Crispy Jacket Potato
Crispy jacket potato meet the cold Andalucía winter as Storm Ingrid turns simple comfort cooking into warm British instinct.
It’s January in Andalucía, and Storm Ingrid has pushed a cold, colourless day across the hills — the sort of weather that behaves as if it’s British, even though it isn’t. A damp chill, a grey sky that never quite brightens, and a house that feels one step behind the temperature. It’s the kind of day that asks for something simple, steady and warm. So I’m baking a jacket potato.
There's nothing complicated about a crispy jacket potato. A floury potato, rubbed with Spanish olive oil and Maldon sea salt, straight onto the oven rack. No foil, no shortcuts. Sometimes I pierce it with a metal skewer — the kind with a looped end — to help the heat reach the centre more quickly. It’s a small trick, but it works, especially on days when patience is in short supply.
Maybe that’s why jacket potatoes are having a quiet comeback in the UK — Spud Bros. and all the rest. Not a reinvention, just a reminder. Cheap, filling, honest food that doesn’t need selling. The sort of thing you ate without thinking, long before anyone called it winter comfort food.
In those years, food was simply part of the rhythm of our weekends. Sometimes it was SpudULike in Manchester city centre, the kids happily working through their toppings. Other times it was Chinatown on a Sunday, or what felt like impossibly posh fish and chips at Mother Hubbard’s in Oldham — crisp batter, proper haddock, the sort of plate that made you feel looked after. None of it felt contradictory. It was just food – good food – eaten where we happened to be, on the day we were having.
There were other places too. La Tandoor in Bamford, where the kids adored the Indian buffet. Casa Capri in Rochdale, which on Sundays put on a carvery that felt wonderfully generous. They’d pile their plates high while I’d sit with minestrone, baked halibut in white wine and lemon, finishing with Italian Gorgonzola Dolce and a few mini digestives. An espresso to round it off. Different foods, different moods, different days — all of it normal.
Today, both my sons cook – indoors, outdoors, wherever the weather allows. My daughter, less so, though she has an excellent relationship with coffee. People take what they need. Food finds its way in regardless.
By the time the oven clicks off, the light has already gone. A crispy jacket potato gives slightly when I press it, the skin dry and salty, the inside properly soft. When it’s ready, I cut a deep cross into the top and press it open with a tea towel, careful of the heat. It goes back into the oven for five minutes, just long enough for the steam to escape. The flesh dries a little, turns floury, and takes on that texture you only get from patience.
A different kind of comfort to a bowl of mash, but cut from the same cloth. And if today had asked for something softer, something spoonable, I’d have made mash instead. I’ve written about that too – the creamy, fluffy kind that feels like central heating in a bowl:
Outside, January carries on being itself. Inside, there’s nothing to improve. Just heat, time, and something simple done well.
This crispy jacket potato recipe is part of the Potato Recipes — The Flexible Chef's Complete Collection — every potato recipe from Casa Adora and the road. Explore the full collection.
Wonky photos, proper food, genuine adventures – The Flexible Chef
