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Today’s is a very short piece, as events at home and work have allowed me very little time. I have been wanting to share this recipe for several weeks though and not doing so just wasn’t an option.
The recipe isn’t mine. It is by the London-based Ukrainian cook and food writer, Olia Hercules. Her family are in Ukraine and it has primarily been through following her impassioned and emotive Instagram feed that I owe my awareness and understanding of the events of the past month.
My admiration for her is unbounded. She has campaigned relentlessly. Spoken and written in the press. Raised funds personally and through her activism and doubtless been responsible for educating a huge number of people about the realities of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. All this while being profoundly concerned about the wellbeing of her extended family, friends and fellow Ukrainians.
One of the ways in which she has been raising funds is through the Cook For Ukraine initiative, which she started with Russian food writer, Alissa Timoshkina. Funds raised through supper clubs, bake sales and pop ups are going to Unicef to help families and children affected by the conflict. To date they have raised nearly £325,000.
By cooking and sharing Ukrainian and Eastern European recipes the campaign aims to increase awareness of the humanitarian crisis and bring people together over a shared love of food and Ukrainian culture.
This recipe is incredibly timely. Nettles, wild sorrel and wild garlic are all now growing in profusion in the fields and woods around us. Foraging the amount required for this recipe is the work of a half hour or so and a great activity to do with friends or family. The root vegetables and alliums are all still in store after the winter, while the fresh green herbs are growing plentifully in our polytunnel.
In however small a way, foraging in the fields for the wild herbs in the quiet of the morning to the sound of birdsong and cooking the recipe to the letter of Olia’s instructions definitely brought me closer to an appreciation of the Ukrainian way life of that is currently being threatened so critically. It is through understanding this common humanity that we appreciate our own freedoms and understand how important it is to speak out when others are at risk of losing theirs.
2 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil
1 onion, peeled and cut into 1cm dice
2 carrots, scrubbed and cut into 1cm dice
1 small celeriac, peeled and cut into 1cm dice
3 celery sticks, cut into 1cm dice
1 leek, white part only, trimmed and cut into 1cm dice
3 big garlic cloves, peeled
1 bay leaf
Salt and black pepper
6 baby potatoes
100g sorrel, sliced
75g young nettle tops (the top few leaves on each stem)
50g wild garlic leaves, sliced (flowers kept for garnish)
3 spring onions, thinly sliced
A handful of chopped dill
A handful of chopped parsley
Creme fraiche, to serve (optional)
Pour the oil into a cast-iron casserole set over a medium-high heat. Once the oil is sizzling, add the onion, carrots, celeriac, celery and leek, and saute, stirring from time to time, for about five minutes: you want them to become caramelised in parts, but not scorched. (If the pan feels too crowded, fry the vegetables in batches.) Add the garlic and cook, still stirring, for about two minutes, until fragrant and starting to colour.
Add two and a half litres of cold water and the bay leaf, season lightly with salt and bring to a boil. Turn down to a simmer and cook, partially covered, for about 40 minutes.
Add the potatoes whole and cook for 10 minutes, or until they are soft, then add the sorrel, nettles and wild garlic and take off the heat. Taste the soup and add more salt if needed.
Put a potato in each soup bowl and lightly crush it with a spoon. Ladle over the broth,then sprinkle with the wild garlic flowers (if using), spring onions and herbs. Serve with a dollop of creme fraiche, if you like, and a good grinding of pepper.
Words: Huw Morgan | Recipe: Olia Hercules from Summer Kitchens | Photographs: Huw Morgan
Published 26 March 2022
Last year was the first time that we have grown Jerusalem artichokes here. Not from a lack of desire, but a lack of space. That may sound crazy when our vegetable garden is larger than many peoples’ gardens, but Jerusalem artichokes are voracious plants and you must have enough space to give over to them if they are not to become problematic.
Growing to three metres tall and two metres across they should be placed on the north side of the garden so as not to shade out other crops. On the other hand they can be useful if you have vegetables that need shading or protecting from wind like some brassicas (broccoli, Brussels’ sprouts, kale), salad leaves and oriental greens. We fenced a new productive compound around the polytunneI last winter, so in the spring I ordered five tubers from Otter Farm. Planted 60cm apart and 15cm deep in April by August they had overreached their 4 metre by 1 metre bed and, on our rich soil, have produced a crop of almost 20 kilos in one season.
Not from Jerusalem at all, but a native of North America, Helianthus tuberosus is, as its Latin name indicates, a type of sunflower, a perennial variety which means it should be planted where you intend to keep it, as it will return year after year. Prone to spreading they should be planted where you can get at them easily to curb their invasive tendencies. For the same reason, when harvesting it is important to try to dig up all of the tubers, as a single one left in the ground will cause your colony to proliferate the following year. I have kept five tubers back this year to replant in the same position. Like potatoes Jerusalem artichokes can be a good first crop to plant in previously uncultivated or heavy ground as the growth of the tubers and their subsequent harvesting break up the soil. However, you must remove all trace of them if you plan to grow other crops in their place afterwards.
Ready to harvest from late October onwards Jerusalem artichokes do not store well once lifted and so are best left in the ground and harvested as required. Incredibly hardy they will tolerate winter temperatures down to -30°C. If you have to dig them all up they are best stored in a cool, dark place such as an outhouse, cellar or shed, although they will keep, well-washed and well-dried, in the salad drawer of the fridge for a week or so.
The fleshy, edible tubers are quite unlike any other vegetable in texture or taste. Although starchy like potatoes, they have a sweet, nutty flavour when cooked which is just about comparable to artichoke hearts, but also distinctly its own thing. Unlike potatoes they can be eaten raw, when their texture is reminiscent of water chestnuts. Thinly sliced with a sharp citrus dressing they make an unusual, crisp winter salad.
Their reputation for causing flatulence precedes them and is what often prevents people from growing or eating them. Caused by the inulin they contain, a starch which is difficult to digest, it is not a problem for everyone and it would seem, from personal experience, that the more often you eat them the less of a problem this is.
Their somewhat delicate, earthy flavour is also distinctive and although typically combined with woodsy flavours like bay, sage, thyme and nutmeg, it can hold its own with much stronger flavours and works unexpectedly well with punchy Mediterranean ingredients; tomatoes, red onions, black olives, capers and anchovies.
This recipe is for a rich, velvety and warming soup for a frosty day. Add more liquid if you prefer a thinner soup. Cooked with half the amount of water the resulting purée is a good accompaniment to game birds, chicken and firm white fish. Substitute the artichokes with celeriac or good floury potatoes if the prospect of a windy evening puts you off.
1kg Jerusalem artichokes
40g dried porcini mushrooms
1 small onion
A spring of thyme, to yield about 1 tsp of leaves
50g butter
4 tbsp rapeseed oil
150ml full cream milk
About 1 litre of water
Serves 4
Set the oven to 200°C.
Soak the dried mushrooms in 200ml hot water.
Heat 25g of butter in a large pan over a medium heat. Finely chop the onion and cook for a few minutes until soft and translucent, stirring from time to time.
Remove the porcini from their water. Squeeze the liquid out of them back into the bowl and retain. Coarsely chop two thirds of them and add to the onions with the thyme. Cook together for a few minutes more, stirring occasionally.
Scrub the artichokes extremely well and remove the fibrous hair roots. Trim off any black patches. Reserve one tuber of approximately 100g and cut the remainder into walnut-sized pieces. Put into a roasting pan in a single layer. Drizzle with olive oil and roast in the oven, turning occasionally, for about 30 minutes until softened and caramelised. Add them to the pot with the onions and mushrooms.
Make the mushroom soaking water up to 1 litre with fresh water and add to the pot. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook with the lid on for about 20 minutes until the artichokes are soft.
Blend the mixture until smooth. Add the milk and season with salt and pepper. Return to a very low heat to keep hot.
Melt the remaining butter in a small pan over a medium heat. Coarsely chop the remaining porcini and stew in the butter for a few minutes until soft and glossy. Remove from the pan and reserve.
Add the rapeseed oil to the a pan and raise the heat. Using a very sharp knife or mandolin slice the reserved artichoke very thinly. When the oil is smoking fry the artichoke slices in batches until brown. Drain on kitchen paper where they will crisp up.
Ladle the soup into warm bowls and place a few artichoke crisps and stewed mushrooms on top. Serve piping hot.
Recipe & photographs: Huw Morgan
Published 29 January 2022
In early July I sit down and think of winter. With my boxes of vegetable seed and Joy Larkcom on the table before me this is when I start to plan what to sow from the end of the month and into August and September. Although it takes some discipline at midsummer to cast my mind into a dark, cold future these are the crops that are starting to provide for us now, so it is time well spent, ensuring that we are not simply dependent on a diet of roots and brassicas through the cold months.
Fennel – also known as bulb or Florence fennel, to differentiate it from the soft herb – is one of my favourite of these midsummer sowings. Despite having a reputation for being tricky, for us it has so far proven to be easy to germinate, trouble-free to grow on, easy to transplant and productive. In early August I sowed 24 modules with two seeds to each to allow for failures. Once germinated I removed the weakest seedling from each module.
Like all umbellifers fennel produces long tap roots, so I use root trainer modules of the sort you might use for sweet peas or broad beans. These ensure that the roots have space to grow down and don’t become tangled and congested, which prevents them from growing away when they are transplanted. Ideally fennel prefers to be sown in situ, but these summer sowings are destined for the polytunnel, and in August we are in the middle of prime tomato production, so the modules were put into the cold frame to germinate and grown on for about a month before being planted out in mid-September.
Fennel is a Mediterranean marsh plant, which needs rich soil and constant moisture to do well. Cold and drought will cause it to bolt in record time, sending up a tough flower spike which quickly makes the whole plant stringy and inedible in a matter of days. Even with very regular watering I have found it impossible to grow the huge, swollen white bulbs you see at the greengrocer or supermarket, but the flavour is good – some would say better – from the smaller ones. You often see these sold as ‘baby fennel’. I have read that lining the trenches you plant the fennel in with perforated plastic sheet retains more moisture and replicates the marsh-like conditions they favour and so I plan to try this method next year to see if it produces larger plants.
On the same day that I sowed the fennel I also made sowings of a new crop for us, ‘Black Spanish Round’ radishes. These were sown direct in the Kitchen Garden, in two rows 30cm apart with plants thinned to 15cm apart after germination. We have very bad flea beetle here which eat the emerging seedlings of all the brassicas we grow, but particularly turnips, swedes, Japanese mustard greens and radishes so all of these are covered with a layer of horticultural fleece or micromesh to protect them until the seedlings can grow away fast enough to leave the ravages of the beetles behind. A regular, careful check beneath the fleece is also needed to keep an eye on the ground slugs which can decimate a young crop. At this end of the season, you rapidly run out of re-sowing time if the first sowing is lost.
The radishes are now the size of tennis balls and have a rough dark skin, unlike the red-blushed breakfast radishes we are more familiar with. Beneath the skin the flesh is pure white, crisp and with the familiar radish pepperiness. They can be eaten raw when young or cooked in any recipe that calls for turnips, to which they bear a strong resemblance in flavour. Hardy up to -10°C they can be left in the ground all winter, but you will avoid slug damage or the predations of mice and voles if you lift them around now and store them somewhere cool and dark.
A fine, chilled sharply dressed fennel salad is one of the most uplifting of dishes for the winter table. The mild aniseed flavour and succulent crispness are invigorating and refreshing. While they are still young and tender enough I thought that these new radishes would pair well with the fennel and slices of succulent ‘Doyenné du Comice’ pear, harvested last month and which we are bringing into the house one at a time to ripen on the window sill.
Both the fennel and radish should be as finely sliced as possible using a mandolin or a very sharp knife. It is essential to put them both into iced water as this crisps them up and causes the radish to curl, which adds to the attractiveness of the plate.
If you are not able to get black radish then a small turnip will be a better substitute than breakfast radishes, which in any case are hard to come by at this time of year and too small to have the right kind of textural impact here. Alternatively, and perhaps easier to find, are the long Japanese radishes known as mooli.
This is a good companion to rich meat dishes, oily fish or a cheeseboard.
200g fennel
200g black radish, turnip or mooli
1 large, perfectly ripe pear
6 leaves of red or variegated chicory. e.g. Palla Rossa or Castelfranco
40g hazelnuts
1 lemon, juiced
Dressing
1 lemon, juice and zest
1 tbsp crème fraiche or Greek yogurt
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp honey or maple syrup
3 tbsp hazelnut oil
3 tbsp rapeseed oil
A small bunch of mint, leaves removed
A small handful of fennel fronds, removed from the stalks
Sea salt
Serves 4
Set the oven to 180°C. Put the hazelnuts into a baking dish in the oven and allow to toast for 10 minutes, checking regularly to prevent burning. Alternatively heat a small frying pan and toast the nuts until fragrant and lightly scorched. Allow to cool, rub off the skins and crush coarsely in a mortar.
Put all of the dressing ingredients, except the herbs, into a bowl and whisk to combine. Chop the mint and fennel very finely and add to the dressing.
Fill a large bowl with cold water and either add ice cubes or put into the freezer for 20 minutes to thoroughly chill.
Peel the radish and slice as thinly as possible using a mandolin or very sharp knife. Put the slices into the iced water. Do the same with the fennel.
In a medium sized bowl put the juice of the first lemon and a cup of cold water.
Carefully cut the pear into quarters, core and cut each quarter lengthwise into 6 slices. Immediately put the slices into the lemon water as you go to prevent browning.
Tear the radicchio into pieces.
Drain the radish and fennel. Put into a salad spinner or clean tea towel to get as dry as possible. Return to the bowl with the torn radicchio. Pour over about two thirds of the dressing and mix with together your hands to combine and coat everything.
Remove the pears from the lemon water and dry on a clean tea towel. Add to the salad and very carefully combine so as not to break the pear pieces.
Using your hands, carefully arrange the salad on the serving plate. Pour over the remainder of the dressing. Scatter a few reserved fennel fronds. Toss over the hazelnuts and serve.
Recipe and photographs | Huw Morgan
Published 13 November 2021
Almost without fail, every meal I cook begins with an onion. Despite the fact that I use so many and that they are both cheap and plentiful at the greengrocer, every year we grow our own. They are a straightforward crop, needing very little attention after planting, apart from weeding, and they always produce in bulk and without pests or problems. Given the frequency with which I use them, every meal time provides a sense of satisfaction and proof of a successful growing season.
We grow a number of onion and shallot varieties, and have settled on our favourites over the years; ‘Sturon’, a large white onion for everyday cooking, which has an RHS Award of Garden Merit due to its reliability and storage quality, ‘Red Baron’, a red onion, also with an RHS AGM, which is another good keeper and with a stronger flavour than most red onions and ‘Keravel Pink’, also known as ‘Rose de Roscoff’, a pretty pale pink onion with coppery skin, which is said to have the best flavour of all, sweet enough to eat raw and deliciously fruity when cooked. An old variety from Brittany this is the variety that my mother remembered beret-wearing Frenchmen – Onion Johnnies – selling from their bicycles on the streets when she was a child in Wales.
Over the years we have learned that onions do best in the sunniest beds of the kitchen garden, unshaded by other crops, do not like growing in beds that have been recently manured, benefit from heavy watering as they approach maturity and that, contrary to traditional growing advice to bend the tops over when the bulbs are fully grown and before lifting, that this is not good practice in reality, since it damages the base of the leaf shaft, which results in the bulbs being more susceptible to rot.
We grew only one variety of shallot this year, ‘Longor’, a large, yellow banana type shallot, which produces reliably high yields. We usually also grow ‘Red Sun’, but these had sold out last year before we could place our orders. All of our onions and shallots come from The Organic Gardening Catalogue as sets – small onions ready to be planted out in spring for a midsummer harvest – but I am tempted this year to try growing some from seed, as this is a lot cheaper and reportedly very easy. Unlike onions shallot sets can b e planted in autumn to produce an earlier crop, and I have recently received an order of ‘Échalote Grise’, an old variety, the gourmet French shallot also known as the ‘true shallot’, which I will plant before teh end of November. Every year we harvest around 100 mature, large onions and 10kg of shallots which, after they have been left out in the sun to ripen and dry out, are plaited together by Dan who is a dab hand, having done it for many years as a child with his mother.
Although the majority of our onions end up invisibly in soups, stews, casseroles, dhals and curries, sometimes you really want to taste the flavour of a home-grown onion, and this recipe makes them the focus of a meal. Many stuffed onion recipes have a lot of ingredients which compete with the subtle sweetness of the vegetable itself. Here onions’ well-known partner, sage, and just a little bread, nut and cheese ensure that the onion is what you really taste.
4 medium onions – around 250g each
1 stalk of celery– about 50g
40g butter
50g walnuts
40g white breadcrumbs
50g cheddar cheese, finely grated, plus extra for garnish
12 tender, young sage leaves, finely chopped
Nutmeg, freshly grated
4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
Serves 4
Set the oven to 180°C and bring a large pan of water to the boil.
Remove any loose papery skins from the onions, retaining one complete layer of dried skin. Remove the root with a sharp knife being careful not to cut through the skin, then cut through the top of the onion to remove about 1cm, so that you all of the layers are visible.
Simmer the onions in the pan of hot water with a lid on for about 30 minutes until soft to the point of a knife. Remove with a slotted spoon and allow to drain and cool in a colander.
When cool enough to handle carefully remove the centre of each onion with a teaspoon, leaving a shell 2 to 3 layers thick. Put the onion shells into a buttered ovenproof dish.
Toast the walnuts in the oven for about 3 minutes until lightly coloured and fragrant. Chop finely.
Finely chop the celery and garlic and the centres from the onions. Melt the butter in a small pan over a high heat until foaming and smelling toasty. Turn the heat down and sauté the celery and garlic for about 3 minutes until translucent. Then add the onion and cook over a low heat for 10 minutes until the flavours have combined.
Remove from the heat and add the chopped walnuts, sage, the grated cheddar cheese and breadcrumbs. Season generously with salt, black pepper and grated nutmeg. Stir well and then spoon the mixture into the onion shells. Press the stuffing down well so that there are no air pockets and mound it up on the top so as to use all of the mixture.
Grate a little more cheese over the top of each onion and then put into the oven for 30-40 minutes until brown and bubbling.
Serve as a main course with a green salad and boiled potatoes or as a side vegetable with other dishes.
These can be made in advance and then, before roasting, kept covered in the fridge for up to three days until needed or wrapped in foil and frozen. Once defrosted you should add 10 to 15 minutes to the cooking time from cold.
Recipe & photographs: Huw Morgan
Published 16 October 2021
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