Posteleinstamppot (Purslane Mash)

Long before spinach became the default green, the Dutch kitchen garden grew postelein (purslane), a low, fleshy herb that loves the sun, with a lemony, faintly salty snap. It appears in eighteenth-century Dutch cookery among the summer potherbs, and it gives something almost no other stamppot can: a mash for warm weather. Where the whole tribe of these dishes belongs to dark, cold months, posteleinstamppot is green and bright and unmistakably of July.

A green with its own flavour

Purslane tastes quite different from spinach. Its thick, succulent leaves carry a gentle acidity and a mineral, near-saline edge that reads as fresh rather than earthy. That character is fragile, and the one rule is barely to cook it: a minute in a dry pan to collapse the leaves, no more. Push it further and the succulence turns to slither and the lemon note vanishes. Because, like spinach, it holds a great deal of water, press it dry after wilting or the mash will slump.

An old-garden supper

This is a modest dish with a long pedigree. It is the kind of thing a Golden Age or eighteenth-century household grew a bed of and mashed through the summer's new potatoes. It asks for a floury, firmish mash to carry the mild leaf, a shallot softened with it, and the restraint to let the purslane's own brightness show through the butter.

A summer stamppot, lemony and green. It is proof the mash was never only a thing for the cold.

Serve it the way the older leaf mashes were always served: quartered hard-boiled eggs pressed into the top, and a scatter of crisp bacon for anyone who wants the salt.