Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's nettle recipes

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's nettle soup: 'The fresh young growth of March and April is the nettle crop to go for.' Photograph: Colin Campbell for the Guardian

If I told you that there was a fantastically tasty, nutritious and absolutely free foodstuff growing probably metres, and certainly no more than five minutes' walk, from where you now sit, would I pique your interest? If I said it was easy to cook and very versatile, might I be whetting your appetite? And if I mentioned that it beats both spinach and broccoli for vitamins and minerals, would that seal the deal?
I am talking, if you hadn't guessed, about nettles: nature's well-armoured but plentiful offering at this otherwise rather sparse time of year. Barbed and bristled and undeniably stingy as they are, these plants are nevertheless a gift to anyone who favours cooking with local, seasonal, fresh ingredients. They thrust themselves up from the barely warm ground as early as February (nettle soup on Valentine's Day is a tradition in our house), then grow with untrammelled enthusiasm (as all gardeners know) right through the spring and summer. Now is the time to bag them though: if you're going to eat nettles (and I totally think you should), then the fresh, young growth of March and April is the crop to go for. Pick only the tips – the first four or six leaves on each spear – and you will get the very best of the plant.
By late April, nettles are starting to become coarse and hoary, and you should not eat them once they begin to form flowers. Keep your eye out throughout the late summer and autumn, though, because young crops of freshly seeded nettles will grow wherever and whenever they get a chance. And, tiresome as nettle-control may be for the gardener, the strimmer is the nettle gourmet's friend: nettles that have been mown down will reliably put up a burst of fresh growth.
I've had a long love affair with Urtica dioica, and it shows no sign of abating. Not only does this plant taste good, but you can almost feel it doing you good as you eat it. Particularly rich in vitamin C and iron, a tea made by steeping nettle leaves has long been a tonic. But I prefer to eat the leaves themselves. The flavour is irrefutably "green", somewhere between spinach, cabbage and broccoli, with a unique hint of nettliness: a sort of slight, earthy tingle in the mouth. If you like your greens, you'll like nettles, I promise you. Use them in any of the ways you might employ spinach: just wilted and buttered as a simple side dish, or added to anything from soup to gnocchi, or even in a nettly version of Indian saag paneer.
The only barrier to enjoyment is the nettle's ferocious stings, but these are easily dealt with. Before gathering your nettles, don some thick washing-up gloves or similarly impermeable handwear, roll your sleeves down and your socks up, then pick away. Keep those gloves on while you wash the nettles thoroughly, discarding bugs, grass and other unwanted organic matter, then drop them into a pan of boiling water or stock. As soon as they hit the hot stuff, the sting is vanquished and you can eat them with impunity and considerable relish.

Nettle soup (V)

Soup is always my first thought when the nettles start coming through in early spring. Serves six.
Around 150g nettle tops
30-35g knob of butter
1 onion, peeled chopped
1 large or 2 smallish leeks, trimmed, washed and finely sliced
2 celery sticks, chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
2 tbsp white rice, such as basmati
1 litre vegetable (or chicken) stock
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
6 heaped tbsp thick, plain yoghurt, to finish
1 small bunch chives, to finish
Pick over the nettles, wash them thoroughly and discard the tougher stalks. Melt the butter in a large pan over medium-low heat, add the onion, leek, celery and garlic, cover and sweat gently for 10 minutes, stirring a few times, until soft but not brown. Add the rice and stock, bring to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes. Add the nettles, stirring them into the stock as they wilt, and simmer for five minutes or so, until the rice and the nettles are tender (very young nettle tops will need only two to three minutes). Season with plenty of salt and pepper.
Purée the soup in two batches, reheat if necessary and check the seasoning. Serve in warmed bowls, topping each portion with a large dollop of yoghurt and a generous sprinkling of snipped chives.

Nettle spanakopitta (V)

My take on the traditional Greek greens pie. When the nettle season is over, this is delicious made with the more traditional spinach. In fact, this particular recipe was developed to make use of frozen spinach (whole leaf, rather than chopped) – it works amazingly well. Serves four.
Around 300g nettle tops
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 large onion, peeled and finely sliced
1 tsp thyme leaves
100g soft goat's cheese or feta, broken into small chunks
35g pine nuts, toasted (or roughly chopped cashews)
A squeeze of lemon juice
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
2 eggs, lightly beaten
250g filo pastry
75g unsalted butter, melted
Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Pick over the nettles and wash thoroughly. Discard the tougher stalks. Bring a large pan of well-salted water to boiling point and throw in the nettle tops. Bring back to a boil, blanch for a couple of minutes, then drain in a colander. When the nettles are cool enough to handle, squeeze to extract as much water as possible, then chop finely.
Meanwhile, heat the oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add the cumin, cook for a minute or two, then add the onion and sauté for five to 10 minutes, until soft and golden. Add the thyme. Combine the squeezed nettles with the onion mixture, then gently fold in the cheese and pine nuts. Season with a squeeze of lemon and plenty of salt and pepper, then stir in the egg.
Brush a sheet of filo pastry with melted butter and lay it butter side down in a smallish, 1.5-litre ovenproof dish. Let any excess pastry hang over the ends. Lay another buttered filo sheet on top and repeat until you've used all but one sheet of filo. Spread the nettle mixture in the dish, fold over the overhanging pastry ends to enclose, dabbing with more melted butter to keep it together. Take the final sheet of pastry, crumple it lightly, and place on top, tucking in the edges around the side – this will give the top of the pie a nicely textured finish. Dab more butter on top, bake for 30-35 minutes, or until golden, and serve immediately.

Nettle risotto with sorrel (V)

Sorrel is a wonderfully sharp, lemony leaf that complements the earthiness of nettles beautifully. You can buy it in some greengrocers, but it's very easy to grow, and you can forage for it, too. There's no need to be too precise about the amount: use what you can get. Serves two.
Around 100g young nettle tops
About 900ml vegetable (or chicken) stock
30g butter, plus extra to finish
1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
175g risotto rice, such as arborio
Sorrel leaves – up to half the quantity of nettles – finely shredded
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
50g finely grated matured goat's cheese, parmesan (or vegetarian parmesan) or other strong hard cheese, plus extra to serve
Wash the nettles, pick them over and discard the tough stalks. Bring a large pan of well-salted water to a boil, throw in the nettles and bring back to a boil. Blanch for a couple of minutes, then drain. When cool enough to handle, squeeze the nettles to extract as much water as possible and chop finely.
Heat the stock until almost boiling, then keep warm over a low heat. In a large, heavy-based pan, melt the butter over a medium-low heat. Add the onion and sweat for eight to 10 minutes, until soft and translucent but not browned. Add the rice, stir to coat the grains, pour in a third of the hot stock and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring, until almost all the stock has been absorbed, then add the chopped nettles and a little more stock. Keep adding stock a bit at a time, making a new addition when the previous one has been absorbed, until the rice is nicely al dente (you may not need all the stock) – around 20 minutes in all – and the texture is loose and creamy. Stir in the sorrel, and season to taste. Dot a little butter over the risotto and sprinkle on the cheese. Cover, leave for a few minutes, then stir in. Serve straight away, with more grated cheese on the table.