Occupied beds and impatient seedlings

The vegetable garden is providing for a bit of a surprise with vegetables like the brinjals and tomatoes having a longer season than usual. The onion seedlings are ready to be transplanted, something that is only meant to happen in August.

With some vegetables occupying their beds for longer and some ready for transplanting sooner than usual I am stuck with a double dilemma. Should I see how long I can keep the tomatoes and brinjals going and hope that the development of the onions will slow down now that we are getting colder weather?

Or should I just take out the brinjals and tomatoes, prepare the beds for the onions and transplant them a month earlier than usual? Do I stick to old patterns and ignore the changing growth patterns? In so doing, do I deny myself the pleasures of summer flavours of roasted mixed tomatoes and roasted brinjals with winter meals?

When I took out the pan of roasted mixed tomatoes from the oven to make roasted tomato and ricotta fettuccine for lunch, I instinctively wanted to serve it on the lawn under the oak tree. The cold wind and bare oak tree reminded me that it is winter although my meals are quite summery.

I enjoy the luxury of the summer flavours on cold wintery days but I have to remind myself that it is unusual and the garden needs the cold to rest. I must get back to the rhythm of the garden because I do not want to disappoint the impatient onion seedlings waiting to spread their roots in the comfort of their own beds.

Making hay when the sun don’t shine

With winter taking hold of the garden and the appearance of heaters in the house, the days are occupied with activities that can be enjoyed indoors like researching and discovering new recipes and dusting off some traditional ones.

The pots filled with yellow daffodils and blue muscari I planted earlier this year are going to be beautiful around the cellar window next to the steps. I love the bougainvillea flower-fall cascading more than 4 metres into the orchard where the trees are looking very stark on the cold wet days.

Watching the orchard floor being covered with golden leaves from the golden delicious apple tree, I realised that it was time for the final phases of making the lime pickles and lime liqueur.

With a gust of wind making the leaves rustle towards the orchard floor, I stood still in the cellar enjoying the visual spectacle of yellow leaves raining down in front of the cellar door. Regretting not having my camera at hand to capture the scene, I decided to keep focused and took the lime pickles and lime peels on vodka back to the kitchen to complete the preserving processes.

I could not understand why, according to the recipe, the lime pickles had to wait a week before I could fill them up with the extra lime juice. Seeing the jars half full with the lime juice that had been extracted by action of the salt, I realised the importance of leaving the limes for a week on the salt before filling the jars with extra lime juice. I added the chillies, rosemary sprigs and bay leaves before filling the jars with lime juice and covering the pickles with a layer of olive oil.

I added the sugar syrup to the lime peel, lemon geranium and mint infused vodka and filtered the liqueur into bottles. The lemon geranium and mint leaves gives an interesting flavour to the subtle lime liqueur to be enjoyed, even in winter.

I took the final products back to the cellar where they can mature over the next 6 weeks in the cool dark comfort required by the recipes.  

Pecan nut flour and ginger rusks

The cold wet weekend was perfect for stocking up on comfort food like rusks. They would be perfect for the cold winter days ahead. I decided to make a new batch of pecan nut flour rusks and being more confident with my rusk-making skills, I decided to add cubed ginger.

I love ginger and with ginger being available in dried and crystallised forms from the local dried fruit and nut shops in Montagu, the possibilities of using it in different ways were endless.

I used the standard recipe for pecan nut flour rusks. As an option, I added a cup of chopped cubed ginger where the recipe had suggested a cup of sultanas or sunflower seeds.

The basic Pecan nut Flour Rusk Recipe is as follows:

1kg Self-raising flour
750g Pecan nut flour
3 teaspoons Baking powder
3 cups Sugar
200g margarine (Stork brand)
1 teaspoon salt
3 eggs
500ml Buttermilk

Optional:

1 cup sultana raisins or sunflower seeds

Method:

Melt the margarine and mix with the sugar, eggs and buttermilk until sugar is dissolved. Add the dry ingredients and mix well. Spoon the mix into greased rusk pans and bake in a pre-heated oven at 180°C for one hour. Let it cool and cut into rusks. Allow it to dry out at 80°C for 4 -5 hours.

Pecan nut flour rusks are delicious and the added ginger gives them just that hint of spicy comfort needed on cold rainy days.

With 10 dozen rusks in the larder, we are assured of having a ready snack for tea or coffee this winter.

Here is the same recipe in Afrikaans:

Pekan neut Meel Beskuit

1kg Bruismeel
750g Pekanneutmeel
3 teelepels Bakpoeier
3 koppies Suiker
200g Margarien (Stork)
1 teelepel Sout
3 Eiers
500ml Karringmelk

Opsioneel:

1 Koppie sultana rosyne of sonneblompitte

Metode:

Smelt die margarien en meng met die suiker, eiers en karringmelk todat suiker opgelos is. Voeg die droë bestandele by en meng goed. Skep in gesmeerde beskuitpanne en bak in ‘n vooraf verhitte oond teen 180°C vir een uur. Laat afkoel en sny die beskuit. Laat uitdroog teen 80°C vir 4 -5 uur.

The Mange Tout Harvest and the Otomys irroratus rescue

The winter vegetables are growing nicely and it is quite strange to see winter and summer vegetables in the same garden producing vegetables for the table.

The peas are a feast. And although the snails are a problem, the plants are still looking good. It looks like a promising harvest and they will brighten up winter meals with their fat round bodies bringing a touch of sweetness to stews, soups and risottos.

I love photographing the peas with their pods, luminous in the winter sun, and patterns of leaves and tendrils suspended in the air. That reminds me. I must give the peas more supporting twine strings.

On a cold and wet Thursday, I was heading to the garden for a picking of mange touts. I was stopped in my tracks by Keith calling to me from the rosarium with, ‘You need to see this’. I asked if it cannot wait until after lunch but he responded excitedly, ‘I think you would want to see this’.

I headed to the rosarium and met Keith in the pathway with a look on his face that said, ‘you are going to be so amazed and it was I that showed it to you’. He pointed to the empty canal that was drained for winter repair-work and there on the floor of the canal floor sat a vlei rat (Otomys irroratus) looking very sorry for itself.

There he sat with his front paws together as if praying. He had found a dry spot but his tail was still resting in cold water. We could not know how long he must have been there but the fall of 1,3 meters into the canal must have been quite rough for that little body. I realised that he needed to be rescued because the canal was expected to be flowing again from lunch time and that would mean certain death.

I handed the bowl and scissors to Keith and after making sure that he knows to harvest the mange tout peas I left the task to him. I changed into shorts and stepping into the cold garden I prepared myself mentally for the cold water of the canal. The vlei rat looked at me getting into the canal with a look that said ‘What now? Have I not suffered enough to now have to run through the cold water’?

He made a half-hearted attempt to get away, but I caught him with the bucket where he sat looking at this new predicament in which he had found himself. In his mind he must have been calculating how high he would have to jump to get out of the bucket.

I took him into the veld and up the koppie opposite the house to where there was a sunny patch.  It was a sunny spot, where he could sun away the traumatic experience. As I let him out of the bucket into the warm dry grass, I expected him to stop, turn around, and give me an appreciative look and nod for my gallant efforts.   All I received was the rustling of grass as he scurried away.

The lack of a thank you did not dampen my spirits and I felt the good Karma washing over me like the warm rays of sun or maybe it was just the warm rays of sun, but it still felt good.

In the time that it took for me to rescue the vlei rat, Keith had gathered the picking of mange tout peas and I could make us a well-deserved lunch with our first pea harvest of the season. We raised a glass of wine to a successful partnership of spotter and rescuer of the vlei rat.

Colourful early winters in a cold valley

For me, early winter seems to be more colourful than summer in the valley. In summer the valley is textured with different greens that come alive in the bright sun.

In early winter the light seems more subdued but the green has turned into shades of bright yellow, red, orange, brown and specks of green. The colours are vibrant in the cold air and the visual warmth that is all around one just asks to be photographed.

One can never fully capture the feeling of walking through the colourful vineyards and orchards, but this will never stop me from trying to capture the strong visual impact of the displays.

I can only stand amazed at the sheer beauty of it all and feel blessed to be living in this amazing valley.

Pickled Limes and superstitions

I love Mediterranean food and its cooking. Several of the Mediterranean recipes include pickled lemons. In Yottam Ottolenghi’s cookbook Jerusalem, he has a recipe for pickled lemons where one can substitute the lemons with limes.

With a generous lime tree in the garden, I am looking for ways to use the limes. I thought homemade pickled limes are just what the Towerwater pantry needs.

On Sunday morning I took the big enamel bowl and went into the garden to pick limes. Having sterilised my jars and with a good stock of salt, I was ready for this new adventure.

Yottam Ottolenghi’s recipe calls for two processes. First one preserves the limes in salt. A week later one adds the extra lime juice, chilli, pepper corns and bay leaves.

In no time I had bottled my limes in a sea of juice and salt and they were ready to stand for a week.  After a week, I will add the rest of the ingredients. This final mix will stand and mature for another 6 weeks before I can taste the homemade pickles.

With the limes safely pickled, I looked at the lime juice and salt on the table and contemplated the bad luck I might have invoked by spilling the salt. Not really being superstitious, I thought perhaps I had better play safe and throw a pinch of the spilled salt over my left shoulder into the eyes of the devil lurking there.

It did not end up in the devil's eye but on the kitchen floor. I looked down at the spilt salt and wondered whether I should pick it up and toss some over my left shoulder again. I realised that tossing the salt over my left shoulder was a bad idea and that I can get caught up in a chain of spilling salt and tossing it over my left shoulder.

I decided to stand with my back to the open kitchen bin and tossed the spilt salt over my left shoulder, blinding the devil before it ended up in the bin. In one smooth move I warded off evil and cleaned the kitchen.

Good news in a rain gauge

I arrived home after driving through a wet valley with big puddles of water next to the road. After I parked the bakkie and locked the gates, I headed straight for the rain gauge to see how much rain had fallen.

The good news in the rain gauge was that 24 mm of rain had fallen. Compared to the rest of the valley where some people reported receiving 26 mm, it was still very good news.

On Saturday morning as I ran into friends and acquaintances, the largest part of the conversations was about the rain. In this farming community, life revolves around water and rain. Discussing the rain was happy conversations that were filled with relief. 

Saturday was a cold but sunny day and coming home my eye caught the Bougainvillea where the bright flowers were on fire with the sun captured in the blooms.

In a garden where everything is currently painted in subdued colours the Bougainvillaea stand out bright with a wall of colour and I just had to capture it in photographs.