As meals go, it was entirely ordinary. Absolutely nothing special. Tossed salad with a bit of smoked salmon and a few other little salady bits and pieces. Ordinary. But for me, it was the most satisfying meal I’ve had in ages. And not because I was particularly hungry or not because I felt noble and healthy about eating salad or anything like that. None of those.
Truth to tell, I couldn’t really taste much of it because my gustatory function went south when my sense of smell went mad but, that aside, I really loved this simple, ordinary meal. I approached the plate like it was almost something holy and, absence of taste aside, I savoured every morsel. What made it so special?
Excuse me while I take a little bow here… I grew some of it. The perfectly curly lollo rosa lettuce, the small and perfectly formed silverskin onions and the best chives you’ll ever eat. I’m irrationally pleased with myself.
h4. Positively like Nigella
There’s something enormously rewarding about growing your own food. I was tickled pink as I headed into the garden to get the lettuce and the onions and I felt positively like Nigella as I took the scissors to the chives. This is the stuff that you flog out a fortune for in the supermarket and, in addition to being expensive, it’s a pale imitation of the real thing.
Those in the house who can taste swear there actually was a good, strong taste of the lettuce. And me– even me who hasn’t tasted anything properly in two years– I got some vestige of taste of the onions and chives. Very satisfying indeed.
I shouldn’t, though, take all the credit for this horticultural success. The other half helped. He did the digging and soil preparation for the lettuce bed and he made a little cagey thing for over it so that the birds wouldn’t get at it. But I did everything else. I did the weeding and the watering. And the talking.
The talking was, I think, important. I didn’t make a conscious decision to talk to my little crops but it just seemed to be the right thing to do. I’d go to weed them and I’d notice that one or two were a little smaller than the rest. I’d give them an extra little drink and tell them they were capable of greater things.
h4. Motivational chat
I got all motivational and encouraged them to be the best heads of lettuce they could be. I didn’t go quite so far as to give them names, but I had my favourites that I kept a special eye on and always had a kind word for them. Once the motivational chat was over, I’d tell them all about what was going on with my day. I’d give out about horrible people I encountered and keep them up to speed with family events.
Sometimes, when the weeding and watering was done, I’d make myself a cuppa and just go and sit beside them for a while. I think they liked that. I know I did. That’s the real value of growing your own food, I reckon. It’s therapy.
It’s not really my first foray into home produce as such but it is the first time I’ve actually grown things. I’ve made jam on a few occasions but I’m not sure if that really qualifies as I had to buy the fruit.
But even at that, it’s still a very satisfying thing to do and it’s a marvellous de-stresser. Mind you, by the time you buy the fruit, prepare it– which usually means picking little stalks out one by one– and then factor in the man hours it takes from start to finish, it’s the most expensive jam in the world. But the sense of satisfaction is enormous and I watch people when they eat it and burst with pride when they say how lovely it is.
I’ve made blackcurrent, raspberry and rhubarb and, if I do say so myself, the raspberry is par excellence. But again, it’s the process rather than the product that charms me. Stirring a big pot of gloopy, syrupy goo is a gentle, natural therapy that yields an enormous sense of satisfaction.
Sometimes I cheat with the natural ingredients, though. At Christmas, I volunteered to make the cranberry sauce for our hosts. The day before, I discovered another guest was doing likewise so the gauntlet was thrown down. Mine just had to be better. I took extra-special care preparing the berries, was meticulous with my weighing of the sugar and measuring of the water and made sure it didn’t over- or under-boil. Then, when it was cooling, I chucked in a very generous dollop of Cointreau. Well, it’s only oranges really. Near enough to natural. And I won.
h4. Cut-and-come-again
So I’m going to have a summer of salads. I have 12 lollo rosa plants and they are known, I’m reliably informed by those who know, as a ‘cut-and-come-again’ variety. You cut the leaves rather than pull the plant and then, bless their little giving hearts, they grow back. I should have enough onions to last the summer as well and I have enough chives to last forever.
Later on, we’ll have our own potatoes and carrots– I’m currently chatting to them and they’re coming along nicely– and I also have coriander growing like crazy in a pot.
I’m going to have to stop talking to it, though, because it’s just too enthusiastic for words. I’ll continue to have my chats with the carrots and spuds because I’m firmly convinced that these little chats are good for both of us. I mightn’t know an awful lot about gardening, but I do know my onions– personally.
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