There is a particular cruelty to a heatwave arriving on a weekday. On holiday, 30C is a spritz, a sun lounger and a smug little plate of tomatoes. At home, it is the Central line, a laptop radiating heat into your thighs and the grim realisation that someone still has to make dinner.
This, then, is not the week for long braises, heroic roasts or anything that requires standing over a hob for longer than strictly necessary. It is the week for the sort of food that gets in, does the job and gets out again: sharp, crunchy, fresh, filling and preferably on the table in under half an hour.
