The good, the bad and the puzzling - the year at the allotment

It's been a mixed year in the kitchen garden, with unpredictable successes and failures. Last year, it was easy to see that the long heatwave at the beginning of summer would be good for tomatoes, chillies and sweet peppers; this year has been much more unsettled.

There has still been plenty to celebrate. About six weeks ago, the bare earth container which holds the saffron crocus bulbs, started sending up little shoots, and for the last month I've been carefully tweazing out bright red stigmas to store as my first proper saffron crop.

Also coming good for the very first time is the fennel, a crop that has tended to bolt in previous years. I think the consistently wet autumn helped deliver steady moisture to the developing plants and produce some lovely crisp swollen stems.

Stalwarts that didn't disappoint included the globe artichokes: the plants, once established, produce multiple buds between May and July, then, after a rest in high summer, start sending up new buds again in September. We are just finishing them now.

Potatoes were terrific again this year: beautiful Lady Christls like unblemished hens' eggs in June, followed by delicious pink-skinned Rosevals and a long season for the maincrop Pink Fir Apples.

The weather was very slow to warm up in spring, which meant that chillies, peppers, tomatoes and aubergines couldn't go outside until much later than usual, and the seedlings stayed tiny until June/July. The sweet peppers, tomatoes and aubergines caught up quite quickly once they were finally planted out in the polytunnel and greenhouse (and the sweet peppers happily went outside); the chillies on the other hand, are still mostly green and I'm not sure the Carolina Reapers will ever fully develop.

The outdoor tomatoes fruited late but then they all fruited at once. We had about a month until the blight arrived at the start of October and then of course the plants were all gone over in the space of a few days. The greenhouse plants normally keep going until December, given mild enough weather outside, but having picked a load of little Black Cherries and the last few San Marzanos last week, I doubt we will get any more now.

Tree and soft fruit yields were similarly mixed. The red, pink and blackcurrants all fruited reliably but the whitecurrant bushes produced significantly fewer berries. I managed to net the cherry trees in good time (for once) and enjoyed a good cherry harvest. One day it would be nice to save some to make jam, or liqueur, but they are a bit too delicious to resist eating straightaway.

The quince tree, normally so prolific, only set four fruit this year. I think this may well be because we gave it its first proper pruning last winter. There was certainly plenty of blossom in late spring. And the pear trees nearby were so laden with fruit that I was giving away carrier bags full of fruit for a couple of  months in late summer. The perpetual spinach all bolted and I heard similar tales from other allotmenteers. The winter radishes, so plentiful in 2018, are this year still tiny and showing no signs of plumping up so far. We will just have to hunker down with the parsnips, beetroot, oca and yacon over the winter.

The joy of fartichokes

I am regularly asked what vegetable I would recommend growing to someone who is just starting a kitchen garden. I'm sure they expect me to say potatoes, or radishes, or runner beans. Usually I suggest Jerusalem artichokes. They are in so many ways the perfect vegetable. (And in one crucial respect, not so perfect.)

They are virtually indestructible. Apart from a little slug damage when the new shoots appear in April, they appear to attract no pests.

They are perennial so they come back year after year. You'll get bigger and better tubers if you dig up the remaining artichokes in spring and replant just the biggest ones, but it makes them very economical; buy once, replant infinitely.

At the end of the season in March, dig up your remaining tubers and
choose the biggest to replant for next year.

You can grow them in the same spot each year. You don't have to integrate them into a rotation plan and prepare a bed for them every year.

The tubers can be harvested from autumn throughout the winter into early spring, so a long-lived crop and one that is producing for you at a time of year when little else is growing.

The plants are tall and if you choose the position of your Jerusalem artichoke bed with care, they can act as a windbreak for more tender crops.

The artichokes are highly versatile in the kitchen. You can roast them under a Sunday joint like potatoes, or roast along with other rot vegetables. They make a delicious gratin Dauphinoise, substituting thinly sliced artichokes for the potatoes. You can make Jerusalem artichoke fritters, you can mash them, you can eat them raw, shaved thinly into salads. They make a beautiful creamy puree that can be used as a base for soups.

But they do divide people. I think you either love them or loathe them. And whichever side you're on, you can't deny the one thing that puts many people off Jerusalem artichokes. They make you fart. Each tuber, whether raw or cooked (and funnily enough, I think the effects are less explosive after eating raw artichokes) contains a carbohydrate called inulin, which gives you wind. Not for nothing are they usually known as 'fartichokes' in the Zia maison.

Jerusalem artichokes take a fair bit of washing and peeling. After you've
peeled the skins, put the tubers in water with a little lemon juice
squeezed into it to stop the bright white flesh from discolouring. 

So while I have no inhibitions about serving Jerusalem artichokes to supper guests - after all, they will leave at the end of the evening and do their farting in the comfort of their own home (and so will you) - I would advise not serving them at the starting of a camping weekend, say.

Not to be confused with ...
Globe artichokes
Note that the Jerusalem artichokes pictured here are quite distinct from globe artichokes, the giant round buds which we eat, spiky leaf-bud by spiky leaf-bud, until you reach the nutty heart in the centre. Despite the fact that both plants are called artichokes, they are not related. Globe artichokes belong to the same family botanically as thistles; Jerusalem artichokes are related to sunflowers. Quite how they both ended up being commonly called artichokes isn't 100% clear: it's thought that the Jerusalem artichoke is a corruption of girasole, the Italian word for sunflower.

Chinese artichokes
Unrelated botanically to either Jerusalem or globe artichokes, the Chinese artichoke, or Stachys affinis, looks like a smaller, skinnier, paler version of a Jerusalem artichoke tuber. Actually, I think they look like fat cartoon caterpillars, but don't let that put you off.

Like Jerusalem artichokes, the tubers can be planted in spring. They are then harvested from late summer onwards, and again, keep some healthy tubers aside at the end of the season for replanting for the next year's crop.

The taste of these is not dissimilar to Jerusalem artichoke and they can be cooked the same way or in stir-fries, or served raw like a salad vegetable.

Recipe
Jerusalem artichoke gratin
5-6 good-sized Jerusalem artichokes

1 tbsp chopped parsley

100ml double cream

Butter (about 25g in total)
Walnut oil (to finish off)

Salt

Pepper

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.

Have a large bowl of cold water mixed with a little lemon juice standing by you. Scrub the Jerusalem artichokes and peel them, putting each artichoke  in the bowl of water once peeled to stop them from going brown.

Then slice the artichokes into rounds as finely as possible. Arrange the slices neatly and evenly in layers in a shallow gratin dish. After each layer, season with a little salt and pepper and a smear of butter.

Once you’ve placed the final layer of artichoke slices, sprinkle with the chopped parsley, then pour over the cream. Top with a knob of butter and a last pinch of salt and pepper. 

Cover the dish with foil and bake in the oven for 20 mins. Remove the foil and put back the in oven uncovered for another 10-15 mins to brown the top. Drizzle over a little walnut oil when you serve.

Serves 2

Deep-fried artichokes

This is deep-fried artichokes and lemon with mint and anchovy dressing. It's made from a recipe in My Favourite Ingredients by Skye Gyngell and I've long wanted to try it - The combination of nutty creamy artichoke and sharp lemon is enticing and while I've had deep-fried artichokes in Rome, where they are a standard restaurant dish, I've never tried it myself. With three little artichokes just the right size on the plot today, I seized the moment and cut all three of them for the dish. For once, I made myself stick strictly to the recipe instructions - no going off piste and deciding to have mayonnaise instead of the mint and anchovy dressing


The results were stunning. Lots of contrasts: between the crispy batter shell and soft artichoke, the sharpness of the lemon softened by the fast cooking, the coolness of the mint with the pungency of the anchovy, and all brought together beautifully.


In truth, it's time-consuming to prepare. The batter requires the inclusion of an egg white whisked to firm peaks (and it does make an incredibly light, crunchy batter), the dressing needs the slow addition of olive oil to create an emulsion and of course artichokes can be fiddly to prepare, although actually the smaller baby 'chokes are easier to trim than fully mature ones - they're less tough.