Riverford Farm Cook Book: Tales from the Fields, Recipes from the Kitchen

Fry the bacon lardons until the fat starts to run out and the bacon is lightly coloured. Drain on kitchen paper. Wash the curly endive and dry well.

Mix the dressing ingredients together by whisking well or shaking in a jam jar. Poach the eggs in gently simmering water for 3–4 minutes so that they are still soft.

Put the curly endive in a bowl and dress with 3–4 tablespoons of the vinaigrette, so that the leaves are lightly coated. Divide between 4 plates and sprinkle with the bacon and croûtons. Top with the poached eggs and then scatter with the chives. Drizzle with more of the vinaigrette, if you like, and serve immediately.

Escarole and Bean Soup (#ulink_057f0aba-1ce9-537f-9364-4de148c59593)

Don’t be afraid to cook these bitter, frizzy leaves. They can be braised on their own as an accompaniment or cooked with pulses to make this great soup.

Serves 6

300g dried white beans, such as haricot or cannelloni, soaked in cold water overnight and then drained

1 head of garlic, cut horizontally in half

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teaspoon dried chilli flakes

1 sprig of rosemary

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 onion, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, crushed

2 heads of escarole, chopped

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

very good olive oil, to serve

Place the drained beans in a large pan with the garlic, chilli and rosemary, cover with fresh water and bring to the boil. Simmer for about 1 hour, adding more water if necessary so that the beans are always just covered. When the beans are tender, season well with salt and pepper and mix in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Leave to cool, then squeeze the garlic out into the beans, removing the skins.

In a large pan, fry the onion and crushed garlic clove in the remaining olive oil for 5 minutes, until softened. Add the chopped escarole, mix well, then cover and cook for 5 minutes, until the escarole has wilted. Stir in the beans and their cooking liqueur and heat through. Remove 2 cupfuls of the mixture and blend in a food processor, then stir back into the mixture in the pan. Add some water if necessary to adjust the consistency and season well. Serve drizzled with good olive oil.

Glazed Chicory with Orange (#ulink_65d20fe8-c93c-50e2-a08f-61d6825a5339)

A classic combination, best served with duck, grilled fish or scallops.

Serves 4

1 tablespoon butter

1 onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

4 heads of chicory, thinly sliced

50g caster sugar

200ml white wine

juice and grated zest of 2 oranges

a sprig of thyme

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Melt the butter in a large pan, add the onion and garlic and cook over a medium heat for a few minutes, until softened but not coloured. Add the chicory, sugar, wine, orange juice and zest and thyme and bring to the boil. Lower the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes, until the liquid has caramelised slightly and reduced enough to coat the chicory in a light glaze. Season well and serve.

Easy ideas for bitter leaves

♦ Fry a little chopped pancetta and sage in a pan, then add 1 chopped garlic clove and 2 heads of finely shredded radicchio. Cook gently until wilted. Pour in 150ml double cream and cook rapidly for 5 minutes, until slightly reduced. Serve with tagliatelle, sprinkled with Parmesan.

♦ Finely shred radicchio and toss with diced apple, walnuts and some vinaigrette for a winter salad.

♦ Slice 4 Italian sausages into chunks, fry until browned on both sides, then remove from the pan. Add 1 sliced garlic clove and cook for 1 minute. Add a shredded half head of escarole, stir until wilted, then add a drained tin of chickpeas, 1 tablespoon of tomato purée and 100ml chicken stock. Return the sausages to the pan, cook, covered, for 15 minutes, then serve.

♦ Serve chicory leaves with Bagna Cauda (see Bagna Cauda (#litres_trial_promo)) as a dressing or dip.

Beware the freaks from the fringe (#ulink_f93621cc-4cde-5bf2-a93a-95852295fbb5)

I remember being taught that evolutionary progress happens on the fringes: whilst the dominant, overtly successful species (currently us) are busy thriving, dominating, specialising, multiplying and basically doing more of the same, the less successful, freakish creatures are banished to the harsher fringes, where they scratch a precarious existence and await their day. For most freaks it never comes, and they perish without a fossil or obituary to mark their struggle.

Our planet is constantly changing, and no one stays at the centre forever. The fine adaptation and specialisation that bring a species success ultimately prove its downfall. Dinosaurs dominated Earth for 160 million years until, 65 million years ago, a 10km-wide asteroid crashed into Mexico and upset the conditions in which they thrived. They couldn’t adapt to the new reality and were gone in an evolutionary blink.

In so many ways, business follows the same patterns as nature: survival of the fittest is one with obvious appeal for many post-Thatcherite worshippers of the free market and globalisation. Response to change is something on which those at the centre, growing fat on the status quo, tend to be less keen.

Organic farmers were freaks from the fringe until very recently. They typically lived in isolation in the depths of Wales or Devon, where no selfrespecting, tweed-clad, country-landowning Barley Baron would soil their fat, oversized Range Rover tyres. Some were even women and one or two wore sandals, woolly jumpers and beards and had the occasional dope plant hidden amongst the tomatoes. They were derided for decades. Surely it would take a massive intergalactic collision for this lot to threaten or displace mainstream farming and food retailing, which is fiercely protected by a well-heeled agribusiness and backed up by a powerful global agrichemical sector.

Change has been driven more by an asteroid shower than a single meteor: BSE, foot-and-mouth, pesticide and fertiliser pollution and contamination, global warming, ‘peak oil’, public concern over the excesses of food transportation, routine antibiotic misuse, the imposition of genetic manipulation, revulsion at factory farming and the normalisation of the abuses of a food industry where a chicken can quite legally be only 50 per cent chicken, the rest made up of beef gristle and water. The soft underbelly of success is complacency, and the accompanying lack of imagination and willingness to learn. Within the mainstream, there is little genuine desire to adapt to a new climate of well-founded public concern. A few groundbreaking organic brands have been bought by Cadbury, Dean Foods, Unilever and the like, and a fair amount has been spent on greenwash-inspired PR initiatives and Corporate Responsibility Indexes, but behind the smokescreen little has changed. Could we be witnessing the start of a mass extinction of global agri-food businesses? For decades, they have seemed immovable and omnipotent in their power – but then so did the dinosaurs, until the last one found itself being chased around by a bone-wielding, two-legged freak previously seen rubbing two sticks together in a cave.

Broad Beans (#ulink_e1512147-82ff-5171-9157-f5f7c00d8b75)

The best conversations I can remember having with my mother were while shelling peas and beans. Keeping the hands busy, and having a reason not to make eye contact, is a great way of taking conversation into areas that you would normally skirt around. If you need to have a potentially difficult chat with adolescent children, a pile of beans is a great way to bridge the silences and lubricate the flow.

There is something unique and wonderful about the smell of a broad bean field, particularly when in flower – added to the fact that they come early in the summer, when there is little else around, so we grow quite a few of them. We used to have an eccentric doctor who rang up every spring to buy tonnes of young beans in their pods for pressing into some sort of elixir, which he claimed cured just about anything. I have not heard from him for a few years so I suspect he has been struck off. Recently a customer assured us that rubbing warts repeatedly with the furry inside of a broad bean pod was a reliable cure (she insisted that her success had always been with organic pods).

Prior to the conquest of the Americas, broad beans were the only beans grown in Europe and, when meat wasn’t available, they were a vital source of protein. They are also the only beans that are frost hardy and truly happy in our climate. As such, they can be ready to pick six weeks earlier than runner or French beans.

Our over-wintered crop, sown in the autumn, can be a bit hit and miss, depending on the severity of the winter, the hunger and determination of the local crow population and the weather at the time of pollination. As a result, the first picking in June tends to be feast or famine. The spring-sown crop is more reliable and flowers when pollinating conditions have improved, producing betterquality, well-filled pods for picking in July. It is possible to pick right through the summer but by mid July we are normally picking French beans and find that our customers’ interest has waned, so we seldom sow beyond early April.

From a grower’s perspective, the aphid black fly is the main problem, along with occasional voracious attacks of bean weevil. There is a certain stage, about two weeks before the first beans are ready to pick, when the leading shoot can be picked out (and stir-fried to good effect – see Storage and preparation (#u71aaa4cb-0c5f-4d07-8d0f-b9bbbb4e4533)). If you grow broad beans in your garden, you may find that this helps to delay black fly attack and encourages the upper pods to fill.

Storage and preparation