Chef Ben Lippett’s three recipes to make you a better home cook

For Lippett, that was sort of the point. “There are hundreds of cookbooks that write romantically about food”, he tells me over a video call on a stormy late-summer afternoon, “but they don’t always get to the core of cooking. Knowing the basic principles gives you the keys to the culinary kingdom.”

Unlike most textbooks, How I Cook is decidedly not boring. “I wanted it to be serious, but not intimidating.” Lippett says. Its opening spread – 15 Rules I Live By In The Kitchen – is both educational and relaxed; the final rule is the reassuring: Don’t Worry, You’ll Eat Again. “In home cooking, the stakes are relatively low,” he explains. “Get after it, but don’t worry when it goes wrong. Sometimes it’ll be amazing. Sometimes it’ll be shit.”

The remainder of the pages are packed with brightly coloured infographics, and pull-out boxes of tips and tricks among the recipes: how and when to use salt; selecting cuts of fish; a cross-section of an egg. “I’m a visual learner,” he tells me. “A flowchart helps to make a new technique, like baking bread, less tricky.”

Lippett spent ten years in hospitality and restaurants: frying falafel in Brighton; cooking “posh Mexican food” in a New York cocktail bar; stints at Brighton’s 64 Degrees and London’s Orasay. When he left the professional kitchen to concentrate on writing and recipe development, releasing his own cookbook was the dream. “The whole goal,” he says, “was to write something that nourishes the reader in more ways than one.”

If you had to choose one dish from the book that everyone should learn, what would it be? “The French omelette. It’s a fantastic example of how to combine the skills you’ve learnt in the book – seasoning, temperature control – with the intuition a good cook needs. If you can master it, you’ve nailed the book. Even if you fuck it up, it’s still delicious.”

This is my take on an absolute classic, schnitzel à la holstein. Ordinarily, this is made with bashed-out veal cutlets, but as my partner is pescatarian I go for cod. I actually find it’s much easier to cook breaded fish in this fashion than meat: there’s no panicking about doneness; once it’s browned, it’s ready.

You can breadcrumb the fish in advance to save some time before you hit the pans. To make sure the breadcrumbs don’t go soggy, store the schnitzels buried in a little extra panko, above and below the fillets. You should have a little left once you’ve crumbed the fish.

You can add seeds or spices to the breadcrumb coating for an extra pop of flavour; some mixed sesame seeds, fennel or cumin seeds would be delicious.

The other flavours are like peas in a pod: brown butter, lemon, parsley, capers and anchovies come together to produce a stunningly simple but delicious dressing. A big fat pile of chips on the side wouldn’t go amiss, either.

Serves 4

cod loin portions 4 x 120g
plain flour 150g
eggs 6
panko breadcrumbs 250g
lemons 2
unsalted butter 200g
capers 4 tbsp
flat-leaf parsley 75g
good-quality anchovy fillets 1 x tin
olive oil
sea salt and black pepper

Grab a large piece of parchment paper and fold it in half. One by one, pop the cod fillets between the two halves and use a rolling pin or frying pan to gently bash them out flat. Take your time and try to get them as thin as you can. You’re shooting for thinner than a pound coin.

Set up your breading station: that’s one bowl of flour, one with 2 beaten eggs and one of breadcrumbs. Season the breadcrumbs, flour and eggs well with salt and pepper. Season the cod fillets with salt and carefully pass them through the three bowls, dusting off the excess flour and allowing excess egg to drip away before thoroughly coating with the panko.

To segment the lemons, use a paring knife to remove the top and tail, before cutting away the peel and pith. Working over bowl to catch the juice, use your knife to carefully cut out each of the segments, cutting either side of the white pith that separates them. Work your way around the lemon methodically, until you have just the husk left. Squeeze it over the segments and juice in the bowl and discard.

Preheat the oven to 120C fan/gas mark 1.

Grab a large frying pan and cover the base with a generous layer of olive oil. Place over a medium heat; once the surface of the oil starts to shimmer (if you’ve a thermometer, aim for 180C), carefully layer in the schnitzels, one or two at a time depending on the size of your pan.

Fry for about 3 minutes on each side until golden brown and crispy (just be careful when flipping them as they are a little delicate) – they’ll be fully cooked by the time they’re looking delicious. Pop on to a rack set over a baking tray and slide into the oven to keep warm. Fry the remaining cod.

Tip the oil out into a heatproof bowl and set aside. Return the pan to the heat and add the butter. Melt the butter, allow it to foam and then caramelise in the hot pan. It’ll turn nut brown and smell like toasted hazelnuts. Once your butter has reached this point, crack in the eggs, season with salt and pepper and fry to your liking.

Once cooked, remove the eggs and throw the capers into the residual butter. Cook for 30 seconds before adding the lemon segments, lemon juice and parsley. Season and mix together.

Divide the crispy cod among warm plates and top each with a fried egg and some of the brown butter sauce. Finish with a couple of anchovies. Pour yourself a cold beer and get stuck in.

This soup is perfect for using up any odds and ends you’ve got in the fridge. It’s loosely inspired by ribollita, aka the perfect vehicle for transforming leftovers into a delicious, hearty bowl of soup. Hard-roasting squash and onions and then dressing them up with stock, starchy beans and smoky chilli paste makes for a delicious, thrifty bowl of soup.

Whether you’re using beans, chickpeas or the classic stale bread, it needs to have a high starch content. It’s that starch that’s going to thicken the soup and give it a lovely smooth, almost velvety texture.

This recipe is all about building flavour from the ground up. Take your time and notice how at each stage the flavours develop and deepen. Be sure to get plenty of smoky, roasted flavour on to the pumpkin and onions in the oven before they hit the pan. Build flavour, caramelising the celery and roasting the chipotle paste, and seal the deal with a big hunk of feta.

If you take your time at each stage and follow the steps, a relatively simple soup with a short ingredients list can be a big hit.

Serves 4

white onions 3
crown prince or butternut squash 1
celery sticks 3
chipotle paste 2 tbsp
fresh bay leaves 3-4
rosemary sprigs 25g
good-quality vegetable or chicken stock 1.5 litres
butter beans 700g jar
dill 25g
orange 1
feta 150g
olive oil
fine sea salt and black pepper

Preheat the oven to 220C fan/gas mark 9.

Peel and cut the onions into chunky wedges, peel and cut the squash into bite-sized pieces and discard the seeds and pith. Toss the whole lot on to a baking tray, dress with plenty of olive oil and season with salt and black pepper. Slide into the oven and cook for 30-35 minutes until deeply roasted, completely tender and starting to char.

Cut the celery sticks into chunky diamonds. Preheat a large saucepan or cast-iron pot over a medium heat and add a generous glug of olive oil. Tip in the celery and add a pinch of salt. Cook for 8-9 minutes, stirring regularly, until it starts to sweat and soften. Add the chipotle paste and crank up the heat. Stir the paste through the veggies to coat and cook over a high heat for 6-7 minutes until the mixture starts to caramelise.

Drop the herbs in (leave the rosemary stems intact) and cook for a minute or two before adding the stock. Scrape the bottom of the pan to draw up any colour or gnarly flavour that might have developed at the base of the pan. Bring the whole lot to a bare simmer.

Tip the beans into a bowl and use a fork or your hands to squash around a third into a smooth-ish paste. Tip the whole lot into the pan of soup and stir through. Bring back to a simmer and notice the soup thicken. Cook for 25-30 minutes.

While the soup simmers, prepare your garnishes – finely chop the dill, zest the orange and crumble the feta. Once the soup has been simmering for 25 minutes, add the roasted squash and onions, turn up the heat slightly and bubble for a final 5-6 minutes.

Remove the soup from the heat and fish out the bay leaves and rosemary stems. Finish the soup with the dill and the zest and juice of the orange. Season with salt and pepper and then divide among warm bowls. Top with the crumbled feta, a little olive oil and a twist of pepper.

This is the omelette for the egg connoisseur. The French omelette is a tender, buttery sheet of gently cooked egg, infused with fine herbs, beautifully folded into a parcel that envelops a delicate, fluffy, soft scramble. It should take on little to no colour in the pan and is a show of great technique. Of the basic egg recipes, this is the final boss.

Chefs are often put through their paces on trial shifts by cooking this omelette for their prospective boss; I’ve done it, it’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I try to cook myself one of these at least once a week for breakfast; not only because they’re delicious, but it’s good to keep your eye in and make sure that skill is well practised.

You won’t get this right the first time, but guess what? Neither did I! I’ve been making these for years and still have good and bad days. The best thing about them is, they all taste delicious, despite not being perfect. Don’t be afraid to move the pan away from the heat if you think it’s overcooking. I do this all the time, and it gives you ultimate control.

If you want to drop in some little dollops of goat’s cheese or any other filling, do your thing. You’ll want to add it just before you fold the omelette up. Whatever you’re adding, don’t add too much. Like a good pizza, the beauty of a French omelette is its simplicity, so always remember, less is more.

Serves 1

eggs 3
chives, dill or chervil small bunch
butter 25g, plus extra to finish
sea salt and black pepper

Crack the eggs into a small mixing bowl. Finely chop your herb of choice, bung the herbs into the bowl and, using a fork, beat the eggs until there are no big streaks of white remaining, but try not to incorporate too much air.

Put the butter in a 15-20cm non-stick or well-seasoned frying pan, place over a medium heat and allow the butter to melt. Once it starts to sizzle and foam, tip in the egg mixture and begin cooking the eggs.

Using a spatula, keep stirring the eggs – moving them around, cleaning the bottom of the pan and gently beating – until you’ve created a little texture in the mix, small curds are forming and the pan looks like it’s full of very undercooked scrambled eggs. Now give the pan a gentle shake to distribute the eggs evenly across its surface and allow the bottom of the omelette to set. Season with fine sea salt and pepper.

You still want the majority of the mixture to be pretty loose, as when you fold up the omelette the residual heat will keep cooking the egg. The goal here is to finish cooking the omelette without letting it brown, so don’t let it hang out too long here.

Give the pan another little shimmy to make sure nothing is sticking, before flipping the edge of the omelette that’s closest to you into the centre, enveloping the custardy middle. Keep rolling away from you until you have 50% of the pan visible. Now give the pan a tap to free up the backside of the omelette and slide it away from you into the curve of the pan.

When the top of the omelette looks just about set but not quite there, flip the back lip of the omelette over and turn it out on to a plate, sealing the deal. Your omelette should be a lovely oval shape, with a custardy interior and a smooth, light exterior. If you want to be extra fancy, rub the omelette with a little butter to give it some gloss and finish with extra cracked black pepper and flaky sea salt.

How I Cook by Ben Lippett (HarperCollins, £26). Order a copy at observershop.co.uk for £23.40. Delivery charges may apply.