A Season Measured in Weeks

British asparagus does not hang about. The season opens in late April, sometimes a touch earlier in the warm corners of Worcestershire and Kent, and closes by tradition on 21 June, Midsummer's Day. That is when the last spears are left to grow up into fern so the crowns can gather strength for next year. Eight weeks, give or take, and in a cold spring it can feel like five.

What makes those weeks worth waiting for is speed. A spear can push several centimetres out of the ground in a single warm day, which is why growers walk the beds twice daily with knives. The sugars in a cut spear begin turning to starch almost at once, so the difference between asparagus eaten within a day of cutting and asparagus that has travelled for a week is not subtle. It is the difference between sweet and merely green.

Choosing Well, and Keeping It That Way

Look for spears that look alive. If you are buying loose, run through a few quick checks:

• The tips: tightly furled and slightly edged with purple, never opening or feathery.
• The stalks: firm, glossy, evenly coloured, with no wrinkles near the cut end.
• The snap: bend a spear a few centimetres above the base and it should break with a clean crack and a faint squeak, leaving the woody part behind. If it bends like string, leave it.
• The smell: fresh and grassy. Sour or cabbagey means it is past its best.

At home, treat it like a bunch of cut flowers. Wrap the bases in damp kitchen paper, stand the bundle in a bag or a jug in the salad drawer, and use it within a day or two. Do not leave it sitting in water in the fridge; the tips will go soft. If you cannot get to it, blanch it for a minute, cool it and keep it that way.

Buttered Spears, Nothing More

This is the dish the whole season is built around, and it takes six minutes.

Bring a wide pan of well-salted water to a rolling boil. Snap or trim the woody ends and peel the lower third only if the spears are fat and the skin looks tough — thin spears need nothing. Lower them in, tips uppermost if the pan allows, and cook until a spear bends under its own weight without collapsing. Thin spears take two to three minutes, thick ones four to six. Test at the earliest timing rather than trusting the clock.

Lift them out with tongs and rest them on a clean tea towel for a moment to drain. A colander lets them steam and soften further, which is not what you want. Warm a plate, put a generous knob of butter on the asparagus and turn the spears through it as it melts. Finish with a squeeze of lemon, flaky salt and black pepper. Eat immediately, with your fingers if the mood takes you.

An Egg, Softly Set

A softly boiled egg turns asparagus into a proper lunch or a light supper. Lower eggs into boiling water, cook for six minutes, then cool them briefly under the cold tap and peel. Lay two or three warm buttered spears on toast or on a plate, sit the egg on top and break it so the yolk runs down into the butter. A pinch of cayenne or a few snipped chives is plenty.

For something more generous, poach the eggs and spoon over a quick lemon butter. Melt 50g of butter until it foams, take it off the heat and stir in a teaspoon of lemon juice with the grated zest of half a lemon. Pour it over the spears and eggs and eat straight away, before the butter separates.

A Bright Lemon Dressing

When the weather turns warm, cold asparagus with something sharp is the better idea.

In a jam jar, shake together the zest and juice of one lemon, three tablespoons of good olive oil, a teaspoon of Dijon mustard, a small pinch of sugar, salt and pepper. Taste it. It should be bright enough to make you wince slightly, because the asparagus will soften it.

Cook the spears as above, then run them under cold water or spread them on a plate to cool. Pile them on a platter with blanched peas, sliced radishes, a handful of mint and a few spring onions. Spoon the dressing over. This improves if it sits for half an hour, and it travels well to a table in the garden.

Use Every Bit

Do not bin the woody ends. Simmer them with a sliced potato, an onion and a litre of water for 20 minutes, then blend, sieve and finish with a little cream, salt and nutmeg. The result is a pale green soup that tastes far better than it sounds, and the peelings can go in too.

Asparagus also takes kindly to a hot griddle or a roasting tin. Toss thick spears in oil and cook on a ridged pan for four or five minutes, turning, or roast at 200°C for eight to ten minutes. Finish with lemon and salt. Charred edges suit it.

Above all, cook it often while you can. Eight weeks is not long, and the first plate of British asparagus in May is worth more than anything flown in during January. Buy a bundle, keep it simple, and eat it on the day you buy it.