In the seaside town in south-east England where I’ve been holed up writing for the past few weeks, I spotted a tray of wet walnuts outside a greengrocers. I crossed the road and bought a bag – they were French, but since you can see France’s Cap Gris-Nez from here on a clear day, I felt that they counted as local. “What do people tend to do with them?” I asked the lady behind the counter. She shrugged: “Eat ’em.”

It’s a shame that homegrown nuts, which tend to be much less water-hungry than imported crops such as almonds and pistachios, aren’t celebrated more in the UK. Though walnuts will grow right up to the Arctic Circle, we’re on the edge of the zone where they’re productive enough to be cultivated commercially – but warmer, dryer summers and the beneficial effects of trees on soil health are encouraging more farmers here to experiment with planting walnuts and hazelnuts. In fact, the spot occupied by my fresh walnuts (“wet” just means they haven’t yet been dried, unlike the shelled kind you buy in bags) had previously held trays of spiky green cobnuts from the High Weald in Kent.

What did I do with my walnuts? Well, I pried open the shells with a sharp knife, much like an oyster, and tossed them with some nutty Alpine cheese, bitter leaves and overripe pears from my parents’ garden, and they were very nice indeed – milky-sweet and only mildly bitter. This chicory, ricotta and bacon salad from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall sounds like a similar combination. If I’d bought more, I would also have had a go at Allegra McEvedy’s walnut tagliatelle, inspired by her time at the River Cafe. And had I had more leisure time on my hands, I might well have been tempted by Claire Ptak’s coffee, walnut and brown butter financiers (pictured top), which, she says, work as well with dried as fresh nuts.

If you happen across any late cobnuts – a variety of hazelnut almost always sold fresh – you might try them, or the more common dried sort, in Tamal Ray’s tarta de Kent or Dan Lepard’s cobnut and plum tart. Though our plum season is now coming to a close, the ones I’ve been getting from the shop are still pretty decent. And they’re not just good for baking – I also rather like the sound of Yotam Ottolenghi’s “sort of” Waldorf salad, and Angela Hartnett’s chicken in a cobnut crust. Even if you end up with the dried sort imported from sunnier climes, these will probably still be a more sustainable choice than thirstier, more exotic species.

The only other edible nut found in the UK is the sweet chestnut. Although I’m not aware of anyone growing them commercially (again, they fruit more reliably in a warmer environment), you may well find some windfalls in woodlands in southern England and Wales at this time of year. They’re perfect for roasting in their shells, and turning into Rachel Roddy’s chestnut and chickpea soup or making into John Wright’s chestnut liqueur, which will be ready just in time for Christmas.

Boxer-ing clever | While briefly back in London last week, I had lunch at Jackson Boxer’s new restaurant Henri just behind Covent Garden market. Billed simply as a Parisian bistro, it’s of the modern-classic school – think leeks vinaigrette with crab and fried capers, and canelé made with seaweed and served with trout roe. My favourite dish was that old standard, carottes râpées, which managed to be refreshing and mysteriously rich. I’m hoping to get hold of the recipe for a future column, so watch this space.

Purple reign | Though purple sprouting broccoli usually has its moment in the sun in January and February, there seems to be a lot of British stuff around at the moment. I can’t recommend this recipe from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall enough: steamed broccoli with a punchy anchovy and garlic sauce and a hunk of bread to mop the plate – a very satisfying supper in less than 10 minutes.

Sweet and soursop | The best food writing is so evocative that you finish reading half-deranged with the desire to taste whatever it’s describing. And that’s exactly what happened with Giorgia Ambo’s essay in Vittles on the tropical soursop fruit. Though she devotes most of it to the difficulties in tracking down the stuff in the UK (it has a very brief window of ripeness), I’m now determined to get my hands on some to try it for myself.

Pigging out | Though I wouldn’t say pork scratchings are a backbone of my diet, I admit to an occasional weakness for a packet with a pint, and it seems they’ve had something of a rebrand since my last lapse. Mr Trotter’s now sells the perennial pub favourite as the somewhat more appetising-sounding “pork crackling” (they say the difference is that they triple-cook them, so the results are lighter and crunchier than the traditional kind). They are available in such modish flavours as jalapeño pepper and, my new favourite, English mustard. The dog, however, still prefers the plain variety.