cold running water. The peels will have loosened and you should be able to pull them off easily at the ‘X’.
Draining and trimming tinned tomatoes
Any recipe in this book that calls for tinned tomatoes asks that you drain and trim them. First, drain and discard the liquid they come in, which I find tastes artificially sweet and salty. Second, trim any yellowish patches, straggling skin, and the tough core from each tomato.
CRUSHED SPRING PEAS WITH MINT
As a girl in England, I always loved mushy peas, whether they were made the real way – from a starchy variety of pea called marrowfat that’s dried, then soaked – or dumped into a pot straight from a tin. Nowadays I prefer this mash made from fresh, sweet shelling peas – a twist on the British classic, which actually takes less work to make than its inspiration. It’s wonderful spread in a thick layer on warm bread or as a dip for raw veg, like radishes, carrots, and wedges of fennel.
makes about 300g
300g fresh peas (from about 900g of pods)
25g aged pecorino, finely grated
1½ teaspoons Maldon or another flaky sea salt
1 small spring garlic clove or ½ small garlic clove, smashed, peeled and roughly chopped
12 medium mint leaves
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Scant 2 tablespoons lemon juice, plus more for finishing
Combine the ingredients in a food processor and pulse to a coarse purée, about 45 seconds. Scrape the mixture into a bowl and roughly stir and smoosh a bit so it’s a little creamy and a little chunky. Season to taste with more salt and lemon juice – you want it to taste sweet and bright but not acidic.
SUGAR SNAP PEA SALAD
I admit that I’m hard on sugar snap peas. I get disappointed when they suck, of course, but I also get grumpy when they’re anything less than perfect – unblemished, super sweet, and not a bit starchy. That’s the curse of keeping high standards, I suppose: you’re so rarely satisfied. When at last I do find perfect sugar snap peas, I make this salad. I leave them raw – only the finest snap peas can be this delightful without a dunk in boiling water – and accentuate their flavour with little more than a lemony dressing and mint. If you’d like, you could add some creamy goat’s cheese in dollops or good old burrata alongside.
serves 4 as a side
450g sugar snap peas, trimmed and strings removed (see note)
A five-finger pinch of mint leaves, roughly chopped at the last minute
55ml Simple Lemon Dressing (here)
Maldon or another flaky sea salt
Lemon juice
A large handful of delicate, peppery rocket
So long as you find the right sugar snap peas, you’ll have a smashing salad. But I find that putting your knife to them adds even more excitement, a little textural variation and attractiveness. Accordingly, run the tip of your knife along the spine of some of the larger pods, open them like a book to expose the peas, and gently pull to separate the two sides of the pod. Slice others diagonally in half or thirds. Keep small ones whole.
Combine the peas and mint in a large bowl. Pour in the dressing and toss gently but well. Season to taste with more salt and lemon, if you’d like. Add the rocket to the bowl and toss gently to coat the leaves in the dressing without bruising them. Arrange it all prettily on a platter and serve straightaway.
PREPPING SUGAR SNAP PEAS
If you wish to remove the maximum string from your sugar snap peas, try this. With one hand, hold a pea so the concave side is facing you and the stem end is facing down. With the other, use a small, sharp knife to cut just below the very tip of the pea and pull towards you, removing the string in the process. Rotate the pea so the stem end is facing up and the concave side is facing away from you. Now cut just below the tip of the pea and pull towards you, removing the string along the spine of the pea. This goes quite quickly once you get the hang of it, and you never have to worry about a stringy bit mucking up a good bite.
BRAISED PEAS AND LITTLE GEM LETTUCE
To me, this dish, also known as petits pois à la française, is a classic because the whole is so much greater than the sum of its parts. The dish isn’t a vehicle for the peas or the braised lettuce to be the star; instead it’s all about the magic they create together. The lettuce heads become silky and meaty, the sweet peas pop in your mouth, and all that springtime flavour infuses the broth. This dish would be delightful with duck confit, roast duck, or grilled lamb alongside, though if you’re not in a meaty mood, stir in some cooked barley and you’ll have a hearty meal.
serves 6 as a side
3 heads Little Gem lettuce (about 450g), stems trimmed of brown but kept intact
55ml plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a glug for finishing
6 medium spring garlic cloves or 3 medium garlic cloves, peeled and halved lengthwise
About 1 tablespoon Maldon or another flaky sea salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
450g young onions (see ‘Young Onions’, here) or Spanish onions, halved lengthwise and cut crosswise into 0.5cm-thick slices
110ml dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc
300g shelled fresh peas (from about 900g of pods)
350ml Simple Chicken Stock (here)
A five-finger pinch of mint leaves, roughly chopped at the last minute
Remove and reserve the floppy outer leaves from the lettuce, discarding any blemished ones. Halve the heads lengthwise. Rinse, drain, and thinly slice the reserved outer leaves.
Heat 55ml of the olive oil in a wide heavy pot over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Add the garlic and cook, occasionally flipping and stirring the cloves, until they’re golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the garlic to a small bowl.
Add the lettuce heads cut sides down to the pot (don’t
