Six of the best salads of summer

It's petered out somewhat over the last fortnight, but at least we can't moan that there's been no summer at all this year. July was a corker, and although August has been cooler and damper so far it's hardly been a monsoon style washout like some of those in recent years, and for that we should be thankful.

The return of prolonged warmth for the first time in a while has given me a new found interest in all things salad-y. If it's cold (or possibly warm, but definitely not hot) and you can mix it up and bung it on a plate with the minimum of fuss, that's the dish for me.

Easy, colourful, refreshing, no hot ovens necessary, only grilled meat needed by way of accompaniment, these are my six favourite salads of the summer.

Pickled carrots and beets, mozzarella. A Nigel Slater idea this, and a very good one. Give strips of root veg a light pickling in lemon juice and wine vinegar, then serve with mozzarella and dress with olive oil and the pickling juices. Quite subtle this, mild and tangy with a great contrast in textures.

Peas, cucumber, feta, mint, spring onion. Lovely mix of gently sweet and sharp in this one. Any fresh, lactic cheese would do the job. Fresh peas are essential, don't use frozen.

Bread Salad. Read about it here. Still my favourite discovery of the summer.

Watermelon, feta and mint. Make sure you chill the melon before making it and you'll end up with the sweetest, juiciest salad imaginable. Save this for a genuinely hot day.

Peaches and Parma ham. Discounting the black pepper and olive oil this only has two ingredients so I'm not sure it really counts as a salad. Is it just a meal? An assemblage? Who cares when it tastes this good. The contrasts here are the thing, so make sure your fruit is chilled and your meat isn't. Cold, sweet peach flesh and warm, salty pig flesh is a match made in heaven.

Grilled onions and pomegranate. More of a relish than a full blown salad, but an excellent accompaniment to any sort of barbecued lamb. Toss a thinly sliced red onion in a teaspoon of sugar and the same of sunflower oil, then sweat down under a hot grill until you get some lovely caramelised bits. Throw in the pips and any juices from half a pomegranate. Sweet, sharp and slightly bitter, it cuts through fatty meat beautifully.

Northern Food on tour: Self-catering in Spain again

I wouldn't normally choose to holiday twice in the same place in a matter of months, but thanks to the kindness and generosity of others we found ourselves heading off to Malaga once more for a repeat of last September's festivities.

I'm exceedingly grateful that we did because we had just as much fun this time around, but with the added bonus of a) not having all of our documents and stuff stolen, and b) my making a marriage proposal (accepted, thankfully). Good times.

On the eating and drinking front it was largely another self-catering affair, save for a pizza lunch in Nerja, a very average, touristy menu del dia in Granada, and a mini tapas crawl around Malaga (of which more later). We ate the same sort of thing as last time;- plenty of fresh fruit and salads to balance out the inevitable ham, bread and booze.

I'll not bore you with all the details, but here are a few things that were new discoveries or particularly good in spring rather than autumn.

The seasonal goods were all a month or two ahead of Britain, asparagus and strawberries being in particularly fine nick. We bought both in the supermarket, but later spotted strawberries growing locally and being sold at just three euros for an enormous box full.

As an aside it's interesting to note the lack of variety in the Spanish supermarkets, or at least what I perceived to be so. The number of fresh produce lines must be barely a quarter of what you'd find in the average British supermarket, but things are evidently much more seasonal. Asparagus and strawberries were in abundance in April, but were nowhere to be seen in September. Do we really need to be eating such things year round, expensive and air-freighted from Peru, or should we do as the Spanish seem to and gorge on them for pennies, but only when the right time arrives? On the other hand the lack of variety is definitely just that where some things are concerned. Good luck trying to get fresh herbs in a Spanish supermarket.

What is always readily available, and in wondrous, inexplicable variety in even the crappiest stores, is seafood. Especially shellfish. Bigging up Spain for eating seasonally and locally falls down completely when it comes to seafood, as they'll import the stuff from anywhere on the planet so long as it's good.

A bag of plump raw prawns were outstanding dunked in pungent alioli after flash-frying in olive oil with a good grind of salt and pepper. Beautifully sweet and perky, they were even good enough to make me eat a few Chinese-style;- sucking the juice from the heads. The cost of these little beauties? Seven euros something a kilo, which would be plenty for about six people.

My final and most exciting new discovery, and the one most fittingly Spanish given its use of delicious Andalusian booze, is Pedro Ximenez sherry as dessert ingredient. This is hardly a new idea, but the first time I'd got round to trying it.

Pedro Ximenez, or PX as it's commonly known, is the sweetest of all the sherry wines. It's thick, almost treacly with a complex, raisiny flavour. First attempt was PX poured straight over vanilla ice cream. Very good, but there was better to come.

A few recalcitrant plums were the only rubbish fruit we bought, with dry mealy flesh making it a waste of time eating them raw. Cooking a plum often works wonders though, so I quartered them and baked them slowly (they were in a medium oven for over an hour) with a generous pour of the PX. The result, served with more of the same ice cream, was divine. Tender fruit oozing syrupy, umber juice that was rich in dark, tannic flavour. Writing this is making me crave it now. If you see a strange man in Tesco late at night buying sherry, fruit and ice cream that'll probably be me.

This time around we did a little bit more sightseeing, visiting Granada and Malaga. The former really needs no introduction, the Alhambra is one major destination that absolutely lives up to its billing. It's stunning, just go.

Malaga on the other hand is a little hard done by, it doesn't always get the best press but is really rather lovely, especially on a Friday evening when what seems like the entire population is out on the streets enjoying themselves: talking, strolling and eating and drinking rather well. I'm going to write about that tomorrow.

A Gammon Joint

For various reasons I need to be more frugal this January than most. Never the most extravagant time of year anyway, this is always the month for making a little go a long way.

Cooking a huge joint of meat is hardly the first thing that springs to mind then, roasting a ham being much more associated with the festivities that have long since concluded. But downgrade a little, from a whole ham to a boned and rolled gammon joint, and you'll get a huge quantity of meat for very little money.

I bought a joint weighing around 1.4 kgs for just eleven quid (on special offer at M & S), and so far it's been at the centre of three main meals, formed a vital component of another, and turned up in at least six rounds of sandwiches. It's longevity is such that, whisper it, I might be getting a bit sick of the stuff. There's still some in the fridge that I can't seem to shift.

The original plan was to boil it and nothing more, but we couldn't resist giving it a roasting to add a bit of caramelised flavour to the fat. I'm not sure it was necessary, but I also gave it a good rinse under the tap before boiling as I'd rather the finished meat be under-salted than over. Here's what to do:

Rinse your gammon under the tap to remove any excess salt, then put it in a big pot full of water with an onion cut in half (you can leave the skin on), two celery sticks, two bay leaves, two cloves and about 8-10 black peppercorns. Bring to the boil then simmer for about 70 minutes.

Remove the gammon from the pot and leave it to cool for ten minutes. Set the oven at about 170 deg C. When the meat has cooled a bit score the fat in a cross hatch pattern, then place it in a roasting tin. Make a marinade from two tablespoons of runny honey mixed with one tablespoon of mustard (any type you fancy) then smear it all over your meat and bake it in the oven for 30 minutes.

Easy peasy. The end result was a fridge full of lovely, versatile, savoury but not salty meat, with a good porky flavour to play with. Here's what I made with mine, bear in mind that these aren't so much proper recipes as descriptions.

Gammon, parsley sauce, mash and peas

What you'll need: potatoes, butter, milk, flour, peas, fresh parsley, fat slices of gammon, salt and pepper

Serve thick slices of gammon with parsley sauce, mash and peas. This meal was why I bought it in the first place, I've never cooked it before and having been meaning to for ages. I was really pleased with it, it's a gentle soothing sort of a meal but very satisfying on a cold night.

For the parsley sauce you need to make a roux with flour and butter, then keep stirring in milk until you have a thick-ish sauce, and finally stir in plenty of seasoning and a big handful of finely chopped parsley. The rest is self explanatory, just make sure you make the soft, fluffy, only moderately buttery sort of mash as the restaurateurs super-rich butterbomb variety would be too much here.


Plaice with gammon and parsley

What you'll need: fillets of white fish, gammon, fresh parsley, a lemon, butter, salt and pepper, bread to serve

This one was a very quick supper, I did have to buy fresh fish so it wasn't quite so frugal but I did make use of both leftover gammon and parsley.

Chop some gammon up into one centimetre chunks and chop a small handful of parsley. Season two small fillets of plaice (or any other comparable white fish) then fry them, skin side down first in a little bit of oil.  Throw the gammon pieces in the pan while the fish is still skin side down. Turn the fillets and cook on the other side until they're just about cooked through, then turn them back over again. Throw in the parsley and a big knob of butter. Shake the pan to mix and melt the butter with the parsley and the pan juices then slide the lot out onto a plate. Squeeze over some lemon juice, then serve immediately with bread, salad, or both.


Ham sandwiches

What you'll need: err..bread, ham, mustard, salad. And butter of course.

Sandwiches had to get a look in didn't they. Very thinly sliced gammon with cream cheese on soft white rolls were pretty good, but thicker slices with a generous smear of mustard with salad on crusty bread had to be the winner.


Gammon and cabbage fry

What you'll need: potatoes, cabbage, oil, salt, pepper, sauce, more GAMMON

Another one pan tea, this one takes a little longer to cook but is really no effort. Cut 4 or 5 medium sized potatoes into small (about one centimetre) cubes then fry them in oil until they're brown and almost tender (mine took around twenty minutes). While the potatoes are frying slice up a couple of handfuls of savoy cabbage and tear a big handful of sliced gammon into smaller pieces. When the potatoes are almost ready stir in the cabbage and fry for another five minutes or so, then add the gammon and fry for five minutes more.

The potatoes should have a good exterior crunch balanced by the soft ham and cabbage, though I still like a bit of bite left in the cabbage, you don't want it mushy. Serve very hot, with a table sauce of some sort (I had Heinz chilli tomato ketchup).


Ham and beans 

What you'll need: loads of gammon, assorted beans (2 or 3 tins), a tin of tomatoes, garlic, an onion, a celery stick, paprika, chilli powder, bay leaves, tomato puree, black treacle. Bread and slaw to serve.

Last but not least, the real store cupboard contender. This is the one to make when you're snowed in. Which is a shame, because that's looking possible over the weekend and I've just eaten it all. For best results you should cook dried beans from scratch, but tins will do if that's what you've got. That's what I had: in went one tin of kidney beans, one tin of tomatoes and a small tin each of borlotti and canellini beans.

Slice the onion and fry it in oil in a heavy based pot (that has a lid) over a medium heat. In the meantime crush 3 or 4 cloves of garlic and cut a good quantity of gammon (100g per person is plenty) into 1-2 inch chunks. Open your tins and drain and rinse the beans. Cut the celery stick in half and add it to the pot with the garlic, and fry for another minute or two. Add the tomatoes, two teaspoons of paprika, one teaspoon of chilli powder, two bay leaves, a dessertspoon of tomato puree and a tablespoon of black treacle. Stir and bring to a simmer, adding a good splash of water to loosen it. Add the drained beans and gammon chunks to the pot, stir then put the lid on and reduce the heat so it gently putters away.

This should be cooked until the meat and beans are just on the verge of disintegrating into the sauce. Not so long that you end up with a single textured sludge, but just long enough to let the meat fall apart in moist, fibrous strands, all the fatty tissue having leached out to enrich your sauce that's already been thickened by the starchy beans. If that's what you end up with it should be a treat. Mine took almost an hour and a half to reach the point of optimum goodness.

Serve with bread and homemade slaw. I made pitta bread using a basic bread recipe with a knob of butter added (always butter, always). When your dough has risen just roll it out into oval shapes and bake them in a hot oven for about 8 minutes. For the slaw slice celeriac and cabbage (I used savoy but white would have been better) very finely and toss it with greek yoghurt, grain mustard and lemon juice. The bite, heat and freshness is a fantastic contrast to the earthy warmth of the beans.

Good things to eat (volume 8): A Christmas Special

This is going to be mostly about cheese. I've written very little about cheese, not through a lack of love for the stuff, but rather because I don't actually eat it that often. The occasional block of mature cheddar for toasting purposes, the odd hunk of stilton with a glass of red, parmesan for pasta and that's about it.

For reasons I'm not quite sure about cheese has turned into a special occasion food for me, a celebratory treat rather than an everyday fridge staple. Christmas is inevitably the big one. Time to hit the cheese.

Continuing a recent theme of untraditional Christmases this year, for the second in succession (last year was curry) I avoided a roast dinner entirely, instead feasting on a sort of über-buffet at my Sister's house. My brother-in-law and I compiled a list of pretty much everything we like to eat and drink the most, and that were suitable for grazing and snacking, and made or bought the lot.

We ate jamon iberico, gordal olives and sherry. There was paté, and wonderful sourdough bread, and cured salmon.

We ate fat wedges of pork pie (my first ever pork pie - a success!) with cornichons. Fresh, sweet scallops were enjoyed au gratin and sautéed in herb butter, as were garlicky prawns. We ate buffalo wings and drank beer, rich, dark porter and also fragrant, fruity pale ale.

And we ate cheese. Lots of lovely cheese. It's the cheese that I want to talk about, because I haven't said much about cheese, and these are some of the finest cheeses I know, and I really would recommend that you seek any of them out if you want to assemble the ultimate cheeseboard. Cheese heaven. Really.

Montgomery's Cheddar

Photo credit: Forman and Field

The King of Cheddar as far as I'm concerned. It has a hard, craggy almost crystalline texture that breaks down into creaminess in the mouth. The flavour is almost parmesan-like in it's umami depth, intensely savoury but also with bursts of fruitiness. This is perfect on its own but when blended with Comté it makes the best Cheese on toast I think I've ever tasted. I had it for lunch two days running and now there is none left.

Comté

One of the wonders of cheese is its infinite variety. Comté is a hard cheese made with unpasteurised cow's milk, just like Montgomery's Cheddar. They also share some flavour characteristics, fruitiness and depth. But in other ways they're completely different. Comté has a smooth dense texture, and tastes rich and buttery with a lingering sweetness. Wonderful alone, or as I said before, blended to make the cheese-on-toast-of-the-gods. I'm salivating obscenely just thinking about it. There is also none of this left. Boo hoo.

Tunworth

Photo credit: Tasty Treats

A sweaty-French English cheese, Tunworth is reminiscent of a good Brie or Camembert. Ours was quite a ripe specimen, and oozed a rather cabbagey stench that was slightly too much for my nose. I can't always handle the riper of French cheeses. On tasting any reservations were waylaid. It's wonderful. The stronger, funkier notes rapidly give way to a long lasting sweet, nutty, slightly tangy taste as the soft paste dissolves in your mouth. I like this one with oatcakes.

Cardo

Photo Credit: Cartmel Cheeses

This was the curveball. The only cheese I'd never eaten before. It's a washed rind goats cheese. Deceptively subtle as the strong flavour of the rind gives way to quite a mild, herbal goaty interior. Really delicious and one I'd definitely try again. I think this would be best eaten entirely on its own to appreciate it fully.

Stichelton

Last but certainly not least, Stichelton. This is quite possibly my favourite cheese of all time. It's essentially a Stilton, but Stilton has protected designation of origin status, and must be made with pasteurised milk. Stichelton is the unpasteurised gatecrasher at the party. A welcome gatecrasher though, replete with fine wine and witty repartee, not a four pack of Carling and a tendency to vomit.

I still have some of this left, so I'm going to eat some now and write down the sensation immediately. I'll apologise now, it will probably be gibberish. Here goes: Smooth, sharp and salty. Saltiness rising into intensely savoury filling the whole mouth, metallic but with milkiness in the background. Slightly acidic. Fading into creamy, sweet, mellow as it dissolves and disappears.

Er yes, told you it might be gibberish. Detailed description of taste is not my strong point, but you get the idea. It's complex and delicious and beautiful. Personally I think you should bin the crackers and chutney and just eat this on its own, maybe with a glass of red wine. But not port which I find too sweet, the sugar killing the flavour of the cheese. In short, it's amazing. Get some.

Ham, chickpeas and kale

Here is a recipe for a simple, quick and delicious supper. It relies on a tried and tested combo of three main ingredients:- some sort of bean or pulse, some form of cured pig and something green and leafy. In this case it's cured spanish pork shoulder, chickpeas and kale, but there are loads of possible variations on the theme. Think of boiled gammon, split peas and cabbage, or maybe ham, lentils and spinach.

You will need:
olive oil
one medium-sized onion
2 fat cloves of garlic
2 medium-sized ripe tomatoes
a tin of chickpeas
50g of cured ham (I used paleta ibérico - cured pork shoulder from Spanish Ibérico pigs)
a pinch of dried chilli flakes
half a cup of boiling water
a handful of kale
salt and pepper
a lemon

This will serve one greedy person as a one dish meal, or two people with plenty of crusty bread and a pudding to follow.

What to do:
1. Roughly chop the onion and sweat it in olive oil for five minutes or so without browning.
2. Finely chop the garlic, add it to the pan and fry for another minute or two.
3. Roughly chop the tomatoes, add them to the pan and fry for another minute or two.
4. Drain the chick peas and add them to the pan with the pinch of chilli.
5. Roughly chop the ham, add it to the pan and fry for another minute or two.
5. Add the water to the pan, stir and bring to a simmer.
6. Add the handful of kale and simmer for a few minutes until the kale has softened.
7. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
8. Serve immediately with a squeeze of lemon, a drizzle of olive oil and plenty of crusty bread to mop up the juices.