It hails, Jeff wails, but Spring is on my plate

The thing I like about shopping at my organic grocer (find it here) is that I can actually tell what season it is - which is more than I can say about the weather. I was delighted to find spring garlic (looking like dwarf leeks), spring onions and sorrel, lovage and a mad arrangement of salad leaves on my Saturday shop. While I was in layers of leggings and leather, dashing from the car park to the trolley bay, shaking the hail from my hair, inside was SPRING, in the bright and delicate freshness of her green bounty. I made a lovely light lunch from some leaves, an avocado and chickpea salad, coriander and creme fraiche on corn tortillas.

 Despite the endless misery of rain and more more more grey days, I can delight in Spring while driving through the suburban streets of South Manchester; the canopies of trees forming a collage of colour. Sometimes it is the hazy mellow shades of yellow and green, from the dandelions and daffodils in the grasses to the elms and willow trees above, other streets are awash with the rapturous pinks and rubies and magentas of cherry blossoms, camellias and those deep-purple leaved trees whose names I don't know.

But I must be feeling a tad melancholy because on Sunday I heard Jeff Buckley on the radio and started crying into the dishes, washing the crumbs from the breakfast plates, trying to sing along but my voice breaking up, Oh, lover, you should have come over...

I remember when I heard he had died. The radio played that same song. I was driving through the streets of Melbourne, it was night and the lights of cars making their climb up Punt Road blurred into carnival streamers as my eyes welled and leaked.

Today, was I crying for the memory of crying? Or for having once been 20 and hurt so easily, waiting alone in a cold night's house by a phone, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes, waiting for a call from someone, who should have, should have come over?

Music transports us in such subtle pervasive ways. Memories layer upon each other creating a story of their own - the story within the story of our days, how themes emerge by this layering and finally, something like hearing Jeff Buckley unexpectedly on a rainy Sunday morning washing the dishes reminds us of the context of our lives, the invisible imprint of all those small hurts, the endings and thrilling beginnings, the phone calls that never came, the lovers that didn't turn up - these flare up and vibrate again fresh within you - and there you are, bawling, wiping the tears away with a tea-towel.

A bit of greasy comfort food was what I craved after a night of free-flowing wine and conversation with some friends. Luckily I had some left-over risotto in the fridge to make arancini with. Arancini are the perfect antidote to a hangover-hollow tummy. Their golden crumbed crust gently yields to soft, warm, cheesy rice. I also like to serve them with a (not very authentic) creamy mayonnaise-based dipping sauce, for extra oozing indulgence.

You can use any leftover cold risotto as your base for arancini - I am going to assume you know how to make risotto (if not find a recipe here). Using wet hands to avoid stickiness, take a small handful of the rice and roll between your palms into the size of a golf ball, then roll in some fine polenta and fry in hot vegetable oil till golden.

Here is some flavour combinations that work: a simple rosemary risotto would be nice with a small blob of mozzarella in the middle of the balls and served with a roast tomato dipping sauce. For the sauce you can roast quartered tomatoes in a low oven with some olive oil, salt and a sprinkle of dried oregano for about 40 mins and then blend with a little extra olive oil. Another, easy option is to spoon sundried tomato paste into good mayonnaise. The same can be done with some store-bought black olive tapenade served with pesto arancini. My little balls of loveliness here are smoked aubergine arancini (from Yotam Ottolenghi's risotto recipe found here) and my dipping sauce was made with some left-over mint and pistachio salsa verde mixed into a spoonful of mayonnaise.

Mint and pistachio salsa verde
(Spring brings all the nice green herbs and leaves into the forefront of my cooking, this salsa found it's way onto Gareth's toast in the morning, topped with some soft French cheese, it's also good with grilled fish and lamb)

1/2 c mint leaves
1/2 c parsley leaves
6 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup shelled, unsalted pistachios, chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 lemon, juiced
1 tbsp sherry vinegar
2 tbsp capers, chopped
sea salt

Method

Very finey chop the mint and parsley, put in a mixing bowl and add the rest of the ingredients. Mix together well then store in a clean jar in the fridge.