April is the cruelest month for seasonal cooking. None of my beloved summer vegetables are ready to pick yet, except in places so far away that they’ve got jetlag when they arrive. The winter squashes and pumpkins seem heavy and inappropriate. Everyone wants you to eat fennel, artichokes, and Swiss chard for spring, and frankly those are not my favorites. Also, there were just the two of us for Easter dinner this year, so Richard came up with the good idea of an eggy luncheon: croques madames (sans the ham), asparagus with a balsamic sauce, and grapefruit crème brûlée.

We spent a bit of time this summer with friends in Lancashire, England. And call me crazy, but I love English food.

It’s so easy to be vegetarian in England. I don’t know if it’s because of the punk movement, Morrissey, mad cow disease, or general enlightenment, but I can walk into any Marks & Spencer food stall and gaze upon a sea of packages marked clearly with a green V. Seriously, delicious: grain salads with butternut squash and goat cheese, or tomato and mozzarella en croute, or portabello mushroom pappardelle.

I knew we’d be having Christmas dinner with my family, who tend to flake out on things like ceremonies and rituals and traditions. To stop the holiday being a huge disappointment for me, I decided to throw a pre-emptive Christmas dinner party for Richard and me. I made a mushroom Wellington, Yorkshire puddings, roasted Brussels sprouts with chestnuts, roasted parsnips and carrots, and roasted potatoes. For dessert, a Bûche de Noël with meringue mushrooms.