Nothing shouts summer in Britain more than the arrival of strawberry season. Although now available all year, imported fruit just doesn’t cut it, mainly because to cope with transportation they are picked before they are properly ripe. Strawberries don’t ripen after being picked, which means that their flavour and texture are impaired. My advice is to get your fill during the British season to enjoy this cracking fruit at its fragrant, juicy and flavourful best.

This year we are in for a real treat: the unusually cold spring means the fruit took longer to ripen, making the strawberries much bigger, sweeter and juicier than usual, and the recent hot spells have led to a bumper crop. With that in mind, I’ve put together a couple of recipes that combine strawberries and my favourite summer herb, basil. They pair well and, with the addition of balsamic and black pepper, can make a cracking savoury dish. They also work surprisingly well in my version of strawberries and cream.

Pickers at dawn in Birichino’s Antle vineyard

I’ve never heard anyone talk about vineyards the way John Locke does. There is a note of true affection that speaks of his absolute passion for the sites he works with. His joy as he flicks through picture after picture of stunning gnarly vines in typically Californian scenery is unparalleled; his commentary hopping from the exact slant of the slope and soil types, to a tangential anecdote, to harvest dates and the character of the resulting wines. The glee isn’t dissimilar to that of child showing off their most treasured toys.

John is one half of the impish duo behind Birichino (pronounced “biri-kino”, the Italian term literally translates as “mischievous”). He and his partner in crime, Alex Krause, met at Bonny Doon – where John worked in the cellar for many years, and Alex still works as Director of Export Sales. Knowing a little about Bonny Doon, their “training ground”, and the winery owned and founded by Randall Grahm – a long-haired, thoroughly hippy and terrifyingly intelligent philosophy grad – goes a long way to understanding the spirit behind their label. Randall is an endlessly inventive, talented winemaker whose many cuvées often wittily (sometimes mockingly) play on the ways of the Old World.

But Birichino is no lame pretender to the Bonny Doon throne – it is a wholly separate, if equally fun, offering. They focus more on vineyards rather than “wines” – working with an ever-larger handful of desirably antique sites scattered around northern California, almost all of which are vinified individually. These deliciously old, low-yielding vineyards date as far back as the 19^th century – and are all still on their own rootstocks, a rarity in the modern phylloxera-ridden world (this deathly louse is lethal to vitis vinifera – and is the reason why most of the world’s vines are grafted onto other rootstocks).

They created the label 10 years ago when Randall decided to stop making the Bonny Doon Malvasia Bianca. With the vineyard up for grabs, and Alex’s love of the wine, he snapped up the fruit and roped John in. From there, the project grew, with the pair seizing contracts for special sites that they stumbled across. “There’s something about old vines that change your mind about your potential interest in something,” John tells me, considering how the unconventional, almost natural-leaning duo wound up making that most conservative of wines – a Californian Zinfandel. “I think now if someone comes to us and says, ‘I’ve got his 90-year-old vineyard of…’; we say ‘Ok, we’ll take it.’”

It’s their approach in the cellar that – for me – makes their wines so special. While Birichino works with extraordinary raw material, it is their ability to do so little with it that sets them apart – a feat that doesn’t simply mean they kick-back and watch the ferments bubble. “To make wine like this, a lot of it is the cellar crew – how topped and clean the barrels are, the temperature of the cellar, and all those little things, make a big difference. Low sulphur levels during élevage can make a wine susceptible to lots of bad things, if care’s not taken,” John says. But he’s clear to point out they aren’t “natural”, an ethos with which he has qualms, to say the least; you can’t just “let the wine do what it wants to do,” he tells me. “I mean, I don’t think necessarily a vine’s ambitions and priorities correlate to a wine drinker’s.” And, of course, some vintages they need to intervene more than others.

Each and every bottle of Birichino I’ve tasted offers enticing aromatics, a lightness of touch on the palate and a totally serious, non-demeaning “quaffability”. These are the sorts of wines that it is all-too-tempting to describe as “almost Old World” in style; a description that the pair themselves avoid at all costs, for it’s no pale imitation of Burgundy and beyond that they’re creating. There is a distinct, Californian approachability and charm, a laid-back fruit-forward style and a delicate density about them – they manage to be elegant not wan.

“We do not make ‘tasty’ wines; we make ‘drinking’ wines” John explains, describing the Birichino style. “If you have 50 wines in a big tasting, they’re probably not that showy – they’re not super big and rich, but they’re not meant to be. ‘Drinking’ wines do not induce fatigue in the glass.” Having settled down with John for a 9am tasting of the range, having shivered my way through the morning fog in Santa Cruz – not that many hours after we finished dinner – it’s safe to say that Birichino’s bottles easily meet this criterion.

Birichino so effortlessly represents what makes California so exciting right now: a new generation of truly enthused winemakers, making the most of the state’s incredible viticultural heritage, and flexing their low-intervention skills to produce wines that it’s hard not to fall totally head over heels for.

Find out more, and browse the Birichino range, on bbr.com

Photograph: Joe Woodhouse

When I was first considering this piece, the word “quaffable” popped up once too often. Forgive me if I come across as something of an ignoramus, but to me the word “quaffable” suggests a wine (or other alcoholic beverage) that does not require too much thought. This seems an insult to the person who has spent time and effort making it; so, while one could sip any of the wines below with abandon, they are equally worthy of contemplation.

The logical go-to-grape in terms of light reds would be Pinot Noir. This variety so often amazes me with its range of styles, its poise and delicacy – and, on the odd occasion, its unexpected power. I was sorely tempted to review six Burgundies and be done with it, but it seemed unjust to the many other wonderful, intriguing wines that are so easily suited to the warmer weather.

Browse our full summer range on bbr.com

The dining room at Bright. Photograph: Andy Leitch for Eater London

The scene at Bright on a Saturday lunchtime tells you a lot about the restaurant. A group of young parents have put the prams to one side, set up iPads for the kids and laid out their vertical tasting of Overnoy – possibly the cult name of the Jura, whose un-sulphured low-intervention wines have gone from off-beat trendy to uber-collectible. The tone (and table) was set.

It’s not surprising that this establishment is already a mecca for the natural wine cohort. Bright is the new restaurant from the team behind Noble Fine Liquor and P. Franco – an east London hotspot which has become known for the quality of guest chefs taking a turn on its induction hobs to create neat, inventive menus that partner its shelves of natural wine.

You may have a sense of déjà-vu arriving at Bright. It is perched at the foot of Netil House in London Fields – a spot which, until early March, was occupied by Michelin-starred Ellory (who in turn have de-camped to Shoreditch, opening a new restaurant, Leroy… and so the merry-go-round goes on).

Some might have seen it as a challenge stepping into Ellory’s long and award-winning shadow, but not so for Chef William Gleave (who became legendary after his P. Franco takeover in 2015-16) and is heading up the kitchen. Bright is shining unashamedly, well, brightly; with – just over a month into service – a signature snack already Insta-famous (the katsu sando – tender fried chicken sandwiched between deliciously, dirtily white sliced bread, served with a dollop of curry-spiked mustard: phwoar).

And that cheeky little snack is the opening gambit for an onslaught of superb dishes. Cured pork loin was deliciously melting and surprisingly delicate; pizza fritta (essentially a savoury doughnut slathered with tomato sauce, mozzarella and parmesan) was a revelation; while al dente spaghetti slid gloriously in amongst its sweet lobster and tomato coating. Sweet grilled onions were cut with rosemary vinegar and the lush lactic acid of creamy sheep’s ricotta. A whole glorious John Dory was cooked to perfection – its potent aïoli a spoon-able joy.

The wine list is Europe-focused, an homage to the boutique, natural producer – with a hefty swathe of organic and biodynamic names. Terribly à la mode, yes, but also delicious, with plenty of bottles from around the £25/30 mark, right up to the top end. Mark-ups seem almost outrageously reasonable – so much so that we started with a bottle of Jérôme Prevost’s Champagne Les Béguines. This low-dosage, utterly rich, powerful yet elegant wine evolved with time in the glass, offering citrus brightness, biscuit richness and spicy minerality, the perfect pairing for a mismatch of dishes from the compact menu.

I came away from a leisurely four-hour lunch feeling delightfully content. This is wonderfully happy food – truly tasty plates that spoke to my cravings, dishes that are just a little bit clever, without being effortfully over-complicated. It’s food that lifts the spirits – and if it doesn’t work, you’ll certainly find a bottle that will.

What we drank:

• Champagne Jérôme Prevost, La Closerie, Les Béguines, Extra Brut
• 2016 Folle Blanche, Luneau-Papin, Pays Nantais, Loire

Bright, 1 Westgate Street, London E8 3RL