Food Daily

When I discovered the theme for my recipe swap, I was grateful and relieved in equal measure. While this classic sweet-but-bitter citrus preserve always has a place at my breakfast table, the supply from my enthusiastic jam-making auntie often outstrips the demand. I’ve experimented to a certain degree (spreading it over a pork shoulder, layering in breakfast pots with creamy Greek yoghurt, swirling through brownie batter), but your suggestions have given me a renewed vigour.

In all cases, these recipes have proved to be so much more than the sum of their parts. That characteristic bitterness is just what an indulgent, chocolatey pudding needs to pull it back from the brink of sickly sweet; it pairs perfectly with robust, woody herbs while retaining its character, and, what’s more, a little spike of heat will mean you will be reaching for a spoon at breakfast, lunch and dinner. See this as a chance to think beyond tea and toast.

The winning recipe: Marmalade panna cotta with bay and bourbon

What I loved most about Detoutcoeur Limousin’s panna cotta is that it’s a collection of classic ingredients used to make a crowd-pleasing pudding, but somehow, it tastes exciting and new. It’s creamy, sharp, heady and rich, all in one mouthful, with the warming sweetness of the marmalade giving a good contrast to savoury bay. Using finely shredded marmalade will give a smoother texture.

Makes 6
3 gelatine leaves
250ml double cream
400ml creme fraiche
100ml whole milk
2 bay leaves
150g Seville orange marmalade
Juice and zest of 1 orange, plus extra zest to serve
Zest of 1 lemon
2 tbsp bourbon (optional)

1 Put the gelatine leaves in a bowl of cold water for around 5 minutes, or until they soften.

2 Heat the cream, creme fraiche and milk with the bay leaves and marmalade until it is all just starting to simmer. Remove from the heat and add the zest and juice of an orange and the lemon zest, then simmer for a few minutes until slightly thickened.

3 Remove the gelatine from the water, squeezing to remove any excess, then take the cream mixture off the heat and whisk in the gelatine and bourbon, if using. Remove the bay leaves and leave to cool for about 20-30 minutes before pouring into 250ml ramekins, or other serving dishes. Refrigerate to set for about 3-5 hours, or overnight.

4 Garnish with a bit of extra orange zest on top of each dessert before serving.

Chocolate orange bread pudding

Faye Cooke says this recipe has won over both bread-and-butter pudding and marmalade haters. I’ve served it to both, and concur.

Serves 6
Butter, for greasing
250g stale brioche, sliced thickly
100g marmalade
50g dark chocolate, roughly chopped
2 eggs
2 tbsp caster sugar
Zest of 1 orange
150ml double cream
225ml whole milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp demerara sugar
Cream or custard, to serve

1 Preheat the oven to 160C/325F/gas mark 3 and grease an ovenproof dish.

2 Make sandwiches with the brioche and marmalade, cut them into triangles and arrange evenly in the dish. Sprinkle over the chocolate.

3 Whisk the eggs and caster sugar together, along with the orange zest, cream, milk and vanilla extract. Pour this over the bread and leave it to soak for about 10 minutes. Sprinkle over the demerara sugar.

4 Put in the centre of the oven and bake for about 45 minutes, or until the pudding has just set. Remove, let it cool slightly and divide into 6 slices. Serve with cream or custard.

Marmalade and turmeric cocktail

I’ve filed away Fadime Tiskaya’s cocktail recipe for Christmas; the sharpness of the tonic, lemon and marmalade has a palate-refreshing quality.

Serves 2
40g marmalade
10g fresh turmeric, finely grated
40g rum
200ml orange juice, freshly squeezed
100ml tonic water
4 tbsp lemon juice
6-8 ice cubes

1 Heat the marmalade in small pan with half of the turmeric. Let it cool.

2 Mix everything in a cocktail shaker or blender really well until it is all combined, then serve. Feel free to sieve for a smoother finish, but I personally like the bits in.

Marmalade and chocolate tart

Look no further than Alice Shields’ gorgeously rich marmalade and chocolate tart for those times when you need a pudding as indulgent as it is fast to throw together.

Serves 8
For the base
400g milk chocolate digestives
100g unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing

For the filling
5 tbsp rough cut marmalade
300ml double cream
200g milk chocolate, broken into small chunks
100g dark chocolate, broken into small chunks

1 Grease a 20cm loose bottomed tart tin with butter.

2 Put the biscuits into a food processor and blitz until they resemble breadcrumbs. Add the melted butter and blitz again, until the crumbs start to clump together.

3 Put the biscuit mixture into the greased tart tin. Press down the mixture with the back of a spoon, so that it evenly compacts in the tin and up the sides. Put the base in the fridge to set for at least 1 hour.

4 Once the base has set, spoon in 4 tbsp of the marmalade, and evenly spread it out.

5 Put the chocolate into a large, heat- proof bowl, then pour the cream into a pan and put on a medium heat until it starts to bubble. Remove the cream from the heat and pour gently and slowly over the chocolate. Whisk the cream and chocolate mixture, until all the chocolate has melted, and the mixture comes together.

6 Pour the mixture on top of the tart base, spooning over the last 1 tbsp of marmalade and swirling through when you are done.

7 Put the tart in the fridge to set, for at least 3 hours, before slicing and serving. This keeps well in the fridge for 2-3 days.

Chocolate jaffa oat bars

I will confess that one morning Mandy Mazliah’s ode to jaffa cakes were deemed healthy enough for a breakfast on the hoof. Dairy and refined-sugar free (if you buy vegan chocolate), they will be a hit with big kids and toddlers alike as a snack.

Makes 9-12
120g oats
50g nuts (I used hazelnuts)
100g dates, chopped
35ml sunflower oil
Juice and zest of 1 orange
3 tbsp orange marmalade
100g dark chocolate, roughly chopped

1 Preheat the oven to 160C/325F/gas mark 3. Grease and line the base of a 20cm-square cake tin.

2 Put the oats, nuts, dates, oil, orange juice and zest into a food processor, then pulse until well combined. Spread smoothly over the base of the tin and bake in the oven for 20 minutes, or until firm and golden brown. Remove and allow to cool completely.

3 Spread the marmalade over the top of the oat cake. Tip the chocolate into a glass bowl set over (not in) a pan of simmering water, and gently melt. Pour the melted chocolate over the top, allow it to cool slightly then pop it in the fridge to set. If you want to avoid the chocolate cracking, remove the cake from the fridge after 30 minutes or so and cut into squares or bars.

Jalapeño lime marmalade

At first, I followed ColonialCravings’ advice and drizzled this over avocado on toast. Now every meal has become its vehicle.

Makes 1 standard jar (about 450g)
6 limes
1 jalapeño pepper
300g sugar
2 tbsp cider vinegar
900ml water

1 Put a small saucer in the freezer. Cut all the skin and pith away from the limes and remove the segments from their membranes. Put the segments and any juice that may have escaped into a large saucepan.

2 Halve the jalapeño pepper lengthways and finely slice it, seeds, membrane and all. Add it to the pan with the sugar, then give it a stir. Mix in the vinegar and water and set the pan, uncovered, over a moderate heat. Bring the mixture to the boil and then allow it to bubble away for 45-60 minutes. You can, very carefully, give it a stir every so often. By this time, the volume should have reduced by about half and the colour should have turned slightly more golden.

3 Test that it has reached setting point by dropping a teaspoonful on to the chilled saucer. Leave it for a minute and then push your finger through it. If it wrinkles then it has reached setting point. If not, let it bubble for a few minutes more before testing again. Pour the mixture into a warm, sterilised jar and seal.

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This refreshingly citrussy cocktail is named after Mount Fuji because the sesame seeds on the rim of the glass make it look a bit like a rocky, snow-capped peak. Serves one.

1 slice lime
½ tsp each black and white sesame seeds mixed with ½ tsp sugar
50ml vodka
25ml lime juice
20ml pear liquor (such as Lejay)
25ml pear purée

Rub the lime around the outside rim of a tumbler, then turn the top of the glass in the sesame seed and sugar mix, so it sticks. Hard shake all the liquids over ice, then double strain into the glass over more ice.

• Nico Peratinos, bars manager, Aqua London

One of my best friends has a penchant for canned sweetcorn: when no one is looking, she sneaks to the fridge, spoon in hand, to gobble up the odd mouthful. As guilty pleasures go, that’s a fairly innocent one (mine are far worse), but I still cannot fathom it: the very smell of canned sweetcorn makes me shudder, and is to blame for putting me off corn for several decades. That all changed when I began to travel, especially in Mexico, where savoury, multi-coloured corn is the stuff of legend – packed with essential vitamins and minerals, it’s practically a superfood – and I found that I loved the stuff (so long as it had never come into contact with a tin).

Corn is grown worldwide, and its sweet flavour is just made for spices and heat, ideal for me. And while cooking so much of it in Mexico, I discovered that frozen sweetcorn is almost (but not quite) as good as fresh. As with broad beans and peas, freezing arrests the aging process and stops the sugars turning into starch. This leaves lovely sweet kernels with none of the flavour that the canning process produces – unless, of course, that is your guilty pleasure, too.

Indian spiced sweetcorn fritters with ginger yoghurt

Use plain flour if you can’t get gram (chickpea). Incidentally, you can also deep-fry small spoonfuls of this batter, which is perhaps a little less healthy although absurdly good. Serves four to six, as a first course.

3 corn cobs (or 500g frozen kernels)
150g gram (or plain) flour
½ tsp baking powder
1 tsp garam masala
½ tsp mixed spice
1 tsp turmeric
½ tsp paprika
3 free-range eggs, separated
140ml milk
2 spring onions, chopped
½-1 red chilli, finely chopped, according to taste
2 limes, zested and juiced
1 big handful chopped coriander leaves
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
15g butter
1-2 tbsp olive oil

For the yoghurt
100g greek yoghurt
1 tsp nigella seeds
1 lime, zested and juiced
1 tsp grated ginger

Heat the oven to 140C/285F/gas mark 1. Hold the corn upright and, using a sharp knife, carefully shave off the kernels (do this inside a large, wide bowl, so it catches all the flying kernels). Sift the flour and baking powder into a bowl, add the spices and make a well in the centre. Put the egg yolks and half the milk in the well, beat the mixture until smooth, then slowly whisk in the rest of the milk. Fold in the corn, onions, chilli, lime juice and zest, and coriander. Whisk the egg whites to soft peaks, gently fold them into the batter and season.

Heat a heavy-based frying pan on a medium high heat and add a small knob of butter and a dribble of oil. Drop two heaped tablespoons of batter into the pan and fry on medium heat for three minutes a side, until golden brown and cooked through. Transfer to the oven while you repeat with the rest of the batter.

Mix all the yoghurt ingredients, then season. Serve the fritters with the yoghurt on the side; a simple salad of coriander leaves, baby gem and finely chopped spring onions wouldn’t go amiss, either.

Quail and spicy warm corn salad

The sweet, comforting salad is a lovely partner for the gently spiced quail; it would also work well with chicken thighs or wings. Serves four.

1 tsp cumin seeds, toasted and ground
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 clove garlic, peeled
2 tbsp honey
25g brown sugar
2 tbsp olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 quail

For the salad
4 corn cobs (or 670g frozen kernels)
2 large vine tomatoes
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
4 spring onions, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
A few pinches of ground allspice (optional)
2 limes, zested and juiced
1 handful coriander leaves, roughly chopped
1 handful mint leaves, roughly chopped
1-2 jalapeño chillies, finely chopped

Warm the cumin in a dry frying pan, then grind in a mortar with the garlic. Add the lemon, honey, sugar and oil, grind again, season well and rub all over the quail. Cover and refrigerate for anything up to a day.

When you are ready to cook, heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Pop the quail in a small roasting tin, pour over any excess marinade and roast for 20 minutes, basting halfway through, until golden brown, sticky and cooked. Cover the birds with tin foil and leave them somewhere warm to rest while you make the salad.

Shave the corn from the cobs (see first recipe). Put the tomatoes in a bowl, cover with boiling water, leave for 30 seconds, then drain. Peel, quarter and deseed the tomatoes, then cut the flesh into small dice.

Heat a heavy-bottomed frying pan on a medium heat and add half the oil. Saute the corn, spring onions and garlic for five to 10 minutes, and season well with salt, pepper and allspice, if using. Once the corn is tender and has taken on some colour, take the pan off the heat and stir in the lime zest and juice. Toss with all the other salad ingredients, including the tomatoes and remaining oil, and serve alongside the quail.

And for the rest of the week…

Corn is really inexpensive at this time of year, so it’s only common sense to make the most of it. One of my favourite way of cooking whole cobs is to barbecue them and then douse them in a mix of butter, chipotle mayonnaise, feta and fresh lime; harissa butter, feta and chopped coriander is another good combo. The corn salad makes a delicious lunch – I like it sprinkled with feta, lancashire or pecorino cheese and stuffed into a warm pitta bread.

My uncle used to have a plum orchard, which I played in with my cousins. At the base of the orchard there was a shallow, snaking river from where we’d collect the mud to make our famous “mud plum pies” – they were one of our favourite things to make every autumn. The recipe would vary from one day to the next, but in principle the pie would consist of over-ripe, wasp-eaten plums bound together in a smooth, grey, clay mud. If we had time we might embellish the pie with a generous coating of wood shavings, but that kind of finish was reserved for special occasions.

Nine times out of 10, the mud plum pies would be hurled at someone, long before they got a chance to be cooked, and all too often, that was at the farm boy from down the road (sorry, farm boy). But once in a while we’d arrange a few around the edge of a big camp fire and watch them bake. I remember them looking weirdly appetising; the mud was all cracked like good-looking pastry, covered with all the blistered sticky fruit.

I’ve always been a fan of plums with roast pork. That orchard would have been a brilliant place to keep pigs – there were always so many windfall plums – their meat would have no doubt been delicious. The Oxford sandy and black, a traditional breed of pig we keep at River Cottage, would have suited the orchard perfectly. They are widely nicknamed the “plum pudding pig” owing to their colouring: chestnut red with splashes of black.

It seems fitting to include a plum pudding, of the wholly edible sort, in this week’s batch of recipes. It’s a bit of a timeless classic: plum and almond tart. I’ve spiked the frangipane – a rich almond paste – with star anise, a pungently sweet and aromatic spice that complements plums beautifully. To up the ante, I like to spread the base of the pastry case with a good plum or damson jam, bakewell-style.

Plums, damsons and greengages are all wonderful eaten raw, but there are plenty of ways to cook them, particularly if you have a glut. In a village near me, there is a damson tree; the fruit is bruised blue and black with silver dusted skin. By the end of the season much of the fruit is blemished, split or scarred, but still it’s ripe and sweet and there’s lots of it. It’s these less-perfect damsons that I use to make ice-cream for the freezer or a rich fruity jam – my recipe is below.

Plums are not limited to puddings, however. I like to cook them down with chilli and garlic to create a strongly flavoured panful and to pair this with labneh, a Lebanese-style strained yoghurt cheese. The combination of the plums’ intensity and the cooling tang of the labneh sits beautifully atop a piece of toast, which absorbs all the rich juices. Quite the autumn lunch ...

Plums with labneh, rosemary chilli and toast

Serves 4
12 plums
30g butter, for frying
1 tbsp olive oil, for frying
1 small red chilli, deseeded and thinly sliced
2 sprigs rosemary
Salt and black pepper
1 tbsp honey
4 slices of bread

For the labneh
500ml natural yoghurt
2 pinches of salt

1 Start by making the labneh. This can be done several days in advance or at least 12 hours before you eat it. Put the yoghurt in a bowl and stir in the salt. Line a sieve with a square of clean muslin, cheesecloth or even a clean thin cotton cloth. Spoon the salted yoghurt into the centre of the cloth, then gather up the sides. Tie the cloth at the top and hang up to drain over a bowl for 6–8 hours, or overnight. I do this by hanging in my fridge with a bowl set underneath to catch the liquid.

2 Once drained, untie and lift the labneh from the cloth into a bowl. Refrigerate until needed.

3 Halve the plums and remove the stones. Heat a heavy-based pan over a medium heat and add the butter and olive oil. When bubbling, add the plums, cut-side down. Caramelise a little then carefully turn over. Add the chilli and rosemary. Season lightly. Once the fruit is tender, trickle over the honey. Grill the bread on both sides.

4 To serve, spread the labneh on the toast and top with the plums, trickled with some of the syrupy, herby juices from the pan.

Plum and almond tart with star anise and vanilla

Serves 8-10
90g icing sugar
340g plain flour
170g butter, cubed and chilled, plus extra for greasing
1 egg
2 tbsp iced water

For the frangipane
110g unsalted butter
110g golden caster sugar
½ vanilla pod, seeds scraped
2 star anise, finely crushed
3 eggs, beaten
110g ground almonds
12-16 ripe plums
4 tbsp plum jam (see below)
A handful of flaked almonds

1 Combine the icing sugar and plain flour, then rub in the chilled butter until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs (you can also do this in a food processor). Add the egg and iced water, and stir to combine. Tip out the dough and bring it together with your hands, kneading lightly to achieve a smooth finish. Tightly wrap the pastry in clingfilm, then put it in the fridge to rest for at least 30 minutes.

2 Set the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pastry to 2-3mm thick. Grease and flour a 28cm loose-bottomed tart tin, then lay over the pastry, tucking it into the corners and leaving an overhang. Line the pastry case with parchment and baking beans. Blind-bake the tart case for 25 minutes, then remove the baking beans, trim the overhang, and return to the oven for 10 minutes, or until the base is just starting to colour. Remove and set aside.

3 For the frangipane, cream the butter, sugar, vanilla seeds and star anise until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and ground almonds, then mix until well combined.

4 Halve and stone the plums. Spread the jam over the base of the pastry case then spoon in the frangipane mix. Arrange the plums on top. Push them in lightly with your fingers. Scatter with the flaked almonds.

5 Bake for 25–35 minutes or until golden and set on the outside but still a little soft in the middle. Allow to cool for 30 minutes before serving.

Plum jam

Makes about 6 jars
1kg plums
1kg preserving sugar

1 Wash, halve and stone the plums. Crack some of the stones and remove the little kernels. Put these into a small bowl and pour over some boiling water. Let them sit for 1-2 minutes, then drain, and rub off the skins.

2 Put the plums, kernels and 350ml water in a pan. Gently simmer for 30–40 minutes, or until the fruit and skins are lovely and tender. Stir in the sugar. Bring the pot to a rapid boil and cook until setting point is reached – around 10-12 minutes. Setting point for jam is about 105C/220F. Use the wrinkle test: spoon a small amount of the hot jam on to a fridge-cold plate, let it stand for a moment, then push it with the tip of your finger. If the surface wrinkles, the jam is ready.

3 Remove the pan from the heat and pour gently into clean, sterilised jars. Seal and label while the jars are warm. Allow to cool completely, then store.

• Gill Meller is a chef, food writer, stylist, cookery teacher and the former head chef at River Cottage in Devon. His first book, Gather (Quadrille) is out in September. @gillmeller

I love this combination – fresh omatoes work brilliantly with sweetly acidic berries at this time of year. Consider this more of a guide than a recipe, though – you should change it as the seasons change, and use the herbs you prefer. The dressing is wonderful with lots of salads and vegetables that are raw, roasted, steamed or grilled, so make a larger batch and use it liberally.

Tomato and berry salad with breadcrumbs and herbs

Serves 4 as part of a sharing menu

2 tbsp sherry or balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp Japanese soy sauce
4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
300g of very fresh ripe heirloom and seasonal tomatoes, sliced and cut into chunks
200g of any of the following seasonal berries: raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, redcurrants, blueberries, white currants, chopped or left whole depending on size
Fresh herbs: basil, dill, tarragon, parsley, chervil, chives and any herbs that you find still flowering, such as nasturtium, torn and chopped
100g stale bread
1 tbsp butter
Salt and pepper to taste

To make the dressing, combine the vinegar, soy sauce and oil and refrigerate.

Pulse the bread in a food processor until you have some evenly sized pieces. Gently toast them in a hot pan for a couple of minutes, add the butter and keep toasting until they are golden. Season with salt and pepper and let them cool.

Mix the tomatoes and the berries with the herbs and the dressing. Transfer to a serving plate and scatter with the breadcrumbs.

The recipe

Put 125g sushi rice into a bowl and cover it in warm water. Swish the rice around with your fingers then pour the water away. Repeat this process 3 or 4 times.

Transfer the rice to a small saucepan, pour in 300ml of water and bring to the boil. Cover with a lid and simmer for 10 minutes, then remove from the heat, leaving the lid in place.

Cook a 250g piece of salmon tail or fillet, seasoned and brushed with oil, under a hot oven grill for 4 or 5 minutes. In a dry pan, toast 3 tbsp sesame seeds till golden.

Finely grate a 2cm lump of peeled ginger. Tip half the sesame seeds into a mortar and crush them to a coarse paste with a peeled clove of garlic, half a tsp of sea salt and the grated ginger. Add 1 tbsp of black sesame seeds to the reserved seeds. Lift the lid of the rice and fold the sesame and ginger paste and the whole sesame seeds through it with a fork or chopsticks.

Divide the rice between 2 bowls. Break the warm fish into large pieces and add it to the rice, together with a few pickled vegetables as you wish.

The trick

Use a saucepan with a tight-fitting lid and don’t be tempted to lift it until the rice has rested for 10 minutes after cooking. Much happens to the rice in those quiet moments under the saucepan lid.

The twist

I prefer a slightly sticky rice for this. Sushi rice is ideal – I find it particularly comforting – but you could use basmati, brown or white. I use pickled radish and pumpkin and cabbage on top of my rice, available in packets from Asian food stores, but home-made pickled carrots or beetroot are good, too. Smoked mackerel is a very delicious replacement for the salmon.

Email Nigel at nigel.slater@observer.co.uk or follow him on Twitter @NigelSlater

Every year, my son spends half the summer in Ukraine with my parents. He has a ritual: as soon as he wakes up, sun glaring and white-hot at 8am, he runs into the garden, straight to the cucumber plant. My mum taught him how to twist them at the stem gently, so as not to pull on the whole plant, and how to embrace the sharp ends of the prickles on his soft palms: a quick polish and the spikes come off, leaving it safe for nibbling with abandon.

We only use one word for cucumber in Ukraine – ogirky – which refers to them in all their forms – fresh or pickled, and whatever variety. British cucumbers (those rather watery15cm-long behemoths!) are different to the smaller, spiky kind I grew up with. As a student shopping at the Warwick University branch of Tesco, I made do, and lLuckily, now I can get more compact and flavoursome varieties in London, although I don’t think they’ll ever make up for the gherkins we enjoy in Ukraine.

Ukraine gets very hot in summer and the gherkins we get are rather dry – in a good way. They are dense, extremely fragrant and sweet. Picked while still warm, they are an absolute flavour bomb. Come early autumn, when the sun calms down a little and the cucumbers are not watered as much, they become even more intense. This is the time to start pickling. Not with vinegar, but by letting lacto bacteria do its job.

Back in the day, when aircon wasn’t in anyone’s wildest dreams, Ukrainians built small kitchens close to where veg was grown, tiny brick houses where all the windows and doors could stay open to let some welcome air in to the mini preserving factories that they would become. One of the first things to pickle would be cucumbers.

My mum and I love long-fermented gherkins – salty, strong beasts, almost olive green, the ones that make you wince, but still reach for another. (I call them “nuclear” gherkins.) My dad, however, loves a gentle one- or two-day ferment. Malosolni ogirky (literally “little-salted gherkins” – those that are quickly pickled) are incredibly easy and a good introduction to fermentation. All you need is some good water (no chlorine as it kills bacteria) and organic produce (pesticides again get in the way of the process), salt, some flavourings and a maximum of two summer days. My Russian-Kazakh friend Mari, when in a rush, also uses carbonated water – extra CO2 is believed to be a catalyst for the process.

If your kitchen is hot, the malosolni will be ready within 24 hours. And then ... oh my. Slightly fizzy, delicately sour, retaining freshness but with enough funk to be served with rye bread and lardo, taming the heat of a freshly downed ice-cold vodka shot. This is a classic I’m giving you here. But I have also gone further than that. Add some halved chilli and garlic slices to the ferment. When ready, finely dice the gherkin and his friends. Then, alongside a small spoonful of the fizzy brine, pour it over an oyster. Because the ferment is so young, it won’t kill the delicate oyster flavour. Basically, use as normal gherkins but with a fresher, funkier edge. And when the gherkins are gone, do not dump the brine. Use it as a vodka pickleback or drink it in the morning on a hangover. I grew up watching my dad do this, always bewildered … he hates the nuclear but he drinks that strong brine!

Quick-fermented cucumbers

Makes 1 x 3 litre jar
1kg fresh organic cucumbers, the smallest ones you can find
20g sea salt flakes
1 litre mineral water
1 red chilli, whole but bruised with the blade of a knife
10 garlic cloves
1 tsp raw honey
2 sprigs of leaf celery
10 peppercorns (pink are good too!)
1-2 dill umbrellas or some bruised dill stalks
Horseradish leaves, if available
Blackcurrant leaves, if available

1 Sterilise your jar and a muslin cloth.

2 Prepare the cucumbers by cutting them into the sizes and shapes you like. You can also leave them whole.

3 To make the brine, dissolve the salt in the water. You may need to help things along by heating it slightly. (If you do this, add the herbs and spices too to infuse.) Leave the brine to cool down to room temperature.

4 Now, pack the cucumbers, chilli, garlic, honey, celery, peppercorns, dill and leaves into the jar and cover with brine. If the cucumbers bob up at the top, cover them with the sterilised muslin and weigh it down with something. Sometimes I just wedge a couple of celery sticks across the neck of the jar to keep them under the brine.

5 Leave in a warm place in your kitchen for at least 24 hours. Check the next day – if you see bubbles on the surface you are in luck. Take one pickled cucumber piece out with a sterilised fork to check. It should be pleasantly sour. If they don’t taste too different, give them another day. If the weather is cool, you may need three days.

6 When you are happy with the result and you don’t want them to become stronger, pop them into the fridge to slow down the fermentation process. If you like some funk in your life, leave them for another few days.

Note: You shouldn’t have any problems in terms of infections. But if you see any blue growth, just take it off with a spoon carefully. Things are bad if you get slime in your brine, but this should not happen in such a short period of time. Just make sure you sterilise the jar properly.

• Olia Hercules is a chef, food writer and regular contributor to Cook. She is author of Mamushka: Recipes from Ukraine and Beyond (Octopus). Rachel Roddy is away.