A survival guide for the basic holiday rental kitchen (plus four relaxed throw-together recipes)

There’s a special kind of optimism that grips me when I enter a holiday rental kitchen. I throw open the cupboards seeking Mauviel copper pots, sharp knives and an abundance of “just-in-case appliances” and pantry supplies.

Instead, I realise how much of my personality is attached to my Microplane. And sharp tools. And to olive oil that isn’t labelled “vegetable blend, mostly canola”.

With a generous dose of holiday spirit, here’s how to transform kitchen quirks and unexpected hurdles into a new culinary approach. Let’s lean into the beautiful randomness of holiday cooking with dishes that are genuinely fun and – against all odds – utterly delicious.

The problem: A dishwashing tablet shortage.

The solution: One-pot rice and prawns with fennel and lemon.

You’re staring at that lone square of detergent as all hope of a multi-course banquet fades. Now’s the moment for a one-pot wonder. And holiday “rice ‘n’ prawns” with fennel and lemon ticks that box every time.

Sizzle some garlic, diced onion and half a finely diced fennel bulb in a pot with a generous glug of olive oil until it becomes fragrant and soft. Add a good pinch of turmeric (let them think it’s saffron) and a cup of rice, and toast until the rice smells a little nutty.

Add white wine, topping up with a little stock if you’ve drunk too much. The liquid should sit about a thumbnail’s height above the rice. Cover and simmer for about 12 minutes. Scatter prawns over the top, cover and simmer for another 4-6 minutes. Turn off the heat, let it rest for 5 minutes, then shower with fennel fronds and plenty of lemon zest, and serve.

The problem: Blunt knives.

The solution: Village salad in a bag.

Holiday knives are always blunt, as if dullness were a clause in the rental agreement. And while the lack of edge may send the idea of anything sliced or finely diced into oblivion, the flat edge can be used to smash and juice to great effect.

Toss a few punnets of summer cherry tomatoes into a large press-seal bag. Add some roughly chopped cucumber, a fistful of pitted black olives and a heavy-handed glug of olive oil. Shake in a good pinch of that dried oregano lurking in the back of the cupboard and a splash of balsamic vinegar. Seal the bag tightly.

Now use the wide edge of that useless knife to bash the tomatoes and cucumbers until they release their juices into the dressing. Give the bag a final, vigorous massage, then tumble the mess into a bowl. Top with a glorious hunk of feta, sliced onion if you fancy and a handful of torn basil leaves. Season with sea salt flakes and another pinch or two of dried oregano.

The problem: A filthy barbecue hotplate.

The solution: Baking paper cutlets with garlicky yoghurt.

Nothing kills a holiday vibe faster than finding a rental barbecue encrusted with the carbonised remains of a previous guest’s dinner.

This hack starts by pouring water over the hotplate to help loosen any gunk. Once the hotplate warms up, place a sheet of baking paper on top. Thanks to the water, the paper will stick to the hotplate, creating a clean cooking surface with zero clean-up required.

While the plate warms to a medium heat, let some lamb cutlets get acquainted with a marinade of half a cup of yoghurt, and one teaspoon each of ground cumin, coriander and garam masala.

While they’re bonding, grab a second bowl and combine another half a cup of yoghurt with a teaspoon of crushed garlic, a generous handful of finely chopped coriander and a final hit of garam masala.

Drizzle some oil over the baking paper and cook the lamb in batches. Give them 3-5 minutes on each side until they’re beautifully bronzed. Season well, dollop on the garlic yoghurt, and walk away from the barbecue without having to lift a wire brush.

The problem: Playhouse-sized chopping boards.

The solution: No-chop ’nduja chicken tray bake.

Holiday chopping boards are a special breed of hazard: either coaster-sized tiles or paper-thin plastic mats that slip and slide across the bench, seemingly designed to ensure your getaway ends with a trip to the local emergency room.

This is where you lean into the no-chop tray bake, a “set and forget” situation that is a cinch to assemble and shove in the oven.

Drizzle olive oil across the base of a high-sided roasting pan and place it over a medium heat. Add the chicken legs, searing them until the skin is golden and caramelised. Hoist the chicken out and replace it with thick slices of sourdough to cover the base. Scatter over 4-6 peeled garlic cloves and about 6 oxheart tomatoes – just quarter them and be done with it.

Nestle the chicken back into the tray, dotting around a few generous spoonfuls of fiery ’nduja paste. Slide the pan into the oven and roast for half an hour at 160C fan-forced (180C conventional).

Once the time’s up, remove the pan from the oven. Lift out the chicken and that glorious juice-soaked bread, which will have spent its time in the oven crisping into something transcendental.

Return the pan to the stove top, adding a cup of chicken stock and half a cup of creme fraiche. Simmer until the tomatoes, garlic and ’nduja collapse into a lovely, rich sauce.

To serve, layer the bread on a plate, top with the chicken, and drown the whole thing in sauce. Scatter over some basil, season at will, and enjoy the hush that falls over the table.

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