Set aside to cool. Dip the bites into the coating, turning with two forks to cover. Put on a baking tray, top with a little praline and leave to set. Store in the fridge until you’re ready to eat them – they will keep for a week or so.

Chocolate and blood orange freezer cake

This is a no-cook cake, raw in fact if you are into that kind of thing; I use the freezer to set the cake instead of the oven. These cakes are sometimes called ice-box cakes, which I think sounds quite magical. It’s the kind of dessert I like to eat in January.

I use a raw cashew butter here, which I buy from the supermarket, though if I have time I make it at home, as the flavour is gentler than the toasted nut butters you can buy and it has notes of white chocolate. Any more subtly flavoured nut butter would work here.

SERVES 6–8

FOR THE CRUST

25g cashew nuts

coconut oil, for greasing

120g pitted Medjool dates

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon raw cacao or cocoa powder

a generous pinch of flaky sea salt

120g nut butter (I use a raw cashew butter, see note above)

125g whole buckwheat

FOR THE FILLING

70g cashew nuts

50g pitted Medjool dates

a good pinch of salt

450g ripe peeled bananas

the seeds from 1 vanilla pod or 1 teaspoon vanilla paste

70g coconut oil, melted

the zest and juice of 1 unwaxed blood orange

3 passion fruits, cut in half

TO FINISH

3 blood oranges

40g dark chocolate (70% cocoa solids)

First, soak both the cashews for the filling and for the crust in separate bowls of cold water for 3–4 hours if you have time, if not then soak them in warm water for 30 minutes. Grease the bottom of a 22cm loose-bottomed tart tin with coconut oil and put to one side.

Next make the crust. In a food processor, blitz the 25g of soaked, drained cashews and the dates until they have broken down into tiny pieces and start to come together in a ball. Add the vanilla, cacao, salt and nut butter and blitz until combined. Then add the buckwheat and blitz until the buckwheat has broken down a bit and the crust dough comes together in your fingers when pinched. Put the crust mixture into the middle of the greased tin and use your fingers to push it out to the edges and up the sides of the tin, then put it into the freezer to set for at least 3 hours.

Next make the filling. Put the soaked, drained cashews into a jug blender with the dates, salt, bananas and vanilla and blitz until completely smooth. Pour in the melted coconut oil, then add the orange zest and blitz again. Pour two-thirds into the chilled crust.

Scrape the seeds from the passion fruits into a sieve resting over a bowl. Use the back of a spoon to push the juice through, add this to the remaining banana mixture in the blender and add the juice of the blood orange, then pour this layer over the banana one. Smooth everything over with a spatula and put the crust back in the freezer for 30 minutes to firm up, though it can happily sit there for much longer.

To finish, take the tart out of the freezer about an hour before you want to eat. Cut the peel off the blood oranges and slice the flesh into thin rounds. Break the chocolate into shards.

Once the cake is thawed enough that the filling is beginning to soften, arrange the blood oranges and chocolate on top prettily and pat yourself on the back. Any leftovers can be stored in the freezer for up to 2 weeks.

Grapefruit and honey curd

I feel sorry for grapefruit. I think it’s been pushed to the sidelines in favour of more its more approachable (clementines) or glamorous (blood orange) cousins. I love it – not just the pink ones, I love the straight-up yellow ones I ate as a kid. You could use either here. This curd is exactly what I want to spread on a piece of toast or to top a bowl of yoghurt year round, but, especially when it’s still dark, it sings of the sunshine where these sunny fruits were grown, and the ginger and honey add even more cheer.

Making curd is not for anyone impatient, it’s a slow meditative stir that makes the best, smoothest curd. You’ll feel like it’s never going to thicken, but have faith, it will – it always does. If you get overexcited and turn the heat up too much it will become grainy. If it does, you can press it through a sieve to resurrect it, but the joy comes from the slow stirring. Any citrus can be swapped in for the grapefruit here, just adjust the level of honey a little depending on whether the fruits are sweeter or more acidic.

MAKES A DECENT JARFUL

250ml freshly squeezed grapefruit juice

a small thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated

75g unsalted butter, at room temperature

60ml runny honey

2 large organic egg yolks

2 large organic eggs

a good pinch of flaky sea salt

the juice of ½ a lemon

Put the grapefruit juice and ginger into a small saucepan, bring it to a simmer and leave it to reduce to about 150ml. Let it cool a bit, then strain through a sieve.

Cream the butter in a medium heatproof mixing bowl. Add the honey and beat until fluffy and light. Add the egg yolks, and then the eggs, one at a time, beating well to incorporate each one before you add the next. Stir in the salt, then gradually add the reduced grapefruit and lemon juice.

Rinse out the small saucepan you used earlier and fill it one-third full with water. Bring to a simmer and place your bowl of curd on top of it. Stir constantly and heat the curd slowly. This step usually takes me about 20 minutes. Pull the curd from the heat when it is just thick enough to coat your spoon; it will thicken as it cools.

There’s no need to strain the curd, unless it has some lumps. And you can keep it refrigerated for up to 2 weeks, or up to a month in the freezer.

Apple and white miso kimchi

This is a gentle kimchi; the apple, radish and white miso mellow the chilli and sharpness that comes from the fermentation. Fermented foods contain beneficial bacteria, which is important because we need a diverse population of bacteria in our gut for optimal health; I do notice the difference when I include some fermented foods in my diet (see Kombucha).

Make sure you use a pure sea salt, as iodised sea salt will prevent this fermenting properly. Check the heat of your chillies, as they vary so much. I use one to two, depending on their heat, for a medium-hot kimchi, but if you like things hot you can use a few more. The amount of time it will take for your kimchi to ferment will depend on two things: the air temperature and the humidity. How fermented you like your kimchi is a very personal thing – I like mine fermented for about two weeks in the winter and only a few days in the summer.

MAKES 4 JARS

1 Chinese leaf cabbage (about 850g)

4 spring onions

2 tablespoons good sea salt

1 mooli or kohlrabi (about 200g), or 200g radishes

2 firm green apples

2 teaspoons white miso paste

1 clove of garlic, finely sliced

2–4 red chillies, finely chopped (with seeds)

a thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and finely chopped

Coarsely shred the cabbage into 2cm-thick pieces, finely slice the spring onions, and put them both into your biggest bowl with the salt. Scrunch the lot with your hands for 5 minutes until the cabbage has released a lot of water, then leave it for 2 hours to release all its water, massaging it another couple of times to help this process.

Meanwhile, peel the mooli and cut it into thin 1cm-long matchsticks. Cut the apples into pieces about the same size – you can leave the skin on.

Mix the miso with the garlic, chillies, ginger and 2 tablespoons of cold water. Once the cabbage has had its 2 hours, add the mooli, apple and miso garlic paste to the bowl of cabbage and its water.

Put the kimchi and the liquid it sits in into a large jar or fermenting pot, taking care to pack the vegetables down firmly under the liquid so that no bits of vegetable are poking out, there are no air pockets and there are a few inches of space at the top of the jar for the air to escape.

Cover the jar loosely with a lid, or, if you would prefer to close the lid to keep the smell in, make sure you open it up every day to let the air out. Leave the kimchi on your work surface for 2–3 days, checking every day to see how it tastes. This winter I fermented mine in a cool cupboard for about 2 weeks. Once it tastes good to you, put it into the fridge, where it will keep for several months.

Ways to use your kimchi

• In the kimchi soup here

• In a toasted sandwich with a good sharp Cheddar

• In the bao here

• As a pickle on the side of your favourite bowl of noodles

• Wrapped into summer rolls

• To top some sriracha-spiked avocado on toast

• Chopped finely and mixed with oil and lemon for a punchy dressing for a grain

• As a base for a quick fried rice

• Added to the end of a stir-fry

• Fried in a pan before you add some eggs and scramble them

Tonics and teas for cold days

These are the things I make when winter sets in and coughs and colds strike; when we are cold to the bones or feeling a little depleted. I don’t intend these recipes to be medicine. I have no proof that they work but they make me and my family feel better. Perhaps it’s just the act of making something to nurture us, perhaps it’s the ingredients; whatever it is I keep making them.

Turmeric, ginger and black pepper tea to warm

For two cups, grate about a tablespoon of ginger into a teapot. Squeeze in the juice of 1–2 lemons (depending on their size), add half a teaspoon of ground turmeric or about a tablespoon of fresh grated turmeric, a tiny pinch of dried chilli flakes and a good few grinds of black pepper, then pour in 600ml of hot water. Allow it to cool a little before sweetening with a little honey (I use the raw stuff for maximum goodness); this will make sure the amazing properties of the honey aren’t killed by the boiling water.

Magic golden turmeric honey paste for colds

Mix 2 tablespoons of ground turmeric, or a small thumb of the freshly grated root, with 1 tablespoon of ground black pepper. Melt then cool 2 tablespoons of coconut oil. Add to the bowl and mix well then stir in 2 tablespoons of honey – raw is best. You can either eat this from the spoon or stir into hot water or warmed milk – I like oat milk.

Carrot, ginger and red chilli juice to lift and enliven

For one glass, peel 6 carrots and a thumb of ginger. Cut the green stalk off 1 chilli and if you like things hot keep the seeds in; if not then remove. Put the whole lot though a juicer and serve over ice. If you like you can gently warm this juice, though don’t heat it too much or let it boil.

Kombucha and kefir (here)

These are great things to drink when you are feeling under the weather. I mix some turmeric and lemon into my kombucha and stir some of the golden paste above into my morning kefir. Both support healthy bacteria so are particularly great to drink if you are taking antibiotics.

Cinnamon and cardamom for sore throats

Mix 1 tablespoon of ground cinnamon and the bashed seeds of a cardamon pod with 1 tablespoon of runny honey and 1 of melted, cooled coconut oil. Store in a glass jar at room temperature taking a teaspoon whenever you have a tickle in your throat.

Vilcabamba cold cure

A lady made this cold cure for me on a trip to Ecuador and it worked. Juice 6 oranges into a small saucepan, add the juice of 1 lemon and 1 cinnamon stick. Warm to almost boiling then leave for 10 minutes to steep. Once cooled add a little honey if you like.

Lemongrass and three-chilli tea

For 2 cups, roughly chop a good thumb of ginger, bash 2 lemongrass stalks and add to a pan with 1 red chilli, 1 green chilli and a pinch of dried chilli flakes. Add 1 litre of water and bring to the boil, then turn the heat down and simmer for 30 minutes, until it has a deep aromatic flavour. Now you can add a black or green tea bag and steep for 5 minutes before drinking. Sweeten with honey to taste.

Make the Not-chicken soup.

Ginger shots for the brave

Use your juicer to juice enough ginger to make about 2 tablespoons of juice. Just knock it back and wait 10 minutes before drinking any water.

Garlic shots for the braver

Stick with me here. This doesn’t taste great but I am sure it’s helped me stave off a cold more than a few times. Finely chop 1 clove of garlic, put it into a small glass with 3 tablespoons of cold water, take a deep breath and knock it back. Don’t chew it. It might make you feel a little weird, but don’t be tempted to drink water for about 10 minutes.

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