parsnips are aphrodisiacs!

Parsnips, to my mind, are the prima donnas of the seed world. Temperamental and wayward one never knows if they will be bothered to germinate. Rather like  supermodels they won’t get out of bed for less than …. well in a parsnip’s case an obligatory amount of sun and rain. So imagine my pride when the full complement of seeded rows flourished.

Having watched them growing lustily over the summer I impatiently dug a couple up rather prematurely in October. Even then, as I had to dig deeper and deeper to unearth them, I knew they were winners, all I had to do now was wait for the frosts to sweeten them and we would have a bumper crop for Christmas. And boy did we have frosts! I envisaged everyone around the festive table exclaiming, ‘so all these vegetables are from your allotment! And I would smugly nod in agreement.  But this turned out to be foolish hubris – it wasn’t to be. I ended up buying supermarket parsnips coyly wrapped in cellophane. The truth was that the frost would not  relinquish  its icy grip on the soil and beware all forks and spades who entered there.

Ah but now that the thaw is here – the parsnips will be mine – all mine. Remembering their size last autumn I wonder how  big they are now. I imagine them remorselessly tunnelling down through the earth rather like a vegetable version of the ‘Shawshank Redemption’. Perhaps, I muse, they’ve reached Australia! ‘Get a grip, says my spouse when I unwisely share my thoughts. We certainly needed grip digging up these fellows. Now I don’t want to boast but they were about  oooh – this big…I know this doesn’t quite work on radio, but you’ll have to take it from me!

The first thing I make is my favourite thing at the moment – parsnip crisps. For that purpose I have bought a mandolin  - sadly not the stringed instrument but a lethally sharp contraption which, when used in the right way results in uniform little discs. However,  used in the wrong way – and I know this from experience – it results in decapitated thumbs.

This is how I make Parsnip Crisps

 Slice the parsnips into thin discs with a sharp knife or mandolin. Scatter them on a baking tray and sprinkle on sea salt and some paprika. Drizzle on some olive oil and then use your hands to toss the slices to ensure they are all coated. Now put them in a moderately hot oven for about 15-20 minutes until crispy and eat while hot.

Now it is Valentine’s day soon and, not many people know this but the Romans thought parsnips were aphrodisiacs! So forget the champagne and oysters – a plateful of parsnip crisps will bring a twinkle to your loved one’s eyes!

 

Brussels Sprouts aren't just for Christmas

I know that I have been rude about Brussels Sprouts – yes I have called them devil’s testicles and vowed never to grow them. But the trouble is Christmas lunch has to feature those green monsters – it’s the law. You get a fine and 8 hours community service if you dare to serve that turkey without it! So caving into convention we grew sprouts and I duly sent my spouse to collect them before the big day (there was no way I was grappling with the snow to retrieve those little blighters). And they weren’t bad, a bit small - some of them masquerading as peas on steroids, but duty was done, the sprouts were on the plate and Christmas tradition was duly upheld.

Now in January the allotment is under a blanket of snow and it’s tempting to resort to buying veg. So much easier to go to a nice warm shop than put on wellies and  brave the freezing winds, ice and snow. But since early summer we have been self sufficient when it comes to vegetables and I’m loathe to start buying them now. I rack my brains – what would be relatively easy and quick to harvest and not submerged by snow? Well standing proudly, facing down the east wind are the Brussels Sprout plants – oh yes the devil looks after his own. And actually the sprout tops look really enticing – little top knots of pale green tender leaves. I quickly lop them off and return home cold but triumphant.

I wanted to retain the leaves’ fresh crispness so I stir-fried them. I also wanted some taste bud tingling spice to warm up a cold January evening. This is my recipe:

Spiced stir-fried sprout tops

4 sprout tops

1 small onion finely chopped

1 tablespoon of oil for frying

1 teaspoon cumin

1teaspoon fennel seeds

1 tsp coriander seeds

1 tsp mixed spice

1 small chilli, chopped (deseeded if wished)

salt

Squeeze of lemon juice

Bring a pan of water to the boil and add the sprout top leaves. Blanch them for 2 minutes and then drain. Roughly chop them. Meanwhile pound all the spices in a pestle and mortar. Heat the oil in a wok until really hot. Add the chopped onion and fry until tender. Now add the ground spices and chilli and fry for 30 seconds. Throw in the chopped sprout tops and stir fry for 2 minutes – add salt and a squeeze of lemon. Serve piping hot!

Mmmm I think I’m going to have a sticker on my car windscreen saying – Remember Brussels Sprouts aren’t just for xmas!

 

 

Out with the old...

‘Out with the old, in with the new ‘ and once that mother of all hangovers has disappeared who can resist that optimistic thrill the new year brings. The bright, cold new year’s day banishes any fugginess and it seems right to christen the first day of 2010 with an allotment visit. Clad in my brand new Xmas wellies the soil is crisp underfoot and we look ruefully at the parsnips– we can’t see ourselves prising those out of the frozen soil. There’s little to do here which makes the visit even more pleasureable – and even if it is the dead of winter there are always subtle changes  taking place. It’s like looking through a kaleidoscope: the elements are always the same but a brief twist of the dial can alter the patterns and colours so the scene becomes transformed. Today the monochrome view is punctuated  by the rosy hues of the remaining apple windfalls, the bright green of broad bean shoots and the muted colours of kale and cabbages. All is still and wintry, on the surface nature is quiescent, biding its time. But what’s this, buds on the blackcurrant bushes; under the soil things are stirring, awakening. Mmmm if I think about this long enough it all starts getting a bit spooky!

The bracing air of January certainly stirs us from our post Christmas torpor and I start thinking about new year resolutions. What are my gardening goals this year? Well firstly not having eyes bigger than my stomach when it comes to ordering seeds. I can’t help it I’m a sucker for all those pictures and exotic names promising plentiful harvests of myriad varieties. The snag is, to achieve aforesaid harvests, you do actually need to plant the seeds in the ground. As I speak I’m guiltily looking in our seed box at all the unopened packets, what’s this – mizuna, pak choi, amaranth. I bet they would have been brilliant given their chance in the sun. Oh dear! Then of course there is the seed box itself – a motley collection of torn packets some with nothing in them and a variety of foil squares with ‘who know what’ variety of seeds in them. This year the seed box will be arranged with military precision – in alphabetical order and this is the genius idea: I’m going to make a calendar of seeding times. So all I have to do each month is look to see what I should be sowing rather than exasperatedly riffle through all the packets. As for the planting itself I resolve to be more disciplined …. Each year we draw up a plan of action. It is a thing of beauty – an A4 sheet with areas marked out and illustrated showing exactly what we are going to plant and where. We are always very pleased with it – it looks like a finely worked piece of Victorian tapestry. It ensures we plant rotationally – avoiding sowing plants in the same areas and gives pleasing symmetry and design. Do we follow this plan of action throughout the year? Do we hell! The drawing is shoved into a drawer never to see the light of day again and when we are on the plot – we scratch our heads and say ‘where did we plan to put these?’. After a few minutes ‘discussing’ also known as  ‘arguing’ we just find an empty patch of ground – plant and hope for the best. The resulting hodge podge looks nothing like our beautiful drawing. As Robbie Burns said ‘the best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft agley’. Now I’m not sure what ‘gang aft agley’ means but I have a feeling it means ‘all gone to hell’. Ah but this year it’s going to be different the best laid plans will be strictly followed, every weed will pulled and seeds will be planted at the appointed time. Hang on, what’s that I see? How strange it looks like a flying pig!

 

Bonfires or is it Bone-fires?

For me winter isn’t winter without a blazing, crackling bonfire. It’s almost one of those rites of passage  in the gardening year, marking the transition from the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness to the chilly frosty days  of December, January and February. The trouble is we’ve missed the bonfire ‘window’ on the allotment , this is the few weeks in November when we are allowed  to light fires on our plots – any other time it is verboten. Strange rule, but as Tennyson wrote ‘ours is not to reason why’!

We have lots of burnable rubbish on our allotment – rotten bits of wood, canes, fallen branches etc . Yes, we can lug it all over to the city tip – oh but the hassle, not to mention the big black spiders and snails crawling over the inside of the car. I know from past experience that these critters hide in dark corners then pop up days later to give you the mother of all frights  as you navigate a tricky turning! And of course, just think of the environmental cost of the petrol to get there. Oh yes a bonfire is definitely the thing. You may have guessed it …. I’m excited  about lighting a fire outside. It’s one of gardening’s innocent pleasures – not that there are many guilty ones. But what I mean to say is that we all turn into children when we gather around a blaze watching the flames dancing and sparking. So we decide to flout the allotment  rules…

Now it is hard to be furtive about lighting a bonfire, but we do our level best. We site it well away from the communal pathway and keep glancing over our shoulders in case anybody from the allotment committee passes by. We look guilty as hell! We pile up the wood as high as we dare and light a match. It catches briefly, sizzles and then dies – it’s all a bit damp  and sad. Like good boy scouts however, we’ve come prepared…firelighters to the rescue. This is more like it! Slowly, sparks ignite splinters and shards that in turn flame up to engulf the pile. We are triumphant and vie with each other poking the fire and throwing more and more bits on. Caution is thrown to the winds. Of course this is a one person job but neither of us is going to leave the fireside and we stand around rubbing our hands in the warmth as our faces go redder and redder.  I’m suddenly a child again standing with my dad around the garden bonfire – impatient if he thought it wasn’t going properly he’d dig out the can of paraffin from the shed.  Then with gay abandon he would slosh the pink liquid around the bonfire and watch joyfully as the flames leapt dangerously near the garden fence. Inevitably, of course,  it caught alight one year – what a hoo haa …buckets of water, angry neighbours ….

Speaking of angry neighbours I spy, Mike, one of the allotment committee far too close for comfort and I rush up the path to distract him with fatuous conversation: ‘So what are you growing ?’ and ‘Got any plans for Xmas?’ Out of the corner of my eye I see my other half dampening down the fire.  ‘Can you smell smoke?’ says  Mike. ‘Uhh smoke? No,’ I point in the far distance, ‘must be people in the houses over there’. I guiltily creep back to the allotment. The bonfire has burnt down to a core of hot embers and I half wish I’d brought some chestnuts to roast. Ah well mission accomplished .

As we walk home I mull about these gardening rituals, some seem to be purely  personal – one allotment neighbour always plants his broad beans on 21^st October, others have fixed days for pruning fruit bushes  or cleaning out a greenhouse.  Other traditions are mired in history, often linked with the farming year. Apparently the lighting of bonfires at this time of year is a very old farming practice. Around the beginning of November, with the growing season coming to an end, farmers would slaughter many of their animals, preserve the meat and use the hides and then burn the carcasses to make fertiliser. So it was literally a bone fire which then became known as ‘bonfire’. Ah hah I’ll remember that when I’m standing trial in front of the allotment committee – ‘It’s traditional’ I’ll yell either that or I’ll point accusingly at my husband and shout ‘He made me …it was all his idea!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beautiful borlotti

I was chatting to some friends in London who have an allotment in Finsbury Park and they told me that they devote two thirds of their plot to growing borlotti beans. I know a lot of our Italian neighbours also cultivate them so this year  we decided to grow them seriously.  We were told to sow them a little bit later than the runners  to avoid black fly and they were a huge success The vines develop beautiful crimson pods that in turn produce pretty pink-freckled beans like miniature birds’ eggs. Most people harvest the pods when they are dry and desiccated and then store the dried beans or freeze them. However I often collect the pods before they reach this desiccated state as the beans have a fresh creamy texture  at this stage.

I know now why my London friends grow so many. You can store them throughout the winter, they don’t take up much space and then you just throw them in soups and stews for about half an hour until tender . They are truly delicious without the earthy taste that many beans have. Sometimes I cook them separately as a vegetable in their  own right.  This is how I do it:

Put the podded beans in a small saucepan cover with water mix in some crushed garlic and a splash of both white wine and olive oil. Add some herbs such as sage or rosemary. Simmer for half an hour and then drain them.

To serve, splash a little more olive oil over the beans and sprinkle them with sea salt (don’t put salt in the cooking water as it can make the skins coarse). You’ll find the beans will have absorbed all the delicious flavours. I quite often serve this with roast chicken which sounds strange, but works brilliantly. 

Kale - Italian-stylie

Our leeks are thickening up like Nora Batty’s ankles and the parsnips are looking vigorous, but we decide to wait until a frost sweetens them up before doing any harvesting which leaves our veggie options rather limited. Luckily we grow cavolo nero (which although a kale translates from the Italian as black cabbage). I’m not a fan of kale, disliking its rag-like texture. This however, has a good firm texture and makes fantastic and versatile eating throughout the winter and is rich in all sorts of vitamins notably K, A , C  and B and elements such as manganese, calcium and iron. I buy the seeds from Seeds Of Italy, a supplier specialising in Italian varieties. It’s easy to  grow, it survives the coldest of winters and has a pleasing look about it – rather like dark green feather dusters poking out of the ground. Of course the Italians have always known about its benefits and grown and cooked it for generations, notably in a dish called ribollita which is a kind of soupy stew. I prefer to stir fry it:

Cavolo Nero Stir Fry

 Firstly I strip the leaves from its tough stem. Then I fry chopped onion and garlic in olive oil until they are golden and then throw in the shredded leaves, stir frying them rapidly for about ten minutes. Then in goes a slug or two of dry sherry or wine and some flakes of  dried chilli and some fennel seeds (fennel is a really good flavour with cavolo nero). Now cook slowly for ten minutes until the liquid is absorbed. Add a little more olive oil and stir fry again for a couple of minutes and serve immediately. Delicious and so good for you

 

Putting the plot to bed

It’s time for the annual clearing up on the plot and putting to bed for winter. It sounds so cosy as if the allotment is being tucked up with a cup of cocoa and a bedtime story. However, it does seem far from cosy as we drag yards of pumpkin vine to the compost, wrestle sunflower stalks to the ground, dismantle bean poles and clear away leaves and windfalls. Exhausting as it is it does seem somehow therapeutic – almost like a spring clean – if that doesn’t sound too weird. Once the detritus is cleared away you can somehow see the blank canvas again. Now that many of the plants have gone you can energetically unearth all the weeds that were hard to get at before – and also be safe in the knowledge  that they won’t be growing back so vigorously. And then there is the digging – as each forkful is dug you can almost see the earth breathing in the air and turning it’s face to the sun – albeit in a few weeks’ time   it will be tickled by the frost. I’ve decided to attempt double digging as I feel this is what real gardeners do – I assume this means digging twice. I  look up the term on the net – and oh no – it is nothing as simple as that.  You dig a trench and put the earth in a wheelbarrow and then dig another trench putting the earth  from there in the first trench and then from there … ok you’ve guessed it – I gave up. It is back breaking work and to be frank life is too short! I  look over at one of my neighbour’s allotment –now he comes only occasionally to his plot but his patch always looks in good shape. I decide to watch what he is doing… I realise he doesn’t dig but hoes and then spreads compost and manure over the top to let the goodness seep in and be taken down by worms. Well, this sounds like a plan – I presume it means that the goodness is kept locked away as some of it must get leached when exposed to the elements in the digging process. I realise though I like digging – it doesn’t feel like gardening if I’m not wielding a fork in a meaningful way – I like to see the worms wriggling, I like to look at and feel the earth and smell … well the earthiness of the earth …. Basically I like to do things the hard way!