Pity me, I'm living in one long episode of Ready Steady Cook. And I think you'll agree even one short episode of Ready Steady Cook would be bad enough. I repeatedly seem to find myself with two tiny aubergines, a handful of parsley, four potatoes, one beetroot, 30 broad beans and the knowledge that, out of this, I have to knock up a meal for two. Antony Worrall Thompson would know what to do with this. I make a ‘stir-fry'. This wasn't in the job description. I knew I'd have to learn how to grow stuff. I didn't realise I'd have to learn how to cook it too.
The eccentric contents of my trug are caused by a combination of over-enthusiastic harvesting and bad planning. I just can't leave an aubergine on the plant if it looks ready. And then I see some plump pods of peas and just have to pick those too. Out of the corner of my eye a lettuce waves at me seductively. Better chuck that in, and those eight raspberries while I'm at it. Added to this is the dreaded glut factor, I sow everything at once, consigning us to weeks of nothing but broad beans. Never mind, I tell myself, family and friends will only be too thrilled to receive the excess. |
 |
| Alex Mitchell |
|
And this is the problem. They're just not grateful enough. I leave bags of vegetables outside family members' doors like a sort of facist-organic postman. ‘Thanks,' they say nonchalantly when offered a bag of freshly gathered, home-grown garlic, new potatoes, even – and this is a rare honour – a couple of my precious mini aubergines raised with the tender care bestowed on marijuna seedlings in the attics of Surrey teenagers. Thanks, they say, glancing briefly therein. Thanks? Is that (ital)it(ital)? How about, ‘How wonderful to be given home-grown vegetables. You're so clever to have known how to grow them and I really appreciate the sacrifice you are making in giving them to me. Do you know, I think that tonight I'll make a celebratory meal, preparing all these vegetables with the solemnity they deserve, and, after each mouthful, I'll remark, Gosh don't these (insert name here) taste better than they do in the supermarket. If only we could be as clever as Alex and learn how to grow our own too.'
I accept that these are exacting requirements and tiring for all those around me. So I've decided to locate my inner Amish housewife and from now on, rather than give the harvest away, store it for our own use through the winter. I have 60 tomato plants in the polytunnel – from Sungold and Gardener's Delight to Marmande, Yellow Pear, Cuor di Bue and Pink Brandy Wine. When the tomatoes are ready I'll make gallons of puree that we can freeze and use as a base for pasta sauces. You know, like that one where you need two turnips, 40 Jerusalem artichokes and a radish.
|
|