I’ve been adding almost daily to overflowing baskets of ruby red Juliets. Friends and family are sent home with armfuls. Neighbors who stroll past me watering my flower beds in the evening ask me about my tomatoes and I send them home with handfulls too. These red fruit have brought smiles when most needed.
This has been a particularly stressful week at Gothic Cottage. I felt like a caretaker of an infant and a toddler, without the added advantage of diapers for cats. An incontinent Yoshi has struggled through much pain and left me struggling to find enough newsprint to line the floor. He relieved himself all over Vancouver Island’s Splendid Other Coast, Tilda Swinton, and Fashion’s Fall Fling with Splatter Prints. In the midst of the incontinence chaos Chika was hit by a car and is nursing wounded legs and trauma to her bladder.
Ashley’s arrival on Friday couldn’t have been better timed. With fresh news from the vet that there was one more drug which may save Yoshi’s life and Chika loved up on kitty ecstasy, I could relax a little bit. Stacey tipped me off last week to the Rebar cookbook’s slow roast tomato recipe - perfect for roma type tomatoes and so easy. The tomatoes cooked through the washing of floors, the laundering of bedding, the cleaning of litter, a visit to the vets, and a pick up at the train station. They were in the oven a little too long at over four hours but I had faith in my Juliets.
I also had the perfect test subject in my old pal Ashley - she’s not a tomato fan and she’s an amateur cook. Ashley knows good food and I wanted to treat her to something tasty. Anyone who brings me a $35 bottle of knockout Norman Hardie pinot noir straight from Norm’s winery in Prince Edward County is going to be treated to fine food! For a starter I stacked the shriveled but brilliantly deep red roasted Juliets atop homemade garlic crostini and humous. And for the main I just tossed a good serving of the toms into a simple pasta dish with garlic braised green beans, chickpeas, olive oil, lemon juice and grated Parmesan.
And the verdict? Ashley couldn’t believe that there was no sugar or honey added to the tomatoes. She couldn’t believe that they came from my garden. She couldn’t stop saying how delicious they were. And we hadn’t even started the main course yet.
We ate Juliet garlic crostini again last night and now back in Toronto, Ashley has a travel-friendly portion of my Juliets roasting in her oven as I write. I think I found a winner. These little flavour bombs are the best way I’ve found to put Juliets to bed, and all the better if you’re inundated with distractions and in need of a gourmet hit at home.
10 tomatoes, halved (I used enough halved Juliets to fill two baking sheets and found the following portions sufficient for this quantity of tomatoes)
¼ cup (60 mL) extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp (5 mL) salt
¼ tsp (1.2 mL) cracked pepper
2 tbsp (30 mL) minced thyme or rosemary
1. Pre-heat oven to 250 F. Slice tomatoes in half and arrange, cut side up, on a parchment-lined baking tray. Brush lightly with olive oil and sprinkle with salt, pepper and chopped fresh herbs.
2. Roast tomatoes for up to 4 hours, or until they are visibly dehydrated yet still meaty. Cool and refrigerate for up to one week.
Rebar’s Garlic Crostini
1 baguette, plain, wholegrain or sourdough
¼ cup (60 mL) extra virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves
Pre-heat oven to 350 F. Slice baguette ½” thick on the bias. Arrange on a baking tray and brush with oil. Bake until golden (5-10 minutes). Cut garlic cloves in half and rub the cut side of the clove on the toasted bread.
THE GOOD: my friends, neighbours and I have been feasting on tomatoes from my garden for the last two weeks.
THE BAD: Two weeks ago I also noticed the first stages of early blight on a few of my plants.
THE UGLY: It spread like wildfire and quickly engulfed almost every tomato plant.
Let’s backtrack here. A month ago I thought blight was an unlucky phenomenon of the damp UK. Nothing to worry about in our idyllic clime! And my babies had received good mothering right from day one so surely they were immune to such epidemics… You can imagine my horror upon discovering a blemish on one of my plants. And then two, no wait, three!
So I did what any city girl transplant surrounded by seasoned growers would do - I jumped online. Sure enough, a quick google search of blight provided quick diagnosis. Early blight first appears as brown target-like lesions which quickly engulf leaves and then entire tomato and potato plants. It also spreads from plant to plant quite rapidly. With this new knowledge I felt time bearing down on me. What to do?! My go-to gardening source at mytinyplot.co.uk recommended removing diseased plants so I ran out to the garden and hacked down the ugliest culprit, a Juliet (sorry Juliet, your time to die) at the base and chucked her in the bonfire pit. No time for romance.
Then I started pruning, really hard pruning, all the blemished leaves in sight with a pair of kitchen scissors. Spotty leaves and branches were flying as a sweat formed on my brow. I came as close as I’ve ever come to OCD and found myself obsessing over what I’d touched, which plant touched which, where I was spreading the plague. It had only been an hour and the blight already had its strangle hold on me.
I was not going down without a fight. Hands stained florescent yellow after the murder, a calm washed over me and I asked myself: what would Mike Mannix do? It was after dark at this point and not wanting to disturb I fired off a distress text. Mike would set things right.
The next morning a relief text came through from my farming guru:
Early blight is pretty common. Once a plant has it, it’s toast. I haven’t found a way around it, I usually leave ‘em. Different varieties are more or less susceptible, take note. Cutting off affected parts doesn’t get rid of it, but looks better. If you’re destroying, probably pull out the whole plant. If there’s early blight about, I dunno if removing the affected plants will make much of a difference, once it’s established. Some will get it, some won’t, or slowly. You could read up a bit online. Unless you’re using fungicides, it’s one of those wiggly things where there are lots of opinions and approaches, but you end up seeing for yourself… :)
Mike sends abstracts, not texts! Brilliant service. A wee bit late, but brilliant nonetheless! So I’d basically wasted my time and lost a bit of my mind in the garden the previous night. But I was still dogged with where the heck I’d gone wrong?!
Part of the problem could have been that I watered too much, the wrong way, at the wrong time.
Tomatoes have a voracious thirst when they’re growing and first transplanted. But as Mike guided me in an earlier epic text message, which I also sought out too late: … Oh yeah, one good rule is making sure to WATER well when certain crops like peas, cukes, etc, are flowering and fruiting. BUT, toms don’t need it unless it’s a drought. Think the more crisp veggies for that.
I committed a crucial error by watering at least every other day. For the first few weeks after their transplanting into the garden, I also watered from above which encourages a moist environment ideal for mould and disease. A drip line is best but if watering with a hose be careful to prevent spray back onto lower leaves. I have a long drip line but never got round to hooking it up. Tsk Tsk. And to make matters worse I also watered in the evening, thinking I was doing the toms a favour when I was really furthering along that damp climate. Luckily, I knew enough to prune lower leaves up to the first bundle of fruit so there was sufficient air circulation. The sun has also been prolific here this summer.
But it wasn’t enough. Sigh. Over the course of two weeks the blight turned my vivid green plants into a brown and yellow splattery Pollock painting. Much to my delight, however, I’ve been hauling massive numbers of virtually blemish-free tomatoes off all six varieties. And blight-scourged tomatoes are still edible - just don’t compost any part of them and definitely don’t plant toms in the same spot next year. Although shamefully ugly, the plants themselves are still sturdy and I’m certainly not watering them much. My friend Stacey also told me last week that everyone gets blight, and that it’s airborne. So no matter what good mothering I provide, at some point I have to relinquish control.
One thing I did know with certainty when I planted 30 tomato seeds last April - if I waited until I knew everything about veggie gardening to start a garden on my own I wouldn’t be gardening for years. As Mike says in one of his tomb texts: Experiment, observe, have fun Check!
What about your tomatoes? Did blight blow into your garden this year? How have you dealt with it? I’d love to add advice and gory, triumphant tales to my text archives… In the meantime, here’s hoping that you’re also enjoying the delicious fruits of your labour, even if they look rather hideous.
:: little European touches around Gothic Cottage that make me feel like I’m France or Germany - I just need fresh croissants
:: speaking of patisserie, breakfast al fresco with Charentais musk melon and Ritter Sport complementing the French/German patio experience
:: Gladiolas from Cathy and Kaj’s market garden - these eccentric flowers add a certain Art Nouveau flair to the place
:: an overflowing basket of my meatiest tomatoes starring in a pasta dish shared with sweetest Stacey
:: a very uncomfortable and grouchy Yoshi finally recovering at home after a week and a half at the vets - means watching over him but puttering around these walls, in the garden, and cooking for friends is so nice and chilled
:: the tall, friendly Rivers Edge Goat Dairy guy who shared his blueberries yesterday at the Farmers Market… I went back for more
:: the sound of wind whipping sheets dry on the line
:: thunder and lightening shows
:: a black and white weekend with Billie Holiday and Stan Getz - it never ceases to amaze me how certain music can completely dictate the mood (check out Daniel Levitin’s book This Is Your Brain On Music for more)
:: bonfire pit ready for more action
:: visions: of wildflower and goldenrod honey here next season stoked by my honey guru Stacey, of renovations complete next month, and of an unfolding adventure soon
:: Audrey Niffenegger’s newest installment of magical-realism
:: prepping for a seasonal feast with Tori and Nancy this eve - Rivers Edge goat and pork sausages, my roasted carrots and my favourite summer salad on the menu
I realize that food photography rarely makes the mark when lighting isn’t cooperating. But this salad is so insanely delicious I can’t wait til the sun decides to come out again to share it.
Hooray for ripe tomatoes! These orange cherry tomatoes aren’t mine - I picked them up from a Mennonite family’s organic stall at the Guelph Farmers Market this morning. The feta is also local, from Rivers Edge Goat Dairy. If you can find fresh ingredients, I guarantee this salad will tickle your tastebuds! It’s the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and in my opinion one of the best ways to enjoy ripe cherry tomatoes.
It’s also the ideal compliment to Rebar’s basil vinaigrette, which I have two cups of thanks to Heidi. Last Monday she left me with a large bag of licorice-y basil from her Ottawa garden on the strict provision that I use it to make the Rebar dressing. If you have a bottle of organic olive oil - the kind my culinarily-inclined friend Ashley has instructed me to “ONLY use for dressings and dipping because it’s so mind-blowingly tasty” - use it here! This is a dressing to splurge on. You won’t regret it and you’ll be enjoying the lovely flavour of your basil all summer long.
Recommended bouncy listening to accompany preparation: Silicone Soul, Right On, Right On (yes, just one song, it’s that snappy!)
My taste buds are dancing for the early Ontario peaches!
What a perfect treat in the sunshine. I have plans to stock up and store some for the cold months. Any suggestions for outstanding recipes? Peach chutney, peach jam, sliced frozen peaches… what am I missing? I have this weekend entirely to myself, which I’m so looking forward to. The last time I had four consecutive days all to myself was early May. But in the interest of not living off baking in my solitude, a little preserving when the sun goes down is the goal.
For those of you spending the weekend with family and friends, this French recipe for Peach Apricot Compote with Red Poppy Cream served with lady fingers is sure to knock the socks off your company. Let me know if you’re able to find the flower syrup without taking a trip to Paris… apparently pomegranate or strawberry syrup can be substituted.
In any case, please do pass on yummy fruit preserving recipes and I promise to share mine too!
:: the calm before the Hillside storm - I so love the frequent visits and off-farm adventures, but boy do I also appreciate the rejuvenating solo time in this fresh country air
:: lots and lots of homemade iced tea sweetened with a friend’s uncapped wildflower honey
:: hot, sunny days broken by thunderstorms, long swims in gorgeous lakes, and crawling into cool sheets on crisp nights
:: gifts from the vinyl fairy: 3 old Bob Dylan’s, 1 Bob Marley, 1 missing Simon & Garfunkel and other goodies
:: the freshest smell of laundry off the line - so nice to bury your face into and inhale deeply… over and over again
:: new acacia wood patio table with umbrella and flowers blooming on the deck - hello work al fresco!
:: mmm - last of the fresh peas (shelled as we waited for Spain to finally score in the World Cup final)
Such a sweet sight is this, for a farm girl who skips dinner to weed her garden.
I’ve been away. Five days in Nashville for work. Two days in Toronto for play. A couple of weeks ago before I fled for Tennessee I was weeding and thinning baby carrots under a full moon. Yesterday evening I treated myself to a yoga class, and when I returned after eight o’clock full of energy I struck out to wage war on weeds.
My weapon of choice: the Lee Valley Tools super weeder.
My opposition: a mix of five weeds, each with unique strengths. One creeps and clings, one gets tall fast, one spreads along the ground, one has tap roots that reach China, and one pricks and stings with a vengeance.
I had already showered after yoga but the feels-like-40-degree-heat was still lingering from the day and in no time it felt like I was back in the hot yoga studio. As I quickened the pace to race the fading daylight, sweat mixed with dirt and soon swatted mosquitoes joined the cakey mix. I was so fixated on the weed war that when I realized I’d missed dinner I reached for snowpeas instead of going inside to fix something. Sound familiar?
Have you ever felt like a crazed gardener? I crossed that threshold last night.
And then it started to rain. Oh did it ever feel good to hear the rain coming - first on the trees, then in the field, then on the roof of the barn, then on my caked-up skin. What a fantastic sensation to hear the intensity of the rain swell, fade, swell. And so refreshing. I didn’t care that my gardening gloves were thick with mud. I kept going, soaking up the rain and the respite from mosquitoes. I finished a row of weeding and then did some more for good measure. At this point the hard rain had tapered off to a trickle but I decided my veggies needed more of a drink after such a hot day.
Waiting to see what spring perennials have been planted by the previous keepers of this farm has been like reading a slow drawn out mystery novel. For foodies. No skipping to the last page though. I’ve had to wait patiently to see what sprouts from the soil.
The first to show itself was this hearty patch of wild onions, which I noticed underfoot while reading a letter in the sunshine on March 17th. They’re going strong and I must remember to involve them in my meals. Looks like dandelion can also accompany a salad now.
And garlic has been shooting through the sun-parched kitchen garden. After last season’s discing the bulbs have been scattered willy nilly all over the place. I can taste the fresh scapes sauteed in olive oil now. Mmm!
And check it out! Strawberry rhubarb pie in the making. Should I use lard or vegetable shortening for my pie crust? The strawberries were actually spotted on March 17th as well. Shocking how quickly they appeared.
And last but not least are the bright and fleeting day lillies. These guys will be awhile - I was eating their petals on salads last year in July but given the early season they’ll likely be on the plate sooner.
Locavore abundance already well on it’s way. Wonderful! What’s showing up in your neck of the woods?
Food never looks attractive under harsh lamps and unnatural lighting, but I couldn’t resist sharing this fantastically simple and delicious recipe. I’ve developed an intense fondness for a veggie that’s often overlooked these days. It’s not very striking, but cooked the right way this veg becomes the stuff of dreams.
The humble parsnip is my new go-to comfort food. Tonight I was craving salty and sweet - chips and chocolate, right?! I thought so, but then I remembered what was waiting in the crisper: parsnips and beets. Perfect! I tossed the two root vegetables with olive oil and salt, roasted them, et voila! Salty and sweet, tender and crunchy morsels. With a simple accompaniment of mayonnaise and spicy dijon mustard for the ’snip chips, and a garnish of parsley you have the perfect craving buster meal!
I love the rosey blush the parsnips bear from being kissed by the indelible beetroot. Deep red, white and green make this an excellent festive side dish too. Beautiful! How do you like your snips? I need to expand my recipe bank for this fine root.
Parsnip Chips
Servings: 2
2 large parsnips
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 pinches coarse sea salt
Preheat oven to 400 degrees Celsius. Slice the parsnips into thick cut chips. Toss in a bowl with olive oil and salt, tip onto a baking sheet and arrange so that the skins make contact with the baking sheet. Roast for 20 minutes or until tender and skins are browned. Serve hot with favorite condiments (and parsley if on hand - it looks pretty and it’s loaded with nutrients!).
NB: If you’re roasting beets as well, just toss four peeled and quartered beets with the parsnips, oil and salt, but throw them in the oven 10-15 minutes before the ’snip chips to give them enough time to cook through.
Check!
