How Does My Garden Grow?

Tragically, this past weekend I was unable to prepare any Modernist Cuisine.

Several exigencies contributed to this sorry state of affairs:

• the lab biz being what it is, I had to work the entire weekend. The resulting low morale required that Saturday's dinner be taken under the awning at The Spot.
• it was a bazillion degrees outside, a truth to which any reader living on this continent can attest. I hate to cook when it's hot.
• Sir and I have become addicted to Angry Birds, which is taking up every spare minute of our lives. I know, I know - we're about six months behind the times: my cutting-edge tendencies, such as they are, are generally not tech-related. Yesterday, the Kid Squid, disgusted by our single-minded porcine pursuits, remarked that he feels like he's 'living with two alcies'. If by this he means sharing his domicile with parents who no longer have the will to attend to vital household chores or pay sufficient attention to his considerable needs because they are glued to their Smartyphones, then I suppose his concern is a valid one. I was, however, obliged to point out to The Smug One that, because he has already beaten the entire game and is now in the process of earning his Total Destruction feathers, he is in no position to throw stones. Or, for that matter, tins of anchovies. 

However, since it is almost exactly eight weeks since I planted my kitchen garden, I thought I had better take a few minutes off from pig-slaughter to assess my crops' progress and consider how many Ball and Weck jars I shall require for the preserving extravaganza that is inevitably to come at harvest time.

Naturally, by the time I actually found the time to visit my farm, the weather had broken and it was pouring with rain. When I say pouring, I mean tipping it down in a deluge of Biblical proportions, the kind of weather that makes the clogged-up gutters on the back of the house turn into Victoria Falls and beat the ground beneath to oblivion. I took two snaps as a photographic record and scampered back inside.

Interesting things are definitely afoot out there, with some plantings showing more promise than others. My herbs and peppers are all growing like weeds. My butternut vines, which one month ago had been showing a reluctance to grow big and strong, have responded gratifyingly to my pep talks and are now the proud bearers of at least eight baby squashes, each of which is roughly six inches long and four inches in girth (I was not about to get down in the mud with a tape measure during the tempest and was therefore only able to estimate their dimensions). 

My Italian olde worlde tomatoes are behaving just as they should, with no sign (touch wood) of blossom end rot, aphids, or slug damage. My bush tomatoes, however, have been acting very strangely. I noticed several weeks ago that the plant had very quickly exceeded the height helpfully elucidated on its tag and was convinced I had bought some sort of monster mutant beefsteak variety by accident. Then, two weeks ago, the leaves started to shrivel and die. It was very puzzling  - particularly since the next-door neighbour was a picture of health. I went out to inspect the damage yesterday and was nearly bowled over by the mistral of hot air that was blasting the dessicated leaves and stems. I had unwittingly planted the tomatoes right next to the water-heater vent! I had never done this before because this is the very spot where my ant-infested mint barrel used to be. Lesson learned. Do not plant your tender veg in the paths of Harmattans. Tomatoes may like the effects of a warm breeze to begin with, but they (and you) will regret it in the end.

My cauliflower and romanesco are ... well ... I have no idea what they are doing, to be perfectly honest. After an auspicious early effort, they have turned into weird flowery things with ginormous slug-eaten leaves. I have been on the receiving end of various pieces of well-intended advice, all of which leads me to the conclusion that I planted my brassicas in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Never mind. The flowers are quite pretty (and edible, I suppose, so they are not a total loss) and the plants themselves are quite the conversation piece. They are a bit like triffids except that, to my knowledge, they are not ambulatory.

As for Sir's plums in the front yard, we now have several bushels' worth clinging to his trees' branches, despite the best efforts of nameless beasts (I suspect raccoons) who, in the wee hours, delight in taking great bites out of the unripe fruit and then tossing the remains all over the lawn. Since Sir is unwilling to sit up all night in a rocking chair a la Atticus Finch with one of the Squid's airsoft rifles across his lap, we have decided to accept phlegmatically the odd bit of thievery and consider it the price we must pay to Mother Nature to ensure a bountiful harvest later on. 

Besides. We've perpetrated enough verminicide in Angry Birds to last a lifetime.