Here's a film to watch at the start of every summer - Little Miss Sunshine.
The story follows this dysfunctional family on a cross-country journey in a yellow VW bus that barely makes it. I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it, but there's this scene near the end where Olive, the young daughter, performs at a beauty pageant to Rick James' Super Freak. Her dance is totally inappropriate for the setting - uninhibited, awkward, joyful.
Olive has this endless supply of optimism. Unlike the other pageant contestants with their polished routines, she's messy, sincere, and fully committed. Her family, who've spent the film being cynical and adrift, watch from their seats, initially mortified. Then something shifts. One by one, they join her on stage in a moment of chaotic solidarity.
As we edge into these early days of summer, I find myself with a similar sense of optimism. After more than twenty years of London living, I should know better. I've seen countless precariously-balanced umbrellas protecting barbecues, seen outdoor dinner parties hastily relocated to cramped kitchens.
And yet.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I cook as if this year - this very year - will deliver the summer that exists in my imagination: dinner in the garden every single night, shopping basket overflowing with ingredients to be eaten outdoors - corn for grilling, melons, the first of the season's stone fruit, whole fish destined for the barbecue.
Is it responsible? Not always. Is it sometimes disappointing? Definitely. But there's something beautiful about the hope of it.
This week, I've got two recipes born from that same stubborn optimism. A baked halloumi with jammy figs, perfect for a summer spread, and a Spanish-inspired squid pasta that looks and feels like a holiday, regardless of whether you're eating it in Valencia or under an umbrella in your back garden.
Spring green & squid fideua negra
In Valencia, paella has a pasta-based cousin called fideuà - a dish I seek out religiously whenever I'm in Spain, ideally at some beachside chiringuito. This version uses squid ink pasta – a swap that makes this dish a simple showstopper.
I love all the contrasts – black pasta against pale squid, with bright spring greens cutting through. The bottom layer develops that coveted crispy socarrat that the Spanish prize so highly.
Don't worry if you can't find fresh squid – frozen works beautifully here (just thaw and pat dry thoroughly). Serve this alongside a punchy green salad dressed with nothing more than good olive oil and lemon, plus a generous spoonful of garlic-heavy aioli for dipping.
Homemade fish stock (if you fancy)
Good fish stock can be tricky to find in shops (we use Borough Broth, btw) but it’s quite simple to make. Next time you're at the fishmonger, ask for the heads and bones from whatever you’re wanting filleted - they're usually delighted to hand them over rather than bin them. Rinse them well (make sure they don’t have any gills), then simmer gently for no more than an hour with some onion, celery, and a splash of white wine (light coloured veg and liquids keep the colour pale). Strain, cool, and freeze in portions.
I love the combination of grilled halloumi and honey – that tension between salty and sweet, with herbs (usually thyme) cutting through both. This dish takes that pairing a little further with figs that caramelise and collapse in the oven, creating little pools of natural sweetness
Kupros Dairy
I've been using the halloumi from Kupros Dairy in North London. They make their cheese using raw milk from British sheep, inspired by traditional Cypriot methods passed down from the founder's grandmother, who made cheese in Akanthou village.
This dish works perfectly alongside other mezze - hummus, grilled vegetables, whatever dips you have going - or stands alone as a starter. The figs collapse into jammy sweetness while the halloumi takes on a golden crust. Serve with plenty of bread for the important business of mopping up those syrupy juices.
Serves 4-6 as a starter or mezze Prep time 10 mins Cook time 30 mins
