Sorrel, Red Onion and Gruyere Tart

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It’s quite amazing how many posts I’ve half-written over the last three weeks; none of which have made it to my blog.  Most are in my head, some made it to my laptop but none made it to the blogosphere.  So here I am with my tail between my legs, dirt under my fingernails from day after day in the garden, and a delicious recipe as penance.

I’ve been growing sorrel at The Little Herb Farm for the past 12 months and it’s been the one crop that has kept going through the winter.  It sold well at the Farmers Markets last year; few people were familiar with it, but the offer of a leaf for a quick nibble always led to a sale as it has such a lovely and unexpected lemon flavour.

Unbelievably I’ve never really got round to using it in my own kitchen, other than tossing the leaves in a salad.  Last week however I discovered the real joy of cooking with sorrel.  I was perusing ‘The Greens Cook Book’ by Deborah Madison (Bantam Press, 1987) looking for a vegetarian recipe for dinner* and came across Sorrel-Onion Tart.  As we have lots of sorrel in the polytunnel and plenty of eggs from the girls it was a natural choice.

It was so simple and totally delicious (so much so that I made it again for friends over the weekend).

Though I frequently have to challenge the Minkey’s assertion that I was born in ‘olden days’, I am a rather an old-fashioned baker, hence the lbs and oz in the recipe.

  1. Preheat oven to 190C, 375F or gas mark 5.
  2. Line a 9-inch tart tin with short crust pastry and blind bake. (Deborah Madison’s pastry recipe is 8oz plain flour, 4 tbsp butter, 1½ tbsp vegetable shortening, 2-3 tbsp ice water – it’s very short and lovely and crisp.)
  3. Slice 1 large red onion and gently sweat in 3 tbsp of butter and ½ tsp salt until soft.
  4. Beat 2 eggs and add to ½ pint double cream.
  5. Take 4-6 oz sorrel leaves (removed from their stems), tear roughly, wilt in 1 tbsp of butter and stir into the eggs and cream.  Note: wilted sorrel goes a rather unattractive colour, ‘cowpat green’ in the words of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, or ‘yucky’ in the words of the Minkey.
  6. Grate 2oz Gruyere cheese (we used more), sprinkly ½ in the pastry and add the rest to the eggs, cream and sorrel mixture (aka ‘the custard’).  Add salt and pepper to taste.
  7. Pour ‘the custard’ into the blind baked pastry case and bake for approx 35-40 minutes until the filling set and well coloured.
  8. Serve with a green salad and a glass of chilled white wine.

* although we’re not vegetarians, we’re following the guidelines of The Fife Diet and are committed to buying local where possible and eating plenty of meat-free meals each week.

Sorrel (Rumex acetosa) is a hardy perennial and is also known as ‘Sour leaves’, ‘Bread and Cheese’ and ‘Sour Thumbs’ and for good reason – it is high in oxalic acid and can be used to curdle milk in place of rennet.  In large quantities oxalic acid is poisonous, but the occasional sorrel tart, soup or sauce will do no harm.

Better the potting media you know, than the ones you don’t….

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This blog post – somewhat of a cautionary tale – has been a long time coming, largely because it’s been a hard one to write; hard to admit that things went horribly wrong, that I failed, that there are no pretty photos, that sometimes good intentions can go bad.

From the beginning of The Little Herb Farm’s creation, I have been committed to raising as much of my stock as possible from seed or cuttings and to growing without peat. I want to sell plants that are ‘born and raised’ here in Scotland, not in a hot-house somewhere far away and then shipped en-masse to struggle in a foreign environment.

This philosophy has been challenging on a number of levels, not least in terms of time and resources and of course it remains to be seen whether such good intentions will translate into a sound business-model.

Anyway I digress. Back at the start of the year I read with interest an article on propagation in The Garden magazine (published by the Royal Horticultural Society). The author had used a variety of growing media to sow seeds and propagate cuttings and concluded that a coir blend (mixed either with perlite or vermiculite) produced the best results.

Up to this point in time, I had always mixed my own blends for sowing, potting up, cuttings, etc., blending peat-free compost with garden loam, coir and perlite/vermiculite. I loosely followed a great little article by Monty Don in the Sunday Telegraph’s Gardening section from 2011 which was similar in style to the way I cook – pinch of this, handful of that until it looks about right. And by and large, I’ve been pretty successful.  The Garden approach was simplicity itself and the photos seemed to promise great results and so I began my early sowings in February with this new blend and high hopes.

It was in the words of Craig Revel Horwood (or Mr. Meanie as the Minkey calls him) ‘a disaster, darling’. Those seeds that did germinate promptly expired but the vast majority failed to do anything at all. I’m left with countless trays and pots of nothingness and a very heavy heart – wasted effort, wasted coir and wasted seeds.

I began to think I’d lost my touch and was feeling pretty dejected until I came across an article in the Spring issue of Garden Organic which reported poor results when using coir-based media for seed sowing. The author John Walker writes ‘any seeds that did emerge in coir compost, showed damping-off like symptoms’. It all sounded horribly familiar.

Of course it’s impossible to pinpoint exactly what went wrong and I certainly don’t want to suggest that The Garden article was flawed, however for some reason coir-based seed propagation didn’t work for me (or for John Walker). There are so many other factors to take into consideration – light, heat, moisture and so on, so I need to dig out the article again and check to see if I missed something important.  At the moment all I know is that for the first year I can remember, I have struggled with seed germination.

For this month’s sowings I have gone back to my ‘old ways’ and so far, so good; seeds have germinated and look healthy. There’s hope for The Little Herb Farm yet.

10 Plastic Milk Bottles Sitting in My Shed

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(Or for my American friends ‘99 bottles of milk in the shed’…)

This post is an homage to the simple plastic milk bottle.  I’ve never been much of a fan but then again I’m old enough to remember the milkman leaving fresh milk in glass bottles on our doorstep (and the birds pecking through the foil tops to get at the cream on the top).

We get through a fair amount of milk each week as the Minkey is a big fan, indeed rather a connoisseur (she routinely turns her nose up at anything but ‘Pittenweem milk’ as she calls it, and can’t understand why our continental cousins insist on drinking UHT milk).  Anyway I digress.  We diligently put our empty plastic bottles in the bottle bank but we’ve been recycling in more creative ways this week.

Here’s the Minkey’s broadbean greenhouse courtesy of the Junior Hortus club at St. Andrews Botanic Garden.

We decided to give some strawberries a head-start in the tunnel and take advantage of the growing space provided by the crop bars.  Thanks to Plough Your Own Furrow for this particular idea.  The Minkey and I took it one step further by adding polka dots to the bottles (girls will be girls).

I’ve also made them into scoops for compost, bird seed and bunny food; when they start to wear out they can be sent for recycling and a fresh bottle called into service.  “Cheap as chips” as they say.

‘Cliptomania’ and other afflictions of the gardener’s body, mind and soul

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I recently had to admit to being a ‘seedaholic’.  It wasn’t hard to come to this realisation.  For weeks I’ve had boxes of seed packets arranged on the dining room table waiting for me to sit down and go through them.  I’d already done my big order for the year but hadn’t fully catalogued what I’d got left over from previous years.   The boxes got pushed around, temporarily moved out of the way but always made their way back to be greeted by much eye-rolling by the Prof and much embarrassment by me.

So finally this week, I dived in and began my catalogue; it wasn’t long before my affliction became clear – 12 packets of carrot seeds; 15 packets of salad seeds; 2 packets of radish seeds and I hate radishes; and the list goes on!

It’s not even that I’ve been out and bought them all but I just don’t seem to be able to say NO.   I’m a seed magnet – friends and family bring me their stray packets and I’ve never turned one away yet.  The dining table mess is the clear result of my non-existent will-power.

I’m not sure what the road to recovery looks like but I know that the first step is admitting I have a problem…so here goes….’my name is Pen and I’m a seedaholic’.

This realisation led to me to think of other afflictions that are unique to the gardening fraternity – the Prof had a lot of fun with this game and eventually had to be banned from playing as my self-esteem began to suffer – here are just a few:

Stiff-as-a-Board Syndrome
These are the usual physical ailments that plague most gardeners including bad backs and creaky knees.  Even the youngest and fittest can feel ‘done-in’ after hours of double-digging or weeding.  Gardening can make our bodies feel years older than they actually are, as we hobble around clutching our backs and groaning.

Cliptomania
This is more of a mental disorder that involves secreting ‘snips’ and small plastic bags in pockets when visiting other gardens in order to furtively take cuttings for propagation at home.

Lost-track-of-time-atitis
I’m just closing up the polytunnel , back in 5 mins…..or I’m taking the caddy to the compost heap, back in a minute…..and before you know it, it’s dark and the family have reported you missing to the local police.  Sufferers may find that side-effects diminish with time as family members soon lose interest in your absence and carry on life without you.

Delusions
Is it just me or when visitors come to admire your garden do you find yourself saying ‘oh, you should have seen it last week’, or ‘it will look amazing in a week or so when the ‘x’ are out’.  Or my personal favourite ‘it’s getting there’…..none of my gardens have actually ever ‘got there’, instead they are perpetually on the way.

In fact ‘delusions’ is a pretty big category……we try and convince ourselves we can go to a nursery/plant sale/garden centre for inspiration only – ‘I’m just going to have a look’ is the common refrain.  And then we try and hide the plant/seeds/tool in a handbag or pocket or worse give it to friends to carry and pretend it belongs to them.

We simply can’t understand why others can’t understand our need to have:

  • Multiple seed and plant catalogues and gardening magazines, all of which cause great excitement when they appear through the letterbox.
  • A garden twine of every colour of the rainbow.
  • A garden plan that somewhat exceeds the reality of the space we have to play with – who says we can’t recreate Piet Oudolf’s Millenium Garden, Christopher Lloyd’s Great Dixter or even the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in our own gardens?
  • Four different courgette plants even though an average family can barely keep up with the yield provided by one and mutiny is threatened when yet another bizarre recipe is presented for dinner (ditto for runner beans).

Melancholy
Quite simply put, I’m miserable when I’ve not been out in the garden for a few days.  At the first sign of good weather after days of gales, the Prof literally bundles me into the garden and won’t let me back in until I’ve had a ‘good run around’ and left my ‘grump’ at the end of the garden.  I know I’m not alone – many gardeners soothe their aching souls during the winter by pouring over seed catalogues and planning their year ahead.

Poor Personal Hygiene/General Neglect
My gardening wardrobe is, I’ll admit, pretty appalling.  As much as I’d like to recreate the whole Alys Fowler ‘tea-dress and cardie’ look, I live in Scotland and that’s probably only feasible two or three times a year.

I like to be comfy when I garden and generally that means my favourite tatty pink jumper (I’ve worn through both elbows) and some muddy jeans.  I did finally discard one pair after inadvertently giving the postman with an eyeful (a small rip in the ‘seat’ took a giant turn for the worse!).   He’s recovering nicely after a short spell in a sanatorium.

I finish off my assemble with some Muck Boots (fabulous warm waterproof wellies that could be used in a lunar landing) and a fleece hat.  I’d give Wurzel Gummidge a run for his money but I’m always warm and I’m always comfy.

My hands are always dirty and my nails torn and that’s after lots of washing and scrubbing.  No amount of hand scrub or soap seems to be able to shift the ingrained dirt.  I try to wear gloves but I’m very much a bare-handed gardener; I like to feel the earth and my plants.  I could be considered a disgrace to the fairer sex, if I gave two hoots that is!  I do have to remember that the Minkey gets embarrassed when I pick her up from school with mud on my face – less ‘yummy mummy’, more ‘crummy mummy’.

These are just a few of the afflictions I came up with …..are there any others you can think of?

Life’s too short to wear tight shoes

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I did it.  I stood on the edge of the cliff, took a deep breath and then I stepped off….I stepped out of my heels and into my wellies.

Within the last few days I have cocked a proverbial snook at the job I’ve held for 14 years.  I’m walking away from security and predictability and a salary and finally taking note of the piece of paper stuck above my desk which reads ‘if your ship doesn’t come in, swim out to it’.

When I started my blog a year ago, I declared that I was embarking on ‘an adventure to change my life, to swap hours in front of a computer for days playing in the dirt’.  After months of staring over the top of the computer, looking longingly at the dirt and threatening to make The Little Herb Farm a full-time concern, the time has finally come to make it a reality.

I’m part petrified and part elated, and of course feeling incredibly fortunate to have so much support and encouragement.  Eleven more weeks at my desk and then the hard work really begins.  I hope you stay with me as I’m embark on the journey.  In the words of the great Dr. Seuss:

“So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!”

Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss

 

The Raspberry Saga

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My recent foray into raspberry cane maintenance goes something like this….I laughed….I cried…..I laughed….(and now I’m holding my breath).  But here’s the full story:

As many of my past blogs have focused on some of the more challenging aspects of the garden here at Craignish (a national collection of horsetail, ancient shrubberies, and out of control bamboo, to name but a few), I thought it was time to redress the balance and highlight one of the garden’s sweet spots, so to speak.

When we collected the keys in late summer 2010 and wandered through the garden, we were delighted to find four 18ft rows of established raspberry canes; some summer, some autumn fruiting.  The rows were supported by a fixed framework of wooden posts and rails and a serious pile of fruit cage netting sat in the corner of the garage.  It wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that the previous owner was a serious officiando of Rubus ideaus.

I unfortunately am not; none of my previous gardens being large enough to provide space for fruit canes.   So my great delight at discovering the canes covered in fruit, was matched by an equally great sense of foreboding that I was out of my league.   Sure enough last October after a year or so of borderline neglect the BND were compelled to share the observation that the 2011 yield was pretty meagre in comparison with previous years.

Up until that point I’d been pretty happy with the harvest which had been enough to make a few batches of raspberry and rosemary vinegar,  fill some freezer bags and make some awesome jam (which the Prof horded like Armageddon was imminent), all despite the fact that the hens and garden birds were at them incessantly.   But apparently this was nothing compared to previous years when the canes were literally dripping with fruit.

Suitably chastened I added ‘learn about raspberries’ to my to-do list.  While browsing the Loch Croispol bookshop in Durness during the late August bank-holiday (think driving rain, hurricane strength winds and single digit temperatures) I stumbled across a 1954 book that looked perfect for this quest ‘Soft Fruit Growing for Profit and Pleasure’, No.19 in the Burke’s ‘Help Yourself’ series.  Originally costing 2 and 6, I paid a reasonable £1.00 for this little pocket-size treasure.

The concise section on raspberries told me all I needed to know.  Cut autumn fruiting canes to the ground in late winter, and for summer fruiting varieties cut out the canes that have borne fruit already, leaving behind a fan shape of  6 or so canes of new growth to provide the new season’s berries.  In the spring feed the canes with 2oz of potash and 2oz bonemeal per yard and provide a nice top dressing of compost or well-rotted manure.  In February trim off the top of the canes just a few inches above the top support.

It didn’t sound too complicated and having ordered potash and bonemeal from the Garden Organic catalogue, I set aside some time at the weekend to get underway with some long overdue maintenance.

Old canes were cut out (revealing slumbering ladybirds in the process) and neatly stacked, only to be requisitioned by a den-building Minkey.  As her shelter will likely be demolished by the wind tonight (it’s howling down the chimney as I write), I’m left wondering what to do with the old canes.  Any suggestions?

I’ve been remiss about pruning the summer fruiting canes in late summer, but luckily it’s never too hard to tell the dark fresh canes, from the old ones. 

It took a few hours but finally the raspberry patch was looking pretty good and I was laughing. 

So having pruned, thinned, fanned and secured, I hoed in a light feed of potash and bonemeal (I know it’s not really Spring yet but I’ve got a lot to do this year and wanted to get this off my list) and then top-dressed with mushroom compost from a steaming hot pile by the garage.  But WAIT I hear you cry…..mushroom compost is the last thing you want to put on soft fruit.  It goes without saying that it’s here that the crying started.

Why I decided to read up on mushroom compost after applying it to the rasps is beyond me, but I did and of course immediately realised what a major pickle I was in.  Mushroom compost is usually very alkaline, with high levels of chalk, soft fruit on the other hand prefers a more acid soil.  I had lovingly and unwittingly covered the canes with their worst nightmare.

So I was back out this morning raking and brushing away as much of the mushroom compost as I could, fretting over the wasted time and worrying about the damage I had wrought.  A quick call to the RHS hotline led to the suggestion that I test the Ph of my soil (and the compost) before getting more worked up than necessary.  I had done a test when we arrived and vaguely remembered a Ph level just on the acid side of neutral, but wasn’t entirely sure.  As my soil test kit wasn’t to hand (i.e. the potting shed is in serious need of spring clean) I decided to try some basic science to determine the soil Ph.

Alkalinity can be tested by adding vinegar to a sample of soil in a container – if it fizzes on contact then the Ph is high and the soil is alkaline.  Conversely if water and baking soda cause fizzing when added to soil then the sample is acidic.  When I added vinegar to the mushroom compost it was practically bubbling in the pot – plink, plink, fizz!   The baking soda test on the garden soil was less dramatic but a faint fizz was audible, backing up my recollection of slightly acidic garden soil.

So while the top-dressing of mushroom compost was ill-advised, it hopefully won’t do too much harm, at least not as much had the soil been neutral.  That said I’m probably going to source some peat-free ericaceous compost to try and redress the balance.  Hopefully by harvest time I’ll be laughing again.  What a weekend!

Raspberry (Rubus ideaus)

Raspberries have a long history of use in herbal medicine but it is the leaves rather than the fruit that have taken centre stage in this regard.   The leaves are an astringent (tightening and toning tissue) and have been used traditionally as an aid to childbirth.  Interestingly raspberries are sometimes known as ‘hindberry’ as female deer would feed on the leaves before giving birth.

In addition to its use in helping labour and milk production, raspberry leaf is also known as a remedy for diarrhoea,  a gargle for sore mouths, and a wash for external wounds.  A raspberry leaf tea can be made with fresh or dried leaves, but should always be taken under the guidance of a herbalist when pregnant.

But let’s not overlook the fabulous fruit, which taste an awful lot nicer than the leaves and were also appreciated for their health benefits.  The English herbalist John Parkinson wrote in 1629  ‘The berries are eaten in the Summertime, as an afternoons dish, to please the taste of the sicke as well as the sound”.

A syrup made with raspberries was used to treat fevers and The Little Herb Farm’s raspberry and rosemary vinegar is based on an old Victorian recipe for a fruit shrub.  Shrubs were taken as health tonics and I add mine to a glass of hot water when I’m feeling under the weather.   I may be biased but I can heartily recommend it.

A Visit to Longwood Gardens

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A recent business trip to Washington, DC unfortunately meant being away from home over a weekend.  This is something I normally try and avoid as it means unwelcome time away from the garden (and family… she quickly adds on the off chance that the Prof will read this).  It did however provide an opportunity to visit a garden, so I dipped into my copy of ’1001 Gardens You Must See Before You Die’ (Rae Spencer-Jones – ed.) and perused the sections for Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, DC and Pennsylvania to find something within a day’s drive of Washington.

Very few looked promising having little in the way of ‘winter interest’, however one stuck out as a real possibility.  With 4 acres (yes, you read right) of heated conservatory, plus another 1000 or so acres of gardens, woodland and meadows, Longwood Gardens piqued my interest.  On closer examination it was clear we had a winner – an orchid festival and the chance to do a behind the scenes tour of their production greenhouses sealed the deal.

110 miles north of Washington, DC just a short way into Pennsylvania in the town of Kennett Square, Pierre Du Pont (of the Du Pont business dynasty – gunpowder in its early days, chemicals more latterly) purchased a farm from the Peirce family.  The Peirces (a Quaker family*) had started the farm in the 18th century and with it planted an arboretum that by 1850 was known as one of the most important collections of trees in the US.  Pierre De Pont bought the property in 1906, ostensibly to save the arboretum but between 1907 and 1930 made good use of his immense wealth and developed a garden with many facets.

There is much more history available on the Longwood Gardens website should you wish to read more (including the Peirce family’s involvement in sheltering runaway slaves as part of the ‘Underground Railroad, the secret organisation that helped slaves escape bondage before the Civil War).

Today the gardens comprise:

  • Conservatory - Idea Garden - Childrens Garden - Fountain Garden - Hillside Garden - Oak and Conifer Knoll - Caryopteris Allee - Topiary Garden - Rose Garden - Forest Walk - Flower Garden - Peony Garden - Wisteria Garden - Meadow - Italian Water Garden

The Conservatory offered an amazing series of ‘rooms’ including:

  • East Conservatory - Green Wall - Ballroom - Music Room - Exhibition Hall - Main Conservatory - Orangery - Children’s Garden - Silver Garden - Acacia Passage - Banana House - Tropical Terrace - Rose House - Fern Passage - Cascade Garden - Fruit House - Orchid House - Mediterranean Garden - Bonsai - Palm House

I was lucky enough to visit on a crisp sunny day which just added to the enjoyment of wandering around the vast grounds.  Unfortunately all the water features had been drained for the winter, but the trees more than made up for this, as did the skeleton forms of the free-standing wisteria and the sounds of the carillon echoing through the garden in the late afternoon.

But the highlight of my visit was definitely the conservatory which was a visual and olfactory delight.  My photos don’t really do it justice and can’t convey the heady scents that permeated the space thanks to mass plantings of orchids, lilies, narcissi and stocks, not to mention rooms of carnations and roses. 

Longwood is a ‘display’ garden, so some of the planting combinations were a little gaudy for my personal taste and included plants that normally wouldn’t flower together (daffs and hydrangea!!!???) but all the plants were in fantastic condition.   The displays get changed throughout the year and many of the plants are taken to the garden’s composting facility to be replaced with entirely new planting schemes.

The vast majority of the plants used in the garden are grown in the production greenhouses on site and I paid a few dollars extra to participate in a ‘behind-the-scenes’ tour.  It was fascinating and included a look at an integrated pest control lab* and their greenhouse trials for a year-round flowering camellia as well as a special pale yellow clivia, getting up close to their automated potting medium mixing machine and wandering around greenhouses packed full of specimen ready for the next display later in the year.

I wonder if he’s part of the integrated pest control program?

The toilets were a revelation (not something you write every day) thanks to the amazing green walls that enveloped the space.

The children’s garden was full of whimsy.

4 acres of conservatory obviously take some heating and Pierre DuPont installed a ‘dual-fuel’ heating system (oil and gas) back in the 1920s.  The garden staff decide at the beginning of each year which fuel they’re going to use during the months ahead, basing their decision on supply and cost factors.  There is a move to increase the solar power generation at the garden, currently they offset about 25% of their electricity needs with solar power but they’d like to get to 50%.

Longwood Gardens has a long history of horticultural research and education.  In fact Pierre Du Pont included this in the Garden’s charter and Longwood offers a wide range of courses for all ages and levels of experience.  The last issue of RHS’ ‘The Garden’ included a small article entitled ‘Celebrating an Ango-American Partnership’ which discussed the RHS/Garden Club of America Interchange Fellowship program (which dates back to the late 1940s) and the fact that a Fellow recently completed the first internship at Longwood Gardens.  I was particularly tantalised by the 2 year Professional Gardener program but probably couldn’t manage the commute!

It was a wonderful day out and I came back full of ideas and with lots of questions to pursue, as well as a few packets of seed.

Most importantly my ‘plant wish list’ gained a few new members, some more realistic than others for our Scottish climate.  Here are a few of my favourites:

Roldana petasitis (Velvet Groundsel)

Abutilon ‘Voodoo’ (Flowering Maple)

Edgeworthia chrysantha (Paper Bush)

Hibiscus

Orchid

If you’re interested in seeing more photos from the visit, please visit the Little Herb Farm’s photo album at http://craignish.phanfare.com/littleherbfarm.

Fun with Fermentation

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I’m going slightly ‘off-piste’ with today’s blog which is culinary than horticultural in focus, but I had a really interesting morning and wanted to share the experience.

Today I spent a few hours at a Fife Diet ‘Cultured Cooking’ class in Cupar and came home thoroughly inspired.  The class was presented by Matthew Roberts of the Steamie Bakehouse in Dunfermline. As a presenter Matthew ticked all the boxes – personable and knowledgeable, with a good sense of humour to boot.

Matthew obviously has a real passion for not only for baking gorgeous bread, but for the whole ‘culture’ culture. I learnt a lot more than I anticipated, particularly regarding the health benefits of eating sourdough bread.

Bread has become somewhat of a guilty pleasure as I’ve (or rather my waistline has) become far too conscious of eating too many carbs. But as I learnt today sourdough bread has a lower glycaemic index and so converts slowly to blood sugar. More amazingly fermenting the flour allows our bodies to access many more nutritionally useful vitamins and minerals in wholemeal bread that would otherwise be ignored.

Matthew introduced us to his rye starter (in its 8th year), showed us how to sustain a starter of our own (giving each of us a big spoonful to take home) and provided a wheat and rye bread recipe. He had a few loaves for sale and I couldn’t resist – how fabulous does this look……

Attention was then turned to sauerkraut which is about as simple a process as you can imagine – shredded cabbage, salt and maybe a few aromatic seeds for flavour, such as caraway or fennel, all weighted down and left for a couple of weeks for the good bacteria to work their magic. The Prof’s Hungarian roots mean he’s quite partial to sauerkraut, so this will definitely be a hit with him.

Finally we talked about dairy cultures and learnt how to make buttermilk, crème fraîche and mascarpone.  If sauerkraut is easy then these treats are child’s play – all a simple case of adding buttermilk culture to milk or double cream. Easy peasy but oh how delicious!

Matthew generously shared his sourdough starter and buttermilk culture with the whole class, so we all went home clutching jam jars full of fermented magic and dreaming of crusty loaves, fluffy scones and tangy cabbage. What a great way to spend a cold sleety morning!

A big thank you goes to the Fife Diet* for organizing the class which was FREE and also included a really delicious lunch showcasing fermented food. We enjoyed the Steamie Bakehouse’s Hearth Haggerty – a rye leaven flatbread stuffed with local Anster cheese, onions and sage – along with Sauerzuppe – a caraway, sauerkraut and borlotti bean soup – topped off with stewed apple, cinnamon buttermilk cookies and crème fraîche. I have recipes for the soup and cookies – leave a comment if you’d like me to email them to you.

*The Fife Diet is a consumer network of people passionate about local food; their website is very informative and provides a lot more information about the awesome work they do.  They’ve been very supportive to The Little Herb Farm too, which has been much appreciated.

Candlemas

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Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the mistletoe;
Instead of holly now up-raise
The greener box, for show.

The holly hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer,
Until the dancing Easter-day,
Or Easter’s eve appear.
(Robert Herrick)

Today is Candlemas, traditionally a time when all the candles to be used in church during the year ahead were brought into the church and blessed.  This custom relates to the belief that Jesus (seen as the light of the world) was first presented at the temple in Jerusalem on this day, following Mary’s 40 days of purification after giving birth. Candlemas is still considered one of the great feasts in the eastern Orthodox and Catholic Churches.

It is also thought by some that in pre-Christian times this time of year (the mid-point of winter) was celebrated as the Feast of Lights, in response to the sun’s increased strength.  It’s hard not to rejoice at the lengthening days (and the increased productivity in the coop as the girls are finally producing again).

The plant most associated with Candlemas is the snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis), which itself is sometimes called Candlemas Bells.

‘The snowdrop in purest white array
First rears her head on Candlemas day’.

This saying obviously relates to a time in our history when winters were cold, year upon year.  This year I noticed (and photographed) the first solitary snowdrop at Craignish on the 5th January.  They are such an odd little flower as you really have to get down on your knees to appreciate their full beauty, and yet as they are so often the first blooms of the year (not withstanding anything that’s made it through the winter) they can’t help but bring a smile to your face.

There are lots of lovely snowdrop-themed blog entries around at this time of year (if I wasn’t battling jetlag this evening, I’d list them all here) and an increasing number of gardens with amazing snowdrop displays including Cambo, just up the coastal road from Pittenweem.  The Scottish Snowdrop Festival runs from 4th February to 18th March and has more than 50 participating gardens (Visit Scotland has full details).  I may have to sneak a visit to one this weekend, weather – and jetlag – permitting.