Fliss says: “Bulgur wheat is one of those things that looks suspiciously expensive. But worry not, as if you go to the right place – specifically, your local Middle Eastern shop – you can pick up a kilo, dried, for around £1.25. This will make approximately 3 tonnes’ worth when cooked, which, in my mind, is excellent value for money. That said, although still fairly budget-friendly, this recipe actually comes out as one of the most expensive in the book, because it uses lots of fresh herbs and a whole block of halloumi. You can substitute the bulgur wheat for rice, and the halloumi for tofu, but it’s the fresh herbs and harissa that really make it, so I’d not want to substitute those or it’d be something else entirely. You know what you can afford best. I’ll leave it up to you if you feel like adding something Ottolenghi-like, such as pomegranate seeds or a grated aged artisan chopping board, but a little bit of sweetness from some dried fruit does make this pop.”

Serves 2 generously, takes 20 minutes

Ingredients

• ¾ mug of coarse bulgur wheat (about 150g)
• a block of halloumi
• olive oil, for frying, plus an extra slug to serve
• a tin of chickpeas, drained and tipped onto a pile of kitchen roll to soak up extra moisture
• 2 tablespoons of harissa paste
• ½ cucumber
• ½ packet of coriander (25g); use double the parsley if coriander tastes soapy to you, poor thing
• ½ packet of parsley (25g)
• a tablespoon of lemon juice (from a real-life lemon or a bottle – it doesn’t matter)
• salt

Optional extras: 

• 2 tablespoons of either raisins, roughly chopped apricots or pomegranate seeds

Method

Start by cooking your bulgur wheat in a medium-sized pan over a high heat with around 2 mugs of boiling water and a big pinch of salt for about 10 minutes. Think of it like rice if you’re unfamiliar.

While that’s cooking, chop your halloumi into slices, then halve each one so you have a nice stack of squares. Fry off these squares in a large, shallow frying pan over a medium-high heat with a little splash of oil, working in batches if your pan is only wee. Drain any water that comes off the halloumi, as that’ll massively slow down your browning, then increase the heat to high and fry the halloumi until golden, turning when you need to. Once both sides are golden, keep the pan on the heat but remove the cheese and set aside.

Add a little more oil to the now-empty pan if you need to, then tip in the chickpeas, followed by the harissa paste. Fry for 4–6 minutes, stirring to coat the chickpeas all over with the paste.

Hopefully the chickpeas are dry enough not to spit, but watch out and stand back if that does happen. Leave this mixture over a medium heat, stirring occasionally, while you dice your cucumber and very finely chop your herbs.

By this time, your bulgur wheat should be cooked through – try it. It should have a little bite but still be soft. If there’s any water left in the pan, drain it. Add the grains to a big serving bowl or mixing bowl. Next add the hot harissa chickpeas, stirring to coat everything nicely, then toss in your halloumi, your cucumbers, your chopped herbs and your fruit, if you’re using it. Drizzle over a tiny slug of olive oil, followed by the lemon juice, and serve. 

Fliss says: “Just in case you couldn’t follow it as a series of limericks (see previous page), here’s the recipe formatted as, yanno, an actual recipe. As an aside, this might actually be my favourite dish in the book – it’s creamy, zesty and herby all at once, and it’s super quick to make too. But don’t tell Eton Mess I said that. She’ll only get jealous.” 

Serves 2, takes 15 minutes

Ingredients

• enough linguine for 2 (2 portions will fit in the ‘o’ shape you can make with your thumb and index finger)
• a mug full of cherry tomatoes
• 2–3 garlic cloves if they’re small, just 1 if it’s really fat
• a pinch of chilli flakes, or ½ mild red chilli
• an actual whole bunch/packet of fresh parsley (30g or so)
• 3 generous tablespoons of either butter or olive oil
• zest and juice of a large lemon (roughly 2 teaspoons of zest and 30ml/2 tablespoons of juice)
• a packet (450g) of refrigerated vacuum-packed mussels in white wine sauce (they’re dead cheap at Lidl and Aldi)
• salt

Method

Start by cooking your pasta according to the packet instructions in lots of salted water in the largest pan you have. Salting the water seasons the pasta from the inside out and makes it better in every conceivable manner.

I will send you ants in the post if I find out you don’t salt your pasta water.

Chop your cherry tomatoes in half, chop your garlic into very small pieces (don’t crush it, though, or make it into a paste) and finely chop the chilli (if you’re using fresh). Separate the leaves from the stems of the parsley. Keeping them separate, finely chop both.

Melt the butter or heat the oil in the largest frying pan you have over a medium heat. Add the cherry tomatoes, garlic, chilli flakes or chopped chilli, chopped parsley stalks and a little pinch of salt.

Fry everything very gently for a few minutes, until just colouring. When it’s got a little bit of brown on it, add the lemon zest. Add half the lemon juice and let everything get to know each other a wee bit.

Now, tear open the mussels packet and empty them straight into the pan. Mix everything together – the mussel juices should go a pale pinkish colour from mixing with the tomatoes.

Add most of the rest of the lemon juice, reserving a tiny bit for the end. Shuggle it about a bit and pop the lid on, then leave for 5 minutes until the mussels heat through. Your pasta should be near enough done by now.

To make it absolutely perfect, you want to take it out just as it’s on the verge of al dente, because when you stir it through the mussels, it’ll finish cooking and soak up some of the lovely zesty sauce.

I don’t bother draining it; I just spoon it with a pair of tongs straight into the mussel pan. This has the added advantage of taking some of the starchy pasta water with it, which thickens the sauce slightly. If you’ve decided to drain using a colander, remember to add a tablespoon or so of pasta water to the sauce before you drain it down the sink.

Make sure your parsley leaves are chopped very finely, then stir them through the pasta. To serve, scatter over a wee extra bit of the parsley, which will have inevitably clung to the chopping board, give it all a final squeeze of lemon, and plonk in the middle of the table with some deep platebowls and a dish for the empty shells.

Fliss says: “I grew up in Cornwall, and my first ever relationship was with a lovely bloke called Pete. (We’re still good pals today. He’s an architect now. And a vegetarian.) Pete’s mum, Tanya, who is an amazing cook, introduced me to this dessert when I was 16. The original recipe is called Eastern Mess and is from Sabrina Ghayour’s book Persiana; it uses rosewater and basil alongside the raspberries, and is genuinely stunning. Bastardising recipes, however, is one of my favourite things to do. I like to add lemon zest to the cream, then swirl lemon curd and raspberry coulis through it, along with the fresh raspberries, and I omit the rosewater and basil. So it’s really not the same at all, but there we go. You now know where it has come from. This can be assembled in 15 or so minutes, requires no further chilling, and you can use store-bought meringues (but don’t tell Pete’s mum I said that). I make no apology for having two raspberry-based recipes in this chapter, because they’re my favourite fruit. However, because this one calls for fresh raspberries as well as frozen (you can make it all with fresh if your budget allows, but fresh razzers are expensive), you’re best making it in summer when raspberries are cheaper and more delicious. That said, you can replace the fresh raspberries with the same amount of chopped strawberries if you want, which are more reliable year-round. I’m sure you could get creative with a pomegranate and clementine one at Christmas, or go for blackcurrant in the autumn, if you can get hold of them. Probably wouldn’t have a springtime asparagus and lamb one, though – might be a bit odd with ripples of mint sauce running through it.” 

Serves 6, takes 20 minutes

Ingredients

• a bag of frozen raspberries (about 300g)
• a small lemon, zested and juiced
• a tablespoon or two of icing sugar
• 2 tablespoons (40g) of shelled roasted pistachios, unsalted
• 600ml double cream (Oatly now do a whippable plant-based cream, by the way, if you still want to make this but can’t have dairy)
• 5 individual meringue nests
• a punnet of fresh raspberries or strawberries (about 200g)
• ½ jar of lemon curd (200g or so)

Optional extras:

• mint or basil leaves, to decorate

Method

To start, defrost the frozen raspberries overnight in the fridge, or use the low-power option on the microwave. You can even quickly run them under a warm tap in a colander. Once defrosted, mash to a pulp with half the lemon juice and a little icing sugar, to taste, to make a coulis. Roughly chop the pistachios.

Whip the cream until it’s floppy, adding the lemon zest halfway. I don’t actually own an electric hand whisk, so I whip the cream with a large balloon whisk and some overdeveloped triceps. Whatever you do, don’t overwhip it at this stage, as stirring stuff into it later finishes off the job. You’re looking for ribbons here rather than peaks.

Do Yourself A Flavour by Fliss Freeborn (£17.99, Ebury Press) is out now