I saw this recipe by Stevie Parle in The Telegraph back in July and fell in love with the idea of combining figs, hazelnuts and pomegranate molasses. It’s just beautiful, in case you haven’t tried it. I’ve ramped up the sweet/sharp thing already going on with the pom syrup and figs by adding a little feta and some pomegranate seeds, for fleshy pops of juice. I also did away with the edible flowers because, unsurprisingly, they’re not that easy to find at 7pm on a Wednesday evening.

This took a few minutes to assemble and although it’s not filling enough on its own as a main meal, it is one of the most perfectly delicious ways to begin; a total triumph in the contrasts department.

Figs, Feta and Hazelnuts with Pomegranate Molasses (serves 1) (adapted from Stevie Parle’s recipe for The Telegraph)

3 ripe figs
1/2 a pomegranate
A little feta
Small handful blanched hazelnuts
A few leaves of lambs lettuce
1 scant teaspoon pomegranate molasses
1 tablespoon light olive oil

Mix the pom molasses and oil together in a small bowl. Arrange the lambs lettuce on a plate. Halve the figs and add them also. Break the hazelnuts slightly in a pestle and mortar and scatter over the figs, along with the feta. Hold the pomegranate half over a bowl and bash the skin with a wooden spoon until all the seeds fall out (remove any white bits that fall in). Sprinkle a few seeds over the salad and eat the rest. Spoon over the dressing. Serve.

I pride myself on being able to make dinner out of what looks like nothing. I get into this zone where I think I’m in some kind of Ready Steady Cook-style competition and get all excited about how I can make a 3 course dinner out of an old bag of nuts and an egg. I didn’t make a 3 course dinner, I just made a tart, but still.

It’s good for using up any odds and ends of cheese, this tart. Chuck ‘em all in there. I used the fading remains of a block of cheddar plus 3 types of onion: red, white and spring. The pastry was shop-bought, knocking around in the freezer. It was rich, filling and mmmm cheesy. Not bad for a bit of fridge foraging.

Cheddar cheese and onion tart

150g cheddar cheese, crumbled
2 large red onions, sliced into thin half moons
2 medium white onions, sliced into thin half moons
4 spring onions, finely chopped (white and green parts)
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 sprig rosemary (or thyme), leaves removed and finely chopped
2 eggs
100ml double cream
250g shortcrust pastry
Salt and white (or black) pepper

This recipe fills a 24cm tart dish.

Begin by caramelising the onions. Heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable or groundnut oil in a heavy based frying pan and add the red and white onions. Once they are sizzling, turn the heat down as low as possible and let them cook gently for about an hour, stirring every so often, until very soft and caramelised.

Preheat the oven to 190C/fan 170C/gas 5. Roll out the pastry to fit the dish and carefully lay it in, covering the base and sides. You want the pastry to overhang the sides by a couple of centimetres, as it will shrink during cooking. Make sure to patch up any holes. Fill the pastry base with baking beans (or dried beans or rice) and cook for ten minutes before removing from the oven and setting aside.

Mix the cheese with the spring onions, rosemary, eggs, cream and caramelised onions when ready. Season with salt and white pepper. Pour the filling onto the tart base and spread evenly. Bake for 25-30 minutes until golden brown.

Serve warm or cold with a sharp green salad.

I’m not going to bang on about this but I just want to encourage you to try baking feta, if you haven’t already. You’ll get some lovely chewy burnished edge bits and the warm centre stays firm, yet acquires an endearing wobble. I’d suggest eating it with some good flatbread and perhaps some olives. And maybe tabbouleh. And perhaps baba ganoush.

Baked feta

Get yourself a block of feta and put it in a small roasting tin. Add some robust herbs of your choice (I used thyme) and drizzle with olive oil. Add some pepper. Stick it in the oven at about 200C for 15 minutes. It should be golden at the edges and wobbly in the middle.

Yeah, quite chuffed with these. I thought it sounded near impossible to slip an egg yolk into the centre of a ravioli and cook it without it either busting out into the water or completely over-cooking and to be honest the latter worried me more; the idea of hard-boiled yolk encased in pasta is just really, really grim.

Anyway they are actually quite easy. You have to make your own pasta of course, so it depends how you feel about that and you really will need a machine because the pasta needs to be as thin as you can possibly get it. That would be a long hard slog with a rolling pin and I ain’t no Nonna. It’s easy when you make pasta at home to be fooled into thinking you have it thin enough when you don’t, which is exactly what happened to me the first time I made these. They cooked perfectly, but the pasta was just too fat and gluey.

The next time I pushed right through to the heady heights of setting number 9 on the machine and was rewarded with papery pasta sheets. I made a spinach and ricotta mixture which doubled up as a stand to keep the yolk in place (an idea I tea-leafed from Nicky who used a ricotta and herb mix and took some incredibly good pictures). It’s important to have a large pan so you don’t overcrowd it with ravioli and to have the water at an enthusiastic simmer rather than a boil (to avoid eggy bursts). A mere 2-3 minutes will cook the pasta through (remember it’s very thin, and fresh) and the yolk will remain gooey and ooze out onto the plate creating a rich sauce.

I bathed them simply with melted butter, crushed pink peppercorns, lemon zest and some of the purple basil that my mum grew and I have somehow managed to keep alive. I love how they look all pretty and delicate but are actually packing the punches with pasta, egg and butter. They’re deceptively light in the eating too, dangerously so in fact. You’ll only want one or two per person but there’s no need to worry about not being full; it would be a crime not to mop up all those golden buttery juices with a slice or two of good bread.

Egg yolk ravioli (serves 4)

200g 00 flour (strong white flour)
2 eggs
A pinch of salt

For the filling

8 small eggs
200g spinach leaves
100g ricotta
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan
Black pepper

Sift the flour into a large bowl. Make a well in the centre and crack the eggs into it. Add the salt. Bring the pasta mix together until you have a rough dough. Knead it on a lightly floured surface until smooth and silky. Wrap in clingfilm and leave to rest for half an hour.

Meanwhile, wash the spinach and without drying it put it straight into a small saucepan on a low heat and put a lid on. Steam until wilted down. Drain, then when it is cool enough to handle, squeeze as much water from it as possible and chop finely. Add to a bowl with the ricotta and Parmesan. Add some black pepper. Taste and add some salt if you like.

Roll out the pasta to the thinnest setting using a pasta machine. Cut into 16 large squares on a well floured surface (you want to leave enough room to cut around the ravioli easily without the stuffing coming out of the sides). In the middle of every other square, put a blob of ricotta mixture, then make a dimple in the centre large enough to hold an egg yolk. Make sure the sides are high enough so that the yolk won’t spill over. Crack an egg over a bowl into your hands so that you are left holding the yolk and the white drains into the bowl through your fingers. Carefully slip each yolk into the middle of the ricotta mixture.

Bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and then reduce it to a simmer. Brush some of the leftover egg whites around the edges of each ravioli and place another pasta square on top. Seal the ravioli carefully easing out any air bubbles towards the edges. Use a glass or teacup to cut each ravioli into a circular shape.

Use a fish slice to pick up each ravioli and place gently into the water. Cook for 2 minutes until the pasta is just cooked and the yolk still runny. Serve with melted butter mixed with crushed pink peppercorns and chopped lemon zest. Garnish with basil.

The second Ottolenghi book (Plenty), is just as beautiful as the first. All the recipes are veggie, which fits perfectly with my wishy washy intentions to eat hardly any meat in January. Apart from when I eat out, which is quite a lot. I ate chicken just last night for example and very delicious it was too.

Anyway, these stuffed onions are pretty amazing. Poached onion layers are filled with feta, herbs, spring onions and breadcrumbs. The latter provide substance and are gooey and swollen with flavour from the cooking stock. We ate some of them on their own with a salad then immediately ate the rest from the baking dish with our hands. The most unexpectedly rich and comforting dish I’ve eaten in a very long time.

Ottolenghi’s Stuffed Onions (in theory, they could serve 4 but there’s no chance to be honest. Serves 2). I’ve also made his black pepper tofu from the same book.

500ml veg stock
350ml white wine
4 large onions
3 small tomatoes
120g white breadcrumbs
90g feta, crumbled
80g parsley leaves, finely chopped
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 spring onions, finely chopped
3/4 teaspoon salt
Black pepper

Butter, for greasing the dish

Preheat the oven to 180C and grease a baking dish with butter.

Combine the wine and stock in a saucepan and bring to the boil. While this is happening, trim the top and bottom from the onions, cut them lengthways in half and remove the skin. Carefully remove most of the insides to leave 3 or 4 outer layers of onion. Carefully separate these. Turn the stock to a simmer and put the onion layers in it, a few at a time. Cook them for 3-4 minutes or until just tender then set aside. Keep the stock.

To make the stuffing, grate the tomatoes into a bowl using a coarse cheese grater. Most of the skin will be left behind in your hands and you can discard it. Add the feta, breadcrumbs, parsley, olive oil, spring onions, salt and some pepper. Mix well.

Fill each onion layer generously and roll into a ‘fat cigar shape’. Place fold side down in the dish. Pour over about 75ml of the stock. Bake for 45-50 minutes or until they are brown and charred in places and bubbling underneath. You can add more stock if they look like they’re drying up during cooking. Serve warm.

We did it! Yesterday afternoon the people of Rye Apartments came together along with a bunch of my mates for a good old nosh up in the car park. Today I feel totally exhausted but so happy that we managed to pull it off. I’ll be honest, there were moments during our 13 hour cook-off the day before when I was apprehensive. What if there isn’t enough food? What if people don’t turn up? We started at 9am and before we knew it, we were slumped on cardboard boxes in the middle of my flat, dishevelled and slightly sweaty, trying to keep our eyes open to finish rolling vine leaves; it was 11pm. A long hard day and a huge amount of work.

It was important to do justice though, to the stellar ingredients that people donated and I must say a heartfelt thank you to all of them.

On the food front, Riverford Organics donated fruit, vegetables and herbs; Barber’s donated some of their delicious cheddar (which went into a cheese and onion tart, biscuits, scones and pretty much anything else) and Maryland Farmhouse butter. Rachel’s Organic sent milk, yoghurt (a whole lot of yoghurt), crème fraiche and cream, and Pong Cheese a selection of their cheeses including a Camembert, a goat’s cheese, a cheddar and a Bath Soft Cheese. They went into quiches and tarts.

Green and Blacks sent their organic chocolate for our super squidgy brownies and marbled chocolate meringues, and for the cake making, we had flour kindly donated by Kate Thal at Green and Blue Wines and unrefined sugar from Billington’s. The eggs were really special; old breed Burford Browns, Old Cotswold Legbar and duck eggs from Clarence Court. The colour of the yolks was intensely amber. Sally Butcher from Persepolis stepped in on the nuts and honey side of things – we had coffee and walnut cake, sunflower seeded biscuits and cherry and ground almond cake, plus some stuffed vine leaves with raisins. In our cakes and on our scones we spread clotted cream from Rodda’s and Fraser Doherty’s fruity Super Jam and I must mention that they were speedily and expertly mixed by my new pride and joy, which Kitchenaid sent to ease the burden on my puny arm muscles. She is the newest sparkliest shade of grape; I’ve named her Gilberta.

The ever brilliant Paganum kindly donated 3 amazing topsides of Malhamdale Belted Galloway beef, which we used in roast beef and horseradish sandwiches, plus a Thai-style salad dressed with chilli, fish sauce, coriander and the like. Yianni of Meatwagon fame sorted me out with chicken drumsticks from his butcher and of course I had to jerk some, although I managed to rein myself in slightly and Tikka the rest for variety.

On the drinks side of things, I was overwhelmed by the generosity of people who wanted to get involved. We had loose leaf tea from Lahloo, plus a lot of booze for those feeling fruity. Russian Standard Vodka donated 3 bottles for vodka iced teas; The Ship, a brilliant pub in Wandsworth run by a great bunch of people sent over Pimm’s plus all the trimmings – very summery. On the beer and fizzy front we had Moritz and Rothaus beer from The Beer Merchants, there was sweet, fruity cider from Sweden (Rekorderlig) plus Young’s London Gold, Adnams bitter, Red Stripe lager and Crabbie’s alcoholic ginger beer which everyone loved. It’s available in quite a few pubs around London now – I urge you to give it a try.

For those who avoid the bubbles, there was vino from my new local, The Victoria Inn, the owner of which helped out in more ways than one throughout the whole event, even ferrying over another Kitchenaid in his car. His motto is “the pub is hub”. Bloody nice bloke. Casillero del Diablo provided more wine and there was stonking chilled sherry from Tio Pepe. I think we can agree that there was something for everyone!

To round off the feast, some Bompas and Parr iris jellies with ambergris (that’s whale vomit to you and me) and candied orange from their Complete History of Food event. We wibbled them around and giggled. Hic! They were seriously boozy with Courvoisier. I love everything Bompas and Parr do and you should too.

And last, but by no means least, I’d like to say a really huge thank you to my mate Lizzie. She worked like a dog during that 13 hour cook off and basically kept me going throughout. I could not have done it without her so thank you Mabs, for being a damn good friend. We make a brilliant team.

So that’s it! We used 40 eggs, 3kg flour, 4kg sugar, an absolute shedload of cheese and a whole bottle of washing up liquid (not in the cakes you understand). My friend Rachel made that amazing bunting from my dodgy old clothes which is, quite frankly, nothing short of a miracle. The only slight disappointment was that more of the neighbours didn’t turn up but hey, what can I do; we put on an amazing spread and all they had to do is walk outside – if that doesn’t encourage them then nothing will. The ones that did turn up were absolutely lovely though and I invited a load of my mates anyway so the whole thing went off Peckham stylee. Today is a bit of a come down but I’ll get over it; I’ve already started thinking about a new project to sink my teeth into.

Of course the whole idea was to raise money for Maggie’s and that we did. The donations are still trickling in and we’ve already reached the £200 mark so I think that makes the event a success. Thanks so much to everyone who donated money. You did good. I’ll leave you with a little vid of the cook-off and the lunch itself. Cheers!

Labneh is strained yoghurt. Now now, do bear with me, it’s delicious. You mix regular, full-fat Greek yoghurt with a scant half-teaspoon of salt then bung it in some muslin and hang it over a bowl overnight. Drip, drip, drip. In the morning all the whey has drained away and what remains is a creamy thick ‘yoghurt-cheese’. It’s magic scooped up with warmed flat breads and sprinkled with za’atar, smeared in a kebab, or rolled into balls, covered with herbs and stored in olive oil.* I’ve taken to eating it plain on walnut toast first thing too; the contrast of hot toast and cool, tangy topping really floats my breakfast boat.

Popular in the Middle East and South Asia, it pops up in mezze, sandwiches, dips and even desserts. It’s basically a flavour whore and will take whatever it can get.

When it comes to comfort snacking, I tend to top it with my salty little friends the anchovies; briny, umami-packed miniatures. First it was the boiled egg with anchovy dippers, then the baked eggs with the same. Now I can’t get enough of them slivered and draped over the labneh, prickled with chilli and sprinkled with whatever herbs are lying around, or perhaps some papery shavings of red onion.

Despite labneh’s surprising richness, I like to reason with myself that it’s fairly healthy; not that the fat content of anything has ever held me back, as I’m sure you’ve come to realise. A drizzle of olive oil is all that’s needed to counter the balance back towards gluttonsville though, so don’t worry about that.

Labneh with chilli and anchovy

500g good quality, full fat Greek yoghurt (I find Total is the best brand)
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
Anchovy fillets, sliced in half lengthways
1 small mild red chilli, finely chopped
A few leaves parsley (or other herbs), finely chopped
Black pepper
Good bread, toasted, to serve

Muslin and string to strain the yoghurt

Mix the yoghurt with the salt then line a bowl with the muslin and dollop the yoghurt in the middle. Gather up the muslin then tie the top with string and hang somewhere (preferably cool, although I’ve never had a problem in my kitchen), over a bowl, overnight. In the morning remove from the muslin, mix in the lemon juice and refrigerate until needed. It will last a few days.

Spread on hot toast and top with the anchovies, chilli and herbs. Some black pepper and a drizzle of olive oil won’t go amiss.

* I’ll dig out a jar and post a piccy and recipe up for you; it’s really beautiful.

If I’m not stressed out of my mind that is. I was going to show you what I’ve been doing the past few days, including a little demo, if you could call it that, of how to make the feta and spinach spanakopita thingies you see below but seriously, I am cursed in the ‘vlogging’ department. Somehow, between us, Chris and I managed to repeatedly fail to press the record button properly and I’ve wound up with four very short clips of footage which bear pretty much no relation to each other. I’ve stuck them together into one big fail. I do hope you didn’t expect any improvement in the quality of this video compared to the last one. You did? Oh.

Yep. Sorry.

So here’s the recipe I was talking about. Warning: very addictive. It’s hard enough to stop yourself eating the filling while making them, let alone once you’ve crammed all that healthy spinach up against some cheese and wrapped it in pastry.

Mini Spanakopita (makes about 20)

1 pack filo pastry or 1 ‘samosa pad’, which you can buy in Asian grocers. They usually come frozen and are exactly the right width.
Olive oil
3 large bunches of spinach (see vid)
1 pack feta cheese (200g)
1 large onion, finely chopped
Seeds for the edges (optional). I’ve used sesame seeds, poppy seeds or sometimes I add some onion seeds inside the parcels themselves.

Preheat your oven to 200C

Gently soften the onion in a little olive oil until translucent (sometimes I add a few onion seeds). Set aside in a bowl.

Meanwhile, trim any tough stalks from the spinach and wash in several changes of cold water. Plunge the spinach into boiling water for 3 minutes, then drain and refresh under cold water until it is cool. Pick up the spinach in your hands and squeeze as much water as possible out of it, then chop it roughly and add to the onion. Crumble the feta into the bowl too and season with black pepper. Taste the mixture – it may not need any salt because of the cheese.

Take either your filo or your samosa pad and lay on a flat surface. If you are using filo, trim the sheets lengthways into 3 then begin each samosa with 1 sheet, brush it with oil and lay another sheet on top, then brush again and add another. If you are using a samosa pad, the sheets are generally thick enough already and you will only need to brush once around the edges.

Take a tablespoon of the spinach feta mix and put it on one corner of the pastry, then carefully fold over into a triangle, pressing down the seams and brushing as you go. Keep folding over into triangles until there is no pastry left. Brush the outside with olive oil. You can now dip the edges into seeds if you wish. Just scatter them on a plate and dip the edges in.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown.

The phrase ‘seasonal eating’ has now been so over used that it’s become slightly cringe worthy, like the idea of eating only locally sourced produce and all the sickly lingo that goes with it – ‘locavore’ being the best example. The principles behind these concepts are well meaning, yet it appears we have lost all sense of perspective. For a while, it seemed like anyone who ate a pepper in winter was going to get locked up for doing it and it’s a shame we got to that stage because it masks the bigger picture, which is about the pure pleasure of experiencing something at its best.

I’m thinking about this because I was invited to visit the Riverford organic farm in Devon last weekend. The weather was glorious and our hangovers were massive, having been fed and watered very well at the award winning Riverford Field Kitchen the evening before. Our merriment continued well into the night after leaving the restaurant and there were some hairy moments bouncing around in the back of that Land Rover the next day I can tell you. Guy Watson, the owner and founder of the Riverford business, saw this as the best way for us to see as much of the farm as possible. “You look like you’re struggling a bit Helen” he remarked. He was right.

Guy Watson is the sort of bloke who is just in exactly the right place, doing exactly the right thing. This man is part of the farm. From his expertise, to the well used knife he often produces to deftly pluck a cabbage or bisect a leek, to his smile-lined, sun-weathered face. He understands the ecosystem he’s dealing with and works with it -apparently the key to successful organic farming.

We start the tour with a bit of poly tunnel action. Lettuces and other leaves grow in the muggy plastic structures, apparently so fast that ‘you can almost hear them’ doing it. There is the usual compact, crinkled gem and some more interesting stuff like dandelion leaves – bitter and earthy. Apparently not many customers are keen but Guy really enjoys them and so do I.

We bounce from field to field plucking leeks, spring greens and rhubarb. We are all fascinated by the purple sprouting broccoli, with one of us remarking on how ignorant we sometimes are about the way vegetables grow. A final burst of energy saw everyone huffing towards the garlic wood – Riverford customers get 2-3 bunches per season in their vegetable box (they’ve done a survey and apparently this is the average preference). My big bunch has gone into a soup and frittata. Neither novel ideas, both delicious.

I used to get a vegetable box, but I cancelled it about a year ago because, quite frankly, I got bored. It wasn’t a Riverford box though, and I’m not just puffing hot air when I say that I find their boxes more interesting. A bunch of dandelion leaves and wild garlic would both be most welcome. Of course in the dead of winter, when it’s all carrots, carrots and woody parsnips, it’s a real struggle for anyone to stay enthused. Through the spring and summer though, I rather miss the surprise of cracking open the box; things move fast and favourites are superseded quickly.

This is the challenge of eating seasonally. I am suspicious of most people who say they don’t eat any aubergines or spring onions in winter (although I bet Guy doesn’t). For me, the important thing is to celebrate stuff that grows in this country and grows well, at its best. A perfectly sweet and scarlet British strawberry is a classic example. It’s about supporting our British fruit and veg when it’s really doing its thing.

Riverford Organics
http://www.riverford.co.uk

Purple sprouting broccoli is dancing its last fandango in April. Here’s a recipe.

Purple Sprouting Broccoli and Reblochon Frittata

Reblochon cheese, sliced
1 large handful purple sprouting broccoli stems
1 handful wild garlic leaves, shredded or a couple of crushed regular cloves
6 eggs, beaten
1 medium onion, sliced
1 small leek, sliced
2 tablespoons chopped parsley (I used curly)
Salt and pepper

Plunge the broccoli stems into boiling salted water for a few minutes, then drain and rinse under cold water. Soften the onions and leek in a little olive oil in a skillet or frying pan on a gentle heat (and also the garlic cloves, if using) for about 5 minutes until good and soft. Arrange half the broccoli stems on top. Season the beaten eggs with salt and pepper and mix in the parsley and wild garlic if using and pour this evenly over the broccoli/onion mix. Add the rest of the broccoli and push down into the egg before laying the cheese slices on top.

Cook over a low-moderate heat until you can see the frittata cooking at the edges. You can then pop it under a medium hot grill to finish. Watch it though, because the top cooks fast. Lovely warm but often even better cold for lunch the next day.

Fiona Beckett recently threw down the challenge to produce the ‘ultimate’ macaroni cheese. I think it’s fair to say I was up for that with bells on. My enthusiasm escalated to such lofty heights that I ended up producing a cheesy carbilicious beast of mammoth proportions; a behemoth capable of providing an extra  insulating layer around my ribs that would keep out the winter chills and probably stay put well into spring. It fed two of us twice a day for two days plus three men for dinner on a third.

Before Creation of course, there was only me. Me and my hungry brain trying to figure out what would make my ‘ultimate’ mac ‘n cheese. I dipped my toe into the idea of going down the purist route (read ‘no pork’), but I’ve learned not to try and trick my tastebuds for the sake of principle. Usually I use bacon, but this time I wanted to somehow gently infuse the porky flavour throughout the dish and hit on the idea of simmering a small ham hock to make stock before cooking the macaroni in the golden swiney liquor. Pasta cooked in ham stock. Yes. The meat I teased from the bone into silky pink nuggets; every now and then a porcine treasure bobbed up from the bubbling cheesy depths.

When it comes to the cheese, I’m a cheddar girl. Extra mature, naturally. A mac needs guts and only x-rated quantities of a well ripened cheddar can produce the tang I crave; melted into silky bechamel with a smidge of the Montgomery smoked to play off the pork, finished with a good shake of white pepper. I often prefer its sharp, ripe intensity over the black stuff; hugely underrated.

And finally to the crust. For me, it must be crisper than a  winter morning in Siberia and for this I could think of nothing more suitable than Japanese panko crumbs, mixed with yet more CHEESE.

Shattering crust, cheesy steam, rich, gooey pasta; sauce oozing through every tube. Crispy burnt edge bits tumble into soft, unctuous, silken stodge. How could I forget such a classic? The divine chorus of carb and dairy, singing to the tune of winter weight gain.

Mac ‘n Cheese for an Army

The quantities here got a bit out of hand so you might want to halve it! This filled a  14 x 12 x 3 inch dish if you want to feed your entire neighbourhood. Do the hock first, then while the pasta is cooking, make your cheesy sauce. If the pasta is done before the sauce, add a few drops of oil and stir to stop it sticking together.

For the hock

1 small ham hock
1 bay leaf
Six black peppercorns
A few parsley stalks
1 carrot, halved
1 stick celery, halved
1 onion, halved and stuck with a couple of cloves

Place the hock in a large pan and cover with water. Simmer for a few hours then strain into a bowl and reserve the stock for cooking the pasta. Flake the meat from the bone, taking care to avoid any bits of skin or sinew, chop into bite size chunks and reserve for mixing into the mac.

For the sauce

Triple this bechamel recipe, adding about 500g cheddar of your choice plus 150g smoked cheddar melted in at the end. Season with plenty of white pepper but no salt (the hock and cheese are both salty).

425ml milk
40g butter
20g plain flour
A swift grating of nutmeg (optional)
White pepper to taste

Melt the butter over a gentle heat and add the flour, stirring quite vigorously to make a paste. Let this cook for a few minutes, stirring vigorously the whole time. Begin adding the milk a little at a time, making sure each bit is incorporated fully before adding the next. Towards the end you can start pouring larger amounts in there. Add the nutmeg and cook over a low heat, stirring, for about 10-15 minutes. When it starts to thicken, add the cheese and allow it to melt. Season with the white pepper to taste. If you need to keep it to one side, cover with some greaseproof paper to stop a skin forming.

For the macaroni

700g dried macaroni

Cook the macaroni in the reserved ham stock, topping up with a little water if necessary.

For the topping

Panko breadcrumbs (enough to cover), mixed with a good couple of handfuls of grated cheddar. I grated a bit more on top and added a bit of parmesan too simply because I had it lying around but that’s optional.

Assembling and cooking the mac

Mix the sauce with the macaroni and ham hock pieces then check the seasoning before piling into a well buttered baking dish. Sprinkle on the crumb topping, grating on more cheese if desired. Bake at 200C until golden brown and crisp. Allow to cool a little before serving and serve with a salad of bitter winter leaves or a summer salad with a sharp dressing.