Harissa lamb with redcurrant and beetroot couscous

This is a very bold meal, in many senses of the word. First, the colours. There is an explosion of vibrant reds, in shades varying from the deep, bloody magenta of roasted beetroot to the bright, glossy crimson of redcurrants, to the scarlet hues of harissa and the earthy tones of griddled lamb. There are flecks of bright mint, a spoonful of creamy yoghurt and a background of fluffy couscous. Then there are the flavours: hot, sweet, spicy, fresh, deeply savoury. It's a riotous plate of bold and assertive ingredients, and works wonderfully together.

Inspired by my recent experimentation with whitecurrants in savoury cooking, I decided to give the same treatment to redcurrants, their slightly more common and accessible cousins. I have only used redcurrants in desserts before, my favourites being a redcurrant cheesecake or a peach and redcurrant cake. I love their delicate sweet-sour flavour, peppering cake batters with delicious sweet bursts. More than that, though, I love their beautiful appearance, like a string of jewels. As with pomegranate seeds, they add instant sparkle and glamour to all food.

For that reason, I thought they'd look beautiful strewn through a blank canvas of soft, fluffy couscous, as I would normally do with pomegranate seeds. When one thinks of redcurrants and savoury food, redcurrant jelly with lamb instantly springs to mind. Their tartness is a welcome pairing with the rather rich, sweet flavour of lamb meat. Lamb also works excellently with couscous, as Moroccan cooking exemplifies. I had two Barnsley chops in the freezer - this is taken from across the lamb loin, and is sometimes called a double chop. It has the bone in the middle and a good layer of fat on the outside, and is perfectly suited for a blast of heat from the griddle or barbecue.

Keeping with a Moroccan theme, I marinated the lamb in harissa paste. Harissa is a funny ingredient - depending on the brand you buy or the recipe you use, it can be overwhelmingly spicy and even bitter, sometimes. For the first time, I decided to make my own, using a recipe from Nigel Slater's second Kitchen Diaries book, but swapping caraway seeds for fennel seeds as I didn't have any. This harissa is slightly unusual in that it features preserved lemons, which give it a wonderful deep flavour. It's hard to describe the taste of a preserved lemon until you've tried one, but they're wonderfully aromatic and lend a delicious tang to everything you combine with them.

I'd really recommend making your own harissa. It takes minutes, and the flavour is utterly wonderful - far richer, spicier and more interesting than anything you can buy in a jar. You can control the amount of chilli, and add your own aromatics depending on what takes your fancy. It's bold, vibrant and flavoursome, and a beautiful brick-red colour, just begging to be slathered all over some juicy lamb chops.

To accompany the lamb, couscous strewn with cubes of roasted beetroot, tossed in za'atar - a Middle Eastern spice mix featuring thyme and sesame, among other things - and flecked with mint and parsley, before beautiful bold redcurrants are stirred through. I served this alongside the lamb with a big dollop of minted yoghurt, to take the edge off the harissa spice and to add a welcome hit of coolness and creaminess. It works excellently with the deep flavours of the meat and beetroot.

The lamb is just griddled on a hot pan, though you could also barbecue it. The smell of searing harissa coupled with that sweet, unmistakeable aroma of cooking lamb is fabulous. Harissa, to me, just belongs with lamb more than any other ingredient. Something about the combination of all those delicious spices manages to bring out, rather than overpower, the taste of the lamb. The redcurrants are a wonderful addition to the dish, adding a welcome note of sweetness to freshen up all those other rich, earthy flavours in there, though you could also use pomegranate if you can't get redcurrants. I love the way they look on the plate, sparkling out of the couscous.

This is a gorgeous medley of Moroccan and Middle Eastern flavours and textures. The star is the beautiful pink lamb with its smothering of bold harissa, but the redcurrants are an unusual and an inspired addition, I think.

Much more exciting than roast lamb with redcurrant jelly, I think. Hopefully you agree.

Harissa lamb with redcurrant and beetroot couscous (serves 2):

For the harissa paste:

• 1 tsp coriander seeds
• 1 tsp cumin seeds
• 1/2 tsp fennel seeds
• 3 cloves garlic
• 2 bottled piquillo peppers (or roasted peppers)
• 1/2 tbsp tomato puree
• 1 tbsp red wine vinegar
• 1 medium-hot red chilli
• 1 small preserved lemon
• 1 tsp smoked paprika
• 2 tbsp olive oil

For the rest:

• 2 lamb Barnsley chops
• 2 beetroot
• Olive oil
• Salt and pepper
• 2 tbsp za'atar (or use 1 tbsp dried thyme if you can't find it)
• 160g couscous
• A few sprigs fresh parsley, finely chopped
• 100g redcurrants, removed from their stalks
• 200ml natural or Greek yoghurt
• A small bunch of fresh mint, finely shredded
• A pinch of ground cumin
• Baby spinach or salad, to serve

First, make the harissa. Toast the coriander, cumin and fennel seeds in a dry pan until fragrant, then grind to a powder in a pestle and mortar. Put in a food processor along with the garlic, peppers, tomato puree, vinegar and chilli, then pulse together. Discard the soft inside of the preserved lemon, and add just the skin to the food processor along with the paprika and olive oil. Blitz to a paste.

Rub the paste over the lamb, put in a shallow dish, cover with clingfilm and marinate for as long as possible - ideally overnight, but a couple of hours will work too.

When ready to cook, pre-heat the oven to 200C. Cut the beetroot into 1cm dice. Place in a baking dish, then toss together with some olive oil and the za'atar/thyme, and some salt and pepper. Roast for around 30 minutes, until just tender. Put the couscous into a large bowl, and pour over enough boiling water to cover it by about half a centimetre. Put a plate over the bowl, and leave it for 5-10 minutes until it has absorbed all the water. Stir through the parsley, some olive oil and salt and pepper, and the roasted beetroot, then gently stir through the redcurrants. Mix the yoghurt in a small bowl with the mint and cumin.

Get a griddle pan very hot, then griddle the lamb for about 3-5 minutes on each side, depending on how well-done you like your meat and how thick the chops are. Leave to rest for five minutes, then serve alongside the couscous with a dollop of yoghurt, and some baby spinach or salad.

Two redcurrant cakes

I've always been a bit of a magpie. When I was quite little I used to hoard sweets. Nothing unusual there, you might think - all children like to have lots of sweets. Except I didn't actually eat said sweets. Instead, I kept them in a special box that was like a mini chest of drawers; each type of sweet had its own drawer (jellies, caramels, hard suckable sweets, soft-centred sweets...) and I would consider it a great personal achievement if I managed to possess multiple colours of the same type of sweet. 

I could never understand why my childminder was so unreasonable about letting me to go the corner shop to get sweets, why she usually said no. It is only now that I realise I never actually told her that I didn't want to eat the sweets (I didn't even like them), just to add them to my collection. Not that she'd have believed me anyway, I'm sure, but I remember being struck by the unfairness of it all - where was the harm in going to get more sweets for the sweet box?! I suppose I owe my undecayed teeth and lack of fillings to her strictness, so I guess that's something.

Money was another one. Yes, I know it's not really unusual to hoard money. Generally most people need to do it - it's called "saving". However, as a small child, if I was ever given pocket money or (ah, the good old days) tooth fairy money, and said amount happened to include a particularly shiny coin, I would tape it into a notebook. I remember getting very excited about a positively radiant pound coin that I had acquired at some point. It took pole position in the notebook and I treasured it. Or at least, I did until one day I wanted to buy something. As a small child, a pound is actually quite a lot of money. Out of the notebook it came, though I did leave a note in its place reminding myself to replace it with another shiny specimen if I ever found one.

Ironically, I'm probably less in a position to sellotape unwanted pound coins to notebooks now than I was as a child. Seven year olds don't tend to have £15,000 worth of student debt to their name.

Later in life my magpie-like hoarding stretched to less edible items. Coloured gel pens was a phase early in secondary school; I had whole pencil cases bursting at the seams, struggling to contain these different-coloured pens. Sparkly varieties were a definite bonus. I don't even remember writing with them much; I think I just liked the security of knowing I had a whole collection at my fingertips.

Then came a phase in which I absolutely failed to resist any item of sparkly jewellery. I remember stumbling upon a shop called 'Bijou Brigitte' while on holiday in Spain. Now you can find those shops everywhere on the continent and I think some in the UK, but at the time I was convinced it was a one-of-a-kind find. Not only did it stock the gaudiest, glitteriest, unsubtlest jewellery you've ever seen, it was also incredibly cheap. At the time, 10 euros was the equivalent of about a fiver. Oh, for those halcyon days of cheap European jaunts.

I would go and fill a small basket with glimmering diamanté, giant fake pearls in pastel colours, rings with fake plastic gemstones the size of your big toe, and then proceed to wear most of my purchases at once. Walking through the Spanish sun, I must have looked constantly like I was trying to signal morse code.

I shouldn't have been let loose on the Middle East last summer. I returned carrying approximately two-thirds of Syria in a large bag purchased specially for the purpose of carting my hoard back home. Everywhere I turned were beautiful silks, gorgeous scarves, ornate gold and silver tea sets inlaid with (fake) gemstones, glittering jewellery, intricate wood and mother of pearl boxes, and delicate decorated pottery. Unable to resist, I handed over Syrian pound after Syrian pound, Jordanian dinar after Jordanian dinar, accumulating items to the point where I could probably have turned into a turtle without realising, so large and cumbersome was my rucksack. 

It's only natural, then, given my predilection for food, that my magpie-like tendency should extend to all things gastronomic. Certain foodstuffs just captivate me; I have to have them if I spy them on sale. It helps if they're shiny or colourful. Pomegranate seeds. Cherries. Bright pink rhubarb in late winter. Gorgeous green gooseberries. Silver-skinned, glittery-eyed fresh mackerel. Vivid yellow Pakistani mangoes or corn on the cob. Glossy purple aubergines.

At the moment, redcurrants.

I've never really appreciated the beauty of these jewel-like berries before, nor their flavour. I may have put a few in a summer pudding at one point, but it's only this year that I've really begun to experiment with them, especially after I picked some of my own early this summer in Oxford. I just love the refreshing tartness of a red or blackcurrant. Their flavour is complex, beyond that sourness - they have a hint of freshly-mown grass about them, a definite floral fragrance that makes them such a delicious and intriguing addition to desserts and other fruits. What's more, they are absolutely beautiful, particularly if you get a box of ripe, plump ones, translucent like tiny red crystal balls. 

This week M&S has been selling such redcurrants, and I have been powerless to resist. I already have four boxes in the freezer, so couldn't really justify freezing any more. Rather, I seized the culinary moment and came up with two delectable dessert recipes incorporating this most beautiful of berries. 

One is a simple baked cheesecake that tastes so much more than the sum of its parts. It couldn't really be much simpler to make, but the flavour is incredible. There's a hint of vanilla in the ricotta mixture that contrasts wonderfully with the tartness of the redcurrants, and a thick biscuit base to provide a delicious, buttery contrast. I used ginger nut biscuits for the base instead of digestives, but you couldn't taste the ginger once they were baked, which was probably a good thing as the vanilla and redcurrant combination was just so delicious on its own. 

It can be difficult to achieve just the right consistency and texture with a baked cheesecake, but I think this one is spot on. The filling has a hint of crumbliness, but is also smooth and creamy. It still wobbled a little in the middle when I removed it from the oven, which I think is the key to avoiding a dry, powdery cheesecake. It may not be the prettiest thing to look at, but the flavour more than compensates.

The cheesecake reminded me of one I used to love on the menu at Bella Italia, back in the day when I thought Bella Italia was the height of culinary sophistication (probably around the same time that I used to wear all that gaudy jewellery). There's just the right balance between the rich, crumbly filling with its light sweetness, and the depth of flavour from the fruit. I was going to adorn the cheesecake with a peach compote, but it didn't need it. It was perfect.

The other cake is a fairly dense, moist, pudding-cake incorporating the redcurrant's favourite partner, the peach. It's an unusual cake batter that uses Quark (fat-free cream cheese) to give it moisture and substance, meaning the actual cake is very low in fat. Chopped peaches and redcurrants are rippled through the batter and then scattered on top. Again, it perhaps doesn't look like the epitome of culinary aestheticism, but it takes wonderful. Besides, I like my cakes rustic. No stupid macarons or eight-tier buttercream layer cakes here, please.

I used a rather surprising ingredient in this cake. I've recently been sampling a new addition to the Jordans Cereal Country Crisp range - the Honey & Nut variety. It's a mixture of crunchy baked oat clusters blended with honey and mixed with flaked almonds and slices of brazil nut, rather like granola but in small chunks. As a big fan of the Jordans Crunchy Oats range, I was rather delighted by the Honey & Nut cereal. However, I did find it a little too sweet - unlike Jordans muesli, which I eat quite a lot, it does have sugar added to it. Nowhere near as much as all those horrible processed cereals like Frosties, of course, but I think I've just become used to sugar-free cereal. I also eat my cereal dry, without milk, so if you're a milk fan you'll probably find that the milk takes away some of the sugariness. Anyway, the Honey & Nut Country Crisp is definitely worth a try if you're bored of muesli or cornflakes - it really is delicious, and it also makes a great snack.

It occurred to me as I was making this cake that it would be nice to add another texture, something to make it a little bit crunchy. Enter the Honey & Nut Country Crisp. Because the cereal is so crispy already, having been baked, I figured I could add it to the cake batter and it would retain some of its crunch. I also sprinkled a little on top of the cake before baking. The result was delectable, much easier than faffing around making a streusel or crumble topping, and also slightly healthier.

The cake itself is really moist and delicious, studded with juicy chunks of peach and tangy redcurrants. I'm definitely going to use this Quark-based mixture again; it makes a fabulous cake that's ideal served warm as a dessert with some cream or ice cream. It's not particularly light, so if you like your cakes mousse-like, this probably isn't the one for you, but I like my cakes substantial and slightly gooey in the middle, which this certainly is. The addition of the Jordans cereal was a stroke of genius, even if I say so myself - the added honeyed crunch is exactly what the cake needs, contrasting beautifully with the soft fruit. This cake is best eaten straight away, as the cereal tends to go a bit soft after it's been in a tin for too long, but you should have no problem devouring it fresh from the oven.

Do you have a magpie-like tendency to hoard certain foodstuffs or other objects? I'm sure I'm not alone in this.

Peach and redcurrant cake (serves 8):

• 250g Quark
• 4 tbsp milk (plus a bit more if needed)
• 30g melted butter
• 2 eggs
• 75g golden caster sugar
• 250g self-raising flour
• Zest of 1 orange
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 150g redcurrants
• 8 tbsp Jordans Country Crisp Honey & Nut, crumbled
• 3-4 ripe peaches
• 3 tbsp demerara sugar

Pre-heat the oven to 190C/fan 170C. Grease and line a 20/22cm cake tin with baking parchment.

Beat together the melted butter, quark, eggs, milk, vanilla and sugar until combined. Stir in the orange rind and fold in the flour to make a fairly stiff batter. (You may need to add more milk if it's too stiff, as I did). Roughly chop half the peaches and stir into the batter. Stir in half the redcurrants and half the Jordans cereal.

Pour the mixture into the cake tin. Slice the remaining peaches and arrange over the top of the cake. Scatter over the redcurrants, the rest of the cereal, and the demerara sugar.

Bake for 45 minutes or until the cake is firm and a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean. Allow to cool a little, then serve warm with cream or ice cream.

Redcurrant vanilla cheesecake (serves 6):

• 12 ginger nut or digestive biscuits
• 30g melted butter
• 250g ricotta cheese
• 150ml half-fat creme fraiche
• 90g caster sugar
• 1 tbsp agave nectar or honey
• 2 eggs
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 200g redcurrants

Pre-heat the oven to 190C. Grease and line an 18cm springform cake tin with baking parchment.

Place the biscuits in a blender and blitz to fine crumbs. Mix with the melted butter and press into the base of the cake tin. Bake in the oven for 10 minutes or until golden brown. Lower the oven temperature to 170C/160C fan oven.

Mix together the ricotta, creme fraiche, sugar, nectar/honey, eggs and vanilla either in the blender or in a bowl using an electric whisk. The mixture will be quite runny, but don't worry. Gently stir in two-thirds of the redcurrants.

Pour the cheesecake mixture into the prepared tin and bake for 45-55 minutes or until turning golden on top but still a little wobbly in the centre. Leave to cool in the tin before turning out onto a plate and chilling in the fridge for a couple of hours.

To serve, decorate with the remaining redcurrants and dust with icing sugar.