A motley crue

The members of our allotment site are a motley crue, - a mixture of ages, nationalities, professions … multi-layered like a good compost … there are the old diehards who are not afraid of engaging the flora and fauna with chemical warfare and can’t be doing with any of this new-fangled organic nonsense (despite the fact  many of them have been organic practitioners for years they just don’t use the term organic!). These guys really know what they are doing – producing eye wateringly huge cabbages, hernia-inducing marrows, tumbling masses of beans … and not a weed in sight.  Alongside them are the earnest organic gardeners  who with almost Gandhi-like fortitude face down the mighty pests and pestilences often armed just with a plastic of tub of beer (for the slugs of course) and a tray of marigold seedlings (to attract beneficial insects) – they’re often seen with toddlers in tow who make mud pies, ‘help’ with the watering, stamp on the seedlings and generally have a time of it. 

We also seem to have quite an Italian community on our site and it’s these people, often dimunitive and fairly elderly, who seem to have horticulture embedded in their DNA – this is not gardening but alchemy – how else do you explain luscious figs, large fragrant bushes of basil, glowing peppers, robust aubergines - all grown in an English climate. .. what’s their secret? …Then there are, of course, the dilettantes whose initial enthusiasm is a joy to behold fruit cages built with the aid of spirit levels and high level technological expertise, brand new gardening tools wielded with gusto but how the interest wanes over the months leaving weeds running riot and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind – but watch your backs …the allotment Gestapo are on to you – give yourselves up now!

In an effort to clear the remaining winter veg I have uprooted all the remaining leeks and decided to experiment and cook them a little differently… and it turned out brilliantly. These are my creamy, mustardy leeks.

Creamy Leeks

 Wash and slice 3 or 4 leeks, put them in a pan with a thimbleful of water just enough to stop them sticking initially. Clamp on a lid and cook over a lowish heat – you’ll be surprised how much liquid comes out of the leeks. When they are tender, stir in a heaped teaspoon of wholegrain mustard and then a couple of tablespoons of low fat crème fraiche – of course you can use full fat for a creamier dish and adjust the amount of mustard to taste.

A sense of community

Today I was given a gift from a new found allotment friend – a bronze bowl full of mange tout peas ready to plant –and this set me thinking on the question I’m sometimes asked ‘what’s the big deal about allotments’. For me the main big deal is that we have a tiny, ‘ no room to swing a cat’ garden. An allotment gives us the space and freedom to dig and grow to our hearts’ content…but it’s more than that. I’d rather grow veg in the allotment than in the garden. Now it’s hard to say why given the problems an allotment can pose: for instance, you can’t just step out of your back door to pull a carrot or snip a few spinach leaves  you have to remember to bring whatever produce you want back with you or make a special trip there. You often have to lug your tools - fork, spade, watering can – from home unless you are lucky enough to have 2 sets – one to keep on the site - and even then you might find them mysteriously snaffled overnight! Then of course you have to remember the allotment gate key every time  you go … yes every time, unless of course,  having forgotten it you are foolhardy enough to attempt to climb over . This is an experience I really wouldn’t recommend having got stuck  perilously and uncomfortably  halfway over. While my knuckles whitened from the strain of hanging on I smiled and nodded at curious passers by as if this were all part of my usual daily routine, … I’ve never forgotten the key again. But all these inconveniences are merely trivial in the face of so many intangible joys. There is so much here you cannot replicate in a garden:  the sense of a really wide open space slap in the middle of a city where sounds of birdsong mingle with sirens and the roar of the rush hour traffic; the sense of community – chattering  with fellow plot-holders (what are you seeding now? When do you prune blackcurrant bushes and so on), the shared commiseration over lost crops, and above all – remembering my bronze bowl of mange tout - the generosity of my fellow allotmenteers, who give help and encouragement whenever needed.