Last month we published our latest Good Food Nation Survey, now in its 13th year. This drew on a YouGov poll of 2,000 UK adults (aged 18+) and was conducted in May 2026. It’s important to us (at Good Food) to remind ourselves how people are living rather than hypothesising, but social media and SEO data only tell you a slice of the story, and a skewed one at that. This year, we were particularly interested in attitudes to making meals, where people find recipe inspiration, emotional relationships with food, planning habits, and what might be stopping people from cooking. Planning is a pain point, but rigid meal plans are not what people want. I suspect that, for most, like me, help in making choices is far more useful than a set of instructions that isn’t tailored or nuanced.

Information overload: Technology is reshaping where we turn for meal ideas. Internet searches, recipe websites and social media dominate, with AI platforms creeping in, particularly with younger generations. The sheer volume of information can be overwhelming. There are so many good ideas out there, yet we so often default to what we are familiar with. I wonder, does this make us feel as if we are missing out? Are the noodles more luscious, the pastries crisper, or the salad greener on the other side?

Barriers to cooking: Time, cost and ingredient availability are the top deterrents to trying new recipes – 76% of us have experienced ‘decision fatigue’ when planning meals, peaking at 94% in households with children under four. When budgets are tight, trying something new can be money in the bin if you or your family don’t enjoy it.

The emotional side of food: ‘Relaxed’ and ‘happy’ are the top emotions related to cooking, which is good to see. We found that 87% enjoy cooking, but 70% feel bored by their own output. People love the act but run out of ideas for recipes they don’t trust to deliver, especially for dinner – the meal that gets repeated most. The word ‘rotation’ makes recreating the meals again and again sound far cooler than it might be.

Meal planning: 34% of us plan meals a few days in advance. The top planning benefits are saving money, reducing food waste and staying organised. Planning can also help with decision fatigue – if only we had the headspace (more on this later).

What “cooking” means in 2026: 83% of us favour cooking from scratch, but we are pragmatic; over half happily combine pasta with a ready-made sauce or use a curry kit.

If you think about it, how we organise our shopping and cooking every week is quite a feat of mental dexterity. Add in nutritional planning, the need to avoid certain foods, or a household with mixed preferences, and you are approaching extreme cognitive work. Many of us do this on autopilot, some use a digital planning tool and others have written lists on the fridge or on phones. It’s likely you have some kind of mental storage zone where a picture of what’s in the fridge, freezer and cupboard (though possibly not right at the back) can be recalled while food shopping. There are good reasons to tighten up planning; for example, if you’re a household where you don’t manage food waste as efficiently as you like, perhaps you’d like to save money. WRAP estimates that an average household of four throws away an average £1000 of food a year. Likewise, planning can help get healthy dinners on the table, pack lunchboxes and use up leftovers, and, with luck, will give you enough time to enjoy some weekend cooking if you like.

Organised does not mean boring: Time is also a big factor; many of us feel as if we have less time in the day to do anything. Research from Kantar in 2024 showed that average meal prep times are falling for both lunch and dinner (15-ish and 30-ish mins). Elaborate recipes are less sought after, and simpler meals with fewer ingredients are in. This might sound like we are sacrificing flavour, but clever shortcuts with punchy ingredients are everywhere on social media. A jar of chilli crisp, some pickles or kimchi, the addition of a shower of herbs or a sprinkle of seeds and nuts can make a dish of four or five simple ingredients into an exciting plate of food. A couple of good base recipes stashed in the freezer, or from a jar or tin, can also make a meal quicker to cook. I am a huge fan of canned fish in chilli oil, cubes of frozen curry paste and compound butters.

We still love cooking; our survey finds that 87% of us enjoy cooking, yet 70% feel uninspired by our main meals. Planning, batch-cooking, or prepping can all be helpful in mitigating this. Fill your freezer with homemade ready meals, prep several different kinds of ingredients to mix and match, plan to buy three or four new flavourful additions to the week’s food, and invest in some shortcut ingredients (sofrito is a massive time-saver), and you’ll feel less bored.

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The confusion between prep, plan and batch

The terms ‘planning, prepping, and batch cooking’ are sometimes unhelpfully used interchangeably, although they can and do overlap. Here’s my interpretation:

Batch cooking is focused on:

· Pre-cooking and storing complete meals in the fridge or freezer

· Suited for those who want to have a variety of complete meals ready to go, because they only need reheating to form the whole or main part of a meal

· Can involve everyone cooking together (positively encouraged)

Meal prepping is focused on:

· Preparing and storing individual components of similar meals that can be quickly assembled later

· Allows individual household members to assemble meals that suit their own preferences

Meal planning is:

· The upstream step, the cognitive work that needs to take place before any shopping and cooking happens

· Can involve the whole household in making decisions

You can plan without prepping or batch cooking, or prep and batch cook without planning. Many of us don’t meal prep at all; data shows that our recipe search is for the lowest cooking time possible; and the cost-of-living crisis can drive planning behaviour more out of anxiety above everything else. We might be able to cut ourselves a little slack, save some pennies and delegate some of the admin to other people if we plan a little differently (note to self). Or if total spontaneity is your bag, you do you. I often don’t know what I fancy eating for dinner until I’ve had lunch.

I made some pen portraits:

The Batch Cook

You might say your organisational ability is something you’ve learnt – from a parent, from a period of not being flush with cash, from the practical reality of feeding several people, or because, after a day’s work, you come home too exhausted to cook. A batch of bolognese means making enough for eight, and half goes in the freezer before anyone can ask for seconds. Batch cooks are not necessarily optimising nutrition; you are solving the age-old problem of putting something delicious on the table on a Tuesday when nobody (often you) has any time. When you’ve cooked in advance last weekend, or the weekend before that, life seems easier. Soups, stews, casseroles, chilli, dals and curries are the dishes that are easily doubled, portion out well and forgive reheating. They are your go-tos.

To be a batch cook, you need infrastructure. A big enough freezer, enough containers, the presence of mind to label things, and enough time at the weekend to cook.

Pros: a high return on effort; naturally reduces food waste; suits families and larger households; freezer stock can provide a genuine fallback on busy days
Cons: needs space and time; demands some forward thinking; effort can go unnoticed and unaccounted for; labelling discipline is required, or food still gets wasted

The Meal Prepper

You’re the optimistic organiser who takes comfort in knowing that your efforts will pay off all week. Proteins portioned, grains and carbs cooked, salads chopped, oats soaked, and all these stacked neatly in the fridge. The point is that on Wednesday night, if you are tired and your resistance to bad decisions (the ease of a takeaway or six slices of toast and jam) is low, the good decision made several days ago is sitting in the fridge.

To be a prepper, you need to be comfortable with systems that other people find restrictive. Your motivation could be time or money, but it isn’t variety. Eating the same/same-ish lunch five days running is a feature; you might already do this if you make or buy a sandwich every day for lunch. The system tends to suit a life with reasonably predictable rhythms; a spontaneous night out means a meal not eaten.

Pros: dramatically reduces weeknight decision fatigue; supports consistent nutrition; and saves significant time across the week
Cons: requires repetition; has limited flexibility when plans change; might get boring

Meal planners

Shopping is your superpower; you know that most of the week’s food problems are shopping problems in disguise. On Sunday evening, you spend twenty minutes with your phone, your head in the fridge/freezer to see what’s left, and a mental list of everyone else in the household’s preferences. You work out what needs using up first, then try to dovetail it into ideas about what you want to eat and what everyone else will eat. Meal planning sits closer to budgeting than to cooking, and it means almost nothing in the fridge goes off. You don’t necessarily cook in advance, your skill range can be vast or limited, and you are likely a dab hand at making lunch from leftovers.

For this skill you need time to think (hah). Not just the time to make the list, but the headspace to look up new recipes, gather ideas and dream a little.

Pros: low food waste; possibly a reduced food spend; flexibility to cook fresh each night; specialist equipment or skills are not essential
Cons: requires weekly time investment and mental discipline; offers no buffer on weeknights when you do not want to cook; can fall apart if the rest of the household is not crystal clear on what they can randomly snack on in the fridge or suddenly change their preferences

The gender gap

The deciding-what-to-eat, remembering-what’s-in-the-fridge, anticipating-everyone’s-preferences, referred to as ‘mental load’, is invisible and almost always defaults to one person in a house. Often, but not always, a woman.

A 2025 University of Bath and Melbourne study found that mothers report 67% more household management than fathers. This mental load doesn’t lessen with money or career success, which may reduce mothers’ physical household work. The assumption that the planning role is female-skewed, even though home cooking is now more visible as gender-balanced in some places (count how many pictures show a woman cooking) in how it’s portrayed, has not gone away. Fixes and help often treat this unequal load as a fixed condition to be optimised or made frictionless, rather than sharing the load, but there’s a big difference between reducing the cognitive part of planning and just making the existing load-bearer more efficient at carrying it.

Tools to make life easier

Freezer containers are the bane of many lives; the lids escape from the bases, they never stack well, and the drawer or cupboard that houses them is often a chaotic jumble, no matter how often you tidy it. Enter the freezer ‘pod’ or block. Freeze your food in blocks and then pop them out and stack them in a bag. Don’t forget to label and date.

A mini chopper makes light work of herbs when you have big bunches. A food processor with a grater and slicer will sort out carrots, cabbage, and onions in short order. Unless you like meditative chopping and slicing (I do), make your prepping quicker, and you’ll spend less time in the kitchen.

Glass stacking containers let you see what’s in them without pulling everything out of the fridge. You can buy many brands, but IKEA ones can be bought separately from their lids, so when you break or lose one part, you can replace it. They are also oven-proof and freezer-proof, so you can prep, freeze and bake.

A fridge carousel helps manage the exciting condiments and flavourings that add pep to meals. Old school but worth it.

Do you prep, plan or batch cook? What are your best tips?

Here’s a recipe by to help you feel less bored!

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The wonderful thing about food is that you can relate it to everything, including the World Cup. I love the stories of local communities going all-in to teach visiting teams and fans about local food culture; discovering new flavours and ideas is such a joy, wherever you are in the world. My favourite venues wherever I go on holiday are local supermarkets, markets, food trucks and station cafés. If I came to London, I’d want to be eating an M&S sandwich, a midnight kebab, a Greggs sausage roll, a bag of soggy chips (not fries), a bowl of rice and dal, etc, etc, as much as I’d be booking restaurants in advance or queuing at ‘viral’ bakeries. Sarah, one of the Good Food team, is supremely well placed to suggest what a football fan currently touring the States, or anyone planning a holiday over there, might like to try in the cities that are currently hosting matches. Sorry, Canada and Mexico, I haven’t fitted you in this time, but any suggestions in the comments would be VERY welcome and will be reposted. Over to Sarah.

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Growing up in Pennsylvania, soccer – er, football – was definitely not on my radar. Despite World Cup USA ’94, I was only vaguely aware that America even had national teams, not to mention an ever-growing professional league. In fact, my first experience of watching a World Cup was in 2010, the same year I moved to the UK.

But, after 16 years in England, marrying a Londoner and becoming a dual citizen, embracing football culture is second nature – I now spend a lot of my spare time reviewing matchday experiences with my other half for Any Given Saturday, something I never imagined I’d be doing. It’s been exciting to watch the US embrace that culture too, as one of the three host nations of the 2026 World Cup.

The tournament has not been without its controversies, but in the past few weeks, social media has been a rare source of joy as global visitors have shared their foodie discoveries while travelling across America – from Japanese fans sampling traditional Texas barbecue to the TSA issuing warnings to travellers trying to smuggle bottles of ranch dressing home.

I get it – I have plenty of my own favourite nostalgic US snacks (every visiting family member duly pays a tax of a jar of Peter Pan peanut butter in exchange for my London tour services). And, because the country is so vastly different from coast to coast, there is SO MUCH food to try while you’re there. These are just a few suggestions of what to seek out if you’re making the trip…

Boston

If you’re off to Boston, you’re probably thinking lobster roll. You’re not wrong – the city’s North Atlantic location means it’s a great place to eat seafood. But the less obvious sandwich of choice in the city is a ‘North Shore 3 way’ – a stack of razor-thin roast beef on a soft onion roll topped with mayo, white American cheese and, traditionally, James River barbecue sauce. You can get a really good one about an hour up the coast at The Modern Butcher, if you’re lucky – they’re only available on Saturdays, so expect a queue.

Growing up in a New York Yankees household means I do my best to avoid Boston baseball culture, but if you’re here in summer, there’s no getting around it. Head to Fenway Park to grab one of its eponymous franks at any concession stand in the stadium – the beef-and-pork hot dogs are uniquely boiled then grilled to keep them juicy, and they’re served in a steamed New England-style split-top bun.

Once you’ve had your fill of crab cakes and fried clams, stop by Parker’s Restaurant in the Omni Parker House hotel for a taste of Boston’s sweeter heritage. It’s here in 1856 that French chef Augustine Anezin created the Boston cream pie, a dessert that is, confusingly, a cake (at the time, specialised cake tins didn’t exist, so ‘pie’ covered everything). Comprised of two buttery sponge cakes sandwiched with thick pastry cream and topped with chocolate glaze, the original version at Parker’s is also laced with a touch of rum and ringed with flaked almonds. If you’re not up for a sit-down slice, try a Boston cream doughnut at almost any doughnut shop instead – a delightful take on a Berliner filled with vanilla custard and topped with choc frosting. Boston is, after all, the birthplace of the Dunkin’ chain, and both the pie (cake!) and doughnut are official Massachusetts state symbols.

New York/New Jersey

There are plenty of guides for eating your way through New York, so yes, tick off your bucket list of pizza, bagels and pastrami on rye. For another American classic, make your way to the Lower East Side and order a generous pan of macaroni & cheese at S’MAC – Sarita’s Mac and Cheese. In my first year of uni in New York, I spent a lot of time here – it’s the one food I could eat any time of day, any day of the week – which was possible because the sheer number of flavours on offer would keep anyone busy for a while. Aside from the classic, there are alpine-, masala- and Cajun-inspired macs, plus endlessly customisable build-your-own options and a sampler plate if you can’t decide. Or, grab a take-and-bake mac & cheese pan to cook fresh in your Airbnb.

Don’t spend all your time in Manhattan, either – The ‘New York/New Jersey’ stadium is actually located across the river in East Rutherford, New Jersey, so while you’re there, seek out a Taylor ham, egg and cheese from the closest available spot. ‘Taylor ham’ is the original brand name for pork roll – a processed, salty, log-shaped pork product that’s sliced and pan-fried, then stacked onto a soft kaiser roll with a fried egg and melted cheese. (If you’re headed to south Jersey, just order a pork roll – the Taylor ham/pork roll name debate is hotly contested and heavily regional.) Don’t skip an order of diner disco fries, either – first popularised in Clifton in the 70s, these are Jersey’s late-night answer to Canadian poutine, featuring thick- or crinkle-cut fries, gravy and melted mozzarella.

For my money, though, the best New York-area snack – obvious though it may be – is a ‘dirty water dog’, aka street-cart hot dog. Don’t worry – the nickname comes from the colour of the water after a day spent simmering hundreds of hot dogs (especially the case for vendors who add spices and seasoning to the water). Sauerkraut and mustard on mine, please!

Atlanta

You can’t visit Georgia without trying the three Ps: pecans, peanuts and peaches. It’s not quite nut season yet, but if you’re driving to Atlanta, stop by any roadside stand selling boiled peanuts and dig in (the canned versions found in petrol stations and shops are usually best avoided). Made using young, green peanuts, the whole nuts are boiled in salted water until the peanuts soften inside the shell. Don’t go in expecting roasted peanuts – these are a totally different snack, with a texture like a very firm cooked bean and deeply salty flavour. If you find ones that have been boiled with salt and Cajun seasoning, even better. Best enjoyed with a cold beer (when your road trip is over, that is) or Coca-Cola – it was invented in Atlanta, after all.

Peak peach season in Georgia runs from May to mid-August, so it’s prime time to enjoy the ripest, sweetest fruit, which will be popping up in farmers’ markets and shops all over Atlanta. For a real taste of Southern soul food, peach cobbler is the answer – think of it like a crumble but with a pie crust or scone-like topping. The Peach Cobbler Factory serves scoops of its cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream, while Ivy’s Heavenly Cobbler is baked with a buttery, flaky pie crust top.

Locals also wait all year for Chick-fil-A’s limited-edition peach milkshake – and while it may be ‘fast food’, it gets high praise for its real peach purée and fresh flavour. Plus, the chain got its start in an Atlanta suburb, so it’s deeply loved in the area.

As a bonus: lemon pepper wings are an Atlanta staple, packed with citrussy, spicy flavour. Head to The Loclearntal on Ponce de Leon Avenue for some of the best around.

Houston

Texas is beef country, so it’s no surprise tourists come seeking barbecue. But the state’s largest city, situated along the Gulf Coast in the south, has a more diverse food scene than you might expect. Viet-Cajun cuisine, for example, has boomed in popularity here over the last 10-15 years and is largely built around the native crawfish industry.

Following an influx of Vietnamese refugees to the Gulf Coast post-Vietnam War, immigrants working as fishermen in New Orleans learned how to cook Cajun and Creole specialities (think: gumbo, po’boys), while local Louisiana chefs also took inspiration from traditional Vietnamese recipes, creating their own twists on bánh mìs and pho. This hybrid cuisine was then taken to Houston, where many relocated after Hurricane Katrina and the Deepwater Horizon oil spill – instead of fishing in the Gulf, which had been greatly impacted, fishermen could work further inland, catching freshwater crawfish. Now, you’ll find plenty of crawfish eateries in Houston serving the crustaceans ‘Vietnamese-style’, boiled and seasoned with special spice blends. Try them with garlic noodles at Crawfish Cafe on Bellaire Boulevard, or alongside grilled pork spring rolls and fried catfish at Crawfish & Noodles.

Kolaches – Czech pastries that were brought to Houston by immigrants in the 19th century – are another go-to local snack. The Original Kolache Shoppe, which has been baking authentic treats for 70 years, offers sweet kolaches filled with raspberry cream, sweetened cottage cheese, cherries and more for just $3 each. Or, for a savoury snack, tuck into a klobásníky filled with sausage & cheese or added jalapeños.

Dallas

Further north in Texas is Dallas, and I know I said there’s more to the state than beef, but you really need to get a steak while you’re here. You might need to splash out, but there are plenty of traditional steakhouses in the city – Pappas Bros serves porterhouse and prime ribeye with baked potatoes and creamed spinach; Bob’s offers wedge salads as a starter for veal rib chops and T-bone steaks; and Nick & Sam’s cooks the classics alongside bison fillet, fried lobster and inventive sides.

There’s also, of course, a huge variety of Tex-Mex in Dallas, from grab-and-go fast food breakfast tacos to authentic, generous platters of enchiladas, chimichangas and rice and beans. Las Palmas is on the higher end (think portobello mushroom or Gulf shrimp fajitas topped with bone marrow butter), while MariaRustic andno’s Hacienda serves Texas brisket tacos alongside house-made corn tortillas (not to mention roasted salsa and queso sold by the quart, if you fancy). Mariano’s is also the birthplace of the frozen margarita machine, so it can’t hurt to sample one…

Speaking of drinks, Texas is the home of Dr Pepper, and it’s an understatement to say that locals love it. In the city, you’ll find Dr Pepper old fashioneds at The Rustic, and plenty of spots serving ‘dirty’ Dr Pepper sodas (mixed with flavoured syrups and cream) and even Dr Pepper-flavoured ice creams.

Miami

Miami’s food scene is dominated by its Cuban influence, but it’s also got Caribbean and Latin American flair, thanks to its far-south location. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the de facto meal here is a Cuban sandwich – slow-roasted pork, ham, swiss cheese, pickles and mustard, all hot-pressed on crusty Cuban bread. You can pick them up all over the city, but try Sanguich for a classic take or order the patria at Tinta y Café. Or, just find one in your nearest petrol station – it won’t disappoint. Look out for croquetas and pastelitos, too – Islas Canarias offers ham, chicken or fish croquetas and guava & cheese pastries.

Miami’s got a huge coffee culture, but don’t expect lots of New York-style coffee shops. Locals instead gather at ventanitas, or coffee windows, for a cafecito (a shot of strong, very sweet espresso) and quick catch-up. If you’re new to Cuban coffee, try a cortadito, which is cut with steamed milk.

San Francisco

Sourdough is legendary in the Bay Area, but it’s not (cue gasps) hugely different to other high-quality loaves elsewhere. What is unique is that San Francisco has been taking its sourdough seriously for much longer than the rest of the US – in fact, more than a hundred years longer. During the Gold Rush, when immigrants travelled with scarce supplies to California in search of fortune, bread starters helped basics like flour and water bake into risen loaves. Later, San Francisco bakers perfected the technique, working with those same historic starters, local ingredients and the warm climate to produce tangy, well-baked loaves. Boudin Bakery is considered San Fran’s oldest continuously operating business and still uses a Gold Rush-era mother dough, while Tartine Bakery is a hotspot in the Mission District. (If you’re queuing at Tartine, pick up a massive Mission burrito for lunch afterwards – there are plenty of taquerias to choose from and most are pretty good.)

It’s not all about the dough, though – San Francisco’s the birthplace of many American-style Chinese takeaway favourites, like chop suey, crab rangoon and even fortune cookies. Chinatown caters to tourists, sure, but you’ll be able to sample plenty of these uniquely adapted dishes.

Seattle

If you’re in town for a match, you’re likely downing a few pints. But skip the Coors or Miller for a local brew – most of America’s hops are grown in the Pacific Northwest, and Seattle has plenty of independent breweries to back up those stats. Holy Mountain is a highly regarded brewer-owned option, while Cloudburst is a multi-award-winning brewery selling to-go four-packs at its taproom. If you can’t choose just one to visit, head to Ballard Brewery District and make your own pub crawl. And, if you need something to soak up the booze after, get yourself some chicken teriyaki. Teriyaki was, obviously, invented in Japan hundreds of years ago, but its spiritual home could be said to be Seattle. The now-popular Americanised version – marinated chicken or beef, grilled and served with teriyaki sauce and rice – became a thing here in the late 70s and quickly became the city’s favourite comfort food. Find your closest restaurant and tuck in, or make a pilgrimage to Toshi’s Teriyaki for a taste of the original Seattle style.

Seattle’s also synonymous with seafood, from Dungeness crabs to salmon. But if you’re in Pike Place Market for the fish, don’t skip the produce section: it’s peak Rainier cherry season, and it’d be a shame to miss out. The Insta-worthy berries (named after nearby Mount Rainier) are yellow-orange with a red blush and sweet, creamy yellow flesh and are only around for a short time – head over to Alberg Cherry Farms’ stand for a punnet or pick up some chocolate-covered Rainiers at Chuktake,ar Cherries.

I know I’ve mentioned hot dogs a lot already, but every major US city has its own take, and Seattle is no different. Here, the local dog of choice has a cream cheese-slathered bun filled with a frankfurter, caramelised onions and sometimes jalapeños. Uniquely Seattle and, according to locals, highly underrated.

Los Angeles

With its proximity to Mexico, Southern California is packed with taco trucks, and you can’t really go wrong with any. Many street-food vendors combine the Pacific Coast’s fresh seafood with authentic Mexican flavours, so expect to see fillings like fried shrimp with guacamole alongside smoky carne asada and cauliflower al pastor. Search ‘taco truck’ on Google or Apple maps for a live look at what’s open near you.

You’ll also undoubtedly order from In-N-Out’s secret menu while you’re in town – its ‘animal-style’ burger seared in mustard and topped with grilled onions, pickles and Thousand Island sauce is the stuff of Instagram legend – but head to a local diner for chili cheese fries. The Hat in Alhambra and The Original Tops in Pasadena have both been slinging pastrami sandwiches and diner classics since the 50s, including signature chili-topped cheesy fries – you can decide which does it best.

If you can’t get enough of American diners, the French dip sandwich was invented here and is still a go-to, featuring thinly sliced roast beef on a baguette that’s been dipped in the beef roasting juices, often served with jus on the side for dunking. The debate about which restaurant invented it – Philippe the Original or Cole’s French Dip – rages on, but with the latter now closed, head to Philippe’s for a taste.

Kansas City

Confusingly, Kansas City is technically two cities, divided by a state line but treated as one greater metropolitan area. The stadium is on Missouri’s side, but as a whole, KC is known for its barbecue – specifically burnt ends, originally the extra-crispy offcuts from smoked brisket that are now a speciality in their own right. Made from cubed pieces of the fatty point muscle found on whole brisket joints, burnt ends are tossed in barbecue sauce, brown sugar and beef juices before being smoked again until the fat renders and the sugars caramelise. Joe’s Kansas City Bar-B-Que serves burnt ends with Texas toast and your choice of side (and arguably more famously, the local favourite Z-Man sandwich, stacked high with smoked brisket, provolone cheese and onion rings); Arthur Bryant’s provides an old-school burnt ends experience plus baked beans, slaw and potato salad; and Chef J’s has a succinct but quality menu of barbecue favourites, including bacon burnt ends and mac & cheese.

If you’re not completely stuffed with smoked meats, Garozzo’s in downtown Kansas City created the chicken spiedini in the 1980s – chicken cubes marinated in olive oil, garlic, basil and breadcrumbs before being skewered, coated in more breadcrumbs, then grilled and served over pasta with sauce. It’s now a KC icon found around the city, but you can still try the original at Garozzo’s cosy Italian tavern seven days a week.

Philadelphia

Throughout the World Cup, I’ve been seeing social posts of European visitors discovering Buc-ee’s – the giant part-petrol station, part-shopping mall travel centres dotted around the south. But if you’re heading to Philly, you have to go to Wawa. This isn’t just a chain of petrol stations; here, Wawa is an institution. It lives up to the hype, too – 24 hours a day, seven days a week, you can get made-to-order hoagies and breakfast sandwiches, freshly made doughnuts, soups, pizza and more, alongside a full coffee and iced drinks menu. While you’re there, stock up on packaged Pennsylvania snack stalwarts like Herr’s or Utz crisps and Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets (way better than Twinkies), alongside basic groceries and toiletries, if you need. (You can skip the Hershey’s; I won’t be offended.)

While we’re on the subject, Pennsylvania is a stronghold for those who love to snack. Heinz, Snyder’s of Hanover, Auntie Anne’s and, yes, Hershey’s, are all from PA. One of the most famous American snacks, the soft pretzel, is often associated with New York, but Philadelphia is its true home, brought to the city by an influx of German immigrants in the 1800s. While you’ll see the familiar Bavarian-style shape, Philly soft pretzels are traditionally twisted in a figure eight, which helps bakers fit more into their ovens in one go. For a hyper-regional taste, look out for brands from so-called ‘Pretzel City’, aka Reading: Tom Sturgis Pretzels, Unique Snacks and Faller’s have all been baking snappy hard pretzels for generations (my husband highly recommends the former’s chocolate-covered option).

Reading Terminal Market is high on tourist bucket lists, but there’s a reason: outside of Tommy DiNic’s famous roast pork & broccoli rabe sandwiches, you can also sample Lancaster County Dairy’s fresh milk and juices, Termini Brothers’ cannolis and Bassetts ice cream.

If you wind up in a dive bar while you’re here (you will, and should – I have a soft spot for Oscar’s Tavern on Sansom Street). Order a ‘citywide’ to get a can of beer and a shot – traditionally a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a shot of Jim Beam, but this varies. Think of it as a happy hour special, but one that happens whenever you want it. For the more adventurous, a ‘pickleback’ will get you a shot of Jameson with a pickle brine chaser. And, if you order a lager, expect a Yuengling – crafted just under a two-hour drive from Philadelphia at America’s oldest brewery. A word to the wise, though: bring your passport (most PA bars require valid ID for entry) and cash, as many dives don’t take cards.

And, if you want a cheesesteak? Ask a local for their pick – everyone’s got a different number one, but most agree that there are better options in the city than Pat’s and Geno’s, two ultra-famous spots that sit opposite one another on Passyunk Avenue.

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“Has anyone ever made coconut cake with coffee frosting, and if so, was it good? And if it was, could you please share the recipe?” This came up as a question in a subreddit.

It generated some discussion; the world is divided about both flavours, and the combination could be an improvement or a disaster. I like coconut as a flavour but usually avoid desiccated – there have been too many baked goods with the texture of toenails in my past. I also have issues with sweet coffee; I must be the only person who dislikes espresso martinis, though I will allow a good, strong coffee and walnut cake.

Miriam has knocked it out of the park with this cake; the flavours really do work well together, and the texture of the sponge is the right side of dense while the icing is as light and fluffy as it should be. I think this is a cake to eat at room temperature (wait until next week to make it). If it’s straight from the chiller, then the textures will be too similar, although that may be your preference.

Anyway, I hope you all survive the heat this week. Salads and summer rolls seem to be the order of the day, according to what’s popping up on socials, along with iced drinks of many hues. Your freezer and fridge will be working overtime to stay cool, so make sure you’ve optimised them by allowing room for air to circulate in fridges. Also, check they are far enough from the wall at the back for air to circulate; the manual will have told you how far this should be. If you need to defrost something, then doing this in the fridge will help the fridge stay cool. If you are having trouble sleeping, then I recommend a frozen hot water bottle to help you. Wrap it in a pillowcase and apply it where necessary.

There are some nice cooling recipes on our website too.

If you enjoyed Miriam’s recipe, then you might like her new book of whisky cocktails. Chap-smacking.

Some strawberry tips:

An 80g serving of strawberries provides 26 kcal/101 kJ, 0.5g protein, 0.4g fat, 4.9g carbohydrates, 13g fibre, 136mg potassium, 49mcg folate, 46mg and vitamin C.

Interestingly, back in 2009 tested (for the NYT) how to keep berries for longer and found that a hot wash followed by chilling worked best.

You can use strawberry tops to infuse flavour into water, vinegar and booze. If you are making a smoothie, then you can use the whole strawberry.

See you on Tuesday. Please subscribe if you haven’t.

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…with which (plus three sponge fingers, the end of a pot of crème fraîche, some brown sugar and a few pistachios) I made this:

There have been prettier desserts, but it tastes good.

Hull and chop the strawberries (I had 8) and put them in a bowl with a sprinkling of sugar. Leave for an hour or so to produce some juice. Break up the sponge fingers and put half at the bottom of a container, then add a layer of strawberry, and squeeze over some lime if you also have a sad bit. Stir most of the remaining strawberries into the crème fraîche with a little extra sugar and spoon half into the dish. Add another layer of sponge fingers, then the remaining crème fraîche mix. Scatter the remaining strawberries on top, more sugar if you like, and finally, chopped pistachios. Now put in the fridge for an hour or more so the sponge fingers soak up enough moisture, because no one likes a dry sponge finger.

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One last thought from Cheryl…

In The Darling Buds of May, H.E. Bates describes strawberry picking in Kent:

‘Lying on their fresh beds of straw, the squarish fat crimson strawberries shone in the sun with a too-perfect beauty exactly, as Pop said, as if painted.’

Perfick, as Pop would say.

There’s irony in the title of this post: ‘fields’ of strawberries no longer look as they once did, as this week’s guest writer will explain. And yes, I know the Beatles song is not about actual strawberry fields. Over to Cheryl.

At school (a while back), our English teacher illustrated the use of the word ‘delicacy’ by describing how bringing home strawberries to his children was an indulgence. Strawberries, he announced, are a delicacy. This rare or expensive food item that was considered a luxury or a treat is now a summer staple, grown year-round even in the UK. Despite this, strawberries continue to hold a special allure to evoke a hoped-for sunny summer. Their seasonal appearance once coincided with the start of Wimbledon; strawberries and cream have been served there since the first tournament in 1877.

In the beginning…

According to the RHS, the strawberry we know, Fragaria × ananassa, began life as Fragaria virginiana (a sweeter version of our tiny wild strawberry, from eastern North America) combined with the beach strawberry Fragaria chiloensis (much larger but blander, from the western coast of America) in a chance cross that occurred in France. Although the name origin ‘straw berry’ is uncertain, it has nothing to do with straw and is more likely to mean strewn, possibly referring to the tiny achenes that cover the fruit. As a member of the rose family, strawberries are not actually berries. The flesh grows from the receptacle that holds them, whereas a true berry is produced from the ovary of a single flower. I love the Old English name, eorðberge, ‘earth-berry’.

The RHS remarks that ‘strawberries have been a popular fruit since the days of Henry VIII, when, in 1509, Thomas Wolsey is said to have introduced strawberries and cream as a dessert. Their popularity soared in 19^th-century London when, for a few heady weeks of the summer, the juicy berries were sought after by the wealthy. Before the days of refrigeration, eating berries in public was a sign of prosperity.’

Now…

Strawberries grown organically in the soil, with straw to protect them, are a rare sight now. A small percentage of organic strawberries continue to be soil-grown. Tabletop growing (allowing for better control of predators, elimination of soil-borne diseases, increased yields, an extended growing season and improved picking efficiency) accounts for over 85% of the strawberries grown in the UK and Ireland, and innovation, such as the Dyson Farming method, is coming into play. In the Netherlands and Belgium, hydroponic systems dominate the industry, while industrial systems in Spain under plastic tunnels use soil, and Poland still uses an open field system.

Growing conditions have changed over the years, but so have the varieties, the length of time it takes for the fruit to reach us, and how they’re stored and kept. Strawberries should have a sweet aroma that’s echoed in the taste, in a gently yielding bite that’s juicy and fragrant. The modern strawberry is a result of supermarket supply chains that need fruit to look good on the shelf. Commercial berries must survive exacting temperature-controlled logistics; they are born to be tough little survivors.

An heirloom, organic or wild strawberry is ripe all the way through, incredibly sweet, and completely soft. If you put a pallet of these on a bumpy English road (or a truck from Spain), the weight of the top berries would crush the bottom ones into jam. To fix this, agricultural breeders selected varieties with a dense, more fibrous central core. This acts like a structural column or a built-in shock absorber. It keeps the strawberry rigid during packing and shipping.

Strawberries ripen from the outside in, triggered by sunlight and warmth. The skin and outer flesh turn deep red first because they are exposed to the sun and produce anthocyanins (the pigments that make berries red). However, there are some varieties that are naturally a pale red, even white, so don’t always judge a strawberry by its colour. The core is the very last part of the strawberry to mature, develop sugars and turn red. Because supermarkets prioritise shelf-life, commercial growers often harvest the berries the exact moment the outside turns completely red, even if the inner core hasn’t caught up yet. Strawberries stop ripening the moment they are pulled from the plant. They are then blasted to 2°C within a couple of hours of being picked. Once their temperature drops, the chemical ripening process completely halts. If the core was white and hard when it was picked on the farm, it will stay as it is all the way to your kitchen table. If you find berries marketed as ‘the best’ or ‘finest’ or with similar words that imply a better class of fruit, the chances are they might have been picked later and, therefore, will be riper throughout.

During the British summer, the goal for supermarkets is from field to shelf in 24 to 36 hours. In the UK, pickers start early when the morning air is cool. Strawberries are hand-picked directly into their retail punnets to minimise handling. Within one to two hours of being picked, they are moved to the farm’s on-site cold store to drop their ‘field heat’ down to about 10°C. The punnets go through a forced-air blast chiller, rapidly dropping the fruit’s core temperature to 2°C. Every hour a berry stays warm shortens its shelf life. The punnets are checked for quality, barcoded, then stacked onto pallets. Refrigerated trucks (maintained strictly between 0°C and 2°C) pick up the pallets from the farm and drive them to the supermarket’s Regional Distribution Centre (RDC). Eighteen to 24 hours after being picked, the pallets are cross-docked (unloaded and immediately sorted onto store-specific delivery trucks) without ever leaving the chilled environment. Trucks depart on overnight routes to local supermarkets and arrive 24-36 hours after picking.

We also rely heavily on farms in places outside the UK, such as Huelva, in Spain. Because of the more than 1,000-mile distance, the timeline stretches to three to four days, relying on a highly optimised continuous cold chain and non-stop travel through Spain and France.

The Wimbledon effect

During Wimbledon fortnight, British shoppers buy roughly 9,500 tonnes (about 19 million punnets) of strawberries, accounting for about 15% of the entire summer season’s berry sales. At supermarkets like Waitrose, strawberry sales can rocket by 140% to over 400% in a single week.

Because strawberries cannot be stored or frozen without destroying their texture, supermarkets cannot simply stockpile them in warehouses ahead of peak demand. Relying on farm relationships and specialised demand-planning software, they can adjust ordering volumes day by day. If the forecast predicts a sunny Wimbledon weekend, supermarkets will automatically scale up their daily strawberry orders from farms by 30% to 50%. If it rains, demand drops sharply. Retail buyers actively track the tournament bracket. Historically, when a high-profile British or favourite tennis player progresses to the quarter- or semi-finals, supermarket strawberry sales experience an extra 20% surge on the days they play. Logistics teams actively look at the match schedule to push extra stock to stores the night before a big match.

Because supermarkets need millions more punnets than usual, they work hand-in-hand with commercial growers to manage the natural ‘flushes’ (when a massive wave of fruit ripens all at once due to a sudden heatwave). If a pre-Wimbledon heatwave causes strawberries to ripen faster than planned, supermarkets will quickly step in to buy up the surplus. For example, Tesco frequently buys up hundreds of tonnes of unexpected ‘bumper crops’ right before the tournament, repackaging them into larger 1 kg plastic boxes at a discount to prevent farm waste and feed the Wimbledon rush.

An unpredictable cold snap or heatwave creating a national strawberry shortage during the tournament means that supply chain models pivot to prioritisation. Long-term supermarket contract growers will prioritise their committed supermarket clients over the open wholesale market to ensure grocery shelves stay full.

A strawberry is rarely bought alone during Wimbledon season. Supermarket supply chains treat strawberries, clotted cream, single cream and Pimm’s as a singular unit on sale; that’s why you see them grouped together. Dairy logistics are scaled up in synchronicity with the strawberry harvest.

Wimbledon itself relies on a hyper-local, isolated supply chain. All of the official strawberries eaten on-court – about 34 tonnes – are grown just 30 miles away at Hugh Lowe Farms in Kent. Pickers start at 5:00 AM every morning so the berries can be driven directly to the court and eaten by spectators the same day. Hugh Lowe Farms supplies supermarkets, too; look out for the name of the farm owner, Marion Regan. They won’t be as freshly picked, but if you can’t get to Wimbledon, it’s the closest way to taste the fruit sold there.

How we grow in the UK: 3 farms, 3 different systems

Organic, soil-grown strawberries

One of the oldest organic farms in the UK, Tollhurst Organic Farm was founded in 1976 by Iain Tolhurst. After beginning farming life in Cornwall, they moved to South Oxfordshire and the Hardwick estate to grow and sell strawberry runners. Currently with 17 acres, their strawberries are grown in three different microclimates: in their open-air market garden, in tunnels and under cloches – always in soil. Because the farm has inherited soil-borne disease (one year, their whole crop was lost overnight), they choose less susceptible varieties and rotate them every three years. Christine, the variety tasted (see below), is a paler red than the standard bright red berry, aromatic and soft with a pleasing sweetness, balanced tartness and a soft core. They would like to reintroduce the strawberry they began with, the beautifully flavoured Cambridge Favourite. Ian Tolhurst (Tolly) tells me Royal Sovereign, est. 1884 was the most common strawberry to be grown in Europe at one time. At the peak of its popularity between 1920 and 1960, they were on the menu for Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation banquet. Because this variety developed major virus problems, it became non-viable, and it’s still not commercial on a large scale due to low yields, ‘but we’re going to give it a go. It’s difficult to grow because of the virus, and it doesn’t like damp.’

Tamara, head of business development, understands why so many farms turn to tabletop growing. It’s cheaper, with no back pain (while picking), but Tolhurst isn’t trying to compete. Business-wise, ‘we pitch to a different audience’. They’re a small business, and their image is the backbone of the Soil Association; Tolhurst was one of the first licensees. On the day I visited, Tamara dropped crates of strawberries off at a local organic shop. ‘We pitch to whoever likes to buy local and organic. Strawberries are one of the most sprayed crops,’ she adds. What worries them most? ‘If the organic movement allows hydroponics to be certified, and there’s big pressure to do so. If that happened, we would be finished. It’s against the spirit of everything we believe in.’

Tamara shows me the fields, tunnels and strawberries flourishing in the ground, and she’s happy the weather has been cooler. Constant heat means non-stop picking. The weather also affects pollination, quality and shape. If insects aren’t out in force because the weather is cooler, it affects the fruit. ‘An odd-shaped, bumpy strawberry is a fruit that’s formed without being pollinated; it will still taste the same.’ She tells me, ‘Strawberries gain flavour a day after picking. Never keep them in the fridge. Just like tomatoes, they lose flavour. Keep them out and eat within 24 hours.’ In the future, they’ll be increasing their crop, but ‘never tabletop; soil is our pride.’

PYO & seasonal

Cammas Hall Farm is one of the oldest pick-your-own farms in the UK. Dating back to 1966, it grows across 41½ acres, producing 40 tonnes of PYO. In the 1970s, with dogged determination, it supplied supermarkets and wholesalers. Now having given that up, the owners grow a range of soft fruits and supply weddings, farm shops, and farmers’ markets during the strawberry season (seasonality is important to them). Varieties have improved, owner Jonathan tells me. In the 1970s, it was Cambridge Favourite, USA-bred Totum, that ‘froze well’; then ‘everyone moved to Elsanta and Sonata, which are disease resistant, higher yield and better flavoured. Flavour is key.’ What’s his favourite? ‘Early Sonata. They grow half in tunnels, half outside.’ What makes a flavour difference? ‘Sunshine,’ but he adds, ‘force them too much, and they’ll grow quicker and have less flavour.’ And yet the strawberries we get from warmer countries don’t necessarily taste better. In 2014, they brought in tabletop at a make-or-break time for the farm. It was a gamble and an investment. ‘I’m glad we did it. It was a scary time, but sales increased.’

Jonathan travelled to farms in Hereford and Kent to see how others had adopted the technique (to get away from soil-borne diseases and weeds). He uses a mix of peat from Ireland and 30% wood fibre, and yes, he’s aware of the peat problem. There are trials in place with compost, but right now, ‘It’s an inconsistent product.’ He keeps the peat for three years, and all substrates are returned to the land. No herbicides or insecticides are employed, but he does use ‘the odd fungicide against mildew’, adding, ‘We do not waste anything. What we don’t sell all goes into our ice cream, lollies, smoothies and jams. If we have a massive glut, we have 17 freezers.’

Dyson Farming System

Dyson has completely revolutionised the way that strawberries are grown with their hybrid vertical growing system: they grow year-round, but they weren’t the first. The Summer Berry Company in West Sussex began growing the fruit year-round in 2024. Dyson Farming has 23 acres of glasshouses in Lincolnshire, producing 1,250 tonnes of strawberries every year, year-round. I asked Dan Cross, managing director, why we need strawberries year-round. ‘Strawberries are a favourite in Britain, so demand stays high even when they’re out of season here. To meet this demand, the UK imports them from faraway places like Morocco and Egypt. This comes with a big carbon footprint due to the associated air miles. With the right technology, we can instead produce high-quality and sustainable strawberries all year round, improving our food security in the UK. Nearly half of our food is imported, and we should grow more here.’

Do the flavour profile/sugar levels of the berries change out of the summer months? ‘By using renewable energy, robotics and automation inside our state-of-the-art glasshouses, we’ve been able to create the optimum growing conditions to produce premium strawberries year-round. This means we can deliver the same sweetness and ripeness that consumers would expect to have in summer all through the winter months.’

So, do strawberries really taste that different?

We know they do. We’ve all remarked on a ‘really good’ strawberry when we’ve bitten into it.

Bevington Salads hosted a tasting at New Covent Garden Market for me. Hugh Lowe’s Wimbledon berries were included amongst the varieties. I asked the judges to consider appearance, aroma, texture, taste/flavour, sweetness and finish (i.e., does the flavour have a long finish?) and mark each category out of 10. I’d asked that the berries be taken out of the chiller before tasting. They were, in no particular order:

1. Agri Fruit Somerset. Florice, an early English variety

2. Hugh Lowe; Malling Ace

3. Fruitway Farm Oxford, Morning Allure

4. Belgium, Hoogstraten, glass grown year-round: Sonsation

5. Mockbeggar Farm Kent. Malling Centenary

6. Tolhurst Organic Farm, Pangbourne, Christine. Soil-grown.

There were two joint winners. Everyone voted differently. It’s impossible to do a like-for-like strawberry tasting across varieties. I was more curious than anything to see how tastes compared. I will say that three out of five of us gave top marks to number 6, the only organic berry in the bunch. ‘You’re biased,’ Gary from Bevington told me. And honestly, no, I’m not. I voted on taste, texture and flavour. Tolhurst were delighted when I told them.

My colleagues at London Farmers Markets (BTW I’m an ex-director of LFM) say their favourite varieties this year are Flair, Allegro, Malling Centenary, Eve’s Delight and Eve’s Joy.

Another of the strawberries I tasted that was both soft and sweet was Zara. Strawberry breeder (great job title), Sarah Palmer, from Driscolls, told me:

“Zara was developed through Driscoll’s breeding programme with flavour at its heart and is grown in the UK in partnership with Place UK. Rather than being picked later than other varieties, Zara is naturally bred to deliver exceptional sweetness and a balanced flavour profile when harvested at the optimal point of ripeness. Like all strawberries, variations in internal colour are a natural characteristic of the fruit and can differ between varieties. While consumers often associate deeper red flesh with sweetness, internal colour is not necessarily an indicator of flavour. What matters most is the eating experience. ”

Have you got any favourite varieties?

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If you can, buy fruit that’s been picked the same day and taken directly to market. Whatever you choose, ask questions, taste before you buy if you’re able to, and try leaving your fruit at room temperature to see what difference it makes for the flavour.

Saturday’s bonus post will be strawberry recipes!

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Last night I made yet another banana cake/bread because there were FIVE black bananas in the fruit bowl. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how, in this country, we appear to be sliding back into some denial about wasting food (edible food, not peelings, etc) at home. Well, many of us are; some eat every scrap. Having any food left over is a privilege. According to WRAP, a typical household (four people) in the UK throws away £20 per week, or £1000 per year in food. The UK Food Waste and Food Surplus: Key Facts 2025 report says that, on average, a person throws away the equivalent of three meals per week. Mindboggling. Yet 8 in 10 of us think we waste less than the average household.

That’s whole, freshly bought produce that has likely not been used in time, stored incorrectly or cooked in too large a quantity and not all eaten – money hard-earned, then thrown away. This is what I mean by denial. It’s a disconnect, a mental block. I actively try not to throw away food; I think of myself as not wasteful, yet… Why is this? We got pretty good at not wasting food during the 2020 lockdown when supermarket shelves were empty and larders and freezers across the land were raided. We seemed to be more in tune with waste back then.

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I read a feature in The Atlantic on the mental load of dinner a few weeks ago and found myself nodding along to the endless ‘what to eat’ loop of weekly meals, two or three times a day: the planning, shopping and relentless admin of food. The less time you have in your head, the harder things are to manage. I firmly believe that you can be time-poor, but if you have free mental capacity, then you are better off than the other way around. A mind with available thinking space can make plans about how to squish the admin into a time-frame, while a mind without extra capacity can’t even begin to plan. You could have all the meal plans, prep-ahead recipes and batch-cook ideas in the world, but still fail to manage any of it if you don’t have time to look in the fridge and cupboards and then make a shopping list. A smart fridge might be able to tell you what it holds or what you’ve run out of, but ‘it’ has no idea if your eight-year-old has decided not to eat tomatoes ever again, or that you’ll be late home three nights in a row, or if there’s a glut of courgettes in the garden.

God knows I sometimes fail to notice that a piece of citrus is going fuzzy in the fruit bowl, usually on a Friday when I decide it’s time for a G&T, and there’s nothing more annoying than that. Or there’s a puddle of something in the fridge drawer that was at one point whole and healthy and is now indeterminate; beansprouts are particularly good at becoming quite vile. Last weekend I excavated my son’s freezer shelf at uni and brought everything home. We’ve been eating it ever since. I can see that stock rotation is his issue. That and the fact that no one in the flat ever defrosts the freezer, so anything at the back needs chiselling out. So many fish slices die in the service of freezer ice removal.

So, how do we change denial into a move to save our money? What levers do we have to pull to help everyone save their pennies? This thought holds for a takeaway or ready meal too. We like ‘value’ but value often presents as too much: the extra chips that make a portion look like a good option; the ‘serves 2’ bought for one; and the ‘on offer’ fresh food that looks like a good bet to save money yet doesn’t have enough time left before it goes off. It turns out to be a false economy. There are also bottles and jars of condiments and spices that we don’t employ often enough to use up in time. I have a whole fridge shelf and drawer of these. I swear there’s an affliction akin to fridge blindness that stops people from looking beyond the front row of jars. (On which note, this dressing from is useful.)

I asked the GF team if they had any favourites when it comes to leftovers or genius ideas for a bulk use-up of something that won’t last much longer. I hope some of these are useful to you!

is a fan of a tonnato: “My latest greatest leftover concoction was like a vitello tonnato except it was with leftover roast lamb and leftover caesar dressing.”

has a top tip for leftover dhal: “If I make a vat of dhal and get bored halfway through, I often add chillies and some flour to make a lentil pancake to be topped with chutneys.”

loves a bolognese and often has the odd spoon or two in the fridge. “I’m partial to a bolognese toastie, but it must be made in a proper toastie machine which seals the edges and prevents bolognese ooze!” This is also a good reminder that there are gadgets in your cupboards that, if not in current use, might benefit from a dust-off.

Naturally, cheese tsar has leftover cheese: “I over-buy cheese at Christmas because I’m terrified of running out, but when I’m down to the last odds and ends, I transform them into my double-stacked 10-cheese toastie: three slices of sourdough, hard and crumblies (cheddar, gruyère, Lancashire etc) on the bottom layer; softies (goat’s, washed rinds, blues etc) on the top. Plus some kimchi for tang. And if there’s any leftover ham, that goes in too. The result is a molten cheesy volcanic lava flow. Then I have a lie down.”

Soup fan suggests a no-brainer for any leftovers: “I’ve been known to use leftover soup as a pasta sauce; this works well with thick blended soups like butternut squash. A sprinkling of chilli flakes and lots of grated cheese and you’re good to go.”

is a fan of fried rice for using things up. She says, “I did a banging pork and lemongrass fried rice with leftover porchetta once.”

I’m also a big fan of fried rice, changing up the flavours according to what I have. I keep Poon’s wind-dried ham and sausage in the freezer, and chilli crisp or rayu on the shelf to add to whatever veg and herbs I have. Or I use barberries, walnuts, pumpkin seeds and Aleppo pepper flakes with a hefty slug of pomegranate molasses to finish.

We are all very fond of a jar cocktail or dressing to rinse out the last few teaspoons. Scrapings of jams and curds are also useful to flavour yogurt.

Cocktail wrangler and kitchen hack specialist Miriam Nice has a whole host of tips:

“The guy at our local chip shop really likes my husband, so he often gives him impressive portions. With any leftover chips, I make a sort of riff on a tortilla/Spanish omelette, which is super quick because you only have to fry up the onions and chop the chips up a bit, plus it’s good cold. Shortcut and no waste. Huzzah.

If I have anything meat-based, like stew, mince, ragu, that sort of thing, but it’s not enough for a meal for us both, then I’ll add some spices and make a batch of Ken Hom’s steamed buns, but I’ll stuff them with the leftover spiced meat mixture. Served with a dipping sauce, chilli oil or just some soy sauce, it’s probably one of my favourite meals.

A couple of times when I’ve had fruit juice left over from cocktail testing (this works well with juices like pomegranate and pineapple juice), I’ve added a little sugar and lemon juice and then reduced them down to a thick syrup. This is great on yogurt or on savoury dishes where you might add pomegranate molasses.”

Miriam adds, “A while ago I made Anna’s roast pork recipe. For a particularly extravagant lunch for one, I put a few slices of pork on a plate and blended up a tonnato sauce with some tinned tuna, mayo, mustard, etc., and served it with some sliced cornichons. It was dreamy.

And finally, the best sandwich to eat on Boxing Day is bành mi because you’ve got roast meat and maybe pâté in the house anyway, so it’s just the bread and the sauce. You can make some quick pickles, and honestly, something fresh and spicy after the Christmas food that still uses leftovers is joyous; it makes Boxing Day extra-special. I’m looking forward to it now, and it’s only June.”

And below, a favourite of mine from Good Food (a complete cheat’s way of showing a recipe here). Let’s hope the weather deigns to warm up again soon.

In other news…

On the podcast this week with are Sarit and Itamar of Honey & Co. Well worth a listen.

“I think we all need to go on a bit of a journey and fall in love with seafood again. And I wish I didn’t have to say that because it breaks my heart a bit.” Anthony Pender, Faber Restaurant

This week I’m writing about a conversation I had with Anthony Pender, one of the founders of the Faber seafood restaurant in Hammersmith. He and Matt Ward also run the pub group Yummy, where seafood is also a feature; oysters, yes please. There’s been a fair amount of news recently about which fish to eat and which not to, and the Good Fish Guide was updated in April (it updates twice a year). As with so many food stories, nuance is everything; what is caught on a large scale can be on the red list while the very same fish or seafood landed by day boats or small-scale fishermen is green. Provenance is everything, and while packaged fish sold in shops should be clearly labelled, it pays to ask questions of fishmongers, food sellers and restaurateurs alike. The Good Fish Guide is a good way to keep track. I’ve described the catch as ‘green’ for good and ‘red’ for don’t eat right now.

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Choice

Anthony made some interesting points on this. Firstly, the knock-on effect of familiarity from what we see to what we buy. Fish eaten at home tends to be supermarket-driven, and there are four or five popular fish on the shelves – what we feel comfortable eating. Restaurants (not specialist seafood places) then lean into the same: salmon, cod, prawns and tuna. Secondly, depending on the cuisine, that may mean non-indigenous species are favoured. Sushi, for example, often uses tuna, and the larger prawns everyone loves are not UK-caught.

According to the Marine Conservation Society, 80% of what we eat is imported. Much of what we catch around the UK (an island surrounded by good fishing waters) is exported. As consumers, we don’t have much choice at all unless we actively seek it out. Of course, some supermarkets have much wider ranges, and a few still have wet fish counters, but it does very much depend on where you live. If you have a fishmonger near you, then you’re in luck.

What to look for in a restaurant: credentials, accreditation and price

Let’s start with price. Anthony says, “We don’t profess to be the cheapest seafood restaurant. We pride ourselves on buying the best ingredients, and that comes at a cost. We support our suppliers, our fishermen, and our producers. If we’re selling it cheap, it means we’re buying it cheap, and we’re probably not doing it right. Hand-dived versus dredged scallops is a clear example. We only buy hand-dived. When customers say they are £18 for two – well, they’re big, they’re excellent, and a guy has put a scuba diving kit on in the Outer Hebrides, gone down underwater in a storm to get them. Does he not deserve to be paid well?”

As for accreditation, at the top end, you can look at organisations like The Sustainable Restaurant Association. (Faber got three stars last week and is ‘really chuffed’ with that). You can also look at reviews; according to Anthony, “Google reviews consistently pull out keywords: ‘sustainability’, ‘friendly’, ‘great service’, ‘fresh seafood’. The punters who come in talk about it. For us, it’s important to tell that story, because seafood isn’t an easy sell in the UK. When you’re talking about a dish, it’s as important to talk about the sourcing as it is the flavour and the portions. The first nine months were bleak. But we never strayed from our values.”

We also discussed the sad demise of the Michelin Green Star. When Faber opened three years ago, the Michelin Green Star was what they wanted. It was a benchmark of success (not perfect, but it could have been improved), now it’s been taken away, which is sad. We agreed that it’s the middle market where it’s hardest to find answers. If you’re a supermarket or a big chain like McDonald’s, you’re more likely to have jumped through the hoops to show sustainability (or explain why not); you might have the MSC tick or equivalent on packaging, and you’ll have (hopefully) supply chain transparency. With specialists, you get the same clarity of provenance. It’s in the middle where answers can be harder to find.

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What we should and shouldn’t be eating

A variety of everything is the easy answer. Anthony thinks that we need to think as a community that includes Scandinavia and the North Atlantic and make collective decisions. We need to stop eating farmed salmon in quantity for a bit; we need to farm it less intensively and better. According to the Good Fish Guide, if you’re buying to cook at home, look for Pacific salmon. Chum salmon, pink salmon and red salmon are a ‘Best Choice’ if certified by the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC). If buying wild-caught salmon, make sure you choose Pacific salmon as Atlantic salmon are struggling in the wild. (Faber gets 97% of its fish and seafood from UK waters, so no salmon.)

“We should not be eating bluefin tuna,” Anthony says. “I know there are small quotas permitted off the Cornish coast, and our fishmongers do occasionally have it. But stocks are at only 3% of where they were in the 1970s. It’s a slow-maturing fish. It needs another decade. We should be the gold standard; we have the best waters in the world.”

Mackerel is a problem right now, too. Waitrose and M&S are not stocking it, and it’s red on the Good Fish Guide because it has been overfished using destructive methods so the population is close to collapse. There is still a Cornish mackerel industry – that’s a line-caught, small-catch industry where day boats take a small portion of the shoal without decimating it. According to The Cornwall Good Seafood Guide, “Cornish line-caught mackerel is still a selectively caught and low-impact choice.” If you see this specific mackerel on menus or at fishmongers, it’s fine; some Cornish fishermen rely on it being eaten to make a living.

Prawns are tricky. Bigger prawns are not found in UK waters. Anthony says, “Year one, customers would say, ‘What kind of fish restaurant doesn’t have king prawns?’” They understand now. Those conversations were really important because they gave us a chance to discuss issues.”

If you are buying for home cooking, then you too need to think about prawns. In 2020, the brown shrimp fishery in the Wash became the first UK shrimp fishery to achieve MSC certification. The fishery lands 95% of the brown shrimp fished in UK waters. These are tiny but packed with flavour, and you’ll also find them sold cooked in butter as potted shrimp.

The size of prawns that often come in sandwiches and frozen in bags (cooked) are Northern prawns. Those that are wild-caught in the Barents Sea, West Greenland and Disko Bay from certified fleets are green. King prawns that are Soil Association or EU Organic certified from Honduras and Ecuador (farmed in ponds) are also classified green. Better still are those from the new Scottish RAS (recirculating aquaculture systems), which have relatively low requirements for fishmeal and fish oil and minimal environmental impact or risk of escapes. These prawns do not yet have a certification, and production is still small.

For tiger prawns, look for those sold by The Happy Prawn company, farmed in Kalimantan (Borneo), or EU Organic certified prawns from Vietnam and Madagascar. No tiger prawns receive top billing, but the ones I’ve mentioned here are green.

What we should be eating

What we should be doing is eating more seasonal species. Anthony is a big fan of John Dory, which is used as a design feature at Faber. He says it’s “such a sustainable British fish, partly because demand is low. It’s a hard fish to fillet, so supermarkets won’t sell it, but if you see it on a restaurant menu, eat it. It’s beautiful.”

And if we want to be genuinely sustainable, we need to eat more shellfish. I asked Anthony if he thought people were scared of shellfish, and we discussed perceptions of what might make you ill in relation to the truth. As with many foodborne illnesses, it’s easy to blame the most risk-contentious bit of food, especially when it’s served raw. However, people don’t need to worry if seafood is sold in reputable places; it comes with certification. Anthony also believes that “you don’t have to jump straight into a raw oyster. Try a cooked one. We don’t need to stick to the purist idea of having it naked.” On the menu at Faber, you’ll find crispy oysters, a Tally Ho oyster baked with Spenwood cheese and béchamel.

He believes that we need to eat more shellfish and seaweed, too. “Here’s a statistic: there are farmed mussels and seaweed down in Cornwall – a tiny patch of water – that could feed the population of Cornwall twice over in a year. We talk about vertical farming on land, but we’re already doing it in the sea. A speck in the ocean with 200 miles of rope in it. Zero-input farming. You put nothing into the water and you get something out. And it makes the water better, increasing the biosphere around it.”

In 2025, there was a huge increase in octopus numbers on Cornwall’s south coast, and many were (still are) having a lovely time eating crabs and lobsters directly from the pots used to trap them. Octopus numbers can fluctuate wildly depending on the sea temperatures, so you may see Cornish octopus on menus this year instead of the crabs and lobsters they’ve just snacked on. Fishermen still need a catch.

Sustainable sourcing in practice – the Faber approach

Anthony: “We set Faber up from day one as a showcase of the British shoreline. Our kitchen is now at 97% British sourcing. Every week, we should just be moving the dial a little bit. Do we get everything right? No. But the job’s never done, so on we go.

We took wild-caught sea bass off the menu during spawning season, even when it was our top seller, and customers asked why. We explained: if it’s on a menu during those three months, it’s frozen or farmed. Now we say “three weeks of sea bass left”, and people come in for it; then when it’s gone, they try something new. John Dory, for instance. It almost gives people the excuse to be adventurous.”

He adds: “We removed salmon from the menu. We looked at chalkstream trout as an alternative; we went and spoke to the producers about their practices. There are issues, but they’re maintaining the water and preserving a habitat, and it’s a beautiful fish, so we use it.

Seaweed, mussels, oysters? Zero-input farming. These are the directions of travel. And the best conservation methods are those that are commercially viable; that don’t rely on donations or government handouts, which may dry up. If it’s commercially viable, it keeps going.”

We finished by talking about food waste. In-home food waste is a big initiative for the government this year. Anthony says their oyster shells go back to the supplier, lobster shells make the best bisque, and they use every part of the fish they can.

What to eat right now – seasonal recommendations from Anthony

· We’re coming into shellfish season. Your mussels are going to be plump and healthy right now.

· Crab is at its peak, really easy, accessible food.

· John Dory isn’t appreciated on menus nearly enough.

· Lobster I’d steer towards as an occasional treat. It’s hitting double the price of this time last year, partly because of octopus predation on the pots.

· And one thing everyone should try if they see the opportunity: seaweed. There’s a farm down in Pembrokeshire called Câr-y-Môr doing progressive things. If you can get your hands on some fresh pepper dulse – lightly sautéed in butter with some mussel meat, or a white fish fillet – it’s incredible. Like truffle but better.

Ever since I first asked Andy about ‘immersive’ dining, my social media feeds have been pinging me experiences I might like to indulge in – one of which involved climbing through a washing machine to get to dinner. Not for me. This post is about the top end of immersive experiences – food to make you think, as well as taste and enjoy. I’m sure the washing machine is fun – it does feature bubbles, after all – but there are many very different extremes on the experiential spectrum. Over to Andy, who is experienced in these things. Also, please do tell if you’ve been to one of these dinners, I’m suffering from FOMO.

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Fine dining used to mean white tablecloths, suited waiters and hushed dining rooms. Communication with the front of house team during your meal wouldn’t go much beyond, “Would sir like another bottle?” Now, a meal at some of the best restaurants around the world is more like a fully catered TED Talk. A multi-course meal that could easily cost you £500 a head comes complete with a narrative arc that communicates the chef’s culinary heritage, philosophy and precise provenance of ingredients. You could leave the restaurant smarter than when you arrived, if you’ve managed to absorb all the information as well as the alcohol in your £200-a-pop wine pairing. In an opinion piece for Restaurant, hospitality industry expert Ted Schama wrote that “the brands that are winning today are not simply those that deliver a meal, but those that make you feel something… that create theatre, scarcity and emotional connection.”

So, how did fine dining move from food to emotion, from indulgent to edifying? I first encountered immersive dining in the early 2000s at The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal’s groundbreaking restaurant in Bray-on-Thames. I marvelled at the green tea and lime mousse ‘poached’ tableside, with great theatre, in billowing liquid nitrogen. Smoke puffed out of my nose as I bit into the crisp, frozen ball of foam. Blumenthal was famously inspired by the work of Ferran Adrià at elBulli in northern Spain, where a five-hour meal of up to 50 courses was packed with mindbendingly inventive, playful dishes – like savoury tiramisu with freeze-dried tofu, concentrated soy sauce, sake and tofu foam – that encouraged the diner to engage on an intellectual level with the meal, as well as with all their five senses.

Chefs like Adrià and Blumenthal laid the foundations for the next generation of chefs to take immersive dining one step further. At elBulli alumnus Grant Achatz’s restaurant Alinea in Chicago, guests are blindsided by being welcomed to a shared table for their first course and, after eating the second course in the kitchen, are returned to a completely reconfigured dining room with separate tables. The meal ends with an edible helium-filled balloon that tastes of green apple. Alchemist, set in a huge converted warehouse in Copenhagen, replicates elBulli’s marathon format, with 50 courses over six hours, but ramps up the interactive, immersive aspects with enveloping audiovisual displays projected onto the restaurant’s domed ceiling that change for each course. Thousands of disembodied eyeballs stare down, for example, as ‘1984’ is served: a spookily realistic representation of Big Brother’s eye fashioned from lobster tartare, caviar and cod’s eye gelée.

Such lavish presentation means Alchemist can demand serious money – £650 just for the menu. But, it’s not just about the big bucks: in chef Rasmus Munk’s Holistic Cuisine Manifest, he claims that Alchemist “initiates and partakes in debates on social and ethical issues.” For example, ‘Burnout Chicken’ features a boned and stuffed chicken wing chained to a metal cage, prompting diners to consider animal welfare issues.

At Tresind Studio in Dubai, the world’s first three-Michelin-starred Indian restaurant, chef Himanshu Saini (who also just launched Tresind Mayfair in London) has a very particular reason for serving the immersive 15-course ‘Rising India’ menu, which represents a journey across the subcontinent: “Indian cuisine, at its core, is storytelling. Every dish carries memory: of regions, of homes, of rituals, of time. Our interactive format allows us to explain not just what a dish is, but why it exists. A server presenting a course is not simply describing ingredients; they are sharing context, emotion, and intent.”

Saini points to a course inspired by the Keralan festive dish sadya. For it, a procession of a dozen members of staff each add one element to the plate – which includes grilled spiced pineapple, coconut ice cream, blossom flowers and a tomato broth – and a server then explains that the dish reflects the elements of the traditional vegetarian feast served on a banana leaf. “It’s not about adding complexity, but about adding meaning, making each moment memorable and significant for our guests,” says Saini.

Michelin-trained chef Jozef Youssef has been working in the field of experiential dining for the last 15 years and working alongside scientists – including Charles Spence, who helped develop some of Blumenthal’s dishes. He calls Kitchen Theory – a stylish 18-seat dining space in the basement of a mews house in Bloomsbury – a “multi-sensory gastronomy design studio”, and draws inspiration from pioneering multi-sensory restaurants, such as Sublimotion in Ibiza and the now-closed Ultraviolet in Shanghai. Although he works for corporate clients around the globe, he also stages regular supper clubs for the public that combine elements of exhibition, lecture, theatre and audio-visual presentation.

“There’s been a rise in interest in multi-sensory experiences that go beyond the norm, be it projected art exhibitions or life-size Monopoly. Back in its day, The Fat Duck was what was considered immersive or experiential, but now the bar’s constantly being pushed higher.

“Technology has come on further, so we can do things that are a bit more focused on lighting and projections that you can’t do in a Michelin-starred restaurant, which doesn’t allow for that format.”

Kitchen Theory is a wild ride. At various points in the evening, I found myself fondling a cube with rough and smooth edges to see if it affected the taste of the English sparkling wine I was drinking, watching pasta-making as a staged theatrical performance complete with dramatic orchestral soundtrack, tucking into jellyfish (delicious) while wearing headphones and being bathed in a sea-themed projection, and eating Putin’s face off a plate (actually a stencilled presentation of it made with beetroot) – all while Youssef acted as a cross between emcee, learned professor and chef.

With restaurants like Eatrenalin in Germany – where guests take a floating chair ride from course to course – and Krasota in Dubai, that combines fine dining with elements of visual art and theatre, it seems that experiential dining will continue to challenge the definition of eating out. But, is there a risk of pushing it too far? “People don’t want a gimmick,” says Youssef. “People who are going out for fine dining and spending £250-plus for a meal are not looking for some kind of a joke. What they’re looking for is a great meal and also a great experience. And, that’s exactly what we’re trying to provide without compromising either of those areas.”

On other news…

It was publication week for last week, his new book One Dish Four Ways is here if you fancy a gander. Available at all good bookshops (I would hope) or on Jeff’s site.

Flash sale tickets for Good Food Show Summer are here, there’ll be lots of good stuff on, and you can pop across to Gardener’s World and buy plants too.

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I am truly committed – and we at Good Food are truly committed – to eating more beans and pulses in as many forms as possible. I’ve written about this before, and often, but as is always the way, repetition helps land a message. has written the post below. She has far more expertise in the realm of sweet recipes than I have (my chickpea muffins are still a WIP), and the tips here are useful, inspiring and game-changing.

Are you eating more beans? Would you use beans in desserts or baking? I’d love to know. For now, over to Sophia…

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We have all heard the mantra ‘eat more beans’ and how they are cheap, sustainable and nutritional powerhouses. My WFH lunches already revolve around a can of beans and whatever else I find rummaging around my fridge or pantry to whip up a quick salad or curry. But even for a pulse enthusiast like myself, there was one final frontier left to conquer. Dessert. Driven by my raging sweet tooth, I set myself the challenge to turn beans into delicious sweet treats – and not just black bean brownies!

Turning beans or chickpeas, etcetera, into desserts might sound strange, but it helps to remember that the rules around which ingredients belong in savoury versus sweet dishes are largely made up. In fact, a large part of the planet has been happily enjoying pulse-based desserts for centuries, from Indian besan (chickpea flour) laddoo, burfi or halwa to Japanese sweet adzuki bean paste (anko)-stuffed dorayaki, mochi or anpan. You don’t even need to travel that far. Italy has given us calzoncelli (sweet fritters with a spiced chickpea and chocolate filling) and Iran, nan-e noknodchi (roasted chickpea flour cookies fragrant with cardamom). Not so long ago, beans and chickpeas were frequently used in many dessert recipes as a cheaper alternative to chestnuts.

As it turns out, the natural creaminess, nutty flavour and binding power of beans, chickpeas and chickpea flour, as well as silken tofu and aquafaba, lend themselves beautifully to delicious desserts that just so happen to be high in protein and fibre with no gritty texture or beany aftertaste. Here is what I learned:

Beans and chickpeas

To bake with cooked whole beans or chickpeas, you can either make your own or use shop-bought ones; I like the Biona brand. When preparing your own, just cook them in plain water. And obviously leave out aromatics like onions or garlic. For shop-bought, choose ones that are free from added salt.

To start baking with pulses, it helps to use recipes that already call for them. So by all means have a go at making black bean brownies, like these chilli chocolate & black bean brownies. Given their creamy texture, beans and chickpeas work well in bakes with a fudgy texture like brownies or blondies. And if you’re looking for something lighter in flavour, why not try Anna Jones’ popular lemon cannellini cake?

Given their similar texture and nutty flavour, you can also substitute beans and chickpeas for chestnuts in many recipes – e.g., in a Mont Blanc or in this chestnut truffle cake.

You can also easily adapt recipes that use Japanese sweet bean paste (anko). Instead of traditional adzuki beans, use kidney beans or cannellini beans. There is a recipe for how to make anko in Helen Goh’s new book, Baking and the Meaning of Life, but you can also easily find recipes online. You can then use your kidney or cannellini bean paste to recreate delicious Japanese desserts, like dorayaki or anpan.

If you’re looking for something very simple to get started, why not try making some sweet crispy chickpeas as a snack? You could easily adapt this recipe, leaving out the spices and adding sugar (say 2-3 tbsp per can of chickpeas), plus a good pinch of cinnamon.

Chickpea flour

If you have a half-empty or unopened bag of chickpea flour in your pantry, take this as a reminder that there is more that you can make with chickpea flour than Italian farinata or Indian besan chilla.

Before you bake with chickpea flour, it should be toasted until fragrant for 10-15 minutes in the oven at 160 C/140 C fan/gas 3 to make it more digestible and give it a delicious nutty flavour. Once that’s done, chickpea flour works beautifully in all manner of cookies (see the recipe below) and biscuits or shortbread, as well as cakes. You could try adapting cakes typically calling for chestnut flour, like Italian castagnaccio, with chickpea flour. It is naturally gluten-free, and because it has such good binding properties, the end results are nowhere near as crumbly as can be the case when using other gluten-free flours.

Aquafaba

This is the slightly viscous liquid left over when you drain a can of chickpeas (or beans), which can be whipped up into a stable foam just like beaten egg whites. While it is not a 1:1 replacement for egg whites, it works very well in many recipes and is worth using. I have happily made chocolate mousse, meringues, torrone (Italian hard nougat) and marshmallows with aquafaba.

You can use the aquafaba from chickpeas or beans that you have cooked yourself, too. However, it’s often too fluid, so you will need to reduce it until it’s as thick and gloopy as the aquafaba you find in a can of chickpeas. Technically, you can use aquafaba from canned kidney beans or even black beans to make meringue, but the type you get from a can of chickpeas is clear in colour to give you the right finish. As a rule of thumb, 2 tbsp (or 30 g) of aquafaba equals 1 egg white.

To whip aquafaba into a stable foam which you can use like whipped egg whites for meringues and similar, it is worth knowing that you will likely need to whip it for longer, say 10-15 minutes. It is also worth adding a pinch or two of cream of tartar. Often used with egg whites to help improve the structure of meringue, it does the same with aquafaba.

Try making this pretty orange, cranberry & pistachio pavlova, or for a fun treat, you can also try chocolate marshmallows made with aquafaba. You can use it as a substitute for eggs in cookie recipes, too. There is a lovely recipe for chocolate chip cookies using aquafaba in Helen Goh’s Baking and the Meaning of Life.

Tofu

The more I learn about tofu, the more I wonder if there is anything tofu can’t be used in, such is the variety of delicious tofu-based recipes, and in particular, recipes using the silken variety. Given its smooth texture and high water and protein content, silken tofu works as a brilliant replacement for various kinds of dairy and/or eggs in a myriad of recipes.

My favourite discovery is probably that silken tofu can be employed to make beautifully velvety fritters mixed with flour, baking powder, sugar and a pinch of salt. I also love using silken tofu to create silky, rich little chocolate pots for a quick and simple dessert. You can even use silken tofu to make fluffy dinner rolls (as in this recipe from Hetty McKinnon’s latest book, Linger) and flatbreads.

Silken tofu also makes for a quick alternative to douhua – a tofu pudding that is typically made with freshly boiled soy milk and which can be enjoyed with sweet or savoury toppings. Just warm up the silken tofu briefly in the microwave and serve with a sugar syrup (ginger is traditional, but you could also use maple syrup, for example).

In other news from Lulu…

Rosé season has opened. Even though June appears to be its official month, there’s a marketing event for every kind of food and drink these days, and events in May, such as the Chelsea Flower Show (hopefully accompanied by sunny days) invite an earlier pop of corks. If you are a devotee of M&S, you’ll have seen the inimitable Dame Joan Collins, no doubt, grace your social media feeds with her ad featuring M&S La Balconne rosé. Their sales push started at the end of April.

Last week I was invited to Somerset to celebrate the unveiling of Babylonstoren Mourvèdre Rosé 2026 at The Newt’s Great Garden Show. There were roses galore, grape sculptures, an informative tour of the gardens, fluffy chickens, a ‘splendid luncheon’ and, of course, delicious wine. The weather held for most of the day. Luckily, we inhabitants of the UK are good at layering up, though I did gather that branded umbrellas are ‘lost’ from The Newt at quite a rate. Anyway, it was a lovely day, and one of the huge benefits of working in food is to get invited out now and then, something I always appreciate.

I’ve become a little bit obsessed with hummus/humus/houmous. Perhaps a sweeping generalisation, but it’s pretty standard fare in many parts of the country – the ONS added it to the basket of goods it uses to calculate inflation last month. Apparently, the hummus market was worth about £170 million in 2024.

As part of our Summer Taste Tests at Good Food, I blind-tasted a series of own-brand versions, and they were either quite bland (I think because salt has been quite rightly pared back in so many products now) or had a load of toppings added that turned the flavour away from hummus to whatever was on top (not always good in itself). Only a couple of them really tasted of chickpeas, and only one had the benefit of an olive oil addition with good flavour as well. There is much good hummus available from independent brands, whether you like yours smooth or more textured, but there’s nothing like making it yourself if you have time.

suggested this post to me, and it’s very timely as she will explain. Bear in mind that if you own a very efficient blender and you err on the side of a chunkier hummus, you will have to keep an eye on proceedings – or mash some chickpeas to stir in later. Lina likes it smooth, the Lebanese way.

Also, just FYI, we grow chickpeas in Britain now, available from Hodmedods.

Over to Lina…

Every year on 13 May, International Hummus Day celebrates one of the world’s most loved and widely travelled dishes.

Across the Middle East, hummus takes many forms. In Jordan, it may be thicker and topped simply with olive oil and whole chickpeas; in Palestine, it is often served warm and generously spooned with olive oil; in Turkey, it may be enriched with butter, cumin and pine nuts; in Syria, it is silky and delicately balanced. The ingredients remain familiar: chickpeas, tahini, lemon and salt, yet every region gives hummus its own expression.

The Lebanese version is especially known for its bright lemony flavour, the gentle warmth of garlic, and silky-smooth texture that feels almost cloud-like. It has a freshness and vibrancy that makes it instantly recognisable, turning the simplest ingredients into something memorable.

In Lebanon, hummus is far more than a dip. It is a staple of everyday meals, a cornerstone of the mezze table, and a dish that brings balance and comfort to the food around it.

One of my earliest food memories is being sent by my grandfather to the local fawal, the neighbourhood bean café or shop, to collect a fresh plate of hummus for lunch. The chickpeas would still be warm, the hummus silky and soft, crowned with olive oil, whole chickpeas and a garnish of finely chopped parsley and radish. I would carry it home knowing it would sit beside grilled kafta, lamb cubes, warm bread and salad.

The oval plate of hummus was never treated as a dip; it completed the meal.

Its creaminess balanced the smoky grilled meat, its freshness lifted the richness, and its softness invited everyone to gather around and share. That is what hummus means in Lebanese kitchens: generosity, warmth and a sense of abundance.

That generosity is reflected in the way Lebanese hummus is made. There is the unforgotten scene of Mr Shawki pounding the warm chickpeas with a large wooden pestle, adding fresh lemon juice and tahini and salt, then finishing generously with olive oil. The result was, is, creamy yet bright, rich yet light.

As hummus has travelled around the world, it has evolved into countless variations – beetroot hummus, avocado hummus, caramelised onion hummus – many of them colourful and inventive. Yet these adaptations often shift attention away from what makes hummus special: the silky warmth of the chickpea itself.

Traditional hummus has always welcomed variation, but usually through toppings rather than transformation. Across the region, it may be finished with warm chickpeas, paprika, spiced meat or toasted nuts. These additions build on the hummus rather than changing its identity.

That is the beauty of hummus: it is simple, generous and endlessly versatile.

It can accompany kebabs, anchor a mezze spread, or become the centrepiece of a meal when topped with roasted vegetables or fragrant spiced meat. It adapts beautifully yet remains true to itself.

Perhaps that is why hummus has travelled so far and become so widely loved. Yet for all its regional variations, Lebanese hummus remains especially prized for its brightness, its silkiness and the balance of lemon, garlic and tahini that gives it such character.

On International Hummus Day, that is what deserves celebrating: not endless reinvention, but the craft behind making hummus beautifully. This is because when hummus is made with warm chickpeas, good tahini, fresh lemon and a generous hand, it becomes far more than a side dish. Hummus becomes the heart of the table.

Lebanese hummus with sujuk-spiced lamb

This version turns hummus into a luxurious main dish, topped with warm spiced lamb inspired by the flavours of sujuk.

Serves 4

Prep 10 mins

Cook 30 mins

For the hummus

1 400g jars chickpeas, drained

2 large garlic cloves

2 lemons, juiced

55ml tahini

30ml vegetable oil

For the lamb topping

300g minced lamb

1 tbsp vinegar

1 tsp paprika

½ tsp ground ginger

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp ground coriander

½ tsp crushed fennel seeds

1 tbsp olive oil

For garnish

2 tbsp toasted pine nuts

2 tbsp pistachios

pinch of paprika

olive oil, for drizzling

1. Prepare the hummus as in the recipe above, blending the warm chickpeas with garlic, lemon juice, tahini, vegetable oil, and salt until silky smooth.

2. Mix the minced lamb with the vinegar, paprika, ginger, cumin, coriander, fennel, salt and pepper. At this stage, you can either shape the mixture into small meatballs or leave it loose, depending on your preference.

3. Heat the olive oil in a frying pan and cook the lamb until browned and fragrant.

4. Spoon the hummus onto a platter and top with the hot spiced lamb.

5. Garnish with the toasted pine nuts, pistachios, paprika and olive oil. Serve with warm pittas.

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A timely reminder…

Keith of cheese fame is doing an AMA on Reddit tomorrow about, you guessed it, cheese.

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Last week’s newsletter about meat didn’t cover quality, other than to say that ‘better’ meat is what we should be eating – and was very keen to put that right. An avid meat shopper (when he’s not at the cheesemonger), he’s been honing his butcher interrogation techniques for years. Before anyone @’s us, Keith also eats plenty of veg and legumes, and is a firm advocate of ‘less but better’.

Over to Keith.

A generation ago, there were around 60,000 butcher shops in the UK. The number today is closer to 6,000 – a decline of 90 per cent, which is widely attributed to how the rise of the supermarket meat aisle changed our shopping habits and diminished the art of asking a human being about the provenance of your Sunday roast. It’s a tragedy, not just for the butchers, but for the rest of us – because a good butcher is, like a good cheesemonger, one of the most underused and undervalued resources in the food world. To source that better meat, I actually buy from three butchers because 1) I like to spread my wages around to support as many as I can afford, 2) they’re known for their commitment to high welfare and sustainability, and 3) I enjoy the different relationships I have with each of them. They’re all characters, with different takes on their produce. After years of getting to know them, I know one thing they all have in common: they know stuff. And, they want to tell you about that stuff – the cuts they have access to, the stories about where that meat was raised, their advice about how to turn a cut you might not have even heard of into the best thing you’ve eaten all year. That includes cuts that, by and large, aren’t available in the pre-packed, shrink-wrapped, fluorescent-lit meat section of many a supermarket. So, here, drawn from years of conversations with brilliant butchers over counters and across kitchen tables, are the questions I’d encourage you to ask – and the kind of answers you might expect to receive.

1. “Where does this meat actually come from?”

This is the question that separates a butcher from a meat counter. A good butcher should be able to tell you not just the breed, but the farm, county and, in many cases, the farmer’s name. This matters – not as a moral posture, but as a guarantee of flavour. A slow-grown, grass-fed Hereford from a farm in Herefordshire, where the cattle have lived outside, moved around and eaten what cattle are supposed to eat (grass, since you asked) will taste fundamentally different to an intensively reared animal finished on grain in a shed. The fat will be more yellow, the flavour deeper and the texture firmer. Ask where it comes from – if the butcher hesitates or reaches for vague reassurances, that tells you something, too.

For chicken, where it’s from is the single most important provenance question in British meat. The gap between a high-welfare bird from a small producer – one that has lived for 70-80 days, rather than the 35-42 days of an intensively reared broiler, and actually used its legs – and the cheapest option is not merely ethical, but textural, flavourful and an experience that will take you back to the days when, as they say, chicken used to taste like chicken. Ask your butcher what breed it is, where it was raised and how long it lived – if they can tell you all three, buy it. (Note: free-range chickens live for 56 days before slaughter.)

2. “What’s the difference between X and Y cut – and which should I buy?”

Butchers love this question because it gives them the opportunity to step away from the knives and have a proper conversation, as well as show off their hard-earned wisdom. In my opinion, the cuts most of us default to – sirloin, chicken breast, loin chops, pork tenderloin – are not the best the animal has to offer, and the butchers I know say the same. These are simply the cuts we’ve been trained to reach for. But, a good butcher will steer you somewhere more interesting. Such as…

For beef: bavette is a loosely grained, intensely flavoured cut from the flank that takes a marinade beautifully and costs a fraction of a rib-eye. The first time I tried it was on holiday in Île de Ré a few years ago, where I barbecued every night. As soon as I got home, I asked my butcher for it. Or, try onglet – the hanger steak – which sits near the diaphragm and was traditionally kept by the butcher for themselves. I had it in Paris with my wife on a weekend break, and it was a revelation. If you ask for it, be specific: a bad butcher once tried to sell me a piece of tough flank because he hadn’t heard of it. As I said, a good butcher knows stuff. Try my bavette recipe for yourself.

For pork: the collar, also called the neck or coppa. It sits at the shoulder end of the loin and is richly marbled and forgiving to cook, either slow-roasted whole or sliced into thick steaks and griddled. I’ve never seen it in a supermarket, but any good butcher will have it.

For lamb: the chump – a generous, well-flavoured cut from between the loin and leg that most people walk straight past on the way to the rack. It’s brilliant pan-fried or barbecued, and about half the price of its more photogenic neighbour.

For chicken: the whole bird, not just the breast. Then, ask the butcher to spatchcock it for you. A spatchcocked, free-range chicken on a hot barbecue basted with butter and herbs is one of the great summer meals. The breast will stay moist because the legs cook in sync with it. Or, better still, learn how to break it down into pieces yourself. Good Food’s Barney Desmazery demos how in this video. Cook what you need now; freeze what you don’t for later.

3. “Has the beef been dry-aged, and for how long?”

The answer is almost certainly yes, and longer than you think. Dry-ageing is the process of hanging beef in a controlled environment with airflow at low temperature to allow the natural enzymes in the meat to break down the muscle fibres, concentrating the flavour and tenderising the texture. A supermarket steak is typically wet-aged in its vacuum pack for seven to 10 days, but a properly dry-aged piece from a good butcher will have been hung for 28, 35, 45 days or more. The difference in flavour is not subtle: dry-aged beef has a depth and nuttiness that’s almost buttery and funky that makes wet-aged steak taste thin by comparison.

Ask your butcher how long their beef has been hung and where it was aged – the best butchers age on the premises. Some will offer 60- or even 90-day cuts for those who want to go further down the rabbit hole. I’ve been down that hole: the other day, I had a 65-day-aged boneless sirloin steak from a ‘retired’ dairy cow, and it was sensational, with a toothsome bite, flood of umami juices and flavour as intense as concentrated beef stock.

4. “What would you do with X piece of meat if you were cooking it tonight?”

The answers to this have changed how I cook more than almost anything else, because a good butcher is almost always a passionate cook who spends their days thinking about what these cuts need and what they respond to.

The insight I keep coming back to is that most of us overcook everything. A high-welfare pork loin cooked to 65C – which still has the faintest blush of pink – is a revelation compared to the dry, grey slab most people have resigned themselves to. Lamb shoulder, slow-roasted at 150C for five or six hours until the shoulder blade slides clean out of the joint, will convert anyone who’s spent their life wrestling with an overcooked leg. And, chicken thighs – cooked skin-side down in a cold pan, brought up to heat slowly so the fat renders and the skin crisps to something translucent and golden – are worth eating at least once a week for the rest of your life. The breast is overrated, but the thigh is not.

Buy your steaks as thick as an airport paperback (about 5.5cm), then reverse-sear in a 100C oven until the internal temperature reaches 45C, before flashing in a white-hot pan to create that all-important Maillard reaction crust.

I’d like to stress this is how I cook, and I’m still alive! But, do check the official advice on the Government’s Food Standards Agency’s website.

5. “What’s the best-value cut on the counter right now?”

Here’s the thing about price and quality in a butcher’s shop: they are not the same conversation. Some of the most flavourful and rewarding cuts in the entire animal are also the cheapest, for the simple reason that most people don’t know what to do with them, so supermarkets don’t bother stocking them. That’s your opportunity.

Beef cheeks, for instance, cost a fraction of a rib-eye and, given six hours in a low oven with a bottle of dark ale, some aromatics and a little patience, will produce something so deeply flavoured and unctuous that any dinner guest who asks what they’re eating will refuse to believe the answer. This recipe for braised beef cheek with polenta, coffee and wild mushrooms is my favourite: it reminds me of a restaurant in Florence where I went with my family.

Pork shoulder – the whole thing; bone in, skin on – is one of the cheapest cuts in the shop and one of the most forgiving. Slow-roast it at 150C for eight hours, pull it apart with two forks and you’ll feed eight people without breaking a sweat or the bank. Lamb breast, the great unloved cut of the spring menu, is so fatty and gelatinous that when you slow-roast, roll and slice it, it eats like something that should cost three times as much.

So, ask your butcher what’s good value this week – the answer changes with the season, supply and what the rest of the country happens to be ignoring.

6. “How should I store this, and how long will it keep?”

The answer varies enormously depending on the cut and whether it’s been dry-aged, how it’s been packaged and what you’re planning to do with it.

The basic rules, as I’ve learned them: take meat out of any plastic packaging as soon as you get home, put it on a plate, cover it loosely with greaseproof paper or a clean cloth and keep it on the bottom shelf of the fridge, away from anything cooked or ready to eat. Plastic traps moisture and accelerates spoilage; airflow slows it down. A whole piece of beef or lamb from a good butcher stored this way will often keep for five or six days without any deterioration whatsoever – longer for a dry-aged cut, which has already lost much of the surface moisture that causes problems. Again, this is what I do, not what I’m telling you to do.

For longer storage, ask whether the cut is suitable for freezing and, if so, how to wrap it properly. The enemy of frozen meat is air, which causes freezer burn. A butcher who dry-ages on the premises may sell you cuts already vacuum-sealed, which freeze brilliantly.

7. “Can you mince/bone/butterfly/tie this for me?”

The answer is almost always yes – this is what a butcher is for. They’re not just selling you a piece of meat, but preparing it in a way that makes your life easier and your cooking better – and doing in thirty seconds what would take you 10 minutes and a questionable amount of confidence with a boning knife.

Ask them to butterfly a leg of lamb for the barbecue – opened out flat, it marinates faster, cooks in a fraction of the time and gives you a range of thicknesses so everyone at the table gets the doneness they want from the same piece of meat. Ask them to mince beef for you to order, choosing the cut and fat percentage, rather than accepting whatever anonymous blend is sitting in the tray. A burger made from freshly minced chuck with a fat content of around 20 per cent is a different object entirely from pre-packaged mince. Ask them to French-trim a rack of lamb, bone out a shoulder or tie a rolled loin so it holds its shape in the oven. Ask them to spatchcock the chicken. Ask them to score the pork belly skin in tight, parallel lines so the crackling has a fighting chance.

None of these things costs extra, as it’s all part of the service. A butcher who isn’t doing these things for their customers isn’t being a butcher – they’re just selling meat.

8. “What are you eating at home this week, and can I try some for myself?”

This opens the most interesting doors. Every butcher has cuts they love but are overlooked, mainly because most of us haven’t been educated to know about them. These are the cuts they take home for themselves. See my favourite secret cuts below.

A final note about welfare
It deserves a direct question: “Do you know the farm’s welfare standards?” A good butcher will welcome it and be able to tell you exactly what they are; high standards always come with certification. Welfare and flavour are, in my experience, almost always the same conversation – animals that have lived well, moved freely, eaten naturally and been slaughtered humanely produce better meat, not as a theory, but as a fact, you can taste.

FAVOURITE BUTCHER’S SECRET CUTS RIGHT NOW

Six cuts you’ll find in a good butcher’s:

Denver steak (beef): cut from the chuck and shielded by harder-working muscles so it stays surprisingly tender, it has excellent marbling and a rich, full flavour. It requires a skilled hand to extract, which is why you’ll only find it at a proper butcher’s. Season generously, cook over high heat to medium-rare and slice against the grain. One of the best-value steaks you can experience.

Jacob’s ladder (beef short rib): the whole short rib rack, left on the bone and slow-cooked at low heat for six to eight hours until the meat is collapsing and the collagen has turned to trembling, unctuous silk. Named for the long, parallel bones that give it its distinctive silhouette, it’s absolutely magnificent.

Secreto (pork): the Spanish butcher’s secret, this is a strip of meat tucked between the shoulder blade and skin of the Iberian pig. On a British pig, it is equally obscure and delicious – marbled, flavourful and quick to cook. It requires just 2 minutes per side on a screaming-hot griddle.

Barnsley chop (lamb): named after the Yorkshire town, this is a thick double loin chop cut straight across the saddle, giving you both fillets at once, surrounded by a generous collar of fat that bastes the meat as it cooks. Grill it hard, rest it well and eat it with nothing more than a squeeze of lemon and a lot of good bread.

Lamb neck fillet: not the scrag end or neck chops for stewing, but the whole neck fillet – a long, cylindrical muscle with deep flavour, good fat content and the kind of versatility that makes it the chicken thigh of the lamb world. Brilliant barbecued whole and sliced, or slow-braised with tomatoes, olives and herbs until it falls apart.

Chicken oysters: two small, round parcels of dark meat that sit in a hollow on either side of the backbone, and are the reason any cook worth their salt always has the carcass in front of them when carving. Rich, tender and deeply flavoured, these are the single best piece of the bird, and the one that vanishes first at any table where anyone knows what they’re doing. Ask your butcher to leave them on when they break down the bird, or scoop them out yourself the moment the chicken comes out of the oven, before anyone else gets there. You earned them!

A last note…

Keith is doing an AMA over on Reddit on May 12th should you have any cheese questions.

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This week’s post is about eating meat, specifically eating less of it. This is something we’ve been working on at Good Food for a few years now. If you eat meat, and many of us do, we advocate for less but better meat.

Last week, as part of our Climate Day talks for staff, I hosted a talk about ‘meat and masculinity’ at work, I spoke to Mark Breen MacCormick from Hubbub and Josh Clamp, The Men’s Health Nutritionist. Mark shared some data and insight from research that Hubbub presented last year in a report called The Steaks are High and Josh spoke about his experience coaching men towards healthier life choices.

How much meat we eat in the UK is seen as a matter of personal choice; some people eat it daily, others never. It may surprise you to know that currently the UK’s meat consumption is twice the global average, and according to Hubbub, many adults exceed the recommended daily intakes for red and processed meat.

So how much should we eat? We know that farming too much meat isn’t good for the planet (globally, we farm over 80 billion animals, contributing to 14.5% of global emissions), and we know that eating too much meat can be bad for our health (for example, regular consumption of highly processed meat has been linked to colorectal cancer). Despite this knowledge, in the UK meat still dominates many menus, dishes and recipes. Historically the Sunday roast was part of our identity; pub food often evokes the idea of a pie or sausage roll, and where would a picnic be without a pork pie or scotch egg, or a full English (Welsh, Scottish or Northern Irish) without sausage and bacon? This is, of course, a sweeping generalisation. The UK is made up of many cultures and cuisines, but meat is still a mainstay for many of us. A quick sweep of the sandwich and snack section of any supermarket still gives you plenty of ‘meat’ choices. I include chicken here; the footprint of poultry is smaller than that of beef, but we consume an extraordinary amount of chicken – more than 1 billion are reared in the UK per year.

The Climate Change Committee recommends that we reduce the amount of meat and dairy we eat by approximately 20% by 2030 and 50% by 2050. In simpler terms, by ‘two kebabs per week’, so not a huge amount overall. It’s effective if we all (worldwide) make the effort to give up a little, rather than fewer of us making the far bigger commitment to eating none at all. This short and sweet video (the power of Lego) on persuading friends to give up one thing illustrates the collective effect. And many of us have made great strides in cutting back – not committing to no meat but to eating a little less of it. Campaigns such as Bang In Some Beans are also pushing this message, advocating adding beans and pulses (fibre plus protein) to a familiar meat dish, either by replacing some of the meat or by adding them to make the dish go further. The message is not ‘no meat’ but ‘less meat’. On average, we (in the UK) bought 857g per week each in 2023, down from 1 kg in 2020, so meat-eating is generally in decline. But not for all of us.

A YouGov dietary choices tracker from 2025 shows that women are 50% more likely to identify as vegan or plant-based than men, and according to polling in a report brought out in 2025 by Hubbub, young men aged 16-24 in particular are bucking the less-meat trend. They say that 40% of young men eat meat daily, and around the same number are unwilling to cut back. Trying to unpick why is both fascinating and alarming.

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The manosphere could be said to contribute to this trend; there’s no lack of online content that advocates eating meat in order to be more manly. Some frankly ludicrous health advice swirls around on platforms like TikTok (only 2% of health advice on that particular platform is factually correct). Protein is an easy sell to young men who want to be healthier, look better and ‘optimise’ themselves. Josh pointed out that only 10% of dietitians/nutritionists are men, and there’s a gap in male-specific, evidence-based nutritional support available. Into that gap rushes the loudest voices with the most attention-grabbing content. Influencers with huge followings peddle some fairly extreme meat-filled diets, but plant-based protein is not niche or extreme, nor does it come with the same mythology. It simply doesn’t play as well on social media, and if that’s where income is derived, then satisfying the algorithm that delivers the cash and therefore ratchets up all the time isn’t ever going to end well.

At the same time, the trends around young men’s meat consumption predate current manosphere discourse. An increase in time spent online and algorithmic targeting built on a long cultural inheritance was accelerated by Covid. The Hubbub research exposes this; there’s still an embarrassment factor where men don’t want to order a vegetarian option on the menu. Meat is a social signal. Where does the fault lie if impressionable young men get sucked into believing that they must eat meat every day to achieve their goals? On social media platforms, diet advice slides into messaging on body ideals and, in turn, into behavioural cues and then, a reframing of worldview. In the era of endless scrolling, the first video isn’t the problem – the 50^th and beyond are. Each is influenced by the one before.

Josh also pointed out that there’s a mistrust in science among young men. Older men he worked with may respond to education about diet, but younger men often don’t. When identity is so bound up in dietary choices, facts can sound like personal attacks. This cohort is not naïve or unaware but constrained by external influences. As Mark noted, the volume of misinformation overwhelms rational choice.

There is a vacuum of positive, trustworthy male role models like Josh in the nutritional space. Young men need identity‑affirming narratives that frame different, more diverse foods in the context of who and what they want to be in life. Reducing meat consumption shouldn’t be about loss but a redefinition of what is good for you, what helps make a better future, and, right now, what is affordable.

It’s also important to educate people as to how to buy good meat. Eating less meat potentially means you can afford the best, so here are some questions to ask your butcher from – no stranger to the best butchers in London. A longer post on buying good meat will follow. Plus, at the end, a bean-forward recipe from for the ‘less meat’ journey we are on.

Questions to ask your butcher

1. “Where does this meat actually come from?”

2. “What’s the difference between cut X and cut Y, and which one should I buy?”

3. “Is the beef dry-aged, and for how long?”

4. “What would you do with X piece of meat if you were cooking it tonight?”

5. “What are you eating at home this week, and can I buy some for myself?”

6. “What’s the best value cut on the counter right now?”

7. “How should I store X, and how long will it keep?”

8. “Can you mince/bone/butterfly/tie this for me?”

Keith’s back on the cheese trail in a bonus post, this time with questions to ask your cheesemonger – as suggested by a cheesemonger.

Did you know there are more than 1,800 named cheeses in the world? In the UK alone, there are over 700 varieties – more, some argue, than France. And, that’s not to mention the dozens of new cheeses being created by the artisan community every year – all of it, by the way, made from just four ingredients: milk, starter culture, rennet and salt.

No wonder then that no matter how hooked we are on the hard stuff (and the soft, washed, smelly and blue), we shy away from adventure and instead default to the blocky, pre-cut, shrink-wrapped cheeses available in the supermarket. After all, life’s too stressful to add yet more decision-making to your plate.

To help you take that first step over the threshold into a whole new world of fromage fantasia, Perry Wakeman answers the top 10 questions he’s asked in his job as boss of Rennet & Rind in Stamford, Lincolnshire. He really knows his stuff. Not only is he a judge at various cheese awards – including a coveted place on the Super Jury at the 2025 World Cheese Awards in Bern, Switzerland, where he championed the winning gruyère – he’s also a three-time winner of the industry’s most prestigious accolade, Affineur of the Year. And, in June, he’ll host the Cheese Stage at the Good Food Show Summer at Birmingham’s NEC (bag your ticket here.)

So, over to Perry:

“A great cheesemonger is one of the most underused resources in British food culture,” says Perry. “So, don’t waste their expertise – use it. Here are the questions you should ask to get the very best from your cheesemonger.”

What’s tasting best right now?
“This is the question every cheesemonger wants you to ask. The honest answer changes weekly, sometimes daily. Right now, it’s the Wigmore: the summer milk has sweetened it up and it’s eating as well as I’ve ever known it. Ask this every time you walk in – a good cheesemonger’s answer will never be the same twice.”

Can I try it before I buy?
“Always. Any cheesemonger who hesitates is in the wrong job. Tasting is how you learn and discover, and how you end up buying something you’d never have picked off the counter yourself. Don’t be shy about it either: try two or three things. That’s what we’re here for.”

How should I store this?
“A lidded plastic container is your best friend. Every time someone opens the fridge door to grab the milk for their tea, the humidity fluctuates. A container stops all of that and keeps conditions stable. If you’re planning to keep cheese for a while – unlikely if you’re any kind of cheese fiend – open the lid every now and again to let it breathe.”

What’s new that I probably haven’t heard of?
“Shameless self-promotion: Dillon, which should be ready in a few months. This is the cheese that won Affineur of the Year 2025. It’s a cheddar made using highly experimental maturation methods that draw out moisture progressively throughout the ageing process, creating an extraordinarily dense paste with an epic savoury depth. Watch this space.”

I’m cooking [dish] – what would work?
“My secret weapon for almost anything: a microplane and a chunk of Sparkenhoe red leicester. The moment that cheese hits a little heat, it almost disappears into the dish, leaving behind this lingering funk and savoury finish. I finish scrambled eggs with a light dusting. Try it once and you’ll never stop.”

Is this made with pasteurised or unpasteurised milk?
“Raw milk cheeses will give you more seasonal variation, because the cheesemaker is working directly with whatever the cows were eating and how they were feeling that week. But, the bigger conversation is about dedication to traditional practice: choosing to manage the natural variability in your milk, rather than standardising it into a consistent status quo. That’s a fundamentally different philosophy, and it shows in the cheese.”

How long should I age this at home?
“Honestly? Go to a good independent cheesemonger and trust them to give you cheese at exactly the right profile to eat now. Once a cheese is cut, it’s going downhill. It will dry out and the texture will move in a direction you probably didn’t ask for, unless you specifically like that kind of desiccated, claggy chew. Most people don’t.”

What would you pair this with?
“The easy rule: what grows together, goes together. Find something from the same region as the cheese, and eight times out of 10, it will work. For a more technical pairing, think about balancing the basic flavours: fat against acid, salt against sweet.”

What’s your personal favourite right now?
“For me, right now, it’s Dillon, which I’ve been maturing for the last year using methods I’ve never seen applied to a cheddar before. It won Affineur of the Year 2025 and it’s almost ready. But, ask your cheesemonger this question every visit. The answer tells you more about what’s worth buying than anything else on the counter.”

Can you cut me a smaller piece?
“100 per cent, that’s what us cheesemongers are here for. We don’t mind how much you take, providing you’re taking it.”

MY FAVOURITE SUMMER CHEESES RIGHT NOW

Perry picks six cheeses worth seeking out this season…

Templegall, Hegarty’s Cheese, County Cork

“Dan Hegarty and his French cheesemaker Jean-Baptiste Enjelvin make this in Whitechurch, Cork, and it’s one of the most exciting things to have happened to Irish cheesemaking in a generation. JB grew up in the Jura, and it shows: Templegall is an Alpine-style cheese in the tradition of comté and gruyère, made only from summer milk when the cows’ pasture-rich diet is at its peak. Raw milk, 42kg wheels, brushed and turned and aged for a minimum of nine months. The result is sweet, nutty, deeply savoury, with a slight crystalline crunch that tells you something serious has happened in the cave. It won Supreme Champion at the Artisan Cheese Awards, and it deserved it.”

Wigmore, Village Maid Dairy, Berkshire

“Anne Wigmore’s washed-curd sheep’s milk wheel is one of the most underrated cheeses in Britain, and was one of the top 16 cheeses in the world at the 2023 World Cheese Awards. Gentle, buttery, faintly floral – it’s the cheese I give to people who think they don’t like sheep’s milk. In summer, the milk sweetens and the paste softens to something almost yielding. It disappears from the counter faster than almost anything else we stock, and rightly so.”

Pyghtle, Broughton Hall Dairy, Suffolk

“Emily Tydeman only started making this in 2024, and it’s already one of my favourite things to put in front of a customer. A small, log-shaped, lactic sheep’s milk cheese from Lleyn-cross ewes in Suffolk, with a pale, wrinkled rind and fluffy white paste, opening with yogurt, warm milk and meadow. Sit with it and citrus starts to emerge, then a quiet nuttiness, then, with a bit more age, a whisper of spice and smoke. Pastoral on the surface, but more interesting than it looks. It’s a seasonal cheese – get it while it’s here.”

Yoredale wensleydale, Curlew Dairy, North Yorkshire

“Ben and Sam Spence left careers in finance to restart something that hadn’t been done in the dale since 1957: clothbound, farm-produced wensleydale, made on site using their own raw milk and a slow pre-war recipe. The result has nothing in common with the supermarket block – it’s smooth and buttery, rather than crumbly, with a clean, lemon yogurt acidity and mineral, earthy notes as you work towards the rind. In summer, this is the cheese I reach for when serving stone fruit – ripe apricots, a few walnuts and a glass of something lightly chilled.”

Graceburn, Blackwoods Cheese Company, Kent

“David Holton’s background tells you everything: Neal’s Yard Dairy, Mons Affineurs, Mary Holbrook at Sleight Farm. Then, he based his dairy on a regenerative organic farm in Kent and built something entirely his own. Graceburn is inspired by a Persian feta recipe that David first encountered in Australia – raw cow’s milk, brined, then broken by hand into pieces and steeped in a blend of British cold-pressed rapeseed oil and extra virgin olive oil, thyme, garlic, bay and pepper. The oil it comes in is worth using, too. The most summery thing on this list and possibly the most versatile.”

Barkham blue, Village Maid Cheese, Berkshire

“Village Maid acquired Barkham blue from Two Hoots Cheese in 2024, when founders Sandy and Andy Rose retired, and it’s kept everything that made it great: the same Guernsey milk from Laceys Family Farm that the cheese has always been made with, the same ammonite-shaped round, the same measured approach to the blue. The paste is rich and buttery, the veining gentle rather than aggressive and the flavour more cream than spike. It won Best Blue Cheese at the 2024 Artisan Cheese Awards, and it’s the blue for summer: approachable enough for the nervous, complex enough for the converted. A spoonful of honey and you’re done.”

Good cheese is worth paying for – let’s start with that.

There was a question posed recently by in a note (if you haven’t found the notes on this platform yet, look for the bell symbol and click. It’s where the conversation is had), in which he interrogates what people mean by the word ‘expensive’:

As he puts it, ‘It’s a hard, somewhat incredulous, and accusatory word. But a lot of the time, we’re not trying to accuse. Usually, people are actually trying to say “it’s more than I’m willing to pay”. Not: “I think they’re trying to fleece me”.’

Hugh suggests ‘overpriced’. in Latent Heat writes about the perception of price and use of the word ‘overpriced’. She says in a separate note in reply to Hugh that ‘overpriced’:

‘Is one of those words that lands like a heavy accusation when we use it to refer to restaurant food. I’d only use a word like that if I feel fairly confident on the costs that go into producing the dish, and as a chef and restaurant owner, I’m decently qualified to do that. For the public, they often use that word when they mean “it’s more than I want to pay.”’

Price is something that comes up when you talk about well-made cheese. Like anything that needs time, ingredients and love poured into it, of course, it comes at a price. A small piece of excellence can cost more than a large block of meh. It’s up to you what you spend your money on, but my advice is to loosen your purse strings and follow the sage advice of , who, when he isn’t editing Good Food magazine, can be found in front of his fully-stocked cheese fridge holding a very empty wallet.

Over to Keith.

Cheese, like the latest puppy du jour, is not just for Christmas: it’s an all-year-round pleasure to make your senses spark and your trigeminal nerve tingle. (That’s the nerve responsible for sensations such as temperature and that almost electric, tingly kick you get from a really good aged cheese. You’re welcome!)

Summer is when cheese leaps from the board and into all manner of sunshine-blessed occasions. Think about it. The BBQ season is upon us: a slab of halloumi on the grill, striped and squeaky and golden, is every bit as crowdpleasing as a burger. Picnics call for something creamy, something crumbly, something blue, wrapped in paper and carried in a basket with a baguette and a bottle of a cold and fizzy quaff. Salad days (in every sense) are made infinitely better by a shaving of hard sheep’s cheese, or a generous dollop of soft white goat’s on a plate of roasted tomatoes.

Then, of course, there is the pinnacle of the summer calendar (well, IMHO anyway): Father’s Day, my favourite day of the entire year, not just because it involves being waited on hand and foot and presented with cards of questionable comedic merit but because it is, in our house, an unwritten rule that the cheese course comes first, last, and in the middle.

So, in honour of balmy days, special occasions, and the fact that the 2026 British & Irish Cheese Awards has just delivered verdicts on over 600 entries, here are my 12 British and Irish cheeses you should seek out this summer.

THE CHAMPIONS

Fresh from the podium at the 2026 British & Irish Cheese Awards

DAZEL ASH

Rosary Goats Cheese, Wiltshire
Chris and Clare Moody make this extraordinary ash-coated goat’s log in a small dairy tucked behind their family home in Wiltshire – which is either charmingly artisan or aromatically inconvenient for the neighbours, depending on their olfactory tolerance for ripening cheese. At this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards, it beat over 600 rivals to be crowned Supreme Champion, which, in cheese terms, is the equivalent of winning an Oscar while also being named Best Dressed. The striking black rind gives way to a brilliantly white interior – clean and citrussy, with earthy undertones and a floral sweetness that builds gently on the palate. Subtle, assured, and rather wonderful.
How to eat it: Slice and serve at room temperature on a wooden board with a drizzle of wildflower honey and a handful of toasted walnuts.
Drink: A crisp Sancerre or a dry English sparkling wine. The goat and the Loire Valley were made for each other – a love story that predates Tinder by several centuries.

YARLINGTON

King Stone Dairy, Gloucestershire
History tells us that many great things are invented by one person. Yarlington took three: cheesemaker David Jowett, cider-maker Tom Oliver and Sam Wilkin. The result of their collaboration picked up the Reserve Champion Cup at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards. This soft, washed-rind beauty has a characteristic peachy-orange blush; the paste beneath is yielding and unctuous, with savoury, almost meaty depth – farmyard notes – balanced by a surprisingly delicate, buttery finish.
How to eat it: On a thick slice of sourdough with a smear of wholegrain mustard, or melted over new potatoes just out of the garden.
Drink: The cider connection makes Tom Oliver’s own farmhouse cider a logical — and rather magical – pairing. Alternatively, an Alsatian Pinot Gris stands up beautifully.

FRESH AND BRIGHT

Lighter cheeses: made for sunshine, salads and al fresco eating

LA FRESCA MARGARITA

Feltham’s Farm, Somerset
The name translates roughly as ‘the fresh daisy’ in Spanish, because this cheese is, in the words of judges at the Virtual Cheese Awards 2021 – where it was crowned Supreme Champion – exactly as fresh as a daisy. Marcus Fergusson and Penny Nagle developed it during lockdown on their organic smallholding in the Blackmore Vale, as a counterpoint to their pungent washed-rind Renegade Monk. Made with organic cow’s milk, it’s a pure white, cloud-light queso fresco: lemony, clean and faintly lactic, with a gentle sweet-sour balance that makes it almost impossible to stop eating in hot weather.
How to eat it: Drizzled with honey and served with ripe figs (use the unsalted version); or crumbled into a summer salad of roasted tomatoes and fresh mint.
Drink: A dry, zippy Verdejo from Rueda – Spanish for a Spanish-inspired cheese – or a light, floral English rosé.

OOH LA LA

Highland Fine Cheeses, Tain, Scotland
The name alone should be enough. It earned top honours in its category at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards on personality alone, before you even get to what it tastes like. Which, happily, is also excellent. Made in the far north of Scotland with cow’s milk and a little extra cream, this soft, silky lactic cheese has a pillowy texture and clean, lightly tangy freshness that tastes like a cool breeze off the Dornoch Firth. If it were a person, it would be effortlessly stylish, arrive at exactly the right time, and leave you wanting more.
How to eat it: Spread generously on crackers or oatcakes, topped with a sliver of smoked salmon and a squeeze of lemon.
Drink: A glass of Albariño, or – go on, then – a dram of a light Highland malt with a splash of water.

THE BLUES

The style that divides most opinions (the haters are wrong, btw)

JIFFLER BLUE

Norfolk & Better Ltd, Norfolk
Jiffler Blue arrived at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards, collected Gold in its class and the Best Blue trophy, and is now on every turophile’s radar. This cow’s milk blue means business: a firm, fudgy paste shot through with bold blue-green veining, delivering a rich, spicy punch tempered by a sweet, almost caramel depth. The kind of blue that converts people who claim not to like blue cheese – and there are a lot of them, and they are wrong, and this is their moment.
How to eat it: On a wedge of ripe pear, or crumbled into a warm walnut and chicory salad with a honey-mustard dressing.
Drink: A tawny port (classic for a reason) or, more adventurously, a glass of Sauternes.

YOUNG BUCK

Mike’s Fancy Cheese, Newtownards, County Down
Mike Thomson crowdfunded his dairy in 2013, sourced his milk from a single herd of Holstein Friesians on the Craigantlet hills, and based his recipe on a cheesemaking textbook published in 1917. Which is both charmingly eccentric and a stroke of genius. Widely regarded as Northern Ireland’s first raw milk blue cheese, it has a beautifully mottled, knobbly rind and a paste that is smooth and buttery at the centre, lightly crumbly towards the edges. The flavour is rich and complex: fruity and tropical where you’re not expecting it, clean and salty, with a peppery blue spike and a long, cocoa-edged finish. Somewhere between Stilton and Roquefort, but with an exuberant personality entirely its own.
How to eat it: In generous wedges alongside ripe pears and walnuts, or crumbled into a salad with chicory, toasted hazelnuts and a sharp honey-mustard dressing.
Drink: A tawny port, naturally – or, if you want to go local and bold, a glass of Boundary Brewing’s Export Stout.

GREAT BRITISH HARD CHEESES

Well, it wouldn’t be a cheesy round-up without them

PITCHFORK MATURE CHEDDAR

Trethowan’s Dairy, Somerset
Britain makes some extraordinary Cheddars. Pitchfork is one of the very best of them. Made at Puxton Court Farm using raw milk from their own herd, it took the Best Traditional Cheddar trophy at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards and has been doing so at competitions for years, because when a cheese is this good, judges tend to notice. Aged for at least a year in its cloth bandage, it has developed the crystalline texture of a cheese that has taken its time and isn’t apologising for it: bold, complex, savoury and deeply satisfying, with that lactic, slightly grassy quality that only raw milk can deliver.
How to eat it: Simply, on a piece of good sourdough with a scraping of good butter and a blob of Branston. Don’t overcomplicate it. This is not the moment for truffle oil.
Drink: A pint of real ale, or a glass of robust red – a Côtes du Rhône does the job admirably.

SHEEP RUSTLER

White Lake Cheese, Somerset
Roger Longman at White Lake makes over 30 styles of cheese by hand at his farm in Somerset, which sounds either like organised chaos or the work of a genius, and is probably both. Sheep Rustler – winner of Best Modern Cheese at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards – is a firm, pressed sheep’s milk wheel with a natural rind and a paste that is dense, clean and richly flavoured: nuttier and more complex than most British sheep’s milk cheeses, with a sweet, lanolin warmth and a long, satisfying finish. If Manchego were made in the Mendips, it might taste something like this. High praise. Entirely deserved.
How to eat it: In generous chunks alongside good charcuterie and quince jelly, or grated over roasted summer vegetables with a handful of fresh herbs.
Drink: A dry fino Sherry, which pairs with sheep’s milk cheese with almost unfair elegance.

ONES TO DISCOVER

Seek and enjoy right now

TEMPLEGALL

Hegarty Cheese, Cork, Ireland
Made in Cork in an Alpine style, this is firm, smooth and gently springy, with a natural rind and a flavour that is at once mild and deeply layered: sweet, milky, buttery, with the faintest hint of mountain herbs. Wheels weighing 42kg are brushed, turned and aged for a minimum of nine months until that slight crystalline crunch develops. It has won major awards including honours at the British & Irish Cheese Awards and the Artisan Cheese Awards – a track record that should have more people paying attention. Ireland’s cheesemaking renaissance is one of the great unsung food stories of the decade, and Templegall is its current headline act.
How to eat it: Melted into a toastie – yes, really – or sliced thin over summer rye bread with cornichons.
Drink: A cold Guinness (don’t fight it) or a grassy, herbaceous Grüner Veltliner.

SHEPHERD’S STORE

Cashel Farmhouse Cheesemakers, Tipperary, Ireland
Most people know Cashel Farmhouse for Cashel Blue, one of Ireland’s most celebrated cheeses. Shepherd’s Store is what happens when the same people turn their attention to something completely different. Plus, they win Best Sheep Cheese at this year’s British & Irish Cheese Awards. It is a firm, aged sheep’s milk cheese with a natural rind and a dense, slightly granular paste: nutty, rich, with a sweet lanolin warmth and a dry, savoury finish that sits somewhere between a young Manchego and a very good afternoon. That it comes from Ireland rather than Spain only adds to the intrigue.
How to eat it: Shaved over a summer salad of grilled courgette, mint and lemon, or eaten in unashamedly large chunks with quince jelly.
Drink: A dry fino Sherry for the kind of pairing that makes you wonder why you ever drank anything else.

GOING ON HOLIDAY?

My 6 best cheeses to seek out on your European break

Because the best souvenir is one you can eat with guaranteed sunshine.

France – Époisses de Bourgogne (Burgundy)
So pongy it is famously joked to be banned on public transport. Washed in Marc de Bourgogne until the rind turns vivid orange and the paste becomes almost liquid, it smells like an argument and tastes like a revelation. Eat it with a spoon.

Italy – Taleggio (Lombardy)
Soft, square, pink-rinded, pungent and magnificent. Eat melted over polenta or on a pizza bianca.

Spain –Manchego (La Mancha)
Find a proper artisan version, ideally aged for 12 months or more: firm, buttery, with a long, complex finish.

Portugal – Serra da Estrela (Beira Interior)
Portugal’s greatest cheese: soft, runny, and gloriously spoonable.

Switzerland – Gruyère (Fribourg)
The 2025 World Champion Cheese, and for good reason. Taste it where it’s made for the full effect.

Greece – Graviera Kritis (Crete)
A firm, sweet, nutty cheese with PDO status, somewhere between Gruyère and Comté but entirely its own.

In other news

For all you reddit nerds

Find our subreddit r/goodfood where you can ask for advice and share your favourite foods and cooking creations. Look out for recipes, guides, AMAs and exclusive content from the Good Food Team.

Our next AMA is tomorrow, Wednesday, 23 April. There’s a link here.

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I took a trip down memory lane last week. I was looking for an image in the Good Food archive and fell down a rabbit hole of past issues. I kept running across recipes first published 10 or so years ago – dishes and bakes that seem to have (mostly) come round again and again. Sometimes, an ingredient that was initially hard to find in the UK is no longer the start of an epic shopping trip; you can find it at your local supermarket. Other ideas, well, they were good to start with.

For example, 2014 saw yuzu, fennel pollen, gochujang, posh ice cubes and kimchi hit the pages of Good Food in a ‘coming soon’ sort of way – none of which made it to the mainstream for a while. Quite a long while, if ever, for some (fennel pollen).

Back in 2015, we dabbled with poutine (despite not being able to buy the correct cheese curds), used duck confit in our burgers (still good), got excited about waffles and decorated our cakes with cacti and succulents (or, rather, Miriam did, and I aspired). put candied bacon on her blueberry sundaes (we must bring that one back, if it isn’t already – I find it hard to keep up with EVERYTHING). We also ate snacking crickets; no one else joined us.

Ingredients we used in 2017 included whey – before ‘gym bro’, protein-obsessed whey consumption, this was a waste product. Inspired by restaurants like Silo (Brighton edition), we were trying hard to give people ideas about how to cut food waste. We also came across the waste giveaway app Olio that year, which is still going strong.

Dishes in 2017 ran the gamut of sushi burritos to unicorn bark and savoury granola. We also had a moment with peas in dessert and bubble waffles. We salute your sage leaves Town – we were (still are) crazy for fried garnishes ‘back in the day,’ as my teenage son says. We put miso caramel on our chicken wings and drank turmeric lattes – we really rocked 2017. This was also the year that ‘gramming your food really kicked in. (Blue algae coffee, anyone?) We were also talking about drone delivery for fast food – still waiting for that one to get going; I assume the risk assessment was knocked back.

In 2018, we hasselbacked everything and hankered after fresh bergamot for our G&Ts. Sourdough entered its ‘decorative’ period, to be thoroughly explored again in 2020. Gosia is a whizz. Vegan ‘junk food’ had its first moment across the country, from Birmingham to Bristol. and Helen Goh brought out Sweet in 2017 and, shortly after in 2018, we all went saffron mad. Ruby chocolate popped into our treat stash and crumpets went all restaurant-y. (The latter are back in the social media sights now.)

In 2019, we named blue-and-purple drinks, like blue lagoons and purple rains, ‘retro’. So, with blue being a Pinterest colour of the year in 2026, that makes them what, ‘retro-retro’? We were a bit obsessed with cocktails that year; even our fondant fancies had espresso martini, strawberry daiquiri and piña colada vibes. We mentioned kombucha as often as we could, too – that one did take off after a while.

Then, 2020 was the year of being at home and making our own pickles, fruit leather and flavoured vodka. You can’t move for pickles now.

I’ll be back in 2030 to revisit the 2020s – I’m pretty sure not much of what we eat will have actually changed, it’s just all on video now, so it must be new (not). This piece in the Financial Times by Jemima Kelly cites 2006 as the end of new ideas – the premise being that ideas are now stuck in a cultural feedback loop. Judging by the archive, we are on seconds, if not thirds and fourths, for many ideas, though at least to each new generation, they are a revelation.

What has changed/is changing is who writes the recipes, appears in the videos and has a voice. That needs to continue to change.

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I was going to make a Texas sheet cake with a thin layer of frosting, but I ended up fluffing the icing mixture so it looks like this. The reason I love these American-style cakes so much is that you melt the butter rather than creaming it, for both the cake and the frosting. Easy peasy, and you get the lovely butter flavour. I use quite salty butter in the frosting because the whole sweet/savoury thing is my bag. I like the lightness of oil-based cakes, but if the other flavourings don’t override the taste of oil, then that’s your lasting memory of each bite. Truly flavourless oil is hard to find easily, and I can’t run to the price of food-safe almond oil.

As far as I can work out, a Texas sheet cake (or should that be ‘sheath’ cake?) should be thinner than mine, a giant slab of a thing, but no more than 2.5 cm deep. It might be made with buttermilk or soured cream, and the frosting might include chopped pecans or walnuts. When I make this again, I’ll use pecans and won’t whip the frosting.

Popular at funerals, it’s also known as Texas funeral cake. After a small trip down a rabbit hole of funeral dishes, I now want to eat funeral potatoes. I’m thinking of leaving a prescribed menu for my wake – I couldn’t bear to think of there not being a good spread!

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Before we get to the recipe, here are a few things I’d like to eat this Easter weekend:

’s red wine garlic leg of lamb (scroll down), which looks absolutely lush.

’ roasted cauli cheese – which also includes haricot beans, so very on-message for me.

's stupendous sounding fried eggs + dates + pine nuts – with feta and herbs. So many of my favourite things in one pan.

’ lamb and lentil ragu so I can make keema peas.

Onwards to cake.

For some added fun this week, let’s do some armchair travel with olive magazine, or if you’re out and about in the UK, you may find some of these guides useful.

The Julian Alps in Solvenia are sounding very lovely.

There’s blossom loveliness in many parts of the world, such a great reason to pick a place to go to.

10 regional bakeries in the UK to try, because buns are always a good thing.

If touring the latest UK restaurants sounds good to you, we keep this guide updated.

We eat well in the Good Food Test Kitchen – that is a given. Some recipes are simply enjoyed, while others gain cult status, and while we’ve always had a soft spot for focaccia, it’s never been truer than this Easter. The recipe below for simnel focaccia is lush. But before we get to that, here are a few of our favourites:

’s tomato, burrata & prosciutto-loaded focaccia is a picnic made in heaven.

’s sourdough version is a dream to make.

Then there’s Pugliese, loaded with potato, because everyone loves a double carb.

Over to Barney:

As a bread baker, I’ve really fallen in love with sweet focaccias. The first one that caught my attention was made with dark chocolate and sea salt. Cassie suggested I write a twist on a cinnamon bun for the focaccia chapter of my forthcoming book and for Good Food’s Easter issue — and it’s my favourite yet (I think the best Easter bake recipe I’ve ever written). It’s a simnel cake-flavoured version that’s fluffy, buttery and gently spiced, with pockets of melted marzipan and dried fruit running through the dough. It’s versatile enough to fit in with your Easter schedule, because as a massive plus, it can be made from start to finish in just a few hours. For the best flavour and to give those nonchalant, “here’s something I just knocked up yesterday” vibes – the whole thing can be assembled and chilled for up to 24 hours, then baked the next day.

The secret to its can’t-stop-eating fluffiness is a water/milk roux (also called tangzhong). This is a total game-changer for baking soft, fluffy breads, buns and rolls. It’s simply flour and milk (or water, or both) cooked into a smooth paste, which changes the starch so it can hold onto more water. That means your dough traps extra moisture, making it softer, so it’s easier to work with and creates a lighter, fluffier bake that stays fresh for longer. Once you’ve used it in a bake like this, or in brioche-style loaves, pillowy dinner rolls or burger buns, you’ll honestly wonder how you ever baked without it.

Focaccia recipes from the Substack gang that have caught my eye:

GOOSEBERRY! from . I am so excited.

Wild garlic from .

Sourdough carrot (!?) by .

Another sweet treat to make for Easter?

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I hated carrots when I was little, and though I love them now, I’m still prejudiced against them if they’re cut into discs. It must be memories of school dinners – tasteless carrots swimming in slightly sweet water. (Shudder.) When it comes to a straightforward carrot side, batons are the best shape, IMHO. I saw that Angela Harnett thinks a carrot cut on a slant ‘just looks classier’ in a recent Guardian interview; she is of course right.

Why eat carrots? It’s an affordable veg and money well spent, serving as the base of many recipes. Though, do make sure you buy carrots that taste carroty – there’s no point in blandness, even if they are crisp. They’re available year-round and nutritionally rich in beta-carotene, which our bodies convert to vitamin A (retinol).

There are yellow, white, red and purple carrots, too. The original carrots were thin, wiry white or purple roots that were forked or 'sprangled', and they tasted nothing like today’s carrots. Breeding them (they were first farmed in Persia from the 10th century) changed their shape to larger single roots, and a mutation in purple carrots led them to change colour again to yellow, red, then, in the 16th century (likely in Holland), to orange. And here we are.

And then there are mini carrots, cut and peeled into shape. I am delighted that their inventor, Mike Yurosek of California, named his invention Bunny-Luv. Apparently, when they landed on shop shelves in the ‘90s, carrot consumption quickly doubled in the USA. Mr Yurosek had solved his massive food waste problem; he couldn’t sell bent, broken or split carrots, and then millions of Americans started eating these as snacks. You can read the whole story here.

If you have carrots to use, here are plenty of ideas. Please add your own in the comments. Links welcome.

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Cake
Despite my early disdain for carrots as a vegetable, I have always been entirely comfortable having them baked into cake. However, during most of my childhood, carrot cake wasn’t the thing it is now (even though carrots had been used as a sugar replacement as far back as the Middle Ages and again during the Second World War). The first one I ever cooked was from the Cranks Recipe Book; I think after eating it in the Carnaby Street café, and it did not have the luxury of cream cheese frosting. I’ve always liked versions with pineapple. Tina Turner (yes, that one) contributed such a version to Cool Cooking: Recipes of Your Favourite Rock Stars by Roberta Ashley. ’s version is very good, and a fully frosted version by features praline pecans on top. The prettiest carrot cake has to be the birthday cake by (Bayou Saint Cake) on . If you like chocolate icing, then check out Brazilian carrot cake, or bolo de cenoura, from .

Muffins
There was a moment when the British got the muffin bug, and we muffined everything, regardless of whether that muffin already existed elsewhere in the world. (‘Muffin me’, as Dominic West would say.) Recipes abound. Nominate your best. Here’s one with tahini for extra nutty flavour.

Carrot cake everything
Cookies, pancakes, cocktails – you name it. Carrot + spices is a flavour in itself. Looking at you, Hotel Chocolat. I’ve just found a tub of carrot cake flavoured white hot chocolate in the office, it does NOT smell good. Some things should be left uncarroted.

Gajar halwa (other spellings exist)
This is probably the most eaten carrot dessert in the world by weight and is popular across the Indian subcontinent for Eid, Holi and Diwali. Try Roopa Gulati’s recipe if you’ve never made it before. Go next level on a halwa recipe with carrot-halwa millionaire bars from . He is the most inventive of recipe writers.

Tzimmes
‘Coins’ of carrot sweetened with honey and traditionally eaten at Rosh Hashanah. There are many recipes and variations.

Carrot soup
There are many flavour variations, including carrot and coriander, carrot & lentil, carrot & parsnip, carrot & orange, creamy carrot, etc. In France, the classic potage Crécy, named after a commune in northern France where the best carrots were said to be grown, is usually thickened with rice. I really like this carrot soup with blood orange by ‘under pressure’. The quick way to make preserved citrus in a pressure cooker is genius.

Carrots râpées
This one is nominated by , who says, “My French mother loved an hors d’oeuvre, and alongside cucumbers in cream (concombre à la crème), we had grated carrot salad (carottes râpées) on constant rotation. Peeled carrots were coarsely grated, then simply dressed in a punchy vinaigrette made with Dijon mustard and red wine vinegar. The best version I’ve eaten, though, was made by Scottish chef Rosie Healy, who juliennes the carrots with one of those fancy shredding peelers and tosses them with plenty of very roughly chopped fresh green herbs.”

Carrot pilaf
Made with fried onions, ginger and cashews.

Traybake
Cooked with chickpeas and smoked paprika, this is a very easy and satisfying one-pan wonder. Minimal washing-up, too. What’s not to like? Roasted carrots feature in many recipes. Years ago, when I wrote a seasonal column, I felt like I’d rinsed my brain for anything carrot-based and kept defaulting to roasted carrots in or on something. Roasting concentrates the flavour of carrots, bringing out their sweetness. Barney thinks that if you quickly blanch carrots before roasting them, you get an even better result. I think this is especially true of unpeeled carrots. And we are no longer peeling carrots, are we…?

Carrot salad
Recipes are legion. I particularly like a recipe using burrata, chicory, walnuts and mandarins. It makes an excellent main course or dinner party starter.

In a tart
Use carrots leaf-to-root by making carrot-top pesto to dress roasted carrots and give them a base of whipped feta in this tart recipe from . I’m obsessed with the look of this sesame-encrusted galette.

Ribboned into fried rice
A recipe on olivemagazine.com is a whizz. Ribbons of carrot are cooked with mushrooms, sprouts, chilli, turmeric and lime leaves (keep some to hand in the freezer) and topped with a fried egg.

Pickle
You can pickle for the longish-term or quick-pickle.

Overnight oats
The trend that still has legs. If you like overnight oats, then you may enjoy them with carrots, cinnamon and honey.

Curry
Does anyone have a good recipe for carrot curry to recommend? I would love one.

Flavours carrots work with

Old school Pernod and carrots, Barney says, can be replicated with star anise or fennel seeds. Orange (and lemon and lime and pomelo). Fresh fennel. Walnuts, pecans, sesame and tahini, almonds. Ginger, cinnamon, cumin, coriander, cardamom, nutmeg. Parsley, coriander, thyme, dill, tarragon. Chilli, miso, soy sauce, maple syrup, brown sugar, raisins, pineapple, sour cherries. Dairy generally. Lentils, chickpeas and beans of many colours. Beef.

No spotlight recipe this week, but plenty of recipe links.

We’ll be back with a sheet cake next week…

This week in the Test Kitchen

We judged our SME Awards. So many great entries, so many people in the food world with a driving purpose. Results are out soon!

Today is FutureFest at GF HQ, Marianna Spring is coming to talk about Trust, Influence and the Future of Content, and I have never been so excited.

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My grandmother was famous for her ‘very plain cakes’ (you were lucky if you found a stray currant in your slice). Some cakes are largely devoid of flavour other than their base ingredients; I’m always tempted to spread them with butter and/or jam. Other cakes are simply not show-offs, making the most of an added flavouring or two – perhaps some chunks of fruit, a bit of spice or a smattering of chocolate chips or nuts.

Almost-plain cakes make an excellent accompaniment to a cup of tea or coffee. They are gentle cakes, not particularly assertive yet comforting and exactly what is needed for a quick tea break or elevenses. We have endless cake recipes on Good Food, but sometimes a search for a basic cake throws up a gap; this happened when I went looking for apple cake.

There’s Dorset apple cake, apple cake with streusel topping and cakes with caramel, walnuts and sultanas added. No plain apple cake. So Alice, aka wrote one for me, which I made at the weekend (pictured above). But because I’m incapable of not fiddling with things, and I had the end of a pack that kept falling out of the cupboard, I sprinkled it with demerara sugar, which is not in the original recipe (below).

Alice is a fine baker, so she’s also added lots of tips for cake-making (especially rescuing cake batter) to this newsletter. If you’re a novice cake maker, then do bookmark this page. If not, perhaps forward it to someone who might find it useful.

Over to Alice…

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I like to think I know my way around a bake. I grew up surrounded by pastries and sweet treats, thanks to my family’s bakery in Lancashire, which ran for three generations. I also trained as a pastry chef before working as a food editor and spent time whipping up desserts in a pub kitchen, too. Although baking is a science, it doesn’t have to be complicated, and most mistakes can often be fixed. Not being one to gatekeep, I’ve rounded up my most-used tips and tricks to get you out of a sticky spot.

How to rescue split ganache
We’ve all been there, but there’s no need to scrape it into the compost bin. Remove the ganache from the heat (if needed) and beat in a splash of cold milk or cream. Start with 1 tbsp and add a little more, if needed. The chilly shock should bring it back together.

How to save curdled cake batter
If your cake batter has curdled once you’ve added the eggs, beat in a little of the flour, a tablespoon at a time until the mixture comes back together. To avoid the mixture splitting in the first place, ensure all your ingredients are at room temperature before you start baking. Also make sure you beat the mixture well after adding each egg. The mixture should be fully combined and fluffy.

If your cake batter has split, it isn’t actually the end of the world. Your baked cake may have a slight eggy smell and won’t have risen as much, but it will still be perfectly edible. Once you’ve slathered over the buttercream, no one will ever know!

How to cut brownies
For the neatest squares, cut your brownies with a blunt instrument, like a dough scraper.

Don’t bin crystallised caramel
If your water-based caramel has crystallised, don’t fret! There’s no need to start again. Remove the pan from the heat and pour over just enough water to cover the surface (the caramel will seize up, but don’t worry). Pop the pan back over a low heat and cook until melted. Make sure you also dissolve any bits of sugar that have stuck to the side of the pan by brushing them with a wet pastry brush. Once the mixture has melted, you can turn up the heat and let it bubble until it reaches the desired colour and temperature. (It will take a little longer, as you’ll need to boil off the extra water).

For perfectly round cookies
Reshape your cookies with a large round cutter as soon as they come out of the oven. They should come back together and be worthy of a bakery window.

How to measure a loaf tin
Unlike other cake tins, loaf tins are often sold by volume weight size, rather than cm/inch measurements. Most loaf tins will state the size on the base, but if you’re unsure of yours, fill the loaf tin to the brim with water, then carefully pour the water into a measuring jug. A 1lb/450g loaf tin should have a capacity of about 450ml (give or take a little to account for the rise). A 2lb/900g loaf tin should have a capacity of around 900ml. Alternatively, pop the loaf tin on your scales and press ‘tare’. Pour in enough water to fill your loaf tin and note the weight.

Lulu’s note on the above: Not all UK loaf tins are the same, even if the volume is. Some are long and thin, while others are short and fat, so you also need to think about what cake you’re making and what your desired outcome is – wide, short slices or narrow, tall ones. Crucially, a longer tin may need a shorter cooking time.

Lining your tin

If you don’t want to use extra butter to grease your tin, simply scrunch up your sheet of baking parchment into a tight ball. Flatten it out, then use it to line your tin. The act of scrunching will make the parchment more pliable, meaning you can easily get it into the corners of the tin, and it should stay in place.

In other baking news:

’s new book, Chocolate Baking, is on shelves now. As with all of Edd’s recipes, these are meticulously researched and tested. The recipes are glorious, and if your bookshelf is full, I’d turf one of your other books out to fit this in.

Coming up

If you’re interested in what cookbooks are coming up this year, then there’s a useful list on Eat Your Books split into geographic areas.

Beans

The one rule of Bean Club is to ALWAYS talk about Bean Club. Actually, there are two to choose from:

Hodmedod’s monthly bean club: a selection of pulses including many UK-grown and some rare ones. Feb/March included Norfolk-grown borlotti beans and scarlet runners, brown winter peas, carlin peas and olive lentils.

Monika’s Rare Pulse Club is a new bi-monthly delivery of Spanish pulses chosen by Monika Linton of Brindisa. The first box includes Fesols de Santa Pau from La Garrotxa, Canela from La Velles and green lentils grown near La Armuña in Salamanca.

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To clarify, the ability to ‘follow’ a recipe and ‘make’ it are two different things because the writer is not in control of the skill, confidence, enthusiasm, or palate – or lack thereof – of the person cooking it. But writing recipes and how those recipes are interpreted is of enormous interest to me. We have a very large audience across all platforms of Good Food, largely living in or near the British Isles (not forgetting the Channel Islands), and not all of these people read recipes in the same way. That said, they are used to seeing them set out in roughly the same way. Or rather, they were.

If you grew up with printed recipes, in books, newspapers, and pamphlets, then a familiar recipe may either be classically set out with the ingredients and method, or all the instructions are written into running copy paragraphs known as the ‘Elizabeth David’ style. The advent of digital recipes largely kept to the conventions of the former, but the online space is infinite, so then the blog-style recipe arrived with a preamble, notes and tips (some a joy, many turgid, and chances are you’d give up before getting to the recipe). The words that are used need to be clear and, ideally, aimed at the skill level of the majority – a point perfectly illustrated by David and Moira trying to make enchiladas on Schitt’s Creek.

And then there are pictures. My older recipe books (I’m not talking Mrs Beeton here) had no pictures, maybe a few illustrations. Later, books burst into colour, but not all recipes were illustrated. In many books now, this is still the case because photography is exceptionally expensive. Pictures provide more instruction, though; how to best serve the dish can be suggested by the styling (the banana candle is my favourite bad serving idea). A picture should not only show you what your dish should look like but also what constitutes a portion (or the whole recipe). Many aren’t accurate, which is a massive bugbear of mine. Visual clues will exist as to how brown meat should be, what size ‘chopped’ or ‘sliced’ means, how thick the sauce should be or what the writer means by ‘decorate as you wish’.

And now there are videos, from lengthy walk-throughs on YouTube with every detail included to 30-second reels and TikToks. (The latter surely gives the impression that every dish should take 20 minutes, can be made in one pan and is a hack with no washing-up.)

What video and food TV have done well is unlock a world of food for younger generations. Recipes were almost hidden behind a wall of learning that needed to be scaled before you could pick up a pan or turn on the hob. If someone didn’t teach you to cook, then you were considered almost incapable. Thankfully, the youth of today don’t think like that at all. Help with learning to cook is there for the taking; all you need to do is watch and have a crack at what you fancy. I’m not sure that this is clear to older cooks. There’s a whole generation denied cooking lessons at school who may not have had anyone else to teach them or any convenient TV or video source of information, but that is no longer true. Without home economics lessons or knowing anyone who has time to teach you, if you like to eat and have the desire to recreate what you like, you can still learn to cook.

I think as recipe writers, we need to bear in mind these nascent and future cooks who live in the world of video. Which brings me back to recipe style, because I think a recipe needs to be written down or codified somewhere. Who knows what the future of digital archives is? Books have lasted well. If you want to understand how a recipe can be written in so many ways, then ’s column in the Guardian sets this out every week as she interrogates several options to narrow down the perfect version of a dish. So what of the recipes we write now and into the future, the ones on paper or in blogs or on websites, or even in the comments of social posts? Read the comments of social video posts to understand how thin on details some are. How do we write instructions well so they are easy to follow, whoever you are? Recipes are like maps, as Jeff Goins writes in this post. You use them to learn a terrain so that in the future you remember the way on your own.

New cooks are far more familiar with ‘cheffy’ terms if they watch MasterChef, GBM or the Instagram feeds of restaurants like Fallow or craftsmen like Dominique Ansel; they understand terminology that, 20 years ago, would have been on few radars. They’ve perhaps eaten widely even if they haven’t travelled as much, because cuisines cross territories at speed, and street food has opened doors and appetites with an affordable way to try dishes. Knowledge of that kind is available everywhere. But the nuts and bolts of making a dish work? The tiny details that make or break an outcome? They may well be absent. We need to keep making maps that all food travellers can follow.

A few things about recipes

This is a list of gripes made by me and our food editor . Please tell us what we’ve missed or what bugs you most in the comments.

• The ingredients list not being in the correct order, as per the method, can cause even competent cooks to make mistakes, such as adding things at the wrong time or even missing out ingredients altogether. It’s such an easy thing to fix if you do a quick check at the end.

• The ingredients list shouldn’t contain too many prep instructions. Some, like chopping directions, are fine, but things like overnight soaking or any type of cooking are a bit cheeky. It can gaslight you into thinking – certainly at first glance – that the recipe is going to be a lot simpler/speedier than it actually is.

• Using a tiny amount of an obscure ingredient with no tips on how to use up the rest of the jar, especially if it’s in a meal intended for midweek, is not helpful.

• Specifying only 1 butternut squash when size does matter, or being particular when it doesn’t really matter, is misleading. (I went down a rabbit hole of a discussion as to what a ‘medium onion’ is in the US. It was all baseballs and softballs. My softball is ENORMOUS, so how big are American onions?)

• Using teeny weeny gram amounts is pointless, since most people don’t own drug scales. Tsp or tbsp, please.

• Rice in a dish. What type and colour, please? Although for ‘serves with’, the rice can be more ‘you do you’.

• If a cake tin is required, so is a note about its depth. (I have watched many cakes overflow.) And while we’re on this, for the love of God, please can someone standardise loaf tins?

• Mention the required size of a pan, too, if it matters.

• Please don’t ever say ‘deep-fry’ without further instruction.

• A visual clue for doneness, ideal texture, or colour is often vital – the rate of cooking in any recipe is not a given, so telling cooks what to look for is both necessary and kind.

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I’ve used the Substack recipe form below. As I’ve said before, it is by no means good enough. , please, can we make some adjustments?