Simple recipes to make in June
Breakfast and lunch ideas — more intuition than ingredient list
Welcome to the June edition of Seasonal, our yearlong celebration of the seasons.
This month’s newsletter is packed with in-season produce picks, creative flavor pairings, and a full menu of brand-new (very simple) recipes— think colorful breakfast and lunch options.
This is a rather long post, so if your email cuts out, you can view it in full on the website or app.
When I first started cooking seriously, I was desperate to impress. I leaned into elaborate recipes—attempted to ‘reinvent’ classics, created dishes with ingredient lists that read like dissertations. I thought complexity meant mastery—that a dish had to be coaxed into brilliance.
But like most cooks who stay the course, I circled back—to the quiet lessons I absorbed watching my mother in the kitchen, her reverence for the season and its ingredients unspoken, but absolute. I began to recall: you don’t need to outwit an in-season, perfectly plump and juicy tomato. You need to celebrate it, season it, and devour it with abandon.
The most memorable meals often come from a place of—not invention, but restraint. The real challenge isn’t what you can do to an ingredient, but what you’re willing to leave untouched. A sun-warmed peach with burrata and toasted hazelnuts, a strawberry and tomato salad tossed in good olive oil and a little vinegar, finished with nasturtium leaves picked fresh from the garden - these are dishes that whisper rather than shout, and in their quiet honesty, they linger longer than any clever culinary wizardry ever could.
Cooking, especially in early summer, is an act of trust. It asks you to do less—not out of laziness, but reverence. This is the season to wander the market with a sense of wonder and a basket that always feels too small.
June is here, and the farmers’ market is bursting — tables heavy with early summer’s best. It’s the sweet spot where spring’s tenderness meets summer’s abundance. Below is a list of fruits and vegetables worth bringing home this week — with notes on how to use them, plus flavor pairings to spark ideas.
You’ll also find a grocery list to take with you to the farmers’ market — perfect if you’re in the mood to cook a little more creatively this week.
(Available in a printable PDF format for easy reference — just pop it in your basket and go.)
Cherries
Glossy and insistent. Pair with rocket and goat’s cheese, or bake into clafoutis.
Why not pit one and eat it with a square of Valrhona dark chocolate, like a deconstructed black forest gateau— one of the best two-bite pleasures you’ll find.
Alternatively, If you’re after something sweet, savory and easy for a light brunch/lunch, cherries are surprisingly brilliant paired with juicy, ripe tomatoes in a salad (see below).
Strawberries
Macerate with sugar, a little champagne vinegar and smashed mint leaves. Spoon over torn sponge cake or fresh ricotta. Yes please!
Raspberries
Fragrant and fleeting, raspberries collapse at the faintest touch—more perfume than fruit.
Crush a handful with the back of a spoon and fold into whipped cream with the faintest drop of rosewater for a dessert that nods to Persian sherbets and summer gardens at dusk. Alternatively, stir into brown butter sponge cake, where their tartness cuts through the nutty richness like sunlight through lace.
Apricots
Glorious roasted with honey and thyme. Serve warm with cheese, or cold over thick yogurt.
Gooseberries
Tart and green. Stew gently with elderflower cordial for a fool, or fold through lightly whipped cream.
Figs, Peaches, Nectarines, Plums, Grapes, Melons
No instructions needed—these are fruits best eaten barefoot, with sleeves rolled and juice running to the elbows. But if you must interfere: figs and stone fruits shine in galettes and pies, where their sweetness deepens into something jammy and golden. Grapes and melons, surprisingly obliging, take well to savory company—tossed into salads with something sour (feta, vinegar) and something with heat (chili oil, black pepper). A bowl of contradiction: soft and sharp, sweet and sharp, sunshine with a bite.
Rhubarb
Garden rhubarb arrives just as winter’s grip loosens, its stalks blushing as though they’ve been caught whispering secrets to the tulips. Tart and vegetal, it’s technically a vegetable but behaves like fruit—particularly when sugar, spice, and a little heat are involved.
For a generous list of ideas—tarts, fools, compotes, and crumbles—go here for all things rhubarb.
One of the simplest puddings: poach thick stalks with orange zest and a thumb of ginger (or try crushed green cardamom pods for a more perfumed edge). Chill, then spoon over thick yogurt or serve with cold crème fraîche. Roasting also works beautifully—intensifying both color and flavor—and requires nothing more than a low oven and a little patience. Eaten cold, it’s the kind of dessert you make once and keep thinking about for weeks.
Elderflower
A fleeting presence in early summer—Victorian, floral, and ephemeral. Its scent drifts through hedgerows like a half-remembered song.
Traditionally steeped in syrup or infused in panna cotta, it lends a delicate perfume that evokes lace gloves and garden parties. But don’t stop at the genteel: dip the blossoms in a light batter and fry until crisp and golden. Elderflower fritters, dusted with sugar and eaten warm, prove that almost anything, deep-fried, tends toward brilliance and even the most delicate things have a wild side.
Artichokes
Artichokes reward patience—not just in the eating, but in the preparation. Braised, grilled, or steamed with lemon and bay, they’re a gesture of devotion. But young, tender artichokes —particularly the small violet or baby globe varieties—can be eaten raw, where their flavor is nutty, floral, and quietly astonishing.
For a raw salad: slice the hearts paper-thin, then toss with lemon juice, good olive oil, shaved Parmesan, and plenty of black pepper. Add mint or parsley if you like. Best eaten slowly, with fingers, ideally alongside something cold and white in a tall, large glass.
Zucchini / Courgettes
Zucchini takes beautifully to a simple raw salad: shave into ribbons and dress with lemon juice, olive oil, fresh mint, and a salty cheese like feta or ricotta salata. It’s bright, clean, and perfect on a hot day.
Squash blossoms are a delicacy of their own—try stuffing them with soft goat’s cheese, burrata, or labneh, then either roast or lightly fry them until just cooked, or serve them raw for something more delicate. Both ways are excellent. Serve warm blossoms drizzled with honey or a squeeze of lemon, scattered with herbs like basil or chervil, or nestled on top of dressed greens. They’re also lovely folded into warm flatbreads, added to frittatas, or laid over polenta with a little olive oil.
And if you’ve got a glut of zucchini, consider making a quick zucchini jam. This is my slightly adapted recipe from Atelier September. Thinly slice approx. 500-600 g of zucchini with a mandolin and combine with 400-500 g white sugar, 20-30 g fresh ginger (thinly sliced), the zest and juice of 2 limes (or small lemons), plus one split vanilla pod. Let everything sit for a approx. 30 mins until the zucchini has released its liquid and the sugar has dissolved. Cook over medium-high heat for 10-15 minutes, remove the zucchini and reduce the remaining liquid into a light syrup (another 5–10 minutes). Return the zucchini to the pot, let it steep in the warm syrup for 15-20 minutes, then transfer to a jar. I enjoy the jam with a bowl of yoghurt, strawberries and strawberry granola.
Broad Beans / Fava Beans
Gorgeous smashed with olive oil on toast, or served warm tossed with Pecorino and lemon zest.
Peas
Eat them raw with ricotta and a flicker of chili oil, or quickly blanched, then crushed with mint and butter—spoon over pasta, or onto toast. Peas, however, also surprise on the other side of the plate: folded into lightly sweetened whipped cream with a touch of agave, they become something like a springtime syllabub—fresh, cool, quietly thrilling.
Another easy idea: blanch peas briefly, then toss with torn mint, a squeeze of lemon, and a spoonful of crème fraîche. Finish with flaky salt and black pepper. Lovely just as it is, (on its own,) or piled onto grilled bread.
At La Cantine in Bushwick, there’s a beautiful salad of peas and strawberries with red onion, sumac, mint, and whipped feta. Sweet, sharp, herbal, creamy—well worth recreating.
Cucumbers
Late spring is cucumber season, and few are as striking as the Armenian — slender, ridged, and curling like a vine in motion. Though technically a melon, it behaves like the best cucumber: crisp, cool, and faintly sweet, with a whisper of floral perfume. No peeling needed.
Slice it thin and pair with labneh, lime zest, and crushed coriander seed to tease out its quiet citrus edge. It’s a natural addition to a farm plate: poached chicken, market greens, a sharp homemade condiment, something pickled, a wedge of cheese, a slice of bread — and that cucumber, bringing freshness and snap to every bite.
Asparagus
They’re nearly gone—so catch the last of them while you can. Griddled until charred and smoky, then slathered with anchovy butter; or shaved raw into ribbons, dressed with lemon and parmesan.
Tomatoes
The first real tomatoes arrive in June — not the pale, hesitant ones of early spring, but tomatoes that smell of the sun. Warm to the touch, thin-skinned, and almost too soft to slice, they drip with juice that tastes of salt and grass and sunlight. The smaller ones — cherry, Sungold, Gardener’s Delight — burst on the tongue like fruit. The larger types (heirloom) need only a pinch of salt and a piece of bread to become lunch.
New Potatoes
Velvety and thin-skinned, they need only the simplest handling. Boiled, crushed, roasted until golden and then topped with dill, mustard, and good oil, or pan-fried until crisp and golden, whichever way, eat with your fingers, and feel free to dunk them into aioli without a shred of ceremony.
Spring Onions
Charr whole until tender and sweet, then tuck into flatbreads with labneh, herbs, and whatever spice blend is close to hand. Simple, smoky, and unexpectedly luxurious. I also enjoy charred spring onions with savory brown butter porridge and bacon crumbs as a hearty breakfast.
Lettuce (Little Gem, Romaine)
A drizzle of garlicky vinaigrette is usually enough. But recently, at Chez Panisse, I was served a bowl of mixed lettuce leaves perfectly dressed in a salty vinaigrette with fat, lightly fried prawns and a tarragon mousseline (see photos above). This meal changed me!
Radishes
Butter’s natural companion. Thinly sliced and layered onto crusty baguette with a generous smear of cultured French butter and a scattering of sea salt is a wonderful after-work/school snack. Also excellent quick-pickled with white wine vinegar and coriander seeds—a bright, sharp crunch.
Strawberry + Basil + White Balsamic
Like a garden cocktail—sweet, herbal, sharp. When I was a child, a neighbor once served strawberries with sugar and a splash of dark balsamic. I nearly recoiled—it sounded gross, until I tried it - it was the wildest bite I’d ever had. Now, I combine sugar with mint then add a teaspoon to halved berries, and finish with white balsamic or even a splash of champagne vinegar. Bright and grown-up. Serve with burrata or toss over arugula with toasted hazelnuts.
Pea + Tarragon + Soft Goat Cheese
Tarragon—with its green, slightly aniseed flavor —flatters peas beautifully. Stir through warm pasta or layer onto grilled sourdough rubbed with garlic.
Apricot + Chamomile + Brown Sugar
A June crumble in a nightgown. Quick recipe: halve apricots, sprinkle with brown sugar, and tuck in a few dried chamomile flowers (or use a splash of strong chamomile tea). Roast at 180°C (350°F) until soft and syrupy. To create a crumble topping scatter over a mixture of oats, flour, cold butter, and a little more brown sugar, then return to the oven until golden and bubbling. Allow to cool, place in a bowl and mix with a spoon. Also lovely simply spooned over yogurt, buckwheat pancakes, or a slice of plain cake.
Peach + Cinnamon
A familiar pairing, but worth revisiting—heat and haze, velvet and spice. The cinnamon teases out the deeper, riper notes of the peach, nudging it from bright to burnished. Pan-fry the fruit with brown sugar, lemon, and a little salt—just until the edges catch and gloss. Spoon over burrata, where the lactic richness tempers the sweetness and the whole thing slides, just barely, into dessert territory. Best with bread, ideally torn with hands.
Asparagus + Almond
Toasted almonds add weight and warmth to asparagus’s fresh, grassy brightness. Quick recipe suggestion: blanch asparagus, toss with orange/lemon zest, chopped toasted almonds, and olive oil. Scatter over couscous or serve alongside grilled white fish.
Cherry + Tomato + Strawberry
I make this toast when the fruit is just too good to cook. Mix soft goat’s cheese with a little honey and spread thickly on rye. Top with salted heirloom tomatoes, halved cherries and strawberries, plenty of black pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil. Juicy, messy, vivid—summer on toast.
Gooseberry + Elderflower + Cucumber
Stir through yogurt with flaky salt, or blitz with a little sugar syrup for a granita that tastes of the countryside and early summer rain.
Radish + Cold Butter + Nori
Try this: soften unsalted butter, mix with crumbled toasted nori, and chill. Spread thickly on dark rye or baguette, top with thinly sliced radish. Serve with a very cold martini and feel extremely pleased with yourself.
Courgette + Dill + Saffron Yogurt
Shave courgettes into ribbons, salt lightly, and toss with chopped dill and saffron yogurt. This can be made by stirring crushed saffron threads into Greek yogurt with lemon and garlic. Serve cold with flatbread or chickpeas.
Rhubarb + Black Cardamom
Like a bonfire in a fruit garden. Roast rhubarb with a split vanilla pod and a cracked black cardamom for something smoky and floral—divine over ice cream. Or, for the brave: roast rhubarb with ginger, cardamom and chili, blend to create a hot sauce/condiment and serve alongside fish—cod or crispy salmon—with brown rice and greens. It’s unexpected, but hauntingly good.
These recipes are really non-recipes — unstructured and intuitive. Unlike my usual newsletter, where I plan, test, and refine, these sprang from a simpler place. I wandered the local market, gathered herbs and edible flowers from my garden, and cooked (rather assembled) what I craved in the moment. Sometimes, what you need most are ideas, not exhaustive lists of ingredients or precise instructions.
That said, I know you’ll want a clear path, so I’ve included my best tried-and-true versions for you to follow. But above all, I encourage you to trust what you have on hand — whatever is local, seasonal, ripe, and bursting with flavor. Let your curiosity lead the way.
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