The gluts have left the building (shed)
This is where I used to write about the gluts I get from my veg patch and the ensuing gluttony in the kitchen.
Now I write a weekly mostly-veggie recipe over on Substack, plus share tales from the veg patch and exclusive videos. You can subscribe for free by clicking on the link below and every recipe will be sent straight to your inbox. If you’d like more content (such as those videos I mentioned, interviews and printer-friendly PDFs of every recipe to collect) do consider becoming a paid subscriber. More on that here.
In the meantime, here’s an archive of my old Gluts and Gluttony blog:
Smoky Tomato & Chilli Harissa
If you have a greenhouse you will currently, most likely, find yourself besieged by chillies. Too many cold nights will have forced you to uproot the greenhouse plants and bring in what harvest you can. And so you have a lot of chillies to deal with. Well, there is relief for the chilli-swamped amongst us. And it is harissa.
Raspberry Overnight Oats
The advantage of a raspberry harvest is that, unless they have crampons and head for heights, the mice cannot get them. This is the state I have found myself in: measuring the worth of our summer fruits almost entirely by their ability to withstand nightly raids from mice. Because the mice are legion this year. And now they are strawberry connoisseurs too, more’s the pity. Still, they haven’t sussed the summer fruiting raspberries…
Strawberry & Rose Ice-Cream
The strawberries this year are recalcitrant. They have taken one look at the rain and found there no incentive to put on a good showing since Wimbledon will undoubtedly be rained off and so the nation won’t be requiring any strawberries. As a general rule, the veg patch is usually quite happy about warm rain, growing lush and green and rocketing to jungle-like proportions. But enough is enough and everyone, me included, is in need of some sunshine.
The Secret Pleasures of a Clandestine Wild Garlic Glut
The woodland is misty with morning dew. Badger trails crisscross the carpet of bluebells as it stretches away into the depths of the wood – gnarled, ancient, held upright by moss. A spaniel, my spaniel, clatters about in the undergrowth bothering a blackbird who was just looking for breakfast. But best of all, the air is thick with the smell of garlic. This is my Eden. And I imagine I’m not alone.