A Glass of Shiraz Mangetout Anyone?

‘Why are your peas looking sick?’ asks Robin whilst he watches me water the plot. He sits there perched on top of the brassica netted frame as if he is directing all operations whilst secretly watching and listening for grubs.

‘I don’t know. It must be the hot weather, but I haven’t planted them down there before and Freddie Fox used that area as his private toilet last year.

‘But what has grown is a funny colour’ Robin says eyeing up the odd purple pod.

‘They are mangetout, not peas, and supposed to be purple. They are called Shiraz’ I reply.

“Trust you to pick an alcoholic veg’ Robin says as he pops down to wrestle with a small worm. The tug of war is short, and Robin soon flies off with his wriggling prize.

I look at the miserable plants clinging on for their last rights against the twigs they were supposed cover. I give them some water but there is no reaction.

Everything else is blooming and although some vegetables have come early, others are quickly catching up and if the slugs and snails can keep themselves to themselves everything should be ok.

I turn my attention to the two grape vines on the top section. There were a gift along with two others from Caroline, a good friend of Annie’s who live in deepest Kent. She still has six vines and I wondered if she had a drinking problem or secretly ran a pub.

The vines on the top took straight away, were cut back and everything looked well. They flowered and have little bunches of grapes but are still subdued and probably wondering where their mates are and what the are doing in London. Their mates I planted in my reclaimed bank and they didn’t take kindly to the move but now are in their element with shoots all over and big developing bunches of grapes. Perhaps the others need to live on the bank too?

The challenge is that until the grapes develop, I don’t know which is white, which is red, and that will teach me for losing the labels on transfer. I wonder if the mangetout Shiraz up top is jealous and it is a Shiraz below on the bank that is stealing the show?

The sunflowers turn their heads, watching and waiting to be given a drink. Now they don’t need any help and pop up in spring, get moved into position and only require a tall cane to stand proud and shine all summer. Mind you Sidney and his gang of squirrels fight the bees and birds for the seed heads as soon as they start to turn. It’s amusing to watch them scurrying up the stork and biting off the heads of the flowers, watching them drop to the ground. They start back down, pick up the flower head, and then they are off the hide it somewhere they will probably soon forget. They sow seeds on their journey and it’s rather funny to see them running away down the path with a flower head bigger than them and often still with a bee after the last drink.

Lottie hates squirrels so she is very annoyed I haven’t put trip wires around the sunflowers and mined the area under them. She just barks at them which probably encourages them to come back, knowing she is tied up and can’t chase them.

Back to today’s watering.

The other new plant this year is the kiwi vine. It’s not mine but my neighbour’s whose plot I am looking after whilst she is self-isolating with her shielded husband. The vine looks great as it straggles the arbor but has done little until this year. Happily, it’s  it had masses of little delicate buttercup style flowers all over. Apparently it has never flowered before and maybe it is going to give me a special reward of fruit this year.

Alas there doesn’t appear to be any fruit setting and not being a kiwi expert or having grown it before, I don’t know what the baby fruit should look like at this stage. I’ve searched the internet and got lots of advice on everything except what I should be looking for. Robin even told me off, thinking I was looking at a bird’s nest. I bet birds around here have never seen a kiwi fruit, let alone flower.

Back to the more traditional watering, the Patti pans and courgettes. Now if this was wine not water, they would be permanently drunk with the amount they consume. I wonder if they’d like some Shiraz?

From Plot to Pot

'You're turning into a little chef' Annie declare as I remove my latest pie out of the oven.

'I have no choice. We have so many cherries this year I have to use them up, and we like a good fruit pie with a dollop of custard don't we? I quickly put the hot pie on the side counter and stand back to admire it and smell the baked pastry and fruit.

'Can I have some custard please?' asks Lottie the whippet who is sitting at my feet starring straight into my eyes and trying to hypnotize me into submission.

'Later, when it's cooled down' I respond.

'I like custard cold. You don't have to warm it up for me.' Lottie's eyes now move from mine to the custard on the counter and then back to me.

'Later!'

The tone of my voice is enough, and Lottie sulks off to find somewhere among her many cushions, beds and rugs to wait.She turns her head at the kitchen entrance to look back as if to check there isn't a last minute reprieve. She then resigns herself to having to wait and finds a position where she can sit and watch the kitchen for movement. We don't have doors on the kitchen, so Lottie has a number of rugs and cushion spots she uses to watch for food opportunities. All whippets would eat you out of house and home if given half the chance. They may look skinny and underfed, but they can always find somewhere to put every scrap on offer.

'So what are you going to do with the rest of the cherries?' Asks my my wife Annie as she looks at the large bowl of ripe cherries that remain uncooked and didn't make it into this pie.

'Cherry crumble?' I offer, thinking there must be masses of recipes online.

'What about cherry chutney/' Annie suggests with a large smile, which either says she is happy of the thought of chutney, or she is winding me up.

'I think you can put cherries in rum, vodka or other liquors and add spices to make a sort of heavy-duty cocktail or punch ingredient' I suggest.

'Now we are talking' Annie responds as she moves over to the cupboard where all the freezer tubs and pots are kept and opens it to browse its contents. 'Now, I am sure we had some Kilner jars somewhere/'

'There's also jam' I suggest.

Now half the contents of the cupboard are on the counter and Annie has the bit between her teeth in her search for those jars.

'No, I like the idea of the cherries preserved in vodka,' says Annie proudly holding up a large Kilner jar. 'Just need to sterilise this and we are away.'

Lottie amble quietly into the kitchen to see what progress has been made and whether it's custard time.

'Can we have a taste of this pie to make sure its sweet enough and ready?' I suggest bringing two bowls and spoons eagerly across to the pie.

'You followed the recipe?' Annie asks.

'What recipe?' I rely with a smile.

The crust gives way to the spoon's advances and a spoonful of juice and small piece of fruit is extracted. I offer first taste to my tasting expert. No not Lottie, but Annie.

Her eyes roll, lips smack and she declares,' Perfect.'

I don't wait and two bowls soon contain the right proportion of fruit, crust and a dollop of custard. Each has been awarded a spoon and chef an extra piece of pie, but before they are taken out of the kitchen to be consumed I put a dollop of cold custard into Lottie's bowl.

Five minutes later we are all content, sitting on the sofa. Mind you Lottie is looking towards the empty bowls and asking herself if there is any licking needed.

The big question is what we will do not with the next load of cherries, but the red  and black currants, gooseberries, loganberries and rhubarb. These will continue to bear fruit all summer and that is without the masses of blackberries alongside the path to the allotments. Finally, there is my neighbour's Kiwi fruit which I am looking after whilst she is in isolation. It has been heavily laden with flowers and I am watering and watching it and hoping for fruit from it. It has never flowered before so fingers crossed.

The allotment just keeps giving.


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