Ameer Kotecha

I love scones. I would go so far as to say they are my favourite morsel of all in the traditional afternoon tea spread. Yes the finger sandwiches are nice, and the mini tarts, eclairs and macarons often an impressive display of the pâtisser’s skill and finesse. But if the afternoon tea doesn’t have a scone, in my book it is not an afternoon tea at all. The appeal of the scone is partly in its simplicity. I can find the opera cake with multiple different types of ganache and the various mini tartlets that feature in hotel afternoon teas sometimes all a bit much.

There are many slightly pretentious ways to make an ordinary plate of food look beautiful. Powders, foams, and gels are all much favoured by Michelin chefs – though they generally don’t improve anything and make it look as if someone has spilt something on your dinner. But edible flowers are one cheffy trick that I do employ when I want to make something look special. Choose carefully and they provide not just a feast for the eyes but flavour and texture too. In the spring and summer months they bring a welcome floral elegance. And if you’re hosting a dinner party and don’t want to rely purely on the silkiness of your homemade pasta or the rise of your soufflé to wow your guests, a few edible flowers will leave them suitably impressed.

Ask a foreigner to name the fruit that above all others epitomises their image of Britain, and it will surely be the strawberry. It is less a fruit than an icon. Redolent of royalty: not just for its role jam sandwiching together a Victoria Sponge but for its colour too, as patriotically red as the tunics of The Queen’s Guards. To eat bowls of strawberries and cream at Wimbledon. To partake of a punnet on a park picnic. These things are as quintessentially British as tea and queuing. What is it that is so evocative about strawberries? They are of course synonymous with summer, and they have about them something of the match tea, of outdoor eating and of holidays. There is nostalgia too: growing up without strawberry jam sandwiches was surely no childhood at all.

It is hard to think of a vegetable which is as eagerly anticipated as that of home-grown asparagus. Partly it is because the season is so short: St George’s Day traditionally marks the start of the season which typically lasts for just eight weeks. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and, so long as we resist the temptations of year-round flown-in asparagus from foreign climes, the arrival of the first spears of this vegetable grown on home soil is as exciting a moment as any in the culinary calendar. There are occasional disruptions to nature’s rhythm: last year frosts ruined large parts of the British crop forcing supermarkets to stock asparagus from abroad.

Beef is one of our proudest national exports. Though showcasing British beef to the world has at times had its challenges, one story raises a smile: as a result of BSE, British beef was banned in France during Lord Jay’s tenure as our ambassador in Paris. He and his wife Sylvia made a principle of serving only British ingredients at ambassadorial functions wherever possible – and, as a result, they felt they could not serve beef at all. As I recount in my forthcoming book, they did, however, have one triumph. Lord Jay recalled: 'Just as the ban was beginning to be lifted the French said that British beef could be imported to the great agricultural show at SIAL, provided that when the show was over the British beef was either burned or taken to the British Embassy.

Easter is almost upon us and with it comes the mouth-watering prospect of roast lamb. It has become increasingly fashionable in recent years to eschew the leg and do a slow-cooked, meltingly tender shoulder of lamb for a Sunday roast. Rightly so, for the shoulder meat is rich and delicious, but when it comes to Easter there is something suitably grand and evocative of the new season about a whole leg brought to the table, pink in the middle and surrounded by spring veg. Rubbing it all over with olive oil, sea salt, garlic and rosemary is a classic preparation – adding some lemon zest too gives a welcome freshness.

Inflation is (if you’ll excuse the pun) biting. So how can you keep down the cost of the weekly shop and get maximum bang for your buck in the kitchen without compromising? I have always shopped by the yellow sticker and the discount aisle. When I first started getting creative in the kitchen as an early teen, I wanted to try searing scallops and practice filleting Dover sole, French-trim a rack of lamb, and prepare artichoke hearts – and none of that comes cheap. So, I went to the supermarket an hour before closing and bought from the man in the hairnet who I knew and who I liked to think knew me: I took home whatever was most reduced from the fresh counter and then tried to work out how to cook it.

Michelin, alone within the hospitality industry, possesses the ability to provoke elation or tears in professional chefs. If you thought the victims on the receiving end of an expletive-laden tirade from Gordon Ramsay were a sorry sight, just imagine the faces of the poor broken chefs who lose one of their coveted Michelin stars. Some may claim that they are an outdated measure of excellence and that they do not give a jot about them — the enfant terrible of the British restaurant scene, Marco Pierre White, even famously returned his, citing the crippling pressure they brought— but Michelin retains the power to reduce grown men to sobbing infants with one sprinkling of their stardust.

In British cooking we have traditionally had a complicated relationship with garlic. Let the french use it to their hearts’ content: fine in a Toulouse but no thank you in a Cumberland. Suggestive of this wariness is wild garlic’s many names – ‘devil's garlic’, ‘gypsy's onions’ and ‘stinking Jenny’ amongst others. But in recent years British cooks have taken to wild garlic with unabashed relish (and indeed it makes rather a good one, as seen here). Food always tastes better having foraged or hunted for it yourself and so it is with wild garlic. The leaves appear in March and you will find them throughout spring but they are best picked early in the season.

They sparked the Crusades, built Venice, and spurred European colonialism. In many ways, spices and the spice routes along which they were traded, made the modern world. And how many other ingredients can make that claim? Not avocadoes, not goji berries, not truffle, no matter how fashionable. No, when it comes to historical importance, spices are in a league of their own. In medieval times black pepper was so valuable it was used as a currency, and worth its weight in gold. As an excitable Rick Stein explained on his journey around India in 2013, unscrupulous merchants in days gone by would cunningly cut the valuable pepper with mustard husks and even chimney sweepings to increase their takings.

Poke House last week opened four new restaurant sites in London. It is just the start of a fishy influx with the Californian-inspired poke bowl chain planning to open 15 London sites and 65 UK sites over the next year. It is little surprise; where West Coast America goes London soon follows. But the huge popularity of poke bowls has been entrenched for several years. In 2015 the LAist publication was already writing that 'The Poke Bowl Craze Is Getting Out Of Hand'. Six years on, poke’s staying power seems beyond doubt. Poke, for the uninitiated, means 'to slice or cut' in Hawaiian and consists of pieces of raw, marinated fish – usually tuna – that is tossed over rice and topped with vegetables and various vaguely-Asian sauces.

Everyone should have a catering trick to easily host a large party. As Jeffrey Archer once told me, while pointing out Oxford landmarks as if it were his university rather than mine, he was famous for his legendary Shepherd’s pie and Krug champagne Christmas soirées. I have my own party formula: ‘Bagels and Booze’. I am passionate about East London bagels. So is everyone these days. It is perhaps the result of influence from across the Pond, bringing New York cool to our doughy daily sustenance. As a family we’ve been frequenting Brick Lane Beigel Bake for over 25 years. I was too young to comprehend much of London’s geography in those early visits. But I remember that whenever we came anywhere near East London the clamour for bagels would start.

At this time of year, nothing beats a cosy tavern with steamed up windows, a roaring fire and hearty food. ‘Gastropubs’ have come under some justified criticism over the years: trying too hard to be restaurants and with prices to match, pricing out their former loyal clientele. Too many regular pubs meanwhile are happy to serve microwaved food or, as is the fashion nowadays, mediocre Thai cuisine. Pub or gastropub, the most successful food offerings at a good watering hole are often the pies. With any luck there will be options: picnic pies with hot water crust pastry (Crystelle from Bake Off recently produced a good-looking curried chicken and potato terrine pie) and the likes of shepherd’s pie topped with buttery mash.

There’s never been a better year to celebrate Bonfire Night. Late night, outdoor, responsible fun to enjoy now that there’s precious little else to do after 10 p.m. Plus it’s surely therapeutic to remind ourselves that while things are currently a little tough going and hosting a dinner party in your home is an act of high treason, the country had its fair share of problems in 1605 too. Round-the-fire cooking isn’t the same as barbeque cooking: utensils are at a minimum; heat control is down to a wing and a prayer. This is ‘chuck it near the heat and pray the kids won’t go hungry’ cooking. So here are six things to try on 5th November, when you can’t face another toasted marshmallow.

Diwali is synonymous with fireworks and candles (diwas) – it is after all the ‘festival of lights’ – but sweet morsels of sugar and spice are almost as important a part of the festivities. Just as Christmas is a time when restraint rightly crumbles in the face of mince pies and lashings of brandy butter, so Diwali is an occasion for pendas, burfis, ladoos and other sweet largesse. Most of these sweets have in common plenty of ghee (clarified butter) and goor (unrefined jaggery), as well as lots of spice (cardamom and saffron are particularly ubiquitous) and often nuts. As delicious as it all sounds, Indian sweets often suffer from a bad reputation, in particular for being tooth-achingly sweet.

If the brimming hedgerows were not enough to sate your taste buds this autumn, then it's time to turn your attention to game season. As I’ve written, game is not only delicious but sustainable and healthy too. Indeed, venison is higher in protein and lower in fat than any other meat. It's not for nothing that the British Association for Shooting and Conservation (BASC) are in conversations with NHS leadership to explore getting ‘boil in the bag’ game to rural hospitals to nourish inpatients. Game is also extremely varied. Poultry can sometimes get boring: chicken is too ubiquitous, duck too fatty to eat often, and no-one really likes turkey except once a year for nostalgia’s sake.

There are few things as good as soup for comfort and warmth. Though, with the very notable exception of Heinz tomato, I find ready-made soups invariably dull. The fresh counter ones are even worse than the tinned: bland, gloopy, surprisingly calorific and expensive for what is, after all, liquid food. When it comes to soup, I go for one of two approaches. When I need instant warmth and salty satisfaction I’ll have a mug of broth— Bovril beef tea, miso soup from a sachet, or even just a crumbled veggie stock cube in boiling water. And when I want a real meal, something nutritious and filling, I’ll make a proper blended soup.

Getting a takeaway doesn’t quite mean what it used to. The choice used to be between a pizza, ‘an Indian’ or ‘a Chinese’, and was reserved as a Friday night treat, to be eaten out the box while flopped on the sofa watching Cilla Black’s Blind Date. Nowadays one is as likely to order a truffle risotto as a Pizza Hut combo deal. Furthermore, many millennials and Gen Z-ers seem to have no qualms ordering takeaway several times a week, carefully transposing the slow-cooked beef Massaman curry onto bone china so they can pretend (to themselves or their Instagram followers) that it’s home-cooked – honest. But all these new trends give the old-school takeaway options a somewhat nostalgic appeal.

African politicians often have a playful turn of phrase. The former president of Zambia, Levy Mwanawasa, was dubbed 'the cabbage' by his political opponents. There is nothing to suggest that the founding president of Malawi, Hastings Banda, was called 'the kidney bean' by the political opposition but he could’ve been. For banda/bhanda is the word for the kidney bean in the Malawian language of chichewa. Many culinary cultures vaunt their prowess with the kidney bean; it is of course a prized ingredient in Mexican and Cajun cuisine too. But prepared in the Indian-African manner, as a spicy curry-like stew and served with basmati rice ('bhat', in the Gujarati language of western India), it is wonderful: as warming and satisfying as a chilli, and perfect autumnal food.