Shaken and rubbed in a cloth, this simple Italian classic has never tasted better

Nightclubs, mechanics, restaurants, a theatre, a wholesale butcher and an Apostolic church occupy some of the network of caves and tunnels that, over the centuries, were burrowed into Monte Testaccio, an ancient rubbish dump hill in the middle of Rome that’s made entirely of broken amphorae. Some places make a feature of their situation, revealing sections of pots not dissimilar to the cross section of snapped wafer biscuits, while others have smoothed the curves with plaster.

A few use the caves as originally intended – that is, as natural warehouses offering steady low temperatures and good humidity. In short: the ideal temperature for storing certain foods and wine. Most recently, Vincenzo Mancini, whose project DOL distributes artisanal products from small agricultural realities in Lazio, has taken over a deep cave behind door 93, reclaiming it as an urban ageing space for cheese and cured meat. I visited a few months ago with the chefs from Trullo in London, to do a cheese tasting – and to eat an unexpected cacio e pepe.

There’s lots of deep umami flavour in this crunchy, rubbly side or salad

Brussels sprouts are for life, not just for Christmas. They’re still making a regular appearance in our house, from shredded and stir-fried with chilli and spice, to roasted and dressed, as in this salad. And what a salad it is: with a caesar-esque dressing, it is crisp, salty and crunchy, and hits all the right notes. You can bulk it out, if you like, by topping it with a few soft, jammy boiled eggs cut into wedges or some shredded leftover chicken. However, it is pretty perfect as it is, as a light lunch or side.

Hobnobs, ricotta, chocolate and amaretto – what’s not to like?

I believe in divine communion, especially when it comes to food; an alliance of ingredients that come together as though they were meant to feed spirit and body. It might be too lofty to say that this semifreddo is divine, but the combination of Hobnobs, ricotta, chocolate and amaretto really does it for me. That said, there are many alliances that can be formed in the Christmas store-cupboard, so use this as a base for any biscuits, dried fruit and chocolate to which you feel most spiritually aligned.

Slivers of garlicky red pepper on a creamy Balkan white bean dip known as papula

This week, I’ve been putting the finishing touches on an interview I recorded with legendary Australian cheesemaker Richard Thomas, the inventor of an ingredient you may not even realise is Australian: marinated feta, AKA “Persian fetta”. An unexpected stop on a trip to Iran in the 1970s gifted Thomas a chance meeting with a Persian doctor and his breakfast: fresh labneh with soft, still-warm lavash. It was a revelation. On his return, Thomas got to work creating a fresh cheese from goat’s milk (similar to chèvre) and from cow’s milk, marinated and preserved in oil, with an extra “t” to avert confusion with the Greek-style feta, that’s still being utilised by cooks and chefs right across the world.

Persian fetta is a shapeshifter, capable of remaining both firm and steadfast when crumbled across the top of a platter or salad, and of yielding to a soft, velvety cream, enhancing all manner of dishes from pasta to pesto to whipped dips and schmears – and, of course, as a topping for that Aussie cafe staple, avocado toast.

Alice Zaslavsky is a Guardian Australia food columnist

Just like Italy’s fashion capital, this saffron-hued dish is elegantly simple and very rich

Risotto alla milanese is, like the city it calls home, elegantly simple, but very rich. The saffron that gives the dish its striking colour is rightly expensive (it takes about 150 flowers to produce a mere gram), but you don’t need much and, though it’s often served alongside osso buco , I think it makes a fine meal on its own with a bitter-leaf salad.

Prep 5 min
Cook 30 min
Serves 4

A vegetarian classic that’s a bit like a bubbling, rustic, cheesy quiche

The first time I encountered homity pie was in a disused train carriage. It was Deptford market in the late 2000s: a reliably chaotic, noisy morass of jostling bodies, the wafted smell of sweating burger onions and a vast section where the “stalls” generally comprised gatherings of orphaned trainers, boxy VHS players and other random house-clearance items dumped on to lengths of tarpaulin. I was an eager but gastronomically green 25-year-old in my first proper flatshare and this ragtag locus of trade became an early site of core dining memories. I thoughtfully appraised very ordinary vegetables, channelling Rick Stein in Gascony ; bought warm, hectically seeded granary loaves from the Percy Ingle bakery; ate average pub Thai, better kerbside rotisserie chicken; and generally tried, with limited success, to ignore the creeping sense that I had settled in a part of town that wanted for some structure or culinary vitality.

It was this atmosphere of cultural nascence into which t he Deptford Project trundled. Predominantly housed on a former railway yard in the midst of redevelopment, this cafe, cultural hub and outdoor cinema was located around a decommissioned 1960s commuter train, boldly redecorated and reimagined by designer Morag Myerscough : a becalmed, brightly daubed piece of rolling stock that, between 2008 and 2014, jutted out into the high street like a glitch in the urban matrix. Though it sounds, I know, like an unforgivable cliche of “gritty” hipsterdom, the Deptford Project had a ramshackle edge, a palpable community ethos, genuinely affordable prices and a charming streak of weirdness (the toilet, if memory serves, was an eternally freezing garden shed turned into a shrine to Elvis).

Mix up a classic croque monsieur with different cheeses and, in an autumnal twist, a rich leek and bechamel base

While I love a classic croque monsieur (or madame), I do occasionally like to mix things up by using different cheeses and hits of other condiments – I basically live life on the edge. This leek-laced version feels comfortingly autumnal, and a bit special, too. If I have friends coming over, I’ll make the leek and bechamel base in advance, then fill the sandwiches just before baking and serve them with a bitter leaf salad.

The classic American brunch dish – ‘the love child of frittata and bread pudding’ – is given the masterclass treatment

Also known variously as “breakfast casserole” and “egg dish”, strata is an American brunch favourite that, according to the great US chef Sohla El-Waylly , is best described as “the love child of frittata and bread pudding”, while the dish’s name comes from the fact that it’s assembled in layers. Like all the best leftovers recipes, those layers are eminently flexible, but what all strata have in common are stale bread and eggs. The rest is largely up to you.

I’ll be honest, rich as it is, strata is not something I’d tackle before lunchtime, so I was relieved to read the late James Villas explain that, “in the South, a strata is traditionally served on an informal dinner buffet or at a casual supper”. Whenever you plan to enjoy it, however, note that, as per America’s favourite cookbook, The Joy of Cooking , if need be the ever amenable strata “can be assembled and refrigerated overnight, then baked the next day, leaving you nothing to do but brew the coffee”. Or mix the bloody marys.

Fettucine with a smooth ’nduja and mascarpone sauce, and indulgent pappardelle with creamy walnuts and egg

My compass for what we cook at our restaurants is primarily governed by the weather, because food tastes better when it matches how your body feels. In the UK, with its distinct seasons, that weather influences mood, so pairing the right dish with the climate and season feels deeply nourishing, and goes far beyond mere sustenance. To me, pasta is the most versatile of food types and lends itself perfectly to such seasonal cooking: a walk through damp woodland, say, often makes me crave wild mushrooms, sauteed with garlic and herbs, then tossed with fettuccine, while, as the days shorten and the air cools, a slow-cooked game ragu with penne always hits the spot, as does a warming blast of ’nduja in a creamy sauce. And when indulgence calls, a rich walnut, egg and parmesan sauce is wickedly satisfying.