
A burger with fig in the onions
The buns finish face down in the pan the beef just left. That is where the whole argument is settled.
At a Glance
Story
Do not work the beef. Ground meat is a loose tangle of strands with air between them, and every extra squeeze presses that air out and links the protein into something springy. Handle it barely enough to hold, press it slightly wider than the bun because it will pull inward as it cooks, and put a shallow dent in the middle with your thumb. That dent is what stops the center swelling into a dome while the edges stay flat.
Ingredients
- 10 oz ground beef
- 2 burger bunssplit
- 1 red onionhalved and thinly sliced
- 4 carrotshalved crosswise and quartered lengthwise
- 1 oz goat cheesecrumbled
- 1 tbsp fig jam
- 1 tbsp sherry vinegar
- 1 tbsp mayonnaisewhisked with a small squeeze of Dijon
- 1 tsp smoked paprika
- olive oilsalt, pepper
Method
A burger with an actual idea in it. The idea is fig jam cooked into the onions until they turn dark and jammy, which does what caramelising alone never quite manages in under half an hour.
- Oven to 450F. Carrots on a lined tray with oil, salt, pepper and the paprika. 16 to 20 minutes, until the edges catch.
- Whisk the fig jam, sherry vinegar and 1 tbsp water in a small bowl.
- Onion into a pan with oil over medium-high, salt and pepper, 8 to 10 minutes, stirring now and then, until they are properly browned, not just gone soft. The fig mixture in, 30 seconds to a minute, stirring, until it turns glossy and coats every strand. Out into a bowl.
- Season the beef, handle it as little as possible, and shape 2 patties about ½ inch thick with a thumbprint in each middle. Same pan, 4 to 5 minutes a side.
- Patties out to rest. Buns straight into the pan cut side down, into everything the beef left behind, 30 seconds to a minute. This is not toasting. It is the buns taking the pan's side.
- Build them: the mustardy mayonnaise on the base, patty, goat cheese crumbled over while it is hot enough to soften, then the fig onions in a heap. Carrots alongside.
More to cook

Crisp rice cakes and sausage in a ketchup glaze
Rice cakes fried until they crackle, then lacquered in ketchup and miso with the sausage.

A full course of Italian penicillin
Chicken soup's glamorous Italian cousin, with a spicy crumb and a cold lemon dollop.

Harissa shrimp broiled over a tray of greens
The greens go in first with half a cup of water, and the shrimp only arrive once the broiler takes over.

Salt and pepper dumplings straight from the freezer
Frozen potstickers and green beans, tossed at the last second in salt, sugar and more black pepper than seems wise.

Garlic noodles the way San Francisco does them
Two heads of garlic, plenty of butter and three bottles from the cupboard, done in the time it takes to boil the pasta.

Shrimp over creamed corn, and rather a lot of feta
Corn simmered soft in cream and butter, then blitzed until chunky and used the way you would use grits.

Creamy lemon spaghetti with a Sichuan pepper buzz
Crème fraîche, miso and lemon make the sauce, and toasted Sichuan peppercorns go in twice so your lips hum.

Chicken sausage and lemon, baked as a lasagna
A lasagna that went on holiday and came back with a tan and a lemon habit.

Pumpkin pasta with sausage and crisp sage
Tinned pumpkin, Gruyère and a sheet pan to crisp the lot.

Sausage lasagna spread thin for the crust
Lasagna with no layers, baked flat on a sheet pan, and an insult to nonnas everywhere.

Vodka rigatoni, baked till the tops crackle
Vodka sauce given a sheet pan, a jar of Calabrian chilis and a honey drizzle it did nothing to deserve.

Charred corn and halloumi panzanella with chili crisp
One bowl, mostly made in the morning, so the cook can sit down with the guests.

Chicken and zucchini meatballs under a feta sauce
Half the meatball is grated zucchini, which is the only reason a chicken meatball has any business being this juicy.

Dan dan noodles, served cold on purpose
The sesame and chile sauce is bossy enough to work as a dressing, so the noodles never need to be hot.

Zucchini parmesan, roasted not fried
All the comfort of the fried original, a fraction of the oil, and no pan spitting at you.