Growing up in Wales, I tasted leeks at their best, straight from the earth to the grill. When I’m on holiday with my family (somewhere coastal if we’re lucky), we’ll often find a way to cook over flames, even if it’s a small grill balanced on bricks or a battered old barbecue. I love wrapping leeks in slices of prosciutto, laying them carefully over the bars, and hearing that first quiet sizzle as the fat begins to render. It’s unfussy but deeply satisfying – perfect holiday cooking.
The first time I tried something similar was on the streets of Naples, where spring onions are cooked over open grills. When we do it in my restaurant, we blanch the leeks first, dry them properly, then give them smoke and time over the fire. The outer layers blister and sweeten, the ham tightens and crisps, and inside they turn soft and almost buttery. It’s a nice dish to share – sliced and placed on a board, covered with plenty of green sauce, then set in the middle of the table for everyone to help themselves.
When asparagus comes into season, it’s an exciting time for chefs and home cooks alike. It feels different from other produce; it’s fleeting, so there’s a real urgency to enjoy it while it lasts. When it arrives, you cook it often because you know it won’t be around for long. Get the grill hot, lay it down and leave it alone. Let it take on colour. It should still have that slight resistance when you eat it.
In London restaurants, it’s sometimes easy to lose connection with the countryside. So when boxes of wild garlic arrive, it’s inspiring. We turn it into sauces, dressings and oils; roast it simply on our wood-fired breads, wrap cheeses in the leaves before grilling, or wilt it into our meat sauces.
The wild fragrance reminds the chefs where things actually grow. The smell takes me straight back to rural Wales. You’d catch the scent before you saw it. Walking through damp woodland in spring, that unmistakable smell hanging in the air – green, pungent, almost sweet. The forest floor carpeted thick, brushing past it and sometimes carrying the scent with you for the rest of the day. That link between smell and memory is powerful. Even now, when I toss wild garlic through hot asparagus and the heat releases its perfume, I’m back there for a moment. Not in a nostalgic way: more as a reminder of place, of season, and of how food begins long before it reaches a kitchen.
RECIPES
