You can’t say you haven’t thought about it these past few days. A few spots of drizzle and it’s pie o’clock.

One thing I didn’t expect to find myself making though was a vegetarian pie. It’s inspired by the Italian Easter pie, torta pasqualina and the filling is a deeply savoury mixture of roasted artichokes, crème fraiche, eggs, cheese and spinach. I just can’t get enough spinach into my body at the moment and it’s so darn cheap in Peckham; 3 or 4 huge bunches for just 1 of your shiny quids – that’s about 400g  of spinach once you’ve trimmed the stalks and it’s ready to use. I cast my eye over the sorry looking shelves in Tesco Express yesterday for comparison – £1.40 for 260g of baby leaves in an inflated plastic bag. What a rip. It’s baby spinach yes, but I prefer the mature, ballsy stuff to be honest.

One thing that doesn’t come cheap however, is a decent egg. I used Clarence Court eggs for The Big Lunch and I’ve developed a bit of a habit; Cotswold Legbars are my favourite ‘old breed’ with their rough textured, pastel-blue shells and rich amber yolks. This recipe uses a lot: 6 in the filling mix, 4 on top. They set the filling as well as enrich it though, so you can cut a slice without everything oozing out. I wanted the mixture to be quite coarse but absent mindedly puréed the lot. It didn’t matter, the result was a pleasant light texture.

So it’s not a traditional torta, but it is a very tasty variation. Usually, the pie contains ricotta but I used crème fraiche and a bit of grated cheddar because well, that’s what I had. It’s amazing really, just how satisfying this pie is. I lay in bed one night and seriously considered getting up in the wee hours for a nibble.

The olive oil pastry is rolled out very thin and arranged in layers – traditionally 33, to represent the number of years that Christ supposedly lived. There was no way I was doing that many layers (coming from a woman who skins chickpeas) and anyway, I can’t imagine it being particularly pleasant to eat. I managed 5 or 6, and felt rather chuffed about it, particularly because they were clearly distinguishable in the cooked pie. My recipe uses 8 tablespoons of olive oil, which I’m not sure is much in the way of fat in pastry-land, and yet it’s very silky. A keeper.

We ate indecently large wedges with a simple tomato and onion salad; perfectly ripe fruits layered with red and spring onions, drizzled with good balsamic and olive oil, salted and peppered. I never thought it possible, but this pie was every bit as satisfying as a meaty version.

Torta Pasqualina (to make a more classic torta, substitute the crème fraiche and cheddar cheese with ricotta and some Parmesan if you have it).

This fills a 23cm spring form cake tin.

800g spinach (this is the equivalent of 6 large bunches bought in the mighty Peckham)
200g crème fraiche
A large handful of large cheddar cheese
1 massive onion, chopped fairly small
2 fat cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 large handful (about 30g) flat leaf parsley
250g roasted artichokes from a jar
10 eggs

For the pastry

660g plain (all purpose) flour
8 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
1 egg, for glazing
About 230ml cold water

First, make the pastry. Combine the flour, oil and salt in large bowl. Gradually add the water and mix to form a dough that is fairly stiff. Turn it out out onto lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 15 minutes then transfer to a bowl, cover and leave it for 30 minutes in the fridge.

Allow the spinach to wilt down in a dry pan then allow to cool and squeeze out as much water as you can. Soften the chopped onion gently in a tablespoon of olive oil for about 10 minutes, then add the finely chopped garlic and artichokes for a few minutes longer, stirring regularly. Combine this mixture with the parsley, creme fraiche, cheese and 6 of the eggs. You can do this in a blender but do remember to pulse not blend! Season heavily with salt and pepper.

Preheat the oven to 220C

Brush the tin with olive oil and divide the dough into 10 pieces. Roll each piece out very thinly on a lightly floured surface so that they are large enough to fit the pan. I used 6 layers on the bottom and 4 on top and brushed each layer with olive oil before adding the next. Add your filling, then make 4 indentations in the top and crack in the other 4 eggs. If you feel there is too much white you can get rid of some by letting some run off as if you were separating the egg.

Add your pastry layers to the top then crimp the sides and brush the whole pie with beaten egg. Bake the pie for 45 minutes to 1 hour. It should be golden brown all over.

A weekend brunch is about chilling in the homestead; for me this is the most important time to be ducking in and out of  local shops and showing some love for the hood. Anyway let’s face it, if your Friday nights are anything like mine you probably can’t move your sorry ass too far from the sofa anyway come Saturday morning. It’s a case of a Supermarket Sweep* style dash – gather the goods – in and out – back home to rustle up something warming, protein-heavy and importantly, filling.

So, it’s a Peckham twist on yer classic egg, sausage and tomato combination and it goes like this: in a decent, heavy frying pan brown some sausage slices (I used some beefy ones from Persepolis but you could use chorizo or similar, whatever you can find), then set them aside and soften some good old onion, garlic and chilli (I used fruity and fierce scotch bonnet). Add a tin of good quality tinned toms and 2 generous handfuls of spinach. Finally, crack a couple of eggs on top and let simmer until they’re cooked. A sprinkle of citric sumac, a warmed wedge of onion seed-speckled bread and a dollop of coriander flecked labneh (strained yoghurt) complete the Peckham theme. If it’s the season and you can get your hands on it, Must-e-Moussir (yoghurt with spring garlic) works a treat too.

This still tastes delicious even if you’ve dodged the hangover, but it’s a damn fine cure if you didn’t.

*For a truly disturbing ‘dance’ remix of the Supermarket Sweep theme tune featuring host Dale Winton, various shoppers and a guy in high-waisted bleached denim, click here.

The tava is still my favourite new toy. For a while, I didn’t even put it away but just let it sit on the worktop so I could look at it more, like a new pair of shoes that you just can’t put in the cupboard. I started basic with chapatis and then felt ready to move on to parathas. It was supposed to be a gentle learning curve until I spotted this gorgeous stuffed version; it had to be done.

This is from the brilliant ‘Indian’ by Das Sreedharan; hopefully I won’t get into trouble for publishing another of his recipes. I can’t understand why the book isn’t more popular to be honest. I found mine for a stupidly low price and quite a few others have told me how they found it in a bargain bin. Das is from Kerala and it’s packed full of South Indian recipes; coconut, curry leaves and mustard seeds are predominant flavours throughout.

Apparently, this recipe is based on “the popular Ceylonese tradition of flat, thin bread dough stuffed with…seafood masala.” You make the paratha dough (wholemeal flour and oil) and then slap it on the hot tava before smearing with the mix of  prawns, egg, onion, chilli and spices. This cooks briefly and then you flip so that the coating sears and sizzles instantly on the tava. You flip again and then roll it all up.

They are dangerously moreish. Crisp paratha and soft, spiced stuffing, fragrant with the essential curry leaf; every now and then a succulent prawn. It’s really tempting to re-make and pack ‘em to bursting but this is one of those times to resist – knowing when to stop and all that. They look weird while you’re cooking them (a bit like someone sicked up on a paratha – there’s no denying it), but once rolled, we’re talking high quality stuffed carb here – we ate four each in one sitting and yearned for more.

I suggest you make a steaming great heap of them. There’s nothing else for it. You won’t need any accompaniments except perhaps something to dunk them into – they’re a meal in themselves.

Adipoli Parathas (from Indian by Das Sreedharan)
(makes eight)

225g wholemeal flour
4 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus extra for brushing

For the filling

8 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
2.5 cm piece ginger, peeled and grated
2 onions, peeled and finely chopped
1 green chilli, chopped
10 curry leaves
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
150g raw prawns, peeled
2 eggs, beaten (I used 3)
salt

To make the paratha dough, put the flour in a bowl and gradually stir in the oil and about 150ml water to make a soft, pliable dough. Knead for 3-4 minutes, then return to the bowl, cover and set aside for an hour.

To make the filling, heat the oil in a frying pan. Add the mustard seeds and when the start to pop, add the ginger, onions, chilli and curry leaves. Cook over medium to low heat for 5 minutes, stirring every now and then until soft. Add turmeric and salt and cook for 1 minute then add the prawns until pink and cooked through. Remove the mix from the pan and set aside.

Divide the dough into 8 equal portions. Roll one into a ball before rolling out into a circle as thinly as possible. It should be paper thin and about 8-9 inches in diameter.

Heat a tava, griddle or frying pan and brush with oil. When hot, slap on a circle of dough (the heat should be medium). Cook until it starts to turn golden. Stir the eggs into the prawn mix, lower the heat and then spread 3 scant tablespoons onto the paratha. Leave until the egg is pretty much cooked and then flip, searing the mix onto the paratha. Wait until it is stuck well on there before you flip again and cook briefly. You want it nicely golden underneath.

You now just roll it up. I kept mine warm in a very low oven while I made the rest. I served them cut into two or three pieces each with a yoghurty dipping sauce which had some coriander, chilli and lemon juice stirred through (I think). A dusting of chilli powder on the parathas is really good.

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.

My favourite snack for approximately the last ten years has been a soft boiled egg with anchovy soldiers. Fact. That’s a long time in service; I feel I’ve earned my stripes and the right to experiment with something that is nigh-on perfect already. It’s time to take things to the next level.

A baked egg has the added indulgence of butter and cream and of course, increased size on its side. The spinach in this one was almost a bridge too far but I got away with it, no doubt due to my lengthy service to the cause. The anchovy soldiers need no introduction – just don’t be shy with the butter.

Baked Eggs with Anchovy Soldiers

Personally, I won’t bother putting the spinach in next time but if you do fancy it, just wilt it down in a pan first, then squeeze out as much moisture as you can before adding to the ramekin, otherwise it will be watery.

Butter
Single cream
One large egg
Salt and pepper

Add your spinach to the ramekin if using and then carefully break in the egg. Add a splash of cream plus a little dab of butter on top and season well with pepper. You may want to add a little salt but remember those anchovies. Bake in the centre of a 180C oven until the egg is just cooked. Serve with toasty dippers slathered generously in butter and topped with as much anchovy fillet as you dare. Sometimes I use white pepper instead of black. Rock ‘n roll.