Toasted hay cream and roasted strawberries

A simple way to capture midsummer's magic, that you'll make again and again.

Hello, and welcome to Salt and the Earth.

My name is Hugo and, until last year, I was the Chef at a small restaurant on a farm in the South of England. We grew the majority of what we cooked with, made (almost) everything in-house and even butchered whole animals - ones we had reared ourselves or sourced from friends nearby.

With Mangalitza pigs (not reared by me!) at Coombeshead Farm.

My favourite things to cook are dishes that capture a moment. Something you can bring together that represents that specific time and place. In my mind, nothing ever did this better than serving toasted hay cream and roasted strawberries in midsummer. It was the dessert on our opening menu and the recipe I was asked for most. I’m so happy to share it below.

If you’ve found yourself here by accident or perhaps on the recommendation of a friend, you’re most welcome. Please consider subscribing (it’s free!) for a whole host of seasonal recipes and writing that’ll bring you closer to where your food comes from, every time you cook. Hugo x

---

I have always found the way ingredients carry us through the year quite astonishing. The sweetness of a strawberry arrives when we need sweetness most; the brightness of citrus has long since left and summer feels a far-flung thought. It’s just a few weeks, but that gap between spring and summer would seem a mighty stretch in time were it not for the hope-filled rouge of a strawberry. It allludes to things to come.

A little over two years ago, as the first few strawberries were delivered to the kitchen door, I helped open a restaurant. The days were long and brutal but produce kept arriving that even my exhausted features couldn’t help but beam at. The strawberries from Myatts were unbelievable - full of brightness and fragrant sugar. Never before had I needed to taste hope so deeply.

As summer’s tune played on the sweetness dwindled and the lip-smacking tartness of the raspberry, tayberry, loganberry and currants arrived. The year’s heat heightened and these berries provided a balm from the warmth - deep crimsons of every kind best enjoyed cold from the fridge. That summer, however, it was the strawberries we kept returning to.

As the season for strawberries comes to a close their sweetness can lessen somewhat and, when it does, a little sugar and some time spent in the oven deepens the character they may be lacking. They release the most vibrant letterbox red (as

Anna Jones

so perfectly describes it) liquor. If you find yourself with any of this liquid left then I implore you to freeze it. It makes a jammy and vibrant granita with a pitch-perfect strawberry flavour.

Leftover strawberry cooking liquor, frozen. Yet to be forked.

Notes on the recipe

I’ve been very fortunate to use cream from Ivy House Farm in Somerset and Heckfield Home Farm in Berkshire. Both are marvellous and if you have access to them, they are worth every penny. There are only five ingredients in this recipe and it pays to invest in each one. The latter farm pasteurises their cream using the holding method whereby cream is held at 63c for 30 minutes, rather than the HTST (high temperature short time) method which operates at 72c for 15 seconds.

This longer holding method is thought to preserve more of the cream’s natural flavour and character. As such, when using cream sourced from a small herd of cows I try to never raise the temperature of it above 63c when using it in the kitchen. It seems a shame to undo the glorious work of the farm, cows and pasture at the last minute. Try to keep this in mind when warming and infusing the cream.

The cutting of hay often aligns with the end of strawberry season and this is yet another reason for them to be natural bedfellows. The smell of toasted hay is deeply malted and reminiscent of summer’s characteristic dry grass. The flavour is somehow nostalgic and eye-wideningly new at the same time. If you don’t have access to organic hay from a farm nearby, you can source it from a pet shop.

This is panna cotta-esque but at the same time feels deeply British and is without the addition of milk, so I love simply calling it a cream. I always prefer to set it in a large bowl. It omits the stress of removing individual portions from moulds and creates the most glorious shapes when each spoonful is tipped into a bowl. Strawberries, or whatever accompanying fruit you may have, are an ideal accompaniment for covering the spoons marks. Immediately it seems the cream has simply appeared in the bowl in one smooth and inviting dome. I love it.

Toasted hay cream and roasted strawberries
Serves 6-8, depending on appetite

Toasted hay cream and roasted strawberries. Awaiting hungry hands.

This is my favourite closing act of a dinner in midsummer. It’s made entirely ahead of time and awaiting you in the restorative chill of the fridge. All that’s needed are bowls and spoons. The balmy scent of a summer’s evening, full of dry grass and settling dew, can be found rippling through the infused cream. It’s a pudding that feels entirely apt as the heat of summer grows and the gluts of strawberries dwindle.

600g strawberries
135g golden caster sugar, plus a little extra for macerating
100g organic hay
1.2 litres double cream
4 leaves platinum grade gelatine
Flaky salt

1. Preheat the oven to 180c/160c fan. Hull the strawberries and halve any large ones so that, on the whole, they’re all a similar size. Weigh the prepared strawberries and calculate 10% of their weight - this is the amount of sugar you’ll need to macerate them. You can do this by ‘weight of prepared strawberries x 0.1’. It should be somewhere in the region of 55 = 55g. Add the strawberries to a roasting tray and then scatter over the weighed sugar and a pinch of salt. Shake them a little so they’re all evenly coated and then set aside.

2. Add the hay onto a roasting tray in as even a layer as possible, and then bake in the oven for 15 minutes, until dark brown and smelling fragrant.

3. Meanwhile add 900ml of the double cream to a medium saucepan and warm over a medium heat. You don’t want the cream to boil, but to just begin steaming, with a few bashful bubbles at the edge of the pan. Once hot, take the pan off the heat. When the hay is toasted, remove from the oven and carefully transfer the hay into a large mixing bowl. Pour over the warm cream, pushing the hay down so that it’s (for the most part) submerged. Set aside to infuse for 30 minutes.

4. Put the tray of strawberries into the oven and roast for 5 minutes, until just softening at the edges and beginning to release a little red liquid. It’s better to remove these a little early if you aren’t sure, as they’ll continue softening in the residual heat of the roasting tray. Set aside to cool completely, then cover and store in the fridge until needed. Submerge the leaves of gelatine in a bowl of ice cold water to soften.

5. Place the saucepan you used to warm the cream onto a set of scales. Tare the weight and then place a sieve over the top of it. Strain the hay infused cream through the sieve into the pan, squeezing out every last drop from the hay that you can. Remove the sieve and the hay and use your remaining cream to top-up the cream in the pan to 900ml again. Add 135g golden caster sugar to the cream along with a pinch of salt.

6. Warm the infused cream and sugar over a medium heat, stirring from time to time to dissolve the sugar. Once hot and beginning to steam again, remove from the heat. Squeeze out any excess water from the gelatine leaves and whisk them, one by one, into the pan of warm and sweetened cream. Continue whisking for a moment to dissolve all of the gelatine, and then strain through a sieve once more into your chosen bowl or container. I like to pick something with a rounded bottom if possible as it gives each spoonful a beautiful shape when serving. Allow to cool and then cover and set aside in the fridge to chill for at least 4 hours, or ideally overnight.

7. To serve, gather a large serving spoon and a mug full of warm water. Assemble your bowls and, dipping the spoon in the warm water each time, place spoonfuls in each one, being sure to tip the spoonful upside down. This gives you a rounded and unique shape to each serving. Tumble over the roasted strawberries and a little of their cooking liquor.

   ---

Next week I share a recipe for gooseberry mustard and a simple and satisfying pork burger to enjoy it with. It’s a magical way to bottle-up the last of this year’s crop to enjoy throughout the rest of the year. To get the recipe straight to your inbox, subscribe below. Hugo x