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The smokehouses along the Suffolk coast put out an evocative mineral smell into the air.

There would have been many more of these blackened sheds in previous times, smoking being an essential way of preserving fish before refrigeration.

You are likely to find a smoker somewhere near you (even Islington has one!) or head to the website of Pinneys in Suffolk to have some sent.

We have included a selection of smoked haddock here. It is a wonderfully versatile fish, and the sea is pretty well stocked at the moment.

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Smoked Haddock Recipes - Great British Chefs

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Great British Chef's complete collection of smoked haddock recipes. With recipes like Kedgeree, smoked haddock fishcakes and cheesy fish pie

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Scroll right for all the recipes. Anything in pink is a link - do click through to find out more.

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Scroll right for all the recipes. Anything in pink is a link - do click through to find out more.

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Spring's arrival is so thrilling that Britten wrote a symphony with that title, supposedly inspired by one particular meadow near his house in Aldeburgh.

Never more welcome than this year, although early in the season, we look to the best that a March Suffolk can offer.

"Suffolk, the birthplace and inspiration of Constable and Gainsborough, the loveliest of English painters; the home of Crabbe, that most English of poets; Suffolk, with its rolling, intimate countryside; its heavenly Gothic churches, big and small; its marshes, with those wild sea-birds; its grand ports and its little fishing villages. I am firmly rooted in this glorious country."

From Britten's speech accepting the Honorary Freedom of the Borough of Lowestoft, July 1951

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Nina's top Burgundy, English and sparkling recommendations 

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Nina's top Burgundy, English and sparkling recommendations 

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Theatre of Wine have created a special page for the Raz Club on their website, from Nina's selection below. Exact contents will depend on availability, but all the wines are recommended by Nina. You can also put together your own case of course, with free shipping over £90, or just buy one bottle if you like!

Nina writes:
I live part of the time in Burgundy, and tend to head north when I’m thirsty, rather than south to the more famous Côte d’Or, because the wines are cheaper – although, sadly, not that cheap.

Chablis, as you may or may not know, is made from Chardonnay, but there’s nothing rich or vanilla-y about these wines: they are lean and racy, having had to work hard to suck moisture from porous soil composed of ancient shellfish.
Prieuré Saint Come 2018 Chablis £18.50

The second still wine here is by Will Davenport, one of England’s lesser known but most talented winemakers. Davenport Vineyards Horsmonden Dry White 2018 East Sussex £18.00

For the fizzes, I’ve switched the usual hierarchy: the top-end, and top-price, suggestion is from Gusbourne, based in Kent, where they make superb wines on clay rather than chalk soil – we are definitely not in Champagne any more, although quality (and price) are comparable.
Gusbourne Brut Reserve 2016 Kent £41.50

The Guillaume winery, meanwhile, is in Franche-Comté, next door to Burgundy, and not too far from Champagne, either, except when it comes to price point: both of these (one white, one pink) are almost dangerously good.
Guillaume Valse Rose £15.80

Guillaume Flute Enchantée NV Franche-Comté £15.50

I feel sure Britten would have approved, and am including a bill of his, for 56 litres of Muscadet, to back up my claim, as well as a Muscadet – a rather posh one, with a bit of age, but still with that delicately briny flavour that comes from vineyards at the mouth of the Loire river.

Muscadet is not made from Chardonnay but the grape’s odd name, Melon de Bourgogne, leads experts to believe it originally came from Burgundy (Bourgogne, to the French). Anyway, Britten clearly liked it enough to drink by the litre, and that’s good enough for me.
Genaudieres Muscadet Champtoceaux 2016 £19.10

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Oysters are the perfect way to start a Britten-inspired menu, and are among the most sustainable seafood that you can eat.

The legendary Colchester Natives, cultivated in the creeks around Mersea Island (just down the coast in Essex) since Roman times, are widely available.

To enjoy the decadence of the Suffolk oysters which Britten enjoyed, head to Pinney's of Orford.

You will easily find instructions online how to shuck (open) your own.

Serve according to preference - mine would be shallot vinegar or lemon.

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An idea for a vivid green starter (or vegan main)

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An idea for a vivid green starter (or vegan main)

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Last year I discovered nettles to be full of good things: iron, vitamins and natural histamine and can also make a delicious green soup.

My foraging guide tells me that the newest shoots, no more than 20cm high, are the most delectable. They are springing up around us now. Just be sure to wear rubber or gardening gloves when you go out to snip them.

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f I told you that there was a fantastically tasty, nutritious and absolutely free foodstuff growing probably metres, and certainly no more than five minutes' walk, from where you now sit, would I pique your interest? If I said it was easy to cook and very versatile, might I be whetting your appetite? And if I mentioned that it beats both spinach and broccoli for vitamins and minerals, would that seal the deal?

I am talking, if you hadn't guessed, about nettles: nature's well-armoured but plentiful offering at this otherwise rather sparse time of year. Barbed and bristled and undeniably stingy as they are, these plants are nevertheless a gift to anyone who favours cooking with local, seasonal, fresh ingredients. They thrust themselves up from the barely warm ground as early as February (nettle soup on Valentine's Day is a tradition in our house), then grow with untrammelled enthusiasm (as all gardeners know) right through the spring and summer. Now is the time to bag them though: if you're going to eat nettles (and I totally think you should), then the fresh, young growth of March and April is the crop to go for. Pick only the tips - the first four or six leaves on each spear - and you will get the very best of the plant.

By late April, nettles are starting to become coarse and hoary, and you should not eat them once they begin to form flowers. Keep your eye out throughout the late summer and autumn, though, because young crops of freshly seeded nettles will grow wherever and whenever they get a chance. And, tiresome as nettle-control may be for the gardener, the strimmer is the nettle gourmet's friend: nettles that have been mown down will reliably put up a burst of fresh growth.

I've had a long love affair with Urtica dioica, and it shows no sign of abating. Not only does this plant taste good, but you can almost feel it doing you good as you eat it. Particularly rich in vitamin C and iron, a tea made by steeping nettle leaves has long been a tonic. But I prefer to eat the leaves themselves. The flavour is irrefutably "green", somewhere between spinach, cabbage and broccoli, with a unique hint of nettliness: a sort of slight, earthy tingle in the mouth. If you like your greens, you'll like nettles, I promise you. Use them in any of the ways you might employ spinach: just wilted and buttered as a simple side dish, or added to anything from soup to gnocchi, or even in a nettly version of Indian saag paneer.

The only barrier to enjoyment is the nettle's ferocious stings, but these are easily dealt with. Before gathering your nettles, don some thick washing-up gloves or similarly impermeable handwear, roll your sleeves down and your socks up, then pick away. Keep those gloves on while you wash the nettles thoroughly, discarding bugs, grass and other unwanted organic matter, then drop them into a pan of boiling water or stock. As soon as they hit the hot stuff, the sting is vanquished and you can eat them with impunity and considerable relish.

Nettle soup (V)

Soup is always my first thought when the nettles start coming through in early spring. Serves six.
Around 150g nettle tops
30-35g knob of butter
1 onion, peeled chopped Around 300g nettle tops
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cumin seeds
Around 100g young nettle tops
About 900ml vegetable (or chicken) stock
30g butter, plus extra to finish
1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
175g risotto rice, such as arborio
Sorrel leaves - up to half the quantity of nettles - finely shredded
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
50g finely grated matured goat's cheese, parmesan (or vegetarian parmesan) or other strong hard cheese, plus extra to serve 1 large onion, peeled and finely sliced
1 tsp thyme leaves
100g soft goat's cheese or feta, broken into small chunks
35g pine nuts, toasted (or roughly chopped cashews)
A squeeze of lemon juice
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
2 eggs, lightly beaten
250g filo pastry
75g unsalted butter, melted
1 large or 2 smallish leeks, trimmed, washed and finely sliced
2 celery sticks, chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
2 tbsp white rice, such as basmati
1 litre vegetable (or chicken) stock
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
6 heaped tbsp thick, plain yoghurt, to finish
1 small bunch chives, to finish
Pick over the nettles, wash them thoroughly and discard the tougher stalks. Melt the butter in a large pan over medium-low heat, add the onion, leek, celery and garlic, cover and sweat gently for 10 minutes, stirring a few times, until soft but not brown. Add the rice and stock, bring to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes. Add the nettles, stirring them into the stock as they wilt, and simmer for five minutes or so, until the rice and the nettles are tender (very young nettle tops will need only two to three minutes). Season with plenty of salt and pepper.

Purée the soup in two batches, reheat if necessary and check the seasoning. Serve in warmed bowls, topping each portion with a large dollop of yoghurt and a generous sprinkling of snipped chives.

Nettle spanakopitta (V)

My take on the traditional Greek greens pie. When the nettle season is over, this is delicious made with the more traditional spinach. In fact, this particular recipe was developed to make use of frozen spinach (whole leaf, rather than chopped) - it works amazingly well. Serves four.

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Pick over the nettles and wash thoroughly. Discard the tougher stalks. Bring a large pan of well-salted water to boiling point and throw in the nettle tops. Bring back to a boil, blanch for a couple of minutes, then drain in a colander. When the nettles are cool enough to handle, squeeze to extract as much water as possible, then chop finely.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add the cumin, cook for a minute or two, then add the onion and sauté for five to 10 minutes, until soft and golden. Add the thyme. Combine the squeezed nettles with the onion mixture, then gently fold in the cheese and pine nuts. Season with a squeeze of lemon and plenty of salt and pepper, then stir in the egg.

Brush a sheet of filo pastry with melted butter and lay it butter side down in a smallish, 1.5-litre ovenproof dish. Let any excess pastry hang over the ends. Lay another buttered filo sheet on top and repeat until you've used all but one sheet of filo. Spread the nettle mixture in the dish, fold over the overhanging pastry ends to enclose, dabbing with more melted butter to keep it together. Take the final sheet of pastry, crumple it lightly, and place on top, tucking in the edges around the side - this will give the top of the pie a nicely textured finish. Dab more butter on top, bake for 30-35 minutes, or until golden, and serve immediately.

Nettle risotto with sorrel (V)

Sorrel is a wonderfully sharp, lemony leaf that complements the earthiness of nettles beautifully. You can buy it in some greengrocers, but it's very easy to grow, and you can forage for it, too. There's no need to be too precise about the amount: use what you can get. Serves two.

Wash the nettles, pick them over and discard the tough stalks. Bring a large pan of well-salted water to a boil, throw in the nettles and bring back to a boil. Blanch for a couple of minutes, then drain. When cool enough to handle, squeeze the nettles to extract as much water as possible and chop finely.

Heat the stock until almost boiling, then keep warm over a low heat. In a large, heavy-based pan, melt the butter over a medium-low heat. Add the onion and sweat for eight to 10 minutes, until soft and translucent but not browned. Add the rice, stir to coat the grains, pour in a third of the hot stock and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring, until almost all the stock has been absorbed, then add the chopped nettles and a little more stock. Keep adding stock a bit at a time, making a new addition when the previous one has been absorbed, until the rice is nicely al dente (you may not need all the stock) - around 20 minutes in all - and the texture is loose and creamy. Stir in the sorrel, and season to taste. Dot a little butter over the risotto and sprinkle on the cheese. Cover, leave for a few minutes, then stir in. Serve straight away, with more grated cheese on the table.

* For the latest news and events at River Cottage, go to rivercottage.net

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Nettle recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

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f I told you that there was a fantastically tasty, nutritious and absolutely free foodstuff growing probably metres, and certainly no more than five minutes' walk, from where you now sit, would I pique your interest? If I said it was easy to cook and very versatile, might I be whetting your appetite?

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A colourful, delicious vegetarian main course

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A colourful, delicious vegetarian main course

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There was an ample vegetable garden at the Red House and two gardeners to keep it in check.

Receipts show many packets of vegetable seeds were bought from the Suffolk Seed Store. I was pleased to find rhubarb roots itemised on the  31 January 1964, hence the pudding choice.

For those of you with green fingers, perhaps you are lucky enough to have some purple sprouting broccoli already. Mine is still tightly furled and I must make do with the last of the winter vegetables.

Anna Jones is a wonderful vegetarian chef and writer who is very good at making colourful and flavoursome food with whatever is in season.

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As a vegetarian, I've eaten countless clumsy goat's cheese and red onion tarts. For far too long this was the default restaurant option for people who wanted a vegetable-centered meal. It's a mistake made by lots of chefs to assume that we'll be satisfied by heavy, claggy cheese and pappy pastry. There is such a beauty to making a really good tart or quiche, with a crisp crust and just-set, flavour-packed filling. They have to be handled with the lightest touch.

This tart is a riot of pink beetroot, and it makes the most of their often-overlooked minerally tops, too. I adore them and the fuchsia kiss they impart. The beetroot tops here are the hero, grated and paired with slow-cooked onions, thyme, soft goat's cheese, fresh mint and some walnuts, which toast as the tart cooks - and a final drizzle of honey. I use oats and almonds here to make my pastry, and less butter than you might expect. The result is a deeply flavoured buttery crust with delicate backnotes. Don't worry if you can't find the tops: you could use some spinach on the stem instead. At a pinch, you can use pre-made shortcrust pastry.

SERVES 8

FOR THE PASTRY
50g rolled oats
100g spelt flour
50g ground almonds
150g cold butter, cut into cubes, or coconut oil

FOR THE FILLING
Knob of butter or coconut oil
1 red onion, peeled
and finely sliced
2-3 beetroot (about 250g)
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
A few sprigs of fresh thyme
200g beetroot tops or leafy spinach, washed and shredded
1-2 tbsp apple cider vinegar (or lemon juice)
4 large eggs
150ml milk (I use almond)
A small bunch of mint, leaves picked and chopped
100g goat's cheese
50g walnuts
2 tbsp honey

FOR THE GREEN OLIVE SMASK
15 fat green olives,
rinsed and pitted
1 spring onion,
roughly chopped
A small handful of toasted
walnuts, chopped
½ fresh green chilli, deseeded
1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
Squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Sea salt to taste, if needed

Heat the oven to 180C. Blitz the oats in a food processor until you have a scruffy flour, then add the spelt flour, almonds and a pinch of sea salt. Blitz again. Add the butter and pulse until it resembles breadcrumbs. Add 2-4 tbsp of ice-cold water, a tbsp at a time, pulsing between each addition until the pastry comes together in a rough ball.

Form the pastry into a ball with your hands and wrap it in clingfilm. Chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes. Then, place the pastry between two sheets of baking paper and roll it out until you have a rough circle about ½cm thick.

Lay it over a 25cm loosebottomed tart tin and push the pastry down, until it's snug, with no air bubbles. Trim off any excess pasty at the top, then prick the base a few times with a fork. Line with greaseproof paper and fill with baking beans (or rice) and blind bake for 10 minutes. Carefully remove the baking beans, then bake for another 5-10 minutes, until golden and crisp. Set aside to cool.

While the tart is cooking, place a large frying pan on a medium heat. Add a knob of butter or coconut oil and fry the sliced onion for 10 minutes, until soft. Meanwhile, peel the beetroot and grate coarsely.

Add the garlic and thyme to the onions and fry for about 30 seconds, before adding the beetroot tops or spinach - you may need to add half first and allow it to wilt before adding the other half. Now add the grated beetroot and cook for 5 minutes, until there is no liquid left in the pan. Next add the vinegar and season well, then transfer the lot to a bowl to cool.

Beat the eggs with the milk, then add to the beetroot mixture and scatter over the mint. Pour the mixture into the tart tin, crumble over the goat's cheese, break over the walnuts and drizzle some honey on top. Turn the oven down to 160C and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until golden.

Finally, make your tapenade. Chop together the olives, spring onions, walnuts, and green chilli on a cutting board until you have a rough salsa. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the olive oil and lemon juice. Taste and add a pinch of sea salt if needed.

Serve in generous slices with a dollop of tapenade and shock of peppery green salad leaves

Recipe originally published in The Sunday Times
Photo: Elena Heatherwick

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As a vegetarian, I've eaten countless clumsy goat's cheese and red onion tarts. For far too long this was the default restaurant option for people who wanted a vegetable-centered meal. It's a mistake made by lots of chefs to assume that we'll be satisfied by heavy, claggy cheese and pappy pastry.

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When asked in 1971 to contribute their favourite recipes to a cookbook celebrating famous musicians, Britten and his partner Peter Pears submitted "Miss Hudsons Soup" as a starter (a beef broth named after their housekeeper) followed by Soles Red House - a beautifully simple way of pan-frying Dover sole.

Their instructions are as follows:

Go down to the beach first thing in the morning and buy your soles. The fishermen will clean them for you on the beach.

Serve with new potatoes and small peas, accompanied by the Wine Society’s Chablis.

Luckily, sole has recovered from being overfished in the 70s and 80s. The Marine Conservation Society recommend buying from the western English Channel where the sole management plan has been successful.

Ask your fishmonger to remove the head and trim the sole. The outer fin/frill should be removed along with the guts and scales.

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To be able to use The Fish Society in full range, we recommend activating Javascript in your browser.

Timing is 'of the essence'. Your pan should be just quite hot, not very hot. If you've got that right:

250g sole 8-9 minutes.

350g sole 10-11 minutes

450g sole: about 12 minutes.

Cut off the head - do this on a slant so that you can also trim away the flimsy chest section too. Next using kitchen scissors and cutting just inside (about 3mm) the edge of the body, cut the fins off. Prick out the blood clot at the top of the spine and wash away. Pat dry with kitchen paper.

Heat a decent slug of oil in a large frying pan. When it's hot, add the fish dark side down and push around a bit. Then cook undisturbed for 4 minutes. (These are the timings for a 350g fish.)

Using a fish slice, carefully turn the fish over, then cook the white side for three minutes.

Now add 50g/2ozs butter in small cubes to the outside of the pan.

Fry the fish for another two to three minutes, constantly spooning the butter/oil mix over it.

Squeeze half a lemon over the fish and cook for about one further minute. Rest the fish in the pan for two minutes before serving.

To eat the fish, remove the skin by getting the flat of your knife under it and lifting away. Now run your blade edge down the head-tail line. Again using the flat of your knife, and starting from that opened up head-tail line, gently slide the top layer of flesh off the bone in mouthful-sized segments. When you've eaten the first layer, pick up the tail of the skeleton and lift it off gently. With a little luck it will come away as a whole.

#Thefishsociety

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To be able to use The Fish Society in full range, we recommend activating Javascript in your browser. Timing is 'of the essence'. Your pan should be just quite hot, not very hot. If you've got that right: 250g sole 8-9 minutes. 350g sole 10-11 minutes 450g sole: about 12 minutes.

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We suggest St Peter's, Adnums or Nethergate beers, all brewed in Suffolk. Below, St Peter's Hall - the beer is brewed next door.

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Pinneys in Orford, Suffolk have grown their own oysters and caught and smoked  their own fish since the 1950s. Britten premiered Noye's Fludde in the local church in 1958 and so I like to think he may have frequented the smokehouse then.

The Colchester Oyster Fishery specialise in Colchester Oysters, cultivated in the creeks around Mersea Island (just down the coast in Essex). There's definitely an 'r' in the month, so we're safe!

Raz Club member Sheila Carey-Thomas emailed us to say
Just in case you don’t know about them, there is a lovely family run smokery in Somerset called Brown & Forrest, that sell smoked eel as well a big selection of other smoked fish, meat & cheese. They deliver anywhere. Thank you Sheila!

We've mentioned Riverford Organics before for fresh vegetables and inspiring leadership. You will probably have your own local supplier, but, if not we recommend Riverford heartily.

Theatre of Wine and the Wine Society links are in the relevant columns. Beer - hopefully you'll find these fairly easily, or get them from the breweries websites.

Do let us know your favourite suppliers. We want to help small, independent businesses.

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The May Day celebrations in Albert Herring offered

jelly and pink blancmange, iced seedy cake, treacle tart, trifle and marzipan for desert, all washed down with fruit punch.

A rhubarb trifle befits the season, but we must also include a treacle tart.

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More Nigella recipes

by Nigella

Print me

Introduction

I have published many recipes for trifle and made even more, and this is the one I return to most, even though it's the first time I've actually written it down. This simple, joyous pile-up of sponge, rhubarb, custard and cream is my favourite of favourites, and it's time I shared it with you.

Don't get too nervous about the length of the recipe: just remember that a trifle has a few component parts; even if none of those parts is difficult, the whole is necessarily process-heavy. I know that making the custard can be a worry for many, so let me assure you that this is easy-peasy: the inclusion of double cream and cornflour mean that it thickens quickly and smoothly.

For me, it's the hallowed pairing of vanilla-speckled custard and sherbetty-sharp rhubarb that makes this the dreamiest of trifles and, as we get into the Yorkshire forced rhubarb season, an essential Christmas treat. And what a beauty, too: maybe it's because it reminds me of my favourite boiled sweets when I was a child, but I can't look at the bright-striped combination of yolk-rich yellow and absurdly hot pink without smiling. And I must tell you, too, that the red vermouth that soaks the sponges (along with the rhubarb juice) is a total game-changer.

One last thing: while I've given precise quantities below, bear in mind that these are based on the proportions of my trifle bowl, which is 20cm / 7½ inches diameter and 13cm / 5 inches deep. If you're using a wider bowl, you will need to boost quantities or the layers will be too shallow.

For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I have published many recipes for trifle and made even more, and this is the one I return to most, even though it's the first time I've actually written it down. This simple, joyous pile-up of sponge, rhubarb, custard and cream is my favourite of favourites, and it's time I shared it with you.

Don't get too nervous about the length of the recipe: just remember that a trifle has a few component parts; even if none of those parts is difficult, the whole is necessarily process-heavy. I know that making the custard can be a worry for many, so let me assure you that this is easy-peasy: the inclusion of double cream and cornflour mean that it thickens quickly and smoothly.

For me, it's the hallowed pairing of vanilla-speckled custard and sherbetty-sharp rhubarb that makes this the dreamiest of trifles and, as we get into the Yorkshire forced rhubarb season, an essential Christmas treat. And what a beauty, too: maybe it's because it reminds me of my favourite boiled sweets when I was a child, but I can't look at the bright-striped combination of yolk-rich yellow and absurdly hot pink without smiling. And I must tell you, too, that the red vermouth that soaks the sponges (along with the rhubarb juice) is a total game-changer.

One last thing: while I've given precise quantities below, bear in mind that these are based on the proportions of my trifle bowl, which is 20cm / 7½ inches diameter and 13cm / 5 inches deep. If you're using a wider bowl, you will need to boost quantities or the layers will be too shallow.

For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Photo by Jonathan Lovekin

Ingredients

Serves: 8-10

FOR THE CUSTARD

600 millilitres double cream

1 vanilla pod or 2½ teaspoons vanilla paste (or extract)

6 large egg yolks at room temperature

2 x 15ml tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons caster sugar

1 x 15ml tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon cornflour

FOR THE BASE

1 kilogram pink forced rhubarb (trimmed weight)

250 grams caster sugar

175 millilitres red vermouth

12 trifle sponges

FOR THE TOPPING

300 millilitres double cream

Approx. 3 x 15ml tablespoons chopped or nibbed pistachios

FOR THE CUSTARD

2½ cups heavy cream

1 vanilla bean or 2½ teaspoons vanilla paste (or extract)

6 large egg yolks at room temperature

2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons granulated sugar

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon cornstarch

FOR THE BASE

2¼ pounds pink hothouse rhubarb (trimmed weight)

1¼ cups granulated sugar

¾ cup red vermouth

18 - 22 savoiardi cookies

FOR THE TOPPING

1¼ cups heavy cream

Approx. 3 tablespoons chopped or nibbed pistachios

Method

1. Get on with the custard first. Pour the 600ml / 2½ cups of double cream into a heavy-based saucepan (I use one of 22cm / 9 inches diameter), split the vanilla pod lengthways (if using), and use a pointy coffee spoon or the tip of a knife to scrape the damp black seeds into the cream. Drop in the pod, as well. Bring to a bubble but don't let it boil, then take it off the heat straightaway and cover with a lid to let it infuse for 20 minutes. Remove the vanilla pod, run it under the water from the tap to get any cream off, then leave it to dry and use it to scent sugar. If you're not using a vanilla pod, just warm the cream and add vanilla paste or extract once your custard is made.

2. Gently whisk the egg yolks, caster sugar and cornflour in a batter jug or whatever suits you. Keep whisking while you gradually pour in the warm cream and make sure it is all smoothly amalgamated. Wash out the saucepan and dry it - just use water, you don't need soap. Pour the custard mixture from your jug into the pan (using a bendy spatula to scrape out every last eggy bit from the bottom) and cook over medium heat for a minute, stirring with a wooden spoon (preferably one with a pointy bit to help scrape up bits from the bottom), and then on low heat, still stirring mostly with a wooden spoon, but transferring to a little whisk every now and again, too, until thick enough that it coats the back of a wooden spoon and, when you run your finger through it, it doesn't run into the bare stripe. I reckon this takes about 5 minutes altogether. Mind you, I do like to live dangerously. Go more slowly if you wish, and, at whatever speed you're going, take the pan off the heat regularly, and whisk the custard, to make sure it doesn't get too hot, especially around the edges of the base of the pan.

3. As soon as it's cooked, take it off the heat and scrape it into your batter jug (adding vanilla paste or extract if you haven't gone the vanilla pod route), then cover with a damp scrunched-up piece of baking parchment to stop it forming a skin. (Even writing 'skin' in conjunction with custard makes me feel quite ill.) Once the custard has cooled down, put it into the fridge to chill.

4. Meanwhile, get on with the rhubarb. Heat the oven to 200℃/180℃ Fan/400°F. Cut the trimmed rhubarb into about 5cm / 2 inch lengths if the ribs are slender; if chunky, cut into about 2½ cm / 1 inch pieces. Put into an ovenproof dish in which they can (mostly) sit in a single layer - I use a large baking tin measuring 37 x 34cm / 15 x 14 inches, though you could get away with one a bit smaller - and sprinkle over the 250g / 1 cup of caster sugar. Mix together well with your hands, leaving the rhubarb in a single layer, as much as possible, then cover the tin or dish with extra-wide foil, sealing the edges, and cook in the oven for approx. 30 minutes until the rhubarb is tender but still holding its shape.

5. Once the rhubarb is just cooked, let it stand out of the oven with the foil removed for 20 minutes. You might be disappointed with the colour the moment it comes out of the oven, by the way, but after a few minutes it will begin to glow a bright candy pink. Gently transfer with a slotted spoon or spatula (or both) to another dish for now. You should have about 300ml / 1¼ cups of liquid in the tin, although if you wait about 5 minutes, you will see more juice collecting under the rhubarb in its dish; add that to the juice in the tin.

6. Set aside 125ml / ½ cup of the rhubarb juices for now and measure out another 175ml / ¾ cup of the rhubarb juice (I should say that by the end of the forced rhubarb season it seems to make less liquid; if you don't have enough, I suggest you make up the amount with orange juice), then add to it the red vermouth. Taste one teaspoon just for the joy of it, although once you do so, it will be hard not to drink the rest.

7. Now make the rhubarb syrup for the top of the trifle. Pour the reserved 125ml / ½ cup of rhubarb juice into a small heavy-based saucepan, bring to the boil and bubble away to reduce to a viscous syrup. I reckon if I start off with 125ml / ½ cup, it takes about 4 minutes to bubble away (in a small, 14cm / 6 inches diameter saucepan) to 60ml / ¼ cup. If you start off with more, still aim to reduce it by half; any further than that and it will turn to rhubarb toffee. And if that does happen, just stir in a little hot water from the kettle to get it to a thick pouring consistency.

8. Arrange your trifle sponges at the bottom of your trifle bowl, brushing off as much as you can of the sugar coating as you go. Squodge them in as you like, tearing them up as needed to fill any gaps; I tend to go for a layer about 5-6cm / 2 inches deep. Pour your very delicious rhubarb-vermouth liquid over, as evenly as you can, and let the dry little trifle sponges drink it up thirstily, as any sensible person would.

9. Top the drenched trifle sponges with the rhubarb and pour over any juices that have collected in the dish. Once the custard is properly cold, carefully scrape it into the trifle dish on top of the rhubarb, smoothing it to the sides, trying not to smear the glass. The pink of the rhubarb underneath the yellow of the custard is a sight that makes me smile; a fond reminder of the boiled rhubarb & custard sweets of my childhood. Cover the dish with food wrap and put into the fridge overnight.

10. Take the trifle out of the fridge a good 2 hours before you intend to eat it. Shortly before serving, whip the double cream - I like mine quite softly whipped - and spoon gently over the set custard. Use the back of your spoon to create a few whorls and whirls. Drip as much as you want of your reduced rhubarb syrup pinkly over the top and scatter over chopped or nibbed pistachios.

1. Get on with the custard first. Pour the 600ml / 2½ cups of heavy cream into a heavy-based saucepan (I use one of 22cm / 9 inches diameter), split the vanilla bean lengthways (if using), and use a pointy coffee spoon or the tip of a knife to scrape the damp black seeds into the cream. Drop in the pod, as well. Bring to a bubble but don't let it boil, then take it off the heat straightaway and cover with a lid to let it infuse for 20 minutes. Remove the vanilla bean, run it under the water from the tap to get any cream off, then leave it to dry and use it to scent sugar. If you're not using a vanilla bean, just warm the cream and add vanilla paste or extract once your custard is made.

2. Gently whisk the egg yolks, granulated sugar and cornstarch in a batter jug or whatever suits you. Keep whisking while you gradually pour in the warm cream and make sure it is all smoothly amalgamated. Wash out the saucepan and dry it - just use water, you don't need soap. Pour the custard mixture from your jug into the pan (using a bendy spatula to scrape out every last eggy bit from the bottom) and cook over medium heat for a minute, stirring with a wooden spoon (preferably one with a pointy bit to help scrape up bits from the bottom), and then on low heat, still stirring mostly with a wooden spoon, but transferring to a little whisk every now and again, too, until thick enough that it coats the back of a wooden spoon and, when you run your finger through it, it doesn't run into the bare stripe. I reckon this takes about 5 minutes altogether. Mind you, I do like to live dangerously. Go more slowly if you wish, and, at whatever speed you're going, take the pan off the heat regularly, and whisk the custard, to make sure it doesn't get too hot, especially around the edges of the base of the pan.

3. As soon as it's cooked, take it off the heat and scrape it into your batter jug (adding vanilla paste or extract if you haven't gone the vanilla bean route), then cover with a damp scrunched-up piece of baking parchment to stop it forming a skin. (Even writing 'skin' in conjunction with custard makes me feel quite ill.) Once the custard has cooled down, put it into the fridge to chill.

4. Meanwhile, get on with the rhubarb. Heat the oven to 200℃/180℃ Fan/400°F. Cut the trimmed rhubarb into about 5cm / 2 inch lengths if the ribs are slender; if chunky, cut into about 2½ cm / 1 inch pieces. Put into an ovenproof dish in which they can (mostly) sit in a single layer - I use a large baking tin measuring 37 x 34cm / 15 x 14 inches, though you could get away with one a bit smaller - and sprinkle over the 250g / 1 cup of granulated sugar. Mix together well with your hands, leaving the rhubarb in a single layer, as much as possible, then cover the tin or dish with extra-wide foil, sealing the edges, and cook in the oven for approx. 30 minutes until the rhubarb is tender but still holding its shape.

5. Once the rhubarb is just cooked, let it stand out of the oven with the foil removed for 20 minutes. You might be disappointed with the colour the moment it comes out of the oven, by the way, but after a few minutes it will begin to glow a bright candy pink. Gently transfer with a slotted spoon or spatula (or both) to another dish for now. You should have about 300ml / 1¼ cups of liquid in the tin, although if you wait about 5 minutes, you will see more juice collecting under the rhubarb in its dish; add that to the juice in the tin.

6. Set aside 125ml / ½ cup of the rhubarb juices for now and measure out another 175ml / ¾ cup of the rhubarb juice (I should say that by the end of the hothouse rhubarb season it seems to make less liquid; if you don't have enough, I suggest you make up the amount with orange juice), then add to it the red vermouth. Taste one teaspoon just for the joy of it, although once you do so, it will be hard not to drink the rest.

7. Now make the rhubarb syrup for the top of the trifle. Pour the reserved 125ml / ½ cup of rhubarb juice into a small heavy-based saucepan, bring to the boil and bubble away to reduce to a viscous syrup. I reckon if I start off with 125ml / ½ cup, it takes about 4 minutes to bubble away (in a small, 14cm / 6 inches diameter saucepan) to 60ml / ¼ cup. If you start off with more, still aim to reduce it by half; any further than that and it will turn to rhubarb toffee. And if that does happen, just stir in a little hot water from the kettle to get it to a thick pouring consistency.

8. Arrange your savoiardi cookies at the bottom of your trifle bowl, brushing off as much as you can of the sugar coating as you go. Squodge them in as you like, tearing them up as needed to fill any gaps; I tend to go for a layer about 5-6cm / 2 inches deep. Pour your very delicious rhubarb-vermouth liquid over, as evenly as you can, and let the dry little savoiardi cookies drink it up thirstily, as any sensible person would.

9. Top the drenched savoiardi cookies with the rhubarb and pour over any juices that have collected in the dish. Once the custard is properly cold, carefully scrape it into the trifle dish on top of the rhubarb, smoothing it to the sides, trying not to smear the glass. The pink of the rhubarb underneath the yellow of the custard is a sight that makes me smile; a fond reminder of the boiled rhubarb & custard sweets of my childhood. Cover the dish with food wrap and put into the fridge overnight.

10. Take the trifle out of the fridge a good 2 hours before you intend to eat it. Shortly before serving, whip the heavy cream - I like mine quite softly whipped - and spoon gently over the set custard. Use the back of your spoon to create a few whorls and whirls. Drip as much as you want of your reduced rhubarb syrup pinkly over the top and scatter over chopped or nibbed pistachios.

Additional Information

MAKE AHEAD:
Prepare trifle (without cream layer) up to 1 day ahead, cover and refrigerate. Remove from fridge 1-2 hours before serving, then top with whipped cream.

STORE:
Refrigerate leftovers, covered, for up to 2 days.

MAKE AHEAD:
Prepare trifle (without cream layer) up to 1 day ahead, cover and refrigerate. Remove from fridge 1-2 hours before serving, then top with whipped cream.

STORE:
Refrigerate leftovers, covered, for up to 2 days.

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I have published many recipes for trifle and made even more, and this is the one I return to most, even though it's the first time I've actually written it down. This simple, joyous pile-up of sponge, rhubarb, custard and cream is my favourite of favourites, and it's time I shared it with you.

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This is a fairly involved Edwardian recipe brought to life by Hugh, and we'll be seriously impressed with anyone who tries their hand at it! Photos please - and if you dare, instagram them! There are none online so you'll be the first.

Put 7 gelatine leaves (Hugh suggests silver-grade) to soak in a shallow dish of water for about 5 minutes (or follow the packet instructions for setting 1 litre of liquid).

Meanwhile in a large saucepan put
125g caster sugar, 2/3 bottle of sparkling wine (English, preferably) a 175ml glass of sherry 250ml water and the zest and juice of 1 lemon and 1 orange.

Lightly whisk 2 egg whites, crush the shells and add the whites and shells to the pan. Stir occasionally until the liquid is very frothy and comes almost to the boil. Remove from the heat and strain through a thoroughly wetted cotton cloth or jelly bag into a bowl. The egg white and shell treatment is not essential but will make the jelly crystal clear.

Stir over a low heat until the sugar has dissolved. Add the soaked gelatine and stir to dissolve that too.

Pour about a quarter of the jelly into a suitable dashing jelly mould, about 1 litre in capacity. Place in the fridge until lightly set.

Arrange a ring of primrose flowers, open petals down, on the surface of the jelly, pressing lightly so they stick to the tacky surface. Carefully pour over the next quarter of the unset jelly and put the mould back into the fridge. Continue in this way, creating 2 or 3 rings of primroses set into the jelly.

To unmould the jelly, dip the mould briefly in hot water and use the tip of your finger to judge when the jelly is coming away from the surface. Place your chosen serving dish over the top, flip it over with a little shake, and lift off the mould. Easier said than done!

You could serve the jelly with a splash of freshly popped champagne poured over the top.

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Nina's recommendation from the Wine Society

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Nina's recommendation from the Wine Society

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Ruth tells me that Britten was a fan of the Wine Society, so there is something he and I have in common. Membership is a one-off £40, but you then get a lifetime of incredibly good value wines from £6 upwards to the very top cuvées.

They have excellent relationships with dozens of brilliant wine growers, and they are a co-operative, so all profits are ploughed back to make the next season's wines cheaper.

Here are two fabulous English sparkling wines from either side of the South Downs; a Bacchus (the name of a grape, as well as a god) from the best winery in Cornwall – and, for my money, one of the best in England - and three Burgundian Chardonnays, which should make for an interesting comparison.

The steel and gunflint of the Chablis, grown on soil full of tiny fossilized oyster shells (and so an excellent match for their descendants); the elegant wine from the cool St Aubin valley, an increasingly well-regarded patch of the Côte d’Or and a favourite of mine; and a fine example of Macon, lemony but a little more rounded, from the limestone hills slightly further south.

ENGLISH

The Society’s Exhibition English Sparkling (Ridgeview) £23

Black Chalk Classic 2016 £34

BURGUNDY

The Society’s Chablis (made by Jean-Marc Brocard) £15.50

The Society’s Exhibition St Aubin Blanc (Domaine Henri Prudhon) £18.50

Domaine Mallory et Benjamin Talmard, Mâcon-Montbellet La Bergerie 2018 £12.50

Camel Valley Bacchus, Cornwall 2020 £13.95

**

And here is a final titbit linking Britten to English sparkling wine. The marvellously named, and in fact marvellous, Sussex winery Breaky Bottom has vineyards planted, by Peter Hall, in 1974, and a lovely label, with a mellow fellow relaxing under a tree with his English fizz, in 1975.

The design was by the great woodcutter and engraver Reynolds Stone, who was a friend of Hall’s and also a good friend of Britten’s for many years. In fact, Stone cut the letters for Britten’s gravestone – proving that he, too was well named.

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Treacle tart appears to be something of a misnomer until you realise that the word treacle refers to all forms of syrups made during sugar refining, from golden syrup through to black molasses. Although it is generally filed under "Nursery Puddings", the recipe is more of an exercise in frugality.
Make the pastry in the usual way: rub 35g of butter and 35g of vegetable shortening into 150g of plain flour with your fingertips until it resembles rough breadcrumbs, then bring the mixture together with 2 tbsp of water to form a soft ball of dough. Use the pastry to line a deep-sided (4cm) 20cm tart tin with a removable base. Chill for 20 minutes. Set the oven at 200C/gas mark 6. Warm 675g of golden syrup into a saucepan. Stir in the finely grated zest and juice of a lemon and 270g of coarse white breadcrumbs, then pour into the uncooked pastry shell. Slide the tart into the oven and bake for 15 minutes. Turn the heat down to 180C/gas mark 4 and continue cooking for 15-20 minutes until lightly firm. Serves 8. The right ratio of syrup to crumbs is essential. Not enough and the filling will be dry and chewy; too much and it won't set. Baking the tart on a hot baking sheet will ensure a crisp base to the pastry case. Adding lemon juice will balance the intense sweetness. A teaspoon of puréed fresh ginger or a little ground ginger gives a fresh note. While a certain chewiness is desirable, a recent innovation has been to add cream or even eggs to the filling in order to give a softer result. The addition of something complementary such as clotted cream is often replaced by a spiced ice cream such as cinnamon. A lemon sorbet flatters the sweet tart very well.

Email Nigel at nigel.slater@observer.co.uk or visit theguardian.com/profile/nigelslater for all his recipes in one place
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Treacle tart appears to be something of a misnomer until you realise that the word treacle refers to all forms of syrups made during sugar refining, from golden syrup through to black molasses.

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A fantastic 3-course spring meal to your door.

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A fantastic 3-course spring meal to your door.

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If you are pressed for time or just want to treat yourselves, they will deliver everything you need for the meal. We have tested the food and it's amazing - hand-made, restaurant style food in your own house.