Roasted Blood Orange, Fennel and Shallot Salad

The weather is slowly meandering towards spring, some days at least, but the new season produce is sadly still quite some way behind. I am definitely hankering for brighter, sharper, lighter than slow cooked casseroles ladled onto clouds of mash, rich soups thickened with cream or pasta swimming contentedly in pools of cheesy sauce - and like as not a glistening tranche of garlic bread on the side. Apart from anything else I seem to be growing an arse the size of the world. I'm calling it my end of season look.

The trick to sliding gracefully into spring in early March is to look for new and better salad combinations using the last of the winter veg and supplementing it with some of the tasty produce of nearby sunnier climes. Citrus, particularly Italian, is a lovely thing at this time of  year and much of the best of it comes from Sicily which has the optimum  winter temperature range of around 13-29 C, perfect for growing blood oranges. Now blood oranges are a strange fruit, not one I knew at all as a kid and a complete surprise the first time I came across one. They are much the same size as a usual orange, with the same lightly pitted skin. Although it is orange in colour is also has a delicate reddish tinge, like raw sunburn on fair skin. But this is still indisputably an orange. Then when you cut it open, particularly late in the season, the flesh is red - anything from a few traces running through the segments to fully deeply carmine as though the heart of the fruit has suffered unbelievable trauma and bled all the way out to the skin. They are a thing of extraordinary beauty with a sweet taste with a faintly bitter edge and, apparently, three times as much vitamin C as ordinary oranges, at least if you believe what I read on the internet.

This has become my current favourite salad for lots of reasons - it is easy, it is quick, it smells lovely, it tastes amazing, is pretty as a picture, it's not expensive, it's great warm or cold and is a treat in lunch boxes for a day or two. It has contrasting flavours and textures which makes every mouthful different. The first time I made it I served it with a Persian herbed omelette and another salad of aubergine, yoghurt and walnuts and the next time with crisp skinned rare fleshed duck breast and soy and citrus dressed noodles. Both meals were definite highlights of the week.

Roasted Blood Orange, Fennel and Shallot Salad

Serves 4 as a side dish

1 large, nicely rounded fennel bulb or 2 smaller ones
6 banana shallots
2 blood oranges - or ordinary navel oranges if you can't find any
2 tablespoons olive oil

Line a heavy baking sheet with parchment. Cut the base and the 'fingers' away from the fennel then cut the bulb in half from top to bottom. Cut out the core, then cut each half in two again from top to bottom. Turn the pieces onto their side and slice thinly into pieces about half a centimetre thick. Scatter on the tray.

Peel the banana shallots and cut them into half centimetre rings and add to the baking tray.

Cut the oranges in half, reserving one half for later, then cut a very thin slice off the bottom of the three remaining halves. Put one half flesh side down onto the chopping board and cut into quarters then cut each quarter, flesh and skin, into half centimetre slices and add to the baking tray. Repeat with the remaining two halves.

Drizzle with olive oil, season lightly with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and toss everything together. Put into the oven at 200C/400F and roast for about  40-50 minutes, stirring the mixture every 15 minutes or so, until the edges are nicely caramelised.

Remove the tray from the oven and squeeze over about half the juice from the reserved  orange. Tip it all into a pretty bowl, mix gently and taste. Add more orange juice, salt and pepper till you have your perfect balance. Serve while still warm  or at room temperature.

Salmon and Fennel Salade Composé

Only just March but a blog about salad? Seriously not madness.

I've been away for a few weeks, in part to celebrate my delightful nieces' 21st birthday in Australia, and have loved the sunshine and abundance of light in the other hemisphere. February days of 28 degrees and blue skies is the definition of bliss after a January of 10 degrees and drizzle. The man was busy busy at work and unable to join me, so I left the freezer full of lovely things in handy tubs and flew out late one Saturday night. I came back this week to a much depleted freezer and a man offering salad as the number one suggestion for what he'd most like to eat. So happy to oblige.

In every cafe and every brasserie in every village and every town in France the menu includes a  -usually a list of - salade composé. Best known is probably salade nicoise, the lovely laying out of crisp lettuce leaves to be topped with a spoonful of tuna in the centre surrounded by tomato slices, a tangle of limpid green beans, delicate slices of hard boiled egg and a scattering of salty black olives, all of it generously drizzled with vinaigrette. Add a chunk of crusty bread and you have a really fine meal, a fabulous array of colours, flavours and textures that are a thing of beauty. The sum greater than its individual parts - a really satisfying dinner any time of year, simple, healthy and filling (but not fattening). I am a fan.

There are many variations of this lovely dish, to some extent limited only by imagination and available ingredients. The defining characteristic is that the salad is composed - assembled from a variety of mini salads for the diners delectation rather than all tossed together making every bite uniform. With salade composé every bite is different as the various tasty elements come together in each mouthful making it a joy to eat. Try bitter chicory with sharp and creamy blue cheese and sweet slices of pear or oak leaf topped with beetroot and rare slices of pigeon breast and a scattering of toasted walnuts. One of my French café favourites is salade chèvre chaud - light greens topped with oozing warm goat's cheese, raisins and a light honey dressing. Add a hunk of crusty bread to achieve perfection.

My salad of choice this week was ready in ten minutes. After minimal peeling and chopping, no cooking at all and just the one tin to open, I presented a delightful assembly of baby gem topped with crisp fennel, cucumber and mixed sprouts, a burst of colour from crunchy slices of red pepper finished with a generous portion of tinned salmon and a drizzle of classic vinaigrette - seasoned olive oil and lemon juice mixed 3:1. Don't forget the bread!

Spinach and Bacon Spelt Risotto

Oddly wasn't going to post this though I really seriously enjoyed eating it. But I sent the recipe in to the Guardian Cook competition and it came up trumps so thought I would share it here too. It is a result of not baing able to get pinhead oatmeal and not finding the barley in the cupboard that  I was convinced was lurking there. Did find a half pack of Italian spelt - no idea why I bought it - and came up with this simple dish that is deeply comforting in this bleak late winter. The spelt is lovely and nutty and retains a great texture like the opposite of the creamy delight you get with rice.

Pearled Spelt with Spinach and Bacon

Serves 2 for dinner with some for lunch next day

250g fresh spinach, rinsed and destalked
100g lightly smoked bacon, cut into 1cm strips
650ml fresh chicken or vegetable stock
1 tbsp olive oil
75g unsalted butter
2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
1 red onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 celery stalk, very thinly sliced (if there are leaves, chop and add at the end)
200g pearled spelt
100ml white wine
75g parmesan, finely grated
50g toasted walnuts, lightly crushed (optional)

Warm a large pan over a high heat and add the damp spinach. Cover, turn the heat right down and cook for a few minutes till the spinach is wilted. Drain in a colander, pressing out as much water as possible, then roughly chop.

Return the pan to the hob over a low heat and cook the bacon, stirring occasionally, until the fat renders. When it reaches your desired texture, remove it from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Put the stock in a small pan, bring to the boil and reduce the heat to low. Return the large pan to the heat and add the olive oil and 25g butter. When the butter has melted, add the garlic, onion and celery and cook gently for about 10 minutes until it's soft and smells inviting.

Add the spelt and stir to coat everything in oil, increase the heat and tip in the white wine. Stir until it is all absorbed then reduce the heat to medium and add the hot stock, a ladleful at a time, until it's all used up – this takes about 20 minutes. The spelt will have swelled and softened and there should be a little liquid in the bottom of the pan. Add a little more hot water if the spelt is not fully cooked.

Stir through the chopped spinach and bacon, season well, then stir in the remaining 50g butter and parmesan.

Turn off the heat, cover and leave to rest for a few minutes then, if using, stir through the chopped celery leaves before serving in big bowls. Top with crushed walnuts if using.

I loved the bacon in it but I was using it because it was in the freezer, same for the chicken stock - this would make a very good meat free supper without bacon and using a veg stock instead.