The Gooseberry Sawfly Massacre

After the overwhelming response to my last blockbuster, here is my latest acclaimed horror flick starring Helly Berry with exit music from the siblings April & August Frost and the Not-So-Hardy Kiwi Ensemble.  

Shallowe'en

There's an old adage that says onions do not make good moving pictures. But this feature length premiere changes all that.

Tunnel Vision

The caterpillar has landed

There's a new arrival on the plot. This year's sorry-looking courgettes were the final straw. The answer to the vagaries of the Scottish climate is to go undercover. And so may I introduce Polly, and isn't she a beauty? I am not sure everyone round here shares my polytheism but her personal attributes are many. All plants benefit from greater warmth, at least at some point in their cycle. This brings- as well as the chance to grow the queen of all the veg, aubergines - earlier spring crops while warmer autumn conditions allow more chance of ripening borderline late crops. Some tomatoes would be nice, and will benefit from protection from our characteristically wet blighty Augusts. The wind protection is one of the major gains here, with climbing beans probably the greatest beneficiary. In winter, Polly will produce superior quality of the hardy outdoor survivors like spinach and winter salads. And then there are my deluded visions of apricots, peaches and grapes, not to mention a new home for my not-so-hardy kiwis with the distant hope that the vines will grow bigger than the 5cm they have managed so far. All so more space to accommodate all those inevitable coach parties.

Everything's up in the air

Walk like an Egyptian

If you're still perplexed by the onion depth conundrum, here's a novel solution. These are variously called walking, tree, or Egyptian onions. The onions grow at the end of the stalks. They then develop legs with further onions on them which then plant themselves at whatever depth they feel like in the neighbouring ground. They will also appeal to you microveg growers out there as they never get much bigger than a pickled onion. The onions also multiply themselves in the ground. Once settled in though, they will walk all over you. Hence, I have bulbs available if any of you intrepid onions growers out there who can't get their depth right want to give it a go.

Thyme is on our side

June has been a tough month. With all that cool wet weather and Euro 2012 on the TV, the weeds have been successful on the counterattack. But despite many setbacks, I am starting to get a tournament-ready selection of produce together. Peas and broad beans turned up late for training and will have to be satisfied with a place on the potting bench. So here is my current best eleven:

Chard

Onion (S)      Rhubarb     des Glaces     Chive

Rocket

Thyme                                     Honeyberry

di Rapa

Asparagus   Artichoke

Thyme on the right flank with Chive (left back)

Tasty expensive frontman Asparagus spearheads the attack, beautifully complemented by Artichoke, who has been in surprisingly prolific early season form. The temperamental Italian import Cima di Rapa has had his best season yet, but just don't call him Turnip Top. Thyme looks elegant on the flanks, with the surprise debutant Honeyberry sharp in small bursts but with much promise for the future. The reliable Rocket adds a bit of pace and bite in the middle of the plot. Alongside the cool Iceberg Reine Des Glace let us commend the sturdy Rhubarb, who has also been the stem of a lot of good moves. The abundant raw talent of Spring Onion and the flourishing Chive give the team the requisite oniony flavour, while the ageing Chard has now made a record number of appearances at the Spring Kitchen Stadium. Given the shape of the pitch, the midfield will set up in a diamond formation and will be expected to play in neat triangles. They've been drawn in a tough group alongside the tournament favourites Weeds, the up and coming Pests and the unpredictable Inclement Weather, but I am hopeful at least of making the quarter finals.

A great view of the action from the expensive new grandstand

Friends in High Places

In the first of a very occasional series, we will take a critical look at onion patches around the world, with particular reference to depth, spacing, weeding regime and any vernacular cultivation techniques. Here we have Mario's Cipollini in the Tuscan uplands.

Mario has a fairly loose spacing, although he may have been thinning by harvesting in the green alla moda italiana. He has an even row width over the whole patch, which can make for difficult access and risk of trampling, al Dowsoni. Cleanliness of patch is a fairly neutral wH6.7 on the weedmeter, although as usual I didn't bother calibrating it properly so the result is just for the purpose of putting some numbers in the report. Curiously, Mario chooses to grow his onions in narrow ridges with his swellings not exposed, but perhaps he's cares little about the size of his bulbs - these would be best served up in a tight bunched finish. One must assume this technique is an essential aid for watering in these dusty environs because it looks molto faffo. Despite all this, you have to give him credit for a valiant effort on this mountainous stage. He offered to rent me part of his land for £10 euros a month but I thought it was a bit steep.

Extreme Gardening

Less than a week ago, the day temperature failed to reach 7 degrees. This week we've had 26 degrees in the sunshine that appeared spontaneously for the arrival of the WSP coach tour. The seedlings that sprouted in the March heatwave have until this week sat stunted not knowing what's going on. Fifty days since our first excited cut of asparagus, last night we managed a second one. All in all, not a great time to go on the annual seed-buying field trip sometimes known as a Mediterranean holiday. Yes, it's cooler there than here. I am up at 4am to do a last watering of my onions (it's already light!) because, as you'll know, if you want swell onions this is a critical time for growth, especially if someone has just stood on them. Here is my latest time lapse shot. Note the wide open spaces where things haven't germinated or I didn't bother sowing until this week, and also the absence of leaves on the ash trees. On our return, it will look very different but will the garden have burst into life or be fried to a crisp?

All hands on deck

There's a lot more out front these days. The decking I meant

Field work manager (right)

Now that the weed season is in full swing, you need all the help you can get. Labourers are being coached in from all parts. Unfortunately some deckhands are more useful than others, and if you are really unlucky you'll end up with someone who tramples on your onion patch and spends the rest of the shift on the phone. Still all is forgotten over a chard & spring onion pizza and rhubarb upside-down cake watching the sun go down over the northwest highlands. Next field trip and onion disinterment training course now booking.

Cheekbones like Geometry

It's time I took that snowy image off the top of the blog. So here is still shivery but now squelchy one to replace it. Everything has stopped growing, the asparagus tips have rotted, no point sowing anything too fussy really. However, the plot looks at its cleanest at this time of year. The bare soil shows up its high cheekbones, with the crisp lines of all those triangles, rhombuses & trapezia. This is gardening at cute angles, making use of all those cosines learned at school. The clean look won't last though. The chickweed will turn it straight back into a carpet of green. I'll put up another picture from the bedroom window in a month's time to show the passing of the seasons - a sort of laidback time lapse photography to whet the appetite for the webcam that will never happen.

Blanket on the Ground

Seems like only a week ago the barbecue was out, The Snab was a dustbowl, my neighbour was gardening topless and casual comments were made about what a short benign winter we had. I'd like to say, deep down, I wasn't fooled into sowing anything too early. And there is nothing like a bit of snow to show up the layout of the garden. It'll be interesting to see whether the early flowering damsons will go on to produce any fruit while I guess tonight's asparagus on toast may have to be postponed. Otherwise, I think no harm done and a spot of working from home is always good for the soul.

The emergence of the first asparagus tip brings a degree of excitement unmatched in the gardening year. You can go looking for them every day, but its appearance still somehow comes as a surprise. It is s harbinger of spring, its rubbery pinky flesh contrasting with the brittle woody stumps of last year's ferns. But more than that, there is a nurturing aspect to asparagus growing that comes with no other vegetable. You have to provide the right environment and education in their infancy, make sure they not keeping undesirable company with the local weeds, and exercise immense patience. They will then mature into rewarding and undemanding adults. These spears are the result of my 2009 sowing when we didn't even have any land, or any chance of any and so this is their fourth season. I'm so proud that they have made it through to their graduation day. The key to the finest asparagus on the plate, is to boil the water before heading to the patch with the knife at breakneck speed . Remember and practise that and you can't go far wrong, served with a knob of butter and perhaps a poach egg. In retrospect, perhaps don't put the patch at the far reaches of your acreage like I have. Those valuable seconds lost could ruin the meal. But I had an excuse, the crowns had to go in and it was the first thing I planted back in March 2010 along with my rhubarb. Here's a photo from the archives.

Jerusalem in the Spring

Spring has certainly arrived here since my last post. This is traditionally a difficult time of year for living off the garden. Stored potatoes, neeps, kale, cabbage, broccoli and winter salads are all going strong but carrots and celeriac are gone and it'll be a while before there's anything to freshen up the repertoire in the kitchen. Bring on the hard-as-nails jerusalem artichoke which could easily feed the five thousand from sowing one tuber... although they might not eat it.

I'm yet to be convinced about its merits. Some eulogise about its flavour but it is blessed with high concentrations of the tentatively identified compound, inulin [C6H11O5(C6H10O5)nOH], which most people can't digest. For once I am in the majority and it can lead to a most unchristian flatulence. But there is nothing holy about this root. It is in fact a tuberous perennial sunflower (girasole) from North America, getting its name from a mangling of a foreign language not seen again till I did italian at O level. It is a good samaritan in the garden, oblivious to weeds and providing, ironically, a good windbreak but you will need a Herod-like determination to root out those baby tubers to stop it evangelising in soft fruit patch. For all its virtues, if you're looking for the promised land to provide something at this time of year, for me it is the leek that shall inherit the earth.

Not so smart

That last one was an attempt to post photos direct from my new smartphone. Needless to say the process is hopelessly complicated, took me several days to work out how to do it and then fails anyway. I will continue to try as I'm sure seamless posting direct from the pea patch is a prize worth pursuing.

Smarten up

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Savoie Fare

For a state with a proud history, it is strange that Savoy's few vestiges in the English-speaking world are a place for high-falutin cream teas and a crinkly winter cabbage. I'm not sure if the cabbage is so named because of its popularity with the hotel guests or if it was prominent in Victor Emmanuel II's potager. In any case, it gives reliable January greenery in the alpine regions and beyond. As ever, these are somewhat smaller than your supermarket versions but I shall claim to be growing meal-sized specimens to avoid having cut cabbage getting browned off in the fridge.

A simple hearty and very satisfying winter supper repeated on a weekly cycle up here is a version of clapshot/ rumbledethumps/ colcannon. [I prefer the name clapshot but that seems to use neep rather true cabbage.] Ingredients are butter, leeks (or onions), diced waxy potatoes (pink fir apple, still abundant in the pantry though starting to sprout), cabbage and cheese (I recommend gruyere or perhaps a Tomme de Savoie from your cheese specialist). Saute the ingredients adding them in sequence to make sure everything is tender at the same time. You may want to par-boil the potatoes to speed it up. Finish under the grill with the cheese and serve with plenty of black pepper.

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Do The Brussel

(R to L) Sprout to the Top

Last year was my first attempt at brussel sprouts. Although I've always been a fan, they only seem to go with roast turkey or when making up the numbers in meat and two veg - but I'm willing to try anything to keep me in good winter colour. Not following convention as ever, I went for a red variety (Red Rubine), because all the veg needs to look the part now there's a smart new house on the plot. The plants are a lovely reddy purple and the sprouts inside are a purple-veined pale green. Success horticulturally I have to admit has been modest, with the sprouts only slightly bigger than peas and never in sufficient number to overpower a dish. I think I need to sow and transplant earlier.  Still you get a second chance at this time of year when they start producing sprout-impersonating tops, which you can pretend are the well-sized real thing - a great boost for the nanogardener trying to prove his worth.

If you're struggling to think of things to cook this time of year, or indeed any time of year, a bag of pasta and a trip to the orto usually provides the inspiration. I'll call this pasta dell'orto stagionale (inverno).

Sprout to lunch

• leeks or microleeks*, no substitute.
• hardneck garlic**, softneck if you must
• chilli**
• sprouts, microsprouts and sprout tops*, must be purple veined or don't bother starting this dish. Cavolo nero* will do the job too.
• mushrooms***
• sundried tomatoes*** (the veggie's bacon substitute, adding a salty piquant flavour)
• seasonal herbs (e.g. parsley*, chervil*, thyme*, winter savory*)

Footnotes
* dall'orto stagionale
** dalla dispensa
*** l'anno prossimo, forse? D'occhio questo spazio.

I won't insult you by telling you how to cook it. Ok, throw it all in a pan with some butter till its done, stir it into some cooked pasta, top with a palmful of parmesan and pep it up with some ground pepper***.

Meraviglioso e semplice!

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

Upwardly mobile

Many apologies for my recent silence. Having moved house we no longer have a landline and were quoted >£1000 for one unless I dug the trench myself. The thought of the pile of stones that would entail has forced me into desperate measures: a visit to the mobile phone shop. It appears we have a broadband transmitter visible from our bathroom. Although my mobile phone puts up a miserable performance in the house, we can get perfect internet by placing a receiver smaller than Al's prized parsnip on the ledge of the pantry porthole, the only north facing window in the house. Marvellous.

Miner Detail!

I suppose I better talk about some vegetables. Now having the plot in my back yard as it were, a constant flow of winter produce is feeding a line of new experimental dishes, and not all of them contain turnip. By popular request, I will be passing on some recipes starting with some dishes to keep you going through the tough winter months. The subject of the first is Miner's Lettuce, fresh and succulent from its goldrush at the end-of-year awards. Claytonia perfoliata amazingly grows through the winter unperturbed by heavy frosts although susceptible to a bit of mudsplash. While having no distinctive taste, its attraction is in its texture, a chewy crunch if that's possible (officially "mucilaginous"). A recipe? Two slices of homemade sourdough (sliced), some cheese (sliced), a large dollop of home made carrot chutney, one miner's lettuce (chopped). Combine the ingredient in layers, starting and finishing with the bread. I havent got a name for it yet but I think might catch on.