Love the herb bug

The other night I was watching some River Cottage related programme about three hungry boys or something like that. Another day, another foodie show. 

Watch here (UK only I think)

However, as with all that Hugh and his mates seem to do, there is a combination of a challenge and a moral determination. This time round, it's to get from A in Somerset to B in Cornwall without so much as a penny or petrol. A converted milk float and a few supplies. But otherwise, it's fend for, and feed yourselves.

So far, so West Country.

But. Within minutes of setting off they go and raid Hugh's garden for essentials to feed them (see 6 minutes in). The things that will give them fuel, see them through the harsh conditions ahead. So what do they nick?

Oragano, sage and lemon thyme. 

I mean, come on. Seriously guys, where on this earth are those considered to be essential other than Hampstead? And lemon thyme? Not even normal thyme, you have to go for the fancy stuff. Sheesh.

Yet herbs have a hold on people and it's this hold that I want to explore as both a gardener and fledgling cook. So I've come up with a new challenge. To create the most abundant herb garden and start to see what impact it has on my everyday food. And I'd like some help too.

I've got a small legacy from previous owners/tenants. First of these is a bay tree, which despite regular use just grows like mad. I'm not complaining as I've come to love it.

I also have a small clump of chives. I've cut it right back because last year after it died off in the winter, brand new shoots were the first hint of spring growth. Vigourous and positive, I await this year's spring charge!

So for my challenge I've bought / still have some of the standard herbs but I'm also looking for the rare, the under-rated and the downright unfashionable. Tweet me, comment or email the one herb you think I should try to grow and cook.

As I grow I'll be asking my partner in cooking crime Ruth to give me recipes and tips on her blog yummymummycookingschool but don't let that stop you sending us your suggestions too.

For more, head over to my shockingly named About thyme page...

Ornamental Health (1)

Cabbage.

Play with that word for a moment. 

Look at the letters. Awkward isn't it. Your eyes don’t know where to go. Up, around, back, down, a nauseating visual experience. 

Now say it, “cabbage”. Your mouth doesn't know whether to open or close and, gosh, you can almost smell your own bad breath.

Now picture it. Raw, a bowling ball that you aren’t going to risk your back for by transporting home from the grocer. Cooked, well it's just a slimy translucent green mess.

And what’s that? Your nose has disowned you?

My friend Sarah, of CSI Cymru fame, explained to me that her favourite flower is an ornamental cabbage. ‘You’re having a laugh’ I thought alongside visions of ceramic painted cabbages. ‘What on earth is an ornamental cabbage?’ I perhaps a little too scornfully enquired.

Well, apparently it's a cabbage that looks like a flower. Like this:

I'm stunned!


And then came the heart-breaking story. Sarah’s favourite florist told her that people come into the shop, are wowed by them but don’t buy them. Why? Oh yes, because it’s a cabbage. To me this is like a Yorkshireman turning down a date with a gorgeous Lancastrian simply because they are from the (alleged) wrong side of the Pennines.

And further, how many of us actually regularly eat cabbage? Further still, how many of us grow it?

Last month, I sought the help from friend and cook extraordinaire Ruth in order to feed my family at Christmas. Together we came up with a blog, so that she could help me learn and I could show her my efforts.

One of her first recipes was braised cabbage. Now, I confess I was like a sceptical Yorkshireman at first (I’ve done time in Sheffield, maybe it rubbed off – actually I loved Sheffield but that’s another story for another day)

If I tell you that the first scent that hit my parents on arriving on Christmas day was braised cabbage and they thought it wonderful, well that’s down to Ruth and my ability to follow a recipe.

Red cabbage is amazing. Stunning to look at, and with the right partners, care and attention so tasty. Hell, it’s the best bit of a kebab salad too.

So Ruth and I are going to work in partnership in aid of the cabbage and other vegetables. My hard work in the garden will be supported by her magic in the kitchen. To whet your appetite here's the link to her braised cabbage recipe and with more to follow

Last of the Christmas sprouts

The garden equivalent of a spring clean happens now. 


No point waiting until the lambs are bounding in the fields, the eggs hatching in the nest and the clocks going forward. By that time, you'll need your hands free to be planting all those seeds that you bought in earnest last year, only used a few of and have had sitting on the shelf hoping that they're still good for the following year.


Besides, third on your list of new year's resolutions was 'keep on top of the garden'. 


Yes, third. Right behind 'keep on top of the house' and 'keep on top of the finances'. Also one ahead of 'get fit', which is now dropping down the list of resolutions because it is so passe. Anyway, rather than join the gym or hire a personal trainer it's much more fun to get fit by taking up an allotment, doing an active sport like climbing or having more sex. Sorry, and having more sex. This may be a gardening blog but I wouldn't want starting an allotment to ruin your sex life.


I digress, but for fear of a solitary life, I've not yet taken up an allotment. Instead I've been out there in my garden, still pruning, cutting and clearing. 


Today it was time to cut back the raspberries. I learnt last year that once raspberry stalks turn brown, after a year's fruiting, you have to not just behead them but cut them off at their ankles. 

It seems quite brutal. A waste of so much potential fruit. Surely there is some value in keeping the stalks say half way up? But no buds means no fruit, so off with their heads, shoulder knees and ankles.

Raspberries are the femme fatale of the fruit world so don't - as I did - feel bad for them. They seduce you to let them grow, and then they wrap themselves around the heart of your garden bed until they totally control it. They smother the space and light around, and it's not until you put them back in their rightful place that you suddenly realise what else has been hiding.


And in my case, raspberries had been supressing a line of garlic and a red onion. I was certain that the limited garlic and onion I planted last year had been harvested, but no. Treats revealed themselves as I cut back the tangled raspberry stalks. Clear ground has shown healthy sprouting and I'm truly stumped how this has come about.

Did I plant more than I realise? Do bulbs split underground? Are these the runts of the litter? Or is the mild weather allowing growing conditions where normally there would be no signs of vegetable life? I have no idea.


Once again, the garden has surprised me with its voracious ability to produce food for the table. Tonight, I feel a lucky lad.

Take it inside...

Its been a while.

But there is only so much inspiration one can get from cutting up endless amounts of Russian Vine and watching blueberry plants grow in winter.

The seasoned gardener will tell you that there is plenty to be getting on with in winter. The rest of us know that Christmas is coming. Bright lights, parties, sickies...I mean genuine winter illnesses that knock you out the day after the aforementioned parties.

And with Christmas in mind I would like to take you to a new and exciting place. You see, in my quest to prove to myself at least that I'm grown up I've offered to host Christmas at my place. My family all live on the other side of the country in the flatlands of Cambridge, and they are kindly making the trek. All eight of them, (partners/newphew included).

This will be the first year I've ever cooked at Christmas. Now if you shudder at my garden expertise perhaps you should just stop right here.

However, if you have enjoyed this blog then I'd love you to step over to

www.yummymummycookingschool.blogspot.com

Before you gasp. I'm not even yummy let alone a mummy. But my good friend Ruth is and in just four weeks plans to kick me up the giblets and get me cooking the meanest turkey with all the trimmings. I'm dreading this.

And as an added bonus, she'll be setting cooking challenges for friends and readers and generally inspiring some decent cooking. Her heart lies in foraging for, or growing her own food, using every last scrap and making meals to fill a garden army.

I shan't let up on the gardening either and maybe one day the fruits of the garden will make an enviable meal in my kitchen...

Music to watch the birds by (1)

As regular readers will be aware, I've just slowly tortured a Russian vine, taking it apart limb by limb, bagging it up in heavy duty bin liners and burying it at the tip (in the garden waste container of course. And no, not the plastic bags).


Ordinarily this would be the task from hell, but I enjoyed pretty much all of it. The reason? 


Music. 


I have a DAB radio and I probably play it loud enough to keep half of Bristol awake, even though to me it's broadcasting just for me and my space. The garden feels very private, despite being overlooked by four floors of flats along a terrace of townhouses. So private I wouldn't have thought twice about a spot of carefree sunbathing had we had a summer...lucky lucky neighbours. This year at least.


The other Sunday, it dawned on me just how pleasurable the experience was. And just how often I do it; gardening to music I mean. Putting the radio on before my boots and gloves, whistling to tracks I don't know. But I only realised this when I was hauled out of a Cerys-Matthews-induced hypnotic trance by a song that just struck a (yes, pun on its way) chord.


Even if you skip my writing, listen to this song. And again. And again. An uplifting sound, slightly raw and brash in places, and all the better for it. 

The thing about Cerys (10am Sundays BBC 6music or Iplayer) is that she plays a stunning array of music, some old some new, some world, some blue(s), country, indie, the obscure, the gorgeous, the humble. Then in between all these unearthed gems her quiet passion makes you feel like it's all new. Freshly discovered and recorded only yesterday. And because of that, you feel alive. It's the same with my experience in the garden. It's still all new. Learning every time I'm out there, discovering the world in a way you only do when you're 5.


After years of being swept along by the pace of others, spending my time like this is hugely refreshing and a chance to selfishly indulge myself (in a somewhat wholesome way - bet you don't feel that after a bit of Gaga...)


So it got me thinking. What do other gardeners listen to and does it keep them fresh, or just comforted? (hmmm, that line was a bit too Sex and the City. I apologise). The Archers? The natural sounds of the garden? Gardener's question time? The stereotypes can't be true surely?


I sounded out other gardeners on Twitter and Facebook and I have to say you surprised me! @SWilson's French lessons in particular! Gardening en Francais is a whole 'nother world I'm not ready for. I'm struggling with the English version.


Some of the boys of course upheld the 'man and his garden shed movement' including @Matt_the_wolf and @allotment7b putting on the football and / or cricket. Pure escapism. 


One or two went to greater lengths to escape the noise of the wider world. 21st century gardening from @horshamgardener, with his trusty ipod. Chris (@Levensgardener) upped the bar though listening to tech podcasts and radio4 underneath noise defenders whilst, get this, operating machinery. Now, Chris, I'm no expert on safe operation of dangerous equipment but..!


However, I'm going to leave the last word to my good friend Kris who gave me a list of what he listens to when he gardens:


Jasper Carrot,
the Smashing Pumpkins,
the Cranberries,
Sara Cox!,
P(ea) Diddy, 
Mud...


Sweet nanny goat indeed...


(you need to listen to the song I posted to appreciate the above line. If you didn't, go back and listen. I don't write this blog just so you can ignore my tenuous music links thank you very much.)


Inspired by Kris, I'll be holding a #rockgarden competition on Twitter and Facebook so keep an eye out, comment on this post, or email me Thehaplessgardener@gmail.com

Acid pain

Well, it turns out that our dear friend the blueberry is a bit of a diva.


If you mention to a gardener that you are growing blueberries, they will without fail say 'have you got some ericaceous compost?' Got myself some what now?

Apparently blueberries will only leave their dressing room if given acidic soil, which is what this specially formulated blueberry juice is. However, having tasted the good stuff, blueberries appear to have spread the word that they will only perform with said compost. So we all have to fork out some extra to fill our containers with the Evian of compost just to get some sweet notes at a point of their choosing. And they're twice the price of blackcurrants just to get them in the first place.

My budding blackcurrant

"But blueberries are a superfood" i hear you warble. Yeah and they seem to know it. Some of us feel you can get a much richer rewarding experience from growing your humble blackcurrant in normal compost, a more giving fruit, sincere and honest.


It worries me, that I've gone and bought a blueberry plant and just followed the instructions of others. Granted, one shouldn't reinvent the fruit tree but there has to be scope to experiment I feel, and from that experimenting comes new knowledge.


So I've planted up the blueberry as advised, but on one condition. I'm going to buy a second plant.


I'll use normal compost and place it somewhere different in the garden to see what the conditions will do to it. To some this may appear like fruit tree cruelty, to others pure stubbornness (and you'd be right), foolish in these straightened times.


But I also do it for a greater purpose - to either come to a common understanding with the blueberry that if I am to invest in its outlandish demands it must flourish my breakfast bowl with twice the juicy blue sweet bombs of the other.  Or failing that I will have to expose it for the manipulative berry that I suspect it is

For now, all you get is leaves...

I'm not even sure I like them.

Fruitylicious

Is the only reason for this post so I can get Beyonce on my blog? Lets see shall we...

Fruit. As I've taken up the grow your own challenge it's the sweet nature of these crops that have caught my eye, and of course taste buds.

Nectar, juice, sugar. Reds, oranges and blues. You don't get that with brassicas, all dark green and serious.

Last year I kicked off with raspberries, and earlier this year I invested in blackcurrants. My breakfasts have been transformed ever since, porridge laden with sweet yet sharp bursts in each mouthful. Today I took another step towards getting my superfruit on every morning, with a new blueberry plant.


Oh yeah, the mumma of all fruits this baby can apparently protect cells from 'free radical damage'. If only the Church of England knew this before the campers arrived at St Pauls Cathedral...

Having managed a small blackcurrant yield and evidence suggests I've managed not to kill the plant, I'm moving it on to a bigger container so that the plant itself grows for more fruit, freeing up the nursery container for the blueberry. The blackcurrant plant has shed most of its leaves and has left me with enticing buds harbouring the secrets to next years fruit.

And there is something about the promise of the soft fruit that makes it so appealing. The potential treasure trove, jewels on every branch.

For once, I decided to ask from help at the garden centre. I had a great chat with the man there, who wasn't even the resident fruit expert. He bascially said...'with all your plants, aim to recreate the conditions that they naturally grow in.' Sounds obvious doesn't it. But I have no idea where they blueberries and blackcurrants normally grow. According to my fruit sage, North America for blueberries, in open fields away from shade. But, crucially, in wet conditions. One of the rare plants that like it hot and wet... (no, this is not where Beyonce comes in)

So, for a container blueberry, that means water a lot and let it sunbathe without the factor 20. Well, my utter inability to keep plants watered this year will need to change. if I'm going to get my hands on the plump fruits. Yes, it's a challenge. The rewards could be wonderful, for my skills as a gardener, my tastebuds at breakfast and my inner self. But...

...Hapless, can you handle this?

Vine Evil

Picture the scene...smouldering wreckage, scattered debris of leaves, branches and stalks but as the mist clears the focus becomes clear. Vine. metres and metres twisted around itself many times over, like the wrought steel of a half demolished building reeling from an incendiary blast.

That has been the task facing me all week. How to clear, when to clear. Particularly with the end of British Summer Time, robbing me of daylight at the work day's end. "Burn It" said the girl who owns the coffee shop. Yet no incinerators in stock at the garden centre, and the garden closely enclosed by houses that despite the cloak of bonfire night it didn't feel like a fair option.

"Fire up the wood chipper" cried @kateginty on Twitter, plotting her own assault on a vine with college comrades. 'Oooo, there's an idea' I thought. But the nature of this vine is such that even then it would need chopping apart to feed in. I took a sneak peak at the hire options, however with christmas fast approaching and no wood chipper to my name I had to take my opportunity in the fresh air and warm sun.

And 3 hours later, it may look not much the same but trust me, I've broken the back off this mountain...

If you peer closely enough, the pile of darker twigs are all the tough stems which even my brand new pair of shears struggled with. These are the real menaces; the ones at the top of the spy chain, calling the shots. Chop these and you stand a chance, but they don't give up without a fight. They have stray vines on them that when you pull them out, lash you in the face, aiming for the eyes but thankfully for me only  my cheeks are marked.

Make no mistake, if you have a big vine to take out it will take all your tactical nous, strength and training in the art of aggressive pruning to take out this enemy. But go without fear and you will give your garden a new lease of life...

Cold war kid

As I write, I'm taking a break from dealing with collateral damage; the clean up from a brutal fight last Friday that was the culmination of a two year stand off.

Upon moving in I was faced with a vine that although lush with white flowers decorated the back wall, it was strangling the mature pear tree and the buddleia that had leant their shoulders on the brickwork. Like a spy befriending these hard working warhorses of the garden, with only one intent - to intimately understand the very workings of the trees and then deny them their existence. Espionage of the highest order.

All the while I watched on, intrigued at this relatively attractive specimen, but suspicious at its insidious young shoots. Still, I let it grow. A kid in the art of cold wars...

So my tactic has been to allow it to be, but keep it trimmed well away from the pear tree. The height of the buddleia meant that it had to fend for itself. For a year or so it seemed to work, but this winter I realised something was up. Faced with what appeared to be a dormant, and therefore vulnerable beast, I took advantage of the lack of distracting leaves to really cut this thing back.

And it was on cutting through the really tough established dark vine that it revealed life within it. Dormant it may be. But it was plotting.

I was doing well this spring, out there most weekends keeping it within its own territory of the wall, or so I thought. Then, bam, it went Cuban! It started not just encroaching but setting up its own base right where I couldn't reach and far too close to the pear tree for comfort. And as you may be aware, my gardening time has been limited this summer and I've struggled to look after simple veg beds let alone handle this fundamental territorial battle.

Then last Friday General Sarah Coombes came in. No Dove she. Landscape architect with the skills and tactical knowledge to handle this formidable foe. Not so much Shock and Awe but Go Nuclear. And so we hit the red button.

The buddleia took the biggest hit, and all that remains are remnants of a once proud flower nation. But tough in character we left it healthy at the base and are confident it will return happy and healthy, even if it will take time to reach its former glory.

In the meantime the clear up operation continues at a pace. Hampered by a landlocked garden there is no side alley to take the waste straight through to the car. So saw, shears and secateurs in hand I've been gradually filling the heavy duty bags ready to take to the garden waste tip. But this truely is a mammoth task. And I've already filled 12 bags...

So, whilst I crack on I'll let another creative outcome of the Cold War entertain you

Silly chilli

Nuggets, gems, pearls...these are all words to describe small things, and ones that help conjure up glistening images; a sense of intense perfection held within something wonderous which would be lost if it were twice the size.

Sadly, none of these words apply to my chillis, which I forgot to regularly water. Just try not to laugh at them, their pride is at stake. And you know what some men say...

It's how you use it...