What does this have to do with winter salads? There’s an idea, which is hard to shift, that winter isn’t a good time for the cook. There’s no stone fruit or sweet-tart tomatoes. We’re supposed to wait and dream of asparagus and broad beans. But winter food is glorious, partly because there’s so much colour and it comes to the fore in salads. 

When I was a child the idea of a winter salad was absurd, but times change. In winter, salads have more heft and contrast. We have slices of sweet roast pumpkin, singed at the edges, and crimson bitter leaves. 

There are flavours that we’re drawn to when it’s cold – caraway, paprika, maple syrup, mustard – and so many ingredients that work during the darker months.

Now is the time to use lentils, beans, bacon lardons, black pudding, smoked fish, duck breast and bits of fried chicken skin in a salad. There’s plenty of crunch around, too – cabbages, carrots, daikon and apples. Summer salads are generally softer.

Their components tumble together so the edges are blurred. Some are like sweet pea flowers; you look at them and your brain can’t quite compute their shape. Winter salads are bold and spiky, each component distinct, though you bring them together with a dressing.

This brings us to the question of what a salad is. For me, it’s a mixture of foods – hot, cold, cooked or raw – that are tossed together in a dressing. The dressing is key – it unifies – but the different elements can contrast hugely, in temperature as well as texture and flavour. 

Who doesn’t want a winter salad of sautéed potatoes, hot black pudding, cold leaves and a poached egg in a mustardy dressing? ‘Wintering’ can be as good as ‘summering’.

This is the kind of salad I crave during the winter. I love the hot, sour, salty, sweet dressings prevalent in Southeast Asian food, the contrasts are extreme and exhilarating.