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.

Is it just me, or does anyone else spend their time in the pub this way? Debating important and potentially life-changing conundrums such as – ‘pork or beef?’ (if you could only eat one for the rest of your life), ‘tomato ketchup or brown sauce?’ (in a bacon sandwich, naturally) and now this – the probability of turning out a decent, oven-baked scotch egg*. Instinct says it can’t be done, but then I started wondering – maybe we should be giving the baking a chance? Just how well could they really hold up against traditionally fried counterparts? There’s only one way to find out for a geek like me.

I used a recipe from Paganum’s food blog, fitting because they also supplied the meat (me gushing about them here) and followed the basic gist, swapping parsley for sage and employing a cheeky little clingfilm method for the assembly.

Lay out a meaty bed for your hard-boiled egg on a piece of clingfilm.

Plonk the egg in the middle.

Gather up the sides and squish the meat around the egg.

And, they are ready for a good egging and crumbing…

…like so. Except, FAIL #1: I didn’t have enough oil for deep frying and so had to shallow fry and cross my fingers instead. They looked great, an excellent golden colour, so I carefully spooned them out to let the excess oil drain off.

Then an excruciating wait (at least three minutes), before I finally gave in and cut one open. Only to find…raw sausagemeat – oops. I made the sausage layer too thick, leaving it still uncooked in places. Either that, or the shallow frying method failed me. Probably a bit of both (FAIL #2).

So, they go in the oven with the baked eggs anyway, which basically ruins the experiment. In the interests of all being right and good however, here’s the results.

As you can see, the oven baked egg looks anaemic in comparison to the fried and it doesn’t have the same calibre of ‘crust’. That said, those baked eggs are pretty damn crispy anyway (I turned them during cooking) – still immensely satisfying. And inside?

The baked is on the right in this picture and I can honestly say, no difference whatsoever within the crumb – both as perfectly juicy and delicious as the other. So all things considered, there ain’t much between them but you’re going to go for the fried, right? Right. Because the golden crunch is important dammit! All of which means that here we have yet another example of why you don’t bother making a low fat version of a high fat snack. It’s never going to be the same, you’re missing the point.

And so what advice can I actually pass on after all that fuss? Don’t eat three scotch eggs all to yourself, that’s what. Not all in the space of an hour anyway. The after effects are not desirable and include nausea, guilt and an extra inch on the waistline. On the upside, the taste and texture is out of this world – a totally different experience to those supermarket fakes – yucky egg mayonnaise inside grey, textureless flesh (God knows what that’s made from), and don’t forget the suspiciously hued crumb.

Next time, I’ll either stick with the frying or try misting the baked eggs with oil to brown them up more. I’ll also be having another bash at making home made salad cream to go with them, although I won’t be using this recipe, which needed so much adjustment on my part, it’s too complicated to pass on.

In the meantime, Chris has made some pork and apple ‘sausages’ with the leftover meat, which will later be transformed (I am told), into a toad in the hole, with onion gravy.  Considering Chris’s gift for making perfect Yorkshire puddings, this is a very exciting prospect for my tummy – not to mention perfectly suited to the unusual winter weather!

* Yes I realise all three of those examples involve pork.

As soon as the first asparagus appears I jump on it and consume as much as possible during the short 8 week season. It’s partly the delicate flavour which I find slightly addictive, partly the firm texture and the way it goes SO well with ingredients like ham, egg and cheese – but I’m sure my fascination owes a lot to novelty. I know that once the season is over, I can’t eat these delicious spears again until next year. Have you ever tried out of season, imported aspragus? It’s a load of rubbish. Asparagus from Peru? What?!

I’ve been lovingly gazing at the new quiche dish since I bought it, patiently waiting for the asparagus to appear. I bought the dish a few weeks ago in a charity shop, for a few pounds. Bargain. I buy a lot of my dishes in charity shops actually – you have to be in the mood though, it’s quite a skill rummaging through all the stuff you (really) don’t want just to find that diamond in the rough. I have the whole process down to a fine art now. It’s akin to the Londoner travelling mentality, which, if you are not familiar, involves every man and woman for themselves. Well, we’re not all like that of course, but there is an element of it in every Londoner – you know it’s true! It’s just that some of us can still manage to turn the corners of our mouths upwards into a SMILE and others have fogotten the art. Some of us can also manage to be polite and considerate, but now I’m sounding preachy so I’m going to stop.

So, quiche. I used pancetta in this one, together with some melting Gruyere, sautéed shallots and vibrant radish and pea shoots. Everything is held together with an unctuous dairy mix and finished with a fine grating of fabulous pecorino, a gift from a friend recently back from Italy. This pecorino is strong and studded with peppercorns.
I wanted something to cut through the richness of the quiche and thought this might be a good time to make my entry for Pixie and Rosie’s new event, ‘Putting Up‘. My entry is basically a variation on a previous pickle recipe that I loved so much I couldn’t wait to make again. I’ve just adapted it to the season. So, here we have a courgette, radish and kohlrabi pickle. It’s slightly mustardy and sweet-sour with cider vinegar and a touch of sugar. Its like a variation on Italian pickled veggies. It gave me an excuse to break out the Kilner jars again after last years chutney and pickled onions. I also used a good pinch of the ‘long peppers’ I bought at The Real Food Festival, crushed in the pestle and mortar but you can easily leave them out.

They have a sour taste and are quite different to a regular black peppercorn, fragrant and strong. I’ve mentioned before that they are catkins, isn’t that cool? The pickle will keep for months in the fridge – at least I think it will but I don’t anticipate it lasting that long.

Courgette, Radish and Kohlrabi Pickle

600ml cider vinegar
100g sugar
1 tablespoon wholegrain mustard
1.5 teaspoons black mustard seeds
1.5 tablespoons salt

20 red radishes
3 medium courgettes
2 small kohlrabi
1 very small onion
1 small sprig of dill, finely chopped

2 regular kilner-type jars or alternatives, sterilised (to sterilise your jars, wash them in hot soapy water and then rinse under very hot water. Put into a preheated oven (140C/275F/Gas 1 – minus any rubber seals – for 10 minutes).

- Cut all the vegetables into strips by hand, with a julienne peeler or using a grater.
- Put the veg in a large bowl, add the salt and cover with cold water. Stir to dissolve the salt and leave for around an hour or so. Drain the veg and pat them dry.
- Put the dill, vinegar, sugar, mustard and mustard seed into a saucepan and gently heat to a simmer. Let simmer for a few minutes and then cool until warm.
- Pour the liquid over the vegetables then decant everything into jars. Refrigerate.

Spring Quiche

Short crust pastry (I used ready-rolled, shocking! And I can’t remember how much I used, it was enough to line a 10″ quiche dish – sorry)
150g pancetta, cubed
13 asparagus spears, trimmed (hold at each end, bend gently until they snap, discard the woody end)
2 largeish shallots, finely sliced
1 clove garlic, crushed
A small handful of radish shoots and the same of pea shoots. You could substitute any leafy shoots here, or peas.
A small handful of chives, chopped
150ml milk
150ml double cream
3 large eggs
100g Gruyere cheese, grated
A grating of parmesan (optional)

A 10″ quiche or flan dish

Preheat oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4

- Roll out the pastry to cover the dish and carefully line it, patching up any holes, even the smallest, really well.
- Line the pastry with baking paper or foil and fill with baking beans, uncooked pulses or uncooked rice.
- Cook, middle shelf for 15 minutes. Remove, take out the paper and baking beans and prick all over the bottom with a fork. Cook 10 minutes more and allow to cool while you make the filling. turn the oven up to 190C/375F/Gas 5.
- Fry the shallots with the pancetta in a dry pan for a few minutes. Add the garlic for 30 seconds or so to soften, be careful not to burn.
- Mix the milk, cream, eggs and chives together with some black pepper (no salt, the pancetta is salty).
- Add the pancetta and shallot mixture to the pastry case and spread evenly. Sprinkle the shoots on top and then the cheese. Pour over the egg mix and arrange the asparagus on top, pushing down slightly to nestle them in. Grate some parmesan over if using.
- Cook, middle shelf for 30-35 minutes until golden brown and just set in the centre.

Just think of how far salads have come! Cast your mind back to when ‘salad’ in the UK meant a sorry offering of cucumber, unripe tomatoes and worst of all, iceberg lettuce. If there were a hierarchy of lettuces, iceberg (for me) would definitely be at the bottom. Except maybe in a roast chicken-mayo sandwich, that’s OK. Anyway, it looks like winter might finally be over and our salads are coming over all summery.

I think that good chopped salads should be layers of seasonal ingredients such as the purple sprouting broccoli and chicory that I’ve used in this one. A chopped salad can become something more than the sum of its parts. I’ve given it a fattoush – y spin here with toasted pitta and radishes. Sumac is traditionally used to give fattoush it’s sour taste but I didn’t have any and I think the dill flavour works really well.

The dressing for this salad is made with anchovies, garlic and lemon and it’s fantastic. I can’t take the credit for it though, it was made by Chris for his salad that inspired this post (above photo). It really gives everything a zing. Dressings are so crucial aren’t they? Can you believe that we visited a restaurant recently where the salad arrived naked?! Undressed salad? How joyless. Those croutons Chris made are pretty damn delicious too; ciabatta cubes fried in rosemary and olive oil, finished with a good sprinkling of sea salt. Oh, and it’s got crispy bacon on top which is never a bad thing if you ask me.

You could mix any veggies into this salad really, depending on what is available but I do urge you to try this dressing, especially with hard boiled eggs and olives.

Super Salad

1/2 small red onion, finely sliced
10 small radishes, finely sliced
A small bunch of dill chopped
A small bunch of parsley, leaves picked
4 baby leeks
A generous handful of purple sprouting broccoli
1 tin chickpeas, drained
2 small pittas, toasted and chopped into bite size pieces
2 or 3 hard boiled eggs
15-20 kalamata olives (the stone-in ones have a much better flavour but it depends on whether you can be bothered and/or have an olive pitter)
2 heads chicory, leaves separated
Chris’ anchovy dressing (see below)

- Um, mix everything together!

Chris’ Salad

A couple of handfuls of salad leaves
1 hass avocado, chopped (either do this last or squeeze some lemon juice on it)
4 rashers streaky bacon, grilled until crisp and chopped
A handful of cherry tomatoes
2 or 3 hard boiled eggs
A grating of parmesan to finish

For the croutons

1 small ciabatta roll, a day old if possible
Olive oil
A small sprig of rosemary, chopped
Sea salt

- Cube the ciabatta and fry in some olive oil and the rosemary until crisp. Finish with a generous sprinkling of sea salt.
- Mix with the other ingredients

Chris’ Anchovy dressing

12-15 anchovy fillets, finely chopped
1 small clove garlic, crushed
A small handful of chives, finely chopped
A small handful of parsley, finely chopped
Juice of half a lemon
A grind of black pepper
A small dash of cider vinegar
Enough extra virgin olive oil to loosen everything to a dressing

- Crush the garlic and add to a pestle and mortar (usually I would crush it in the mortar with a pinch of salt but consider those anchovies….).
- Add the anchovies and work them in really well.
- Do the same with the herbs – as much as you can so it is all emulsified.
- Add the black pepper, lemon juice and vinegar and mix.
- Add the olive oil and whisk to emulsify.

If you like salads try my

Farro Salad with Rose Harissa Dressing
Watermelon, Caerphilly and Pumpkin Seed Salad
Feta, Chicory and Orange Salad
Kohlrabi, Fennel and Beetroot Salad
Broad (and Soy) Bean Salad with Pancetta
Fennel and Kohlrabi Salad
Globe Artichoke Salad
Potato Salad
Pear and Beetroot Salad
Rainbow Tomato Salad with Buffalo Mozzarella

From the blogosphere -

Kalyn does a great chop salad
Cardamom Citrus Fruit Salad from Simply Recipes – Genius!
Roasted Butternut, Feta and Pine Nut Salad from Jeanne
Lebanese Potato Salad from Hommos and Tabbouli
Roasted Beetroot and Halloumi Salad from Wendy