From veg box to AGA: a week of cooking with what turns up

We have a veg box delivered every Monday. We never know exactly what's coming – the contents change from week to week depending on what's in season. We unpack it almost as soon as it arrives, give everything a rinse, and then the pondering begins. Working out what to do with everything is half the fun.

The boxes that come at this time of year might just be my favourites, because they combine produce from the two most bountiful seasons. The last of the tomatoes, juicy and deeply ripe, with courgettes, peppers and fennel, cabbage, onions and garlic and potatoes, carrots with their fronds still on, leeks, perhaps a squash, a little brown bag of mushrooms, bouquets of kale and cavolo nero.

The veg reaches us soon after it's been picked, so it keeps far longer in the drawer than anything I bring home from a shop, and it simply tastes better. The tomatoes smell like tomatoes from my childhood. The carrots are sweet enough that the boys happily chomp one or two while I'm still unpacking. No layers of plastic, and the money goes to the people who grew it, which I'm glad about.

An unexpected joy with a veg box is that someone else does the choosing – which means we eat a far wider range of vegetables than we would left to our own devices, including a good many I'd walk straight past in a shop. It makes you more adventurous in the kitchen – a whole supper designed around a cauliflower, a new favourite salad invented on the spot because there’s fennel to use up.

I tend to have a few meals in mind when the box arrives at the start of the week and then improvise as the week goes on, seeing what I can make from what's left and whatever's lurking in the cupboards. There's something deeply satisfying about cooking this way, and it must be said that an AGA suits this way of cooking very well, particularly at this time of year. The roasting oven and the simmering oven on our AGA Signature (AGA eR7) are set warm and ready for whatever the box brings, which makes improvising a great deal easier. And it's forgiving. The heat is radiant and even, so things brown gently rather than catch, and you can leave them in for far longer than you'd dare otherwise.

What follows are a few of my go-to favourites for veg box cooking. They're not really recipes, more general ideas – a little of this, a handful of that, a dash of something acidic, something creamy, something crunchy. Take them as a starting point and make them your own. I'd love to hear what you put together.

A tray in the roasting oven

I often begin by roasting a big tray of chopped root veg – beetroot, carrots, whatever else has turned up – along with a cauliflower broken into florets. They take a good deal of strong flavour, so I throw in some bashed garlic cloves, skins still on, a smattering of lightly bashed coriander seeds perhaps, or some cumin and smoked paprika to add a little heat. Plenty of olive oil and a few big pinches of sea salt. Give everything a good stir to coat and pop the tray into the roasting oven. After about 20 minutes, which is around halfway, I splash a little balsamic through and give everything a stir. Leave to caramelise until everything is golden and crisp at the edges, the carrots sweet and a little sticky, the cauliflower browned and nutty.

Whatever doesn't get eaten that same day goes into the fridge, and is revived later in the week with a few minutes in the simmering oven. Roast veggies are a lovely addition to a midweek lunch bowl, built from whatever else is about: perhaps some chickpeas, or leftover chicken, rocket or wilted greens, a chopped tomato, some avocado, a spoonful of yesterday's rice or couscous, some chopped fresh herbs. You could make a speedy dressing of oil and citrus in equal parts with salt and pepper, or my favourite with a bowl like this – a tahini dressing. A few tablespoons each of tahini and lemon juice, the same volume again of water, a clove of grated garlic and a good pinch of sea salt, all thrown in an empty jar and shaken hard. Taste it, adjust with a little more of this or that until you have the flavour and consistency you'd like. Drizzle over your assembled salad bowl. Toast some pumpkin seeds to throw on top just before serving. Yum.

A slaw to brighten everything

I used to struggle to use up fennel, until I discovered using it in slaws. Slicing raw vegetables paper-thin transforms them. Everything goes across the mandoline as thin as I dare: the fennel first, then whatever else is in the drawer – cabbage, courgette, carrot, red onion, a romano pepper perhaps.

Next I shower the lot in vinegar, citrus juice, or a spoonful of liquid from a cornichon jar, with a good pinch of sea salt and some fennel seeds gently crushed. Mix it together and pop it in the fridge for ten minutes, which gives the acid time to soften everything a little and brings the flavour into focus. After that it depends what I’m serving it with but I might fold in a sliced chilli, or a handful of chopped parsley or dill. It's lovely and sharp alongside chicken or fish, and cuts through a richer dish like pulled pork or brisket beautifully.

Sausage ratatouille

Chipolatas go on first, browning in a casserole on the simmering plate while I chop everything else. The smell inevitably brings teenagers to the kitchen, asking what's for tea. I remove the sausages from the pan and set them to one side, keeping half an eye on them for obvious reasons. Into the same pan go the onions and garlic to soften, followed by the rest of the veg, roughly chopped. Almost anything goes here, but usually tomatoes, courgettes and peppers, and ideally an aubergine. Paprika, a spoonful of sundried tomato purée, and dried herbs from the cupboard – rosemary, oregano. A few cans of chopped tomatoes and some water. A great deal of salt and pepper. Bring it up to the boil, then move the pan into the simmering oven and leave it alone for an hour or two. Taste at some stage. Perhaps add a teaspoon of sugar and a little more salt.

Towards the end I break up the chipolatas and throw them in with a splash of balsamic, then a handful of fresh basil or flat leaf parsley. Serve with crusty bread and butter. Unbeatable on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

A big soup

By Sunday, whatever's left goes into a big casserole for soup. A proper Italian minestrone perhaps, thick with beans and greens and a good handful of parmesan over the top.

I start with a soffritto – onion, carrot and celery chopped small and softening in olive oil on the simmering plate for a good ten minutes, with the garlic going in near the end. Then everything else that needs using: a leek perhaps, the last of a squash, a tin of beans – cannellini or borlotti – a tin or two of chopped tomatoes, salt, pepper, and enough stock or water to cover. If there's a parmesan rind saved in the fridge, that goes in too.

Bring it up to the boil, then into the simmering oven for an hour or two while you get on with the day. Towards dinner time, throw in a handful of pasta or some broken spaghetti, then bring the whole thing back to the boil. You might add some kale or cavolo nero cut into ribbons right at the end too. Serve with plenty of grated parmesan, a swirl of good olive oil and a grind of black pepper. Drop a dollop of Greek yoghurt on top.

It helps enormously to have an AGA for this kind of cooking. The ovens are warm and waiting for whatever the box brings – the roasting oven drawing the sweetness out of a tray of roots, the simmering oven getting on with a ratatouille or a big pot of soup while you do something else if you so choose. There's no need for a plan, or even a recipe. Just whatever's turned up that week, and a bit of curiosity.

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