When I get my way, an October supper is nothing more than six native oysters, Colchesters perhaps; two vast baked mushrooms, their juices spooned over a thick round of sourdough toast, followed by a handful of blackberries and a new season's apple. Barely a fiver spent and it is often the best meal of the year. There'll be something red in a glass of course, but when isn't there?
There were puffball funghi in the market last weekend, each one the size of baby's head. By chance I'd had them the day before as a satisfactory sop for a piece of grilled sea bass at Kensington Place in west London. Margot Henderson does them more simply at the French House in Soho, fried in rounds as big as a plate and served au naturel. Understated, beige, perfect. Oyster mushrooms, pleurottes, are around too. They look like ears of the softest blue-grey and have gills of pure ivory. Like most mushrooms they need sweet, fresh butter and a few drops of oil; perhaps a squeeze of lemon. We had them fried in bacon fat the other night, with some garlic croutons and pancetta piled on top of some soft, green chicory leaves. Good, but a bit of a fuss really. They would have been just as good on toast.
The market stalls embarrass us with more good things than we can carry home. Ronde de Nice squash, hard-skinned and as smooth as a cricket ball will bake well with a dab of garlic butter, and yet the young marrows would be just as good. Pumpkins are there for those who can lift them, or why not ask for a slice. You can roast it with chilli and serve it with brown rice. The greens are back in good fettle too, dark and crinkly-leaved cavolo nero is the one I head for (I ate it five times last week) yet there are a few summer cabbages around for those who like something less strident.
The peas and runner beans have long gone, but the celeriac is as good as it gets. It makes a nutty-flavoured mash. In which case it needs mixing half and half with potato if the puree isn't to be too slack. I had a soft, steaming mound of it with some of the butcher's pork and leek sausages the other day, but it would have gone just as well with a Sunday roast. Celeriac, for those who haven't tried it yet, is a variety of celery, but grown for its fat, ivory root. Try simmering it in chicken stock before you mash it, or perhaps adding it in small cubes to a bean soup.
The native oysters make a welcome return after their summer break. You can make a little dip with very finely chopped shallot, soy sauce, rice vinegar, a little water, sugar and sesame oil, mixed to taste and served in a little bowl. Lift each oyster from its shell with a chopstick, dip and swallow. A squeeze of lemon juice works too, but this early in the season I don't even bother with that. Nothing need interfere with that cold bang of the sea you get from the first oyster of the season.
Before refrigeration, this is when we would have killed our pig. The offal would be passed round for instant consumption, the rest potted, salted or dried. It is tempting to leave the cooking of offal to restaurants. It is something that professional chefs are especially good at. A rare delight is a pig's kidney the size of a fist baked slowly with thyme, tarragon, cream and snippets of bacon. I do it once a year, usually around this time. I find you need some white rice or mashed parsnip to soak up the sauce.
I have never fancied pig's liver, too dark, too strong, but it's just the thing for a coarse terrine. Mince it, not too finely with fat pork and bacon bits, season it with juniper, thyme and mace then bake the pate slowly, covered with foil, in a roasting tin half filled with water. A good Saturday lunch with toast, gherkins and fat black olives. It takes an hour or more on a low heat, but will be moist and gently scented. An old-fashioned bit of cooking that deserves to be rediscovered. There is something slightly sinister about commercial terrines and pates; the bonus with making your own is that you know exactly what you put in it.
Game birds make a change for Sunday lunch, roasted as you would a chicken or, better I think, to keep their fatless bodies moist cooked in a deep pan with a tight-fitting lid. A few sweet roots, parsnips, carrots and a stalk of celery will add flavour to the pan juices. I have used sweet muscat wine to good effect here, especially when I once dropped in some neat cubes of salami too. Bruises on the birds' breasts and legs are something to watch out for, they can turn the flesh bitter. If the skin is torn you can patch it up with a rasher of green bacon.
What makes October special for the shopper is the way it offers us the game and mushrooms, the shellfish and squashes that herald the start of 'proper' cooking yet you can still catch glimpses of summer too. There are still strawberries, late and ripe, to go with the wild blackberries; Victoria plums and damsons are easy enough to find and even the odd greengage or two. Farmers tell me that Autumn Bliss raspberries are being picked until the end of the month, and I found some good British-grown blackcurrants, Ben Connan, which should have finished weeks ago. They made the most interesting breakfast muesli I have had all year.
Of course this is cookery book season too. Two have fallen on my doormat this week that seem to capture perfectly the mood of the moment. Tamasin Day-Lewis's collection of seasonal recipes and writings from her Telegraph column, Simply the Best (Cassell £25) is one of those books that I suspect will never leave my kitchen. Who could fail to be stirred into making her pappardelle with fresh porcini or roast wild duck with port and blackcurrant sauce? I want to eat everything in this book. A welcome re-release is Richard Mabey's Food For Free(Collins £16.99). Urban dreamers like me can delight in the idea that we can serve a startling blue, fennel-flavoured Anise Cap with fish. Of particular interest to this cook is Pontack sauce, a peppery sauce for liver made from elderberries, of which I have a few thousand I would like to pick before the pigeons eat them and decorate my trellis, paintwork and the odd passer-by with vivid purple splatters.
