I’m very much into cooking with ham hocks (or knuckles) again after the pibil, so I’ve made a porky white bean broth for AoL Lifestyle, super-charged with a salsa verde-like green sauce. Find the recipe over on AoL.

Baby rainbow chard is cropping up at farmers markets now; young and tender enough to use as salad leaves, with a pleasing bitterness which contrasts well with something rich, like oily mackerel. Potatoes beef this salad out, while dill brings a tickle of aniseed. To make this more interesting than a regular salad, the pickled cukes are essential, adding an addictive, tartar-like piquancy.

Perhaps not one to take to work though; the combination of fish, pickles and spring onions sealed together in a box then suddenly, hungrily released could clear an office in minutes.

Smoked Mackerel, Potato and Baby Chard Salad with Pickled Cucumbers (serves 4)

200g smoked mackerel
600g potatoes
100g baby rainbow chard, finely shredded (make sure to shred the stalks more finely than the leaves as they are tougher)
2 tablespoons dill, finely chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
4 tablespoons olive oil
4-6 small pickled cucumbers, finely chopped
4 spring onions, finely sliced

Cut the potatoes into bite size chunks and cook in boiling salted water. Drain and set aside.

Whisk the lemon juice and olive oil together. Season with black pepper and a little salt, whisk again. Remove the skin from the mackerel and break it into large flakes.

Mix the potato, mackerel, chard, dill and spring onions in a large bowl. Add the dressing and mix well. Add the pickled cucumbers and mix again. 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.

Damn you, pressure cooker! What is wrong with you? Or is it me?

People rave about their pressure cookers and how they can’t live without them, which is why I accepted the invitation to review one recently.* I was curious and terrified. All that hissing and steaming and well, pressure. Scary. A few days passed and it sat unused on the hob. Eventually, rather than just looking at the damn thing, I plucked up the courage to try using it. The idea of the PC is to produce the results of slow cooking in a fraction of the time. The first dish that sprang to my mind was curry goat.

The meat usually takes a lot of long, slow simmering to tenderise and I wondered how much the PC could shave off the cooking time. After 45 minutes I had a peek inside. The meat was tender – falling apart, but there was way too much liquid. This really threw me, because I’d worked out quantities according to the advice in the instruction booklet, resisting the temptation to add more due to multiple warnings that one must NOT LET THE PRESSURE COOKER BOIL DRY. I then had to reduce the sauce for another 45 minutes without the lid on, which defeated the whole point. A very disheartening first attempt.

Next I decided to try cooking a big hunk of meat in there. A joint of lamb marinated in pomegranate molasses went in, with some liquid. It cooked well, and fast. It was falling apart after cooking for a shade past an hour but I missed the crusty outer bits I’d get from a roast. The recipe is a keeper (coming soon) but the method, nah.

By this point the PR are wondering when the hell they are going to get their review. I didn’t want to say I couldn’t work it out before I’d given the thing a proper go though so it was time to move on to something else: dahl. All the Indian cooks I know told me that the PC revolutionises your relationship with lentils. “Cook a dahl in 15 minutes! You’ll never look back!” Okay. I started off frying the onions in the base of the PC just as you would a normal saucepan then added garlic, chilli and ginger, the spices, tomatoes and an alarmingly small amount of stock. After checking guideline amounts about 10 times I bit the bullet and got on with it; 15 minutes later and we were oohing and ahhing around the hob – perfectly tender chana dahl. At last, the sweet taste of success. I could now cook 1 thing in a pressure cooker.

Or so I thought. Today I made the exact same recipe. I added the same amount of liquid, the same quantities of everything and cooked it for the same amount of time. When I opened the lid however, the chana remained uncooked. People, I am baffled.

I don’t want to give up because I can see the value but frustration is really setting in. I’m a competent cook for Pete’s sake. Strange forces are at work here. The PR are probably going to wish they’d never got their review now, but it’s not like I don’t want to love it, I do. A decent dahl in 15 minutes really is something I could get used to and I want to try cooking chickpeas in it, and stews. Seriously though, I need advice. What am I doing wrong?  How can the exact same recipe cook differently on 2 separate occasions? Readers, it’s over to you.

Chana dahl with spinach (this is the recipe which worked the first time and took ten minutes longer to cook the second time around. However long it takes, it is delicious).

300g chana dahl
500ml stock or water
2 medium onions, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 inch piece ginger, peeled and finely chopped
2 green chillies, finely sliced
2 large tomatoes, finely chopped
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
10 curry leaves
4 green cardamom pods
1 black cardamom pod
1 dried red chilli
1 cinnamon stick
1/2 teaspoon garam masala

1 large bunch of spinach (a few large handfuls)

Groundnut oil, for frying

Lemon wedges and chapattis, to serve. I also like mine with natural yoghurt and red onion slices

Start by using the pressure cooker like a normal saucepan. Set it over a medium heat, lid off. Heat a few tablespoons of groundnut oil then fry the onions, stirring often until softened and beginning to colour. Add the garlic, chilli and ginger and cook for a minute more, stirring constantly. Add all the spices and curry leaves and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add the tomatoes and lentils, stir to combine, then add the stock and some salt. Turn off the heat.

Fit the lid onto the pressure cooker and ensure it is secure. Make sure the pressure regulator is turned to the (I) position. Turn on the heat and after a few minutes the visual pressure indicator should rise, followed by a gentle hiss sound, meaning that the required pressure level has been reached.

Reduce the heat by approximately a third. The steam should be gently hissing and the pressure indicator should remain up. Start timing now and cook for 15 minutes.

After this time, turn off the heat and move the pressure regulator gently to the steam release position.

Remove the lid and stir in the spinach until wilted. Adjust the seasoning if necessary and serve.

*The Prestige ‘This Morning’ range is available at Debenhams (yes, ‘This Morning’ the daytime TV show). RRP: £80. I was sent the pressure cooker for review and did not pay for it.

I couldn’t decide what to call this. A ‘bake’, perhaps. It’s not a tart because it has no base, nor a pie, because it has no pastry. It’s not a Jansson’s temptation because it has onions and rosemary in it. In the end I just gave up and listed some ingredients.

There are layers of potato, sweet caramelised onions with garlic and rosemary and plump L’Escala anchovies, all melding together with the help of some cream. The top is burnished gold; all curled, crunchy edges and teasing chew. The inside is soft and slightly gooey; a little cream oozing out between the layers as you press with a fork.

We ate slices with a big green salad but it struck me that the dish would be a perfect accompaniment to steak. Literally perfect. As if there isn’t enough calories on the plate already. I lined the dish with butter too, by the way. No messing about. All the richness of potato with salty anchovy, rosemary and garlic – it’s screaming for a bone-in rib-eye.

Obviously you don’t need to use L’Escala anchovies for this, but do try to find the silvery fillets packed in jars, as those brown tinned ones will only disappoint.

Potato, caramelised onion and anchovy bake

You could use any size tin, as it’s just a case of layering. Mine was 22cm.

1 jar good quality anchovies packed in olive oil
6-8 large potatoes sliced as thinly as possible
2 large onions, sliced
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 sprigs of rosemary, leaves removed and finely chopped
142ml pot single cream
Butter, for greasing the dish
Salt and pepper

Begin by caramelising your onions. Heat the oil from the anchovy jar and add the onions, then sweat them down over a very low heat for about an hour, or until completely soft and caramelised. Add the garlic and rosemary for a few minutes at the end of cooking, stirring often.

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

To layer up the dish, begin with a layer of potatoes, overlapping them slightly. Follow this with a layer of anchovies (about 4 fillets), then a layer of onions. Spoon over a few tablespoons of cream, spreading it around as evenly as you can. Season with black pepper but be careful with salt as the anchovies are salty. If you do end up with those brown tinned fillets, don’t use any salt at all.

Repeat this until the dish is full. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and crisp.

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.

If there’s one thing I wasn’t short on for The Big Lunch, it was yoghurt. Rachel’s Organic filled my fridge, my neighbours fridge and the makeshift fridge in my hallway, consisting of ice and gel packs on a complicated freezer rotation system. It was all very rock and roll.

I’m sure it won’t surprise anyone to learn that I jerked some chicken, but the other half looked like an opportunity to rip through a couple of pots of the white stuff; meat cooked in yoghurt is always so succulent and forms a coating which varies between a silken lip-licking paste and patches of spiced crust.

The ingredients can be twiddled but I think the essential players are turmeric, chilli powder and garam masala. A hefty blob of minced garlic and ginger is non-negotiable. I also added some nigella (onion) seeds and chopped mint, in the absence of coriander. They went down an absolute storm.

Tikka chicken

25 chicken drumsticks

1 x 500g tub of Greek yoghurt
1 x 2 inch piece of ginger
6 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons lime juice
1 teaspoon hot chilli powder
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon onion seeds (optional)
1 small handful coriander or mint leaves

Chop the garlic and ginger then put it in a pestle and mortar with 1 teaspoon salt and grind to a paste. Mix this paste with the yoghurt and all the other marinade ingredients.

Make two slashes across the thickest part of each drumstick then coat them with the marinade, mixing really well and rubbing it into the meat. Leave in the fridge overnight or for as long as possible, at least a few hours.

When ready to cook, remove them from the fridge half an hour before you want to cook them and preheat the oven to 180C. They will take about 25 minutes. The skin should be golden and slightly charred in places and the juices should run clear when you skewer the meat at its thickest point.

The crinkled heart of a young savoy is delicious freshened up with a dressing of yoghurt, mustard and lemon; raw brassica never tasted so good. This may be down to the addition of grilled pork and its fat.

I like this with mackerel; a freshly grilled fillet is nice but to be honest, on a school night, a couple of smoked pieces from a packet is often all I can manage.

Savoy slaw with bacon and walnuts

1 savoy cabbage, tough outer leaves and core removed and finely shredded
1 small red onion, halved and cut into fine slices
200g Greek yoghurt
1 tablespoon wholegrain mustard
100g walnuts, toasted and roughly chopped (by ‘toast’ I mean put them in a dry pan on a low heat and shimmy them around until they start to smell fragrant. Take care not to burn them).
6 rashers streaky bacon
Pinch of caster sugar
Juice of half a lemon

Grill the bacon until crisp and then chop into small pieces.

Mix the shredded cabbage, onion, bacon and walnuts together in a large bowl. Mix the yoghurt, mustard, sugar and lemon juice together well then add to the cabbage mix and combine. Season with salt and pepper.

You’ve probably heard that it is really easy to make good hummus at home and that, once you’ve tried it, you’ll ‘never go back’ to the shop-bought stuff. This is rubbish. I’ve rarely met anyone in real life who hasn’t told me that their experiences of making this classic Middle Eastern chickpea slurry at home were wildly disappointing. Recipes say things like, “for a super simple, healthy supper, just whizz two tins chickpeas with 1 clove garlic, 2 tablespoons tahini, juice of 1 lemon and a glug of olive oil.” It absolutely never comes out right. It’s never smooth enough and the flavours always seem out of kilter.

I’ve been trying to make a decent version myself for years because, once I fail at something in the kitchen, I’m like a dog with a bone; Steingarten-esque in my persistence of perfection. I think I’ve cracked it but let me warn you now, you’ve got to put a little work in to get the results.

I’d been approaching the task in entirely the wrong way, viewing it as a five minute job – whack it all in the blender and hope for the best. Really good hummus though, is actually a labour of love.

It is essential to cook your own chickpeas. Tinned ones pong, their flesh weak and pallid. Soak the dried ones overnight in cold water with bicarbonate of soda then cook the next day; a 10-minute rapid boil and skimming plus an hours simmer should do it. If you think that’s a lot of effort then brace yourself for the next step. The creamiest texture comes from individually popping each chickpea from its papery skin; it is these tough coatings which make the hummus coarse. We’re talking one episode (new format) of Come Dine with Me to skin those suckers.

Another tip is to use the smallest chickpeas you can find. I’ve taken to these brown ones recently; they’re small and nutty, although the end result is never quite as smooth as with white peas. When it comes to blending, I do the tahini and lemon juice first, otherwise the tahini can clump and never distribute properly and then add the chickpeas in batches with a splash of water each time. Again, it all helps to make a smooth paste. The rest is down to personal taste although of course it’s better to add a little at a time rather than try to counteract a dominant flavour later.

Buoyed by my success with the hummus, I decided to have a go at making pitta bread. They only needed an hour to rise and puffed up really well. Unlike the hummus, very easy to get right first time and honestly, so much better than shop-bought. Really.

Hummus

This makes a big batch but let’s face it, if you’re going to faff about skinning chickpeas then you may as well make it worth your while.

325g dried chickpeas (they will double in weight once cooked)
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
5-6 tablespoons tahini
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
Juice of 1 lemon and possibly the juice of another (at least half)
2 fat cloves of garlic
1 heaped teaspoon fine salt
Olive oil

Parsley and paprika to garnish (optional). Toasted pine nuts or whole chickpeas are also good on top.

Begin the day before, by soaking your chickpeas in cold water with the bicarbonate of soda and leaving them overnight. The next day, rinse them, cover with cold water (no salt) and bring to a rapid boil and leave for 10 minutes, skimming off the scum that rises to the top. Drain then re-cover with water and simmer for an hour – 90 minutes, until they are soft and squish easily between your fingers.

Once cool, pop each one from its skin. It takes a while but I found plonking myself in front of the telly eased the pain.

Whizz the tahini and juice of 1 lemon together in a blender until well combined, then blend the garlic and salt into the mix before adding the chickpeas, a handful plus a splash of water each time. When all your chickpeas are blended in, add a good glug of olive oil (hold the bottle over the blender for a couple of seconds), turn the blender on and leave it for a few minutes. Adjust the flavours to your taste. I find it always needs more lemon juice.

Garnish with more olive oil, parsley and paprika.

Pitta Bread (makes eight)

I used part wholemeal flour, firstly because I had some hanging around and secondly for a bit more of a robust flavour. I think it works well but you can use entirely strong white bread flour if you prefer.

220g strong white bread flour
150g whole wheat flour
1 heaped teaspoon fine salt
1 tablespoon caster sugar
1 x 7g sachet fast action dried yeast
300ml warm (not hot) water
2 tablespoons olive oil

Add the yeast to the water and leave in a warm place for about 10 minutes until frothy. This means that the yeast is activated.

In a large bowl combine the flours, salt, sugar and oil and then add the yeasty water. If you have an electric mixer with a dough hook then simply set the lot on the lowest speed for 10 minutes, adding more water if necessary, until smooth and elastic. If you don’t have a mixer, combine the mix until it comes together into a ball of dough. Again, add a little more water if necessary to bring it together. Knead on a lightly floured surface for 10 minutes until smooth and elastic.

Rest the dough in a lightly oiled bowl (so that it doesn’t stick) and cover with clingfilm or a damp tea towel and leave in a warm place until doubled in size – mine only took an hour.

After this time, knock the dough back a little by punching it a few times then divide it up into 8 pieces. Roll each into a ball, then recover for another 15-20 minutes. Preheat the oven to 200C and preheat a baking stone or baking tray (turned upside down).

On a lightly floured surface, roll out each dough ball into a pitta shape – each should be about 0.5 cm thick. Bake them on the stone or baking tray for about 5 minutes, or until golden and puffy. They are best eaten warm from the oven and they re-heat well.

Yesterday I made my 7th notch on the 2009 BBQ bedpost. Not too shoddy considering it’s only spring. Every Brit knows you need to make the most of each glimpse of sunshine – case in point being this very next day as we are dealt a dose of predictable bank holiday gloom. Cloud and drizzle hangs over London, no doubt putting paid to plans of picnics, walks and BBQ’s everywhere. By the end of the summer though, I will have grilled, smoked and charred every ingredient I can think of over a hot kettle of coals. There will be memories of beers that flowed, fingers that got burned and I will probably have gained half a stone.

Our most major BBQ achievement this year has been actually bothering to find out how to use the thing properly. I always wondered why slow cooking joints just didn’t happen until I consulted google when making this lamb. Still, mustn’t get too cocky – there are always lessons to be learned. The moral of the story this week? Don’t forget your drip tray.

You see, this salad was actually just an afterthought addition to the BBQ, the leftovers from the previous night’s dinner, out of place with the rest of the menu but delicious nonetheless. The main event was supposed to be these jerk pork ribs, big meaty beasts that had been sucking up that spicy sweet seasoning all night long.

The butcher had sold out of regular ribs so I opted for strips of pork belly with the ribs still attached, figuring that more meat is clearly a good thing. Knowing they would need long cooking I started them in the oven with the intention of finishing them on the BBQ. In my excitement however, I forgot to position the drip tray to catch all the fat and just slapped them right on.

I wandered off for literally a minute before I heard screams from outside and turned to see 2 foot high flames leaping from the Weber. The ribs were sticks of charcoal within 30 seconds. Ruined. In true carnivore fashion though, we picked through the burnt remains for nuggets of meat in the kind of frenzied, primal display that can only take place among good friends. That is why I bring you pasta.

The Fregola Sarda is a toasted Sardinian pasta with an earthy, nutty flavour, made by rubbing with the hands to form crumbs (‘fregare’ apparently means ‘to rub’). It is immensely toothsome and satisfying – a pure carb hit to help me on my way to that extra half stone. I mixed it with some roasted aubergines, peppers and a few stray spears of aspargus.

For the wild garlic, a big thank you must go to The Food Urchin, who has been kindly supplying the food blogging community with a seemingly endless supply of plants from the bottom of his garden. A handful of leaves make fantastic pesto, with none of that raw garlic edge you get when using more than half a clove in the regular variety.

Determined not to let the rib fail get us down, we took inspiration from the flames for dessert – bananas flambéd in rum with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. Classic hot and cold and sweet caramelised goodness. The remaining rum went into mojitos, which we enjoyed while sprawled on sofas, cradling our over-stuffed bellies and bickering over a board game. There may even have been dozing at some point. Someone bring me a pipe and slippers.

Fregola Sarda with Roasted Vegetables and Wild Garlic Pesto

1 packet fregola sarda
3 bell peppers (I used two red, 1 yellow)
1 large aubergine
4 spring onions, just the green parts really, sliced
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Wild Garlic Pesto

1 handful wild garlic leaves, well washed
50g pine nuts
50g parmesan
Olive oil (about 100ml)
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon lemon juice

- Preheat the oven to Gas 6/200C
- Cut the peppers into wedges and the aubergine into inch cubes. Spread the peppers and aubergines out on different oven trays then drizzle each with olive oil and season. Roast them for about 30 minutes or until soft and slightly charred. Allow to cool then chop to desired size.
- Cook the fregola sarda according to packet instructions (about 15 minutes in boiling salted water)
- When the pasta is done, drain and mix with the vegetables then add the sliced spring onions.
- Make the pesto by either putting the wild garlic leaves in a blender with the pine nuts or crushing them together in a pestle and mortar (good for stress relief). Then stir through the grated parmesan, lemon juice and some salt and pepper. Taste and adjust as necessary (add more cheese, seasoning, whatever). Stir the pesto through the pasta and serve.