Lemon curd and a sourdough bread

In the middle of winter, a bowl of sunny lemons bring a certain, zest (to use a pun) to the kitchen: I might even have them just to look at on a gloomy day. By the end, the kitchen smells like a Sicilian lemon grove and my hands are tenderly stinging from the lemon’s sharply acidic juice.

I always have some lemons in the kitchen, and use them in almost everything; curd is one of the few times where they stand on their own. The key to a good curd is in the zest, from where the more delicate and fragrant lemon flavor comes from, rather than the harsher acidity of the juice. Use a sharp grater (which unfortunately I myself don’t have, resulting in a pathetic struggle with my blunt utensil to remove that elusive zest), taking care to only take the thin, yellow zest off the lemon, avoiding the bitter pith beneath.

Aside from the obvious slathering on toast and spooning directly from the jar, try it as a base for tarts, topped with fresh fruits and berries, folded into softly whipped cream for a quick mouse or stir it into some milk or cream to a pourable consistency and churn into a tangy lemon ice cream.

I’ve included a recipe for bread, since (in my mind at least) there is nothing -almost, as satisfying in having both homemade bread and curd for breakfast. The recipe works for either sourdough (as I’ve used) or the more conventional baker’s yeast. If you haven’t yet started a sourdough starter, I highly recommend doing so. I haven’t included a tutorial here as there are lots of really good tutorials that others have written, a quick Google will uncover many. At its most basic though, all it involves is stirring together some flour and water and giving it some time for the naturally present yeast and bacteria to ferment it. Then once started, it is just a case of getting into the rhythm of sourdough breads: don’t expect it to double in size in an hour or two, rather let it rise slowly - looking around the 4 hour mark instead. Sourdough or not, the smell of bread baking in the oven is one not easily beaten.

Forced rhubarb and custard tart

In the grim, monotonous depths of winter, bright, shockingly pink forced rhubarb comes as quite a relief. Its sharp, bright flavors come as a welcome respite from all the stodgy gluttony of the  festive season. Its sharp flavor works well with other zingy ingredients such as orange, and ginger, but also with more mellow, floral and spicy ingredients such as vanilla, cardamom and  strawberry.

Forced rhubarb can be fairly expensive and so its precious stems are perhaps best enjoyed simply stewed along with a little sugar and just the scantest dribble of water, served with thick Greek yoghurt. After photographing, I had a 1 stick of rhubarb left, and to lazy tired to make anything with simply dipped it into a bag of sugar and ate like a possibly-slightly healthier sherbet sweet. Rhubarb's also work wonderfully with more savory ingredients, particularly with mackerel, where rhubarb's sharp flavor cuts through the oily  mackerel.