Figs, Professor Yaffle, Cary Grant and a sunny day lunch with a very special dressing

Abundance: Tuesday 24 September

The clank of early morning copper pipes is my autumn alarm clock. I was made for these days: 6°C when I wake and in the early 20s by lunch. A late morning of open windows and doors while making stew for the evening, my thoughts turning to the log pile in late afternoon, tells you a very great deal about both the season and me.

Today, my wife and I left early, eyes streaming, into the cold still light. A loop with the hound of perhaps an hour and a half, give or take a lean on a gate. The birds seem to enjoy these days as much as I.

Woodpeckers might be my favourite bird, though don’t tell the kingfishers. They look homemade to me, their wings set back a little too far, their heads a touch large, their feathers as if coloured in by a seven year old. They fly in soft dips and lifts, like a brilliantly made paper aeroplane, with no fuss or over-embellishment. We stopped to stare at the photoshop contrast of vivid blue sky and the lime green of autumn’s leaves, and a woodpecker - not one of the pair we’d just watched darting across the fields - started up right above our heads. Every 15 seconds, it’s beak working on a fat branch, sounding like a fairytale door¹. Why this always lifts my heart, I don’t know. Maybe it’s talking to the infant me watching Woody Woodpecker repeats; more likely Bagpuss with Professor Yaffle, the woodpecker bookend.

The air above the fields is busy with house martins and swallows swooping low as if dusting crops where there ain’t no crops, searching for the many insects you find where cows and their piles of dung ferment in the autumn sun. Between them, they make one of the more compelling arguments for livestock.

Swallows - their long, dark, forked and strongly pointed tails, pale underside and dark head - are typically farmland birds, nesting in outbuildings and taking advantage of the plentiful food supply; house martins - appearing completely pale from below, with a short, forked tail not unlike a mackerel’s fins - are typically found around towns, making mud nests in the eaves of houses. They’ll both soon line up on telephone wires like notes on a stave, ready to fly to warmer winters. The woodpeckers, thank heavens, are staying here to keep me company.

Fig, watercress and burrata salad with honey fennel dressing

I may be making stew for the evening, but lunch belongs to the sun, just. The last of the figs and only a few weeks of watercress to come, makes this an early autumn special I couldn’t love more.

The fennel seed - by all means use your own green seed if you have some growing - is the secret thread sewing the figs and burrata even closer than they might be. The parsley can be left as whole, with just the coarser stems snipped off, and woven in with the watercress, or, as here, roughly chopped².

Serves 4

Fig, watercress and burrata salad with honey fennel dressing

6-8 small, ripe, jammy figs, quartered
Quick pickled onions, see below
300g burrata, drained
100g watercress, well washed
Small bunch of parsley, roughly chopped
40g pine nuts or hazelnuts, lightly toasted
4 tbsp good olive oil
1 tbsp runny honey
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
2 tsp fennel seed, lightly bashed in a mortar and pestle
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Add the honey and vinegar to a small jar, along with a generous pinch of salt, fennel seed, then seal and shake the jar vigorously. Add the olive oil and shake once more.

Scatter the watercress on a platter and dot with half of the figs. Tear the burrata into sloppy threads and blobs and dot across the platter. Add the rest of the figs - this is because it looks better to not have too many hidden from the hungry view of those about to eat. Sprinkle as much of the onions as you like - half may be enough, depending on your preference. Scatter with pine nuts, sprinkle with parsley and splash generously with half of the dressing - leave the rest for people to add to their plate if they wish.

Season generously and serve.

Quick pickled onions

If you can be arsed enough to make this once, you will make it often - it really is as special as it is simple. Get these onions in a burger, sandwiches, tacos, or sprinkled through and across salads where you want a little gentle acidity and muffled onioniness.  This works beautifully with red onions too - they turn a luminous pink. 

1 medium red onion, very thinly sliced
2 tbsp salt
Juice of 1 lemon (or 2 limes, or half an orange)

Rub the salt into the onion slices between your hands; the same action you might make to keep your hands warm. Lay them on a plate for the salt to draw out the moisture and soften the onions. Rinse the onions in a sieve. Return the slices to the bowl, add the juice and leave to stand for about 30 minutes, though it will be pretty good after 10 if you are in a rush.

1. Somedays they sound like a ruler twanged on the edge of a school desk

2. The larger pieces mean not every mouthful has parsley, but when it does it’s there with impact