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!