Once upon a time, the appearance of local asparagus and strawberries heralded spring. They had a short growing season, and one made the most of them during that time.

The flavour and texture of asparagus are most appealing

Now local strawberries are grown well into November; rather like the English tomato season, which now lasts from March until November. Where is the sun to ripen them in March? And who wants refreshing tomato salads anyway when there is still snow on the ground?

One might argue that if asparagus is so good, why not eat it all year round? We get it sent from Thailand and Peru in winter and in early spring from Spain, at prices not much different from those we pay for local asparagus. I prefer to argue for eating food in season with as short a distance as possible from field to fork.

This is not just some romantic notion we should live as our ancestors lived. Eating locally-grown food in season not only supports the farming community, but makes economic sense, in that transport costs are less, thus the final shelf price is lower.

It is also a much more pleasurable experience. There is the anticipation of this short season of exquisite food, and there is the knowledge that it has not taken days, if not weeks, to reach our table, losing a lot of its flavour and nutrients on the way.

Anyway, I don’t want to eat strawberries and asparagus in winter. That’s when I want to eat Jerusalem artichokes, pumpkin and celeriac, as well as quinces and pomegranates.

So as the season for fresh broad beans comes to an end, and the fields are still full of their dry, tangled stalks, it’s time to hunt out the elusive Gozo asparagus as well as the first strawberries. The fruit may be small but it has an intense flavour, one to enjoy fresh and raw but also to capture in preserves to use once the strawberry season is long past.

One year I made a batch of jam with strawberries and rosé wine, which was an instant hit. This year, I am planning to flavour my strawberry preserves with rose petals and rose water; the two flavours are a perfect match, which I will also combine in a simple sorbet recipe.

The flavour and texture of asparagus are most appealing. It is one of those vegetables that are so agreeable to eat with the fingers, dipped in melted butter or extra virgin olive oil, then bitten off, the stalk drawn through the teeth to extract the soft flesh.

The slender spears can also be dipped into homemade mayonnaise, an orange-flavoured sauce mousseline, or a soft poached egg. This last is a particular favourite, and I often stretch the dish to a main course by adding some steamed new potatoes.

The most elegant and delicious version I have tasted had a few slices of truffle on top, with a foamy lemon cream sauce. Even a few paper-thin slices of very fresh white mushrooms would be a nice addition.

Tips of thin asparagus served with a poached quail egg makes a dainty miniature, as an appetiser, if you like such things, and cold cooked asparagus makes a marvellous sandwich filling. I like it either with thin slices of home-roasted free-range chicken, liberally anointed with a good mayonnaise, sandwiched between slices of fresh wholemeal, or with a well-seasoned chopped egg mayonnaise, also in wholemeal.

Asparagus risotto, asparagus in a thick creamy béchamel wrapped in a crèpe, topped with grated Parmesan, and finished off under the grill, chilled asparagus soup, asparagus in a casserole with new potatoes, asparagus on a wholemeal pizza and an asparagus loaf are a few more ways I like to cook this luxury spring vegetable, once I have eaten a surfeit of just plain asparagus.

Try it too in a tart with ġbejniet; the two combine beautifully, especially when partnered with a glass of dry, crisp sauvignon blanc, the perfect spring white wine.

We are accustomed to cooking asparagus either in a special asparagus pan, where it cooks with its feet in water and its head in steam, or in a frying pan full of boiling water, with the spears lying flat, or in a steamer.

The problem with this is that some of the flavour, and certainly some of the minerals, are left behind in the cooking water. (This is definitely worth keeping for asparagus soup.)

Applying direct heat to asparagus, however, retains all its qualities. Roast it, grill it, or fry it.

Truly, you will be surprised at the results. I have a ridged cast-iron griddle, which I brush with oil, and then cook the thicker asparagus spears on it, serve them with a sprinkling of coarse sea salt, a little more oil and a dash of lemon juice, or better still, sherry vinegar.