Raising my Game – coming to terms with loss and moving on in the garden

It’s been almost a year since I last wrote on these pages – life has a horrible habit of getting in the way and the past 12 months have been rather a rollercoaster, to say the least. Anyone who reads my other blog may know that my father passed away after a long struggle with dementia in January, so my time was taken up with increasing care responsibilities and hospital visits until then and then coming to terms with grief and sorting out the estate ever since. It has felt like a long haul, but things are slowly returning to normal and finally I feel I have time to start writing for myself again.

Rather fittingly, gardening has provided huge solace in the past few months, just as it did when Mum passed away 14 months earlier. Revisiting old haunts like RHS Wisley or National Trust properties such as Wakehurst Place and Standen or Sheffield Park has been hugely cathartic, tied up as they are with memories of visiting them over the years with my parents and when my boys were small.

Wakehurst Place January 2023

I had to drive to Leatherhead to register my father’s death in late January (who knew that you had to register a death in the county of death? Surrey in Dad’s case as he was in Redhill Hospital, not Sussex where they lived, further adding to relatives’ burden at such a difficult time). I decided to go on to Wisley, 15 minutes further down the road, a garden Mum and Dad adored, so a fitting place to visit on that of all days. And always lovely to see the bare bones of a garden at that time of year. The hamamelis were out in full bloom and smelled heavenly; the long-tailed tits clearly thought so too! I even bought a couple of small trees from Wisley’s well-stocked garden centre with a garden voucher my sister had given me for Christmas: Amelanchier Ballerina and Cercis canadensis Merlot – my father would have approved!

RHS Wisley January 2023

Tending my own garden is another way of communing with my parents, strange though that may seem. As I’m sure I’ve said before, that sense of mindfulness you get when gardening is just what you need at times of sorrow, especially when gardening was a joy I shared with my parents – and one they’d probably inspired in the first place, as I recall in my post after Mum’s death in 2021. So many of the plants I have in my garden were cuttings from their gardens or gifts from them; Dad could never resist buying plants when we visited gardens or garden centres and many of mine were ones he insisted on buying for me.

Back on a rare sunny day in February, it was a delight to see snowdrop Sam Arnott out in force, heralding the arrival of spring. It brought back memories of a bitterly cold visit to Hadlow College’s snowdrop day some years earlier, when Dad had treated me to a pot of those very same bulbs, now divided many times and spread around my garden (and back to theirs!). Dad’s clivias in my conservatory (unheated this year due to energy costs!) had not one but three flower spikes this spring – a sign of Dad working his magic from beyond the grave perhaps? And my conservatory also plays host to two beautiful Bird of Paradise plants (Strelitzia) that Dad originally grew from seed from a holiday in Tenerife in 1988! They have been divided many times over the years and mine are due another division this year as the roots are threatening to break the pot – time to get the saw out, I think. I still have the original label with Dad’s handwritten notes about when it was split/repotted, although sadly I’ve neglected to update it in more recent times. So many happy memories…

Dad also helped with many garden projects over the years, both in my marital homes, when he got stuck in physically, clearing beds and hacking down rhododendron ponticum in our big woodland garden in Scotland, and then in the 2-acre garden we moved to in Sussex 20 years ago, before my then husband left just three months later. I was so grateful for my parents’ support and gardening help at that time, especially in a garden of that size! They were in their 70s by then but loved working in the garden with me – all that therapeutic chopping and hacking!

When I got divorced and downsized to a smaller house and garden two years down the line, they were always there for me. Dad in particular was hugely helpful doing a lot of the more physical stuff. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty in the garden, but DIY is not one of my fortes and Dad, who originally trained as a joiner before his national service, put up a greenhouse (in the larger marital home – I only wish I had room for one now!) and a shed at the allotment, installed water butts, trellising and generally did all the things I couldn’t. He was such a perfectionist, but that became a problem in the latter years, when he became increasingly frustrated with his growing immobility and inability to do things the way he would have liked. He still enjoyed feeling useful though, so I tried to save little jobs for him that he could do sitting down – although he frequently forgot himself in his enthusiasm to help and we had to make sure we kept a close eye on him in case he fell!

In late autumn last year, before Dad passed away, I’d been taking stock and decided I needed to address the problem of the left side of my front garden, which had been badly affected by the drought conditions last summer. Despite being on the north side of my house, this area gets a lot of sun in summer and the problem is exacerbated by the fact that the site slopes, with next-door’s garden on a lower level. My neighbours also have a beautiful, mature cherry tree that sends out root suckers, as cherries are wont to do, and takes up a lot of water, as does my apple tree, on my side of the boundary fence. In a normal year, this wouldn’t be a problem, but the trend towards global warming has meant that the shrubs in the existing bed were struggling to cope and frazzled to a crisp last summer, with temperatures well in the 30s. That bed had also become infested with creeping potentilla and was a nightmare to weed.

I’d had a couple of quotes from landscapers last November to make two large raised beds and replace the scorched lawn with gravel, with the aim of creating a more Mediterranean planting vibe, with plants that can withstand drought. I’d duly chosen the one I preferred, with the arrangement that they’d get in touch when they had availability this spring. Sure enough, they contacted me just before Easter to say they could come in mid-April – what a transformation!

They did a great job, very efficiently, over two days, removing the weeds and what remained of the lawn, lining the whole area with weedproof membrane and filling the new, super sturdy timber beds with good quality topsoil, plus edging the existing apple tree bed with old bricks to finish it off. In the messy middle stages, I did start to wonder what I’d done, but once the gravel and soil went in, I was thrilled with the results!

Unfortunately, I then had to wait a while before I could plant them up – firstly, to let the soil settle, and then because I’d ordered two new roses by mail order. Once they arrived, the growers’ instructions were to leave them in their pots for 2-3 weeks as they’d only recently been transplanted. Fair enough. In the meantime, I had plenty of time to decide what I wanted and to plan my shopping expeditions to local nurseries – always the best bit of any new design to my mind.

Finally, in late May, I was able to plant up my new beds, with plants from a variety of local (and not-so-local) nurseries, my mail-order roses from Jones Roses in Cheshire, divisions from my garden (and my parents’ garden), gifts from friends and relocated seedlings and cuttings. I moved the existing golden philadelphus, hydrangea and azalea to the shady side of the garden, where they seem to be thriving. My favourite, oh-so-fragrant Gertrude Jekyll rose was replanted nearer to the apple tree, next to the longer raised bed, where it is doing remarkably well considering how vigorously I hacked it back and root-pruned it to squeeze it into the biggest pot I had before planting once the beds were in situ! Roses are surprisingly tough…

Here’s my plant list, in case anyone is interested:

Main bed:
Rose Koko Loko
Rose Mokarosa
Hibiscus Purple Ruffles (on its last chance – it hasn’t done well elsewhere in the garden!)
Salvias Amistad, Black & Blue, Dyson’s Crimson, Nachtvlinder and Pink Friesland
Echinacea Lustre (grown from seed at the allotment last year)
Hemerocallis Trahlyta (deep purple, spider form – from my parents’ garden)
Aster turbinellum
Aster Mönch
Geraniums Patricia, Rozanne and Ann Folkard (my divisions)
Euphorbia Baby Charm
Euphorbia cornigera Goldener Turm
Phlox divaricata Chattahoochee
Penstemon Amelia Jane (cuttings)
Astrantia major Claret
Eryngium zabelli Jos Eijking
Sedum Purple Emperor (cutting from a fellow allotment plotholder)
Aquilegia (gold foliage, originally from seed and self-sown elsewhere in the garden)
Verbena bonariensis (from a friend whose garden they self-seed in prolifically)
Anthemis cupaniana (cutting)
Phlox subulata McDaniel’s Cushion (had to get this as my maiden name is Daniel!)
Aubrietia
Nepeta

Smaller bed:
Rose Eye of the Tiger
Hemerocallis Siloam Showgirl (from my parents originally)
Miscanthus Adagio
Penstemon Cherry Red
Astrantia major Ruby Wedding
Aubrietia
Phlox Emerald Cushion

My most successful nursery raids were to Coton Manor in Northamptonshire (when visiting a friend at the end of April; if only I’d driven rather than going by train, I’d have bought a lot more! As it was, I gingerly transported them back in a cardboard wine carrier!), Great Dixter Nursery in Northiam, East Sussex and Marchant’s Hardy Plants in Laughton, East Sussex. Garden centres were extremely expensive and provided far fewer pickings in terms of the specific plants I wanted. Staverton Nursery near Ringmer, also in East Sussex, was an honourable exception – they had a range of more unusual specimens at very good prices, despite being a conventional garden centre. As a rule, I’d much rather buy two or three smaller plants of the varieties I want from specialist nurseries as they establish much more quickly and romp away to fill the space, providing a more natural look in the process.

I’ve also included annuals (Cosmos Rubenza and Nicotiana Lime Green) this first summer in case the planting needs bulking up, but actually I’m thrilled with the results just two months in. I also included some of the plump-looking tulip bulbs from last year’s containers (Palmyra, Van Eijk and Silk Road), so am hoping they’ll take up the baton next spring. Even drought-resistant plants need watering in their first year to get established, of course, but so far, so good – and we’ve already got a hosepipe ban here in the South East after a few weeks of hot, dry weather in June.

My one regret is that Mum and Dad aren’t here to appreciate my revitalised front garden. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to call them and tell them about some particularly pleasing colour combination or new bloom. I know they’ll be looking down and giving it all their seal of approval though – and they’ll be as proud of my new creation as I am. They taught me my craft in the first place, after all.

Garden memories of my mother

Yet another six months have passed since I last wrote here, I’m horrified, but not really surprised, to see. Followers of my other (language) blog will be aware that I’ve been through a challenging time since arriving back from my epic trip to Canada and New England last autumn. Sadly, my mum passed away very suddenly three weeks after I got back from the States and the last few months have been a whirl of funeral arrangements, estate admin, sorting out care for my father and letting out their house. Probably just as well this has all taken place over the winter months so I’ve not had to feel too guilty about neglecting the garden/allotment…

I still miss my mum every day – all those times you think “I must tell Mum about the daphne/magnolia/tulips…”. My great love of gardening undoubtedly comes from my parents and Mum and I were very much on the same wavelength. When we lived up in Scotland and they were in Sussex, she once sent me a parcel containing a brief note which simply said “The daffodils are out!”, much to my amusement. She’s never been allowed to live it down! I like to think she’s still watching down on me and my garden from above and hope she’s not too critical when I inadvertently plant the wrong colours together (yellow and pink – what are you thinking?!). Their gardener keeps texting to me to comment that my mum definitely wouldn’t approve of how the new tenants have cut the lawn/pruned the hedge. When I had them in to tidy up the garden prior to letting, she shook her head when I suggested she put all the leaves in the compost heap if the brown garden waste bin was full (oh, Claire – your mum would be horrified; never put leaves in the compost bin!). I wouldn’t normally either, but needs must…. The only thing we did disagree on was planting distances: Mum liked to see soil around her plants, whereas I’m a great believer in planting things cheek by jowl so there’s no room for weeds!

When clearing their house to let earlier this year, I brought home all the pots of tulips my parents had had last spring, but hadn’t had time to plant out in the garden. I’m thrilled that the early tulips (Mary Ann and Quebec) have made such a fabulous show in my front garden, despite still being in the same pots. My sister took the Sarah Raven tulip collection I’d bought Mum for her birthday in September but she never had chance to plant. I’m hoping they’ll produce a lovely display in the next few weeks too.

The new tenants are apparently keen gardeners, but I did divide a couple of plants that I haven’t already got in my garden as keepsakes. Many of my perennials are divisions of plants in my parents’ garden (and vice versa!) so I had lots of their plants already, but Geranium nodosum Whiteleaf and Hemerocallis Trahlyta (an unusual smoky purple) had unaccountably passed me by. I also brought home some more plants already in pots: hostas aplenty to pass on to friends, rose Diamond Eyes (a lovely dark purple Persian rose, a gift for their Diamond wedding anniversary three years ago) and a pink version of Hydrangea Annabelle that had never done well – probably because my father insisted on planting it far too close to the traditional Annabelle, where it got swamped by the latter’s vigorous growth every year! These are all now safely installed in my garden and I’m sure they’ll provide yet more happy memories of my mum over the years.

Not everything has taken, unfortunately: I lost my beautiful Daphne odora aureomarginata over the course of last year (a gift from my parents originally). It had spread to some 4ft high x 6ft across, tucked in beneath the Katy apple tree in the front garden and every spring it used to fill the garden with scent from February to April. Mum and Dad had two in their garden for some reason, so I decided to lift one, which wasn’t in an ideal place anyway, and transplanted it to replace mine. Sadly, it doesn’t look very happy and, while I’m not giving up on it just yet, I may have to accept that it hasn’t worked. Daphnes are notoriously difficult to move, but, as my mum would say, you don’t know if you don’t try. I still have a huge Daphne bholua Jacqueline Postill in the back garden pumping out the fragrance from December to March, thank goodness.

My memories of my mum are inextricably linked with gardens: my childhood garden with its hybrid tea roses like Superstar, Peace and Queen Elizabeth, the damson tree that never flowered until my father accidentally set fire to it, the rose petal ‘perfume’ we used to make assiduously every summer (strange how it never endured more than a day!), the delicious sticks of rhubarb,  eaten sitting on the back doorstep, dipped into a saucer of sugar… Then there was the time my little sister decided to ‘help’ by cutting off all the heads of the red hot pokers (kniphofias) and planting them in a row. I can still remember my father’s expression to this day! (Almost as cross as mine when a neighbour’s daughter decided to pick all my drumstick primulas when we lived in the Peak District….).

Then there were those glorious garden visits on days out: Bodnant and Portmeirion in North Wales, Dunham Massey and Tatton Park closer to home. We visited Alton Towers not for the rollercoasters, but for the splendid pleasure gardens with their Japanese pagodas and majestic rhododendrons. The gardens my parents helped us create over the years: they were always happy to don their gardening boots and gloves and get stuck in whenever there was a new garden to design. And there have been plenty, from our first modest patch in Warrington New Town to a two-acre woodland paradise in the West of Scotland. Mum always had her secateurs at the ready. When my son had his first proper garden at a converted barn near Eynsford in Kent, Mum and Dad were there too, eager to get stuck in, despite both being in their 80s by then.

They made beautiful gardens of their own too, of course: stately conifers and rockeries when we lived in Cheshire and a delightful streamside garden in Essex for their brief year there. My father maintains his knees are worn-out because of all the patios he’s made over the years! When they moved to Sussex, they transformed an overgrown quarter-acre woodland plot with fabulous full-height rhododendrons into a garden that won a prize in the local Gardens in Bloom competition. They were thrilled and bought a shiny new hose reel with their prize money – but Mum swore she would never do it again as it was far too much hard work (from someone who was out in the garden from dawn ’til dusk anyway!).

Once my father retired at the age of 58, they got involved with helping out at an annual plant sale for a local hospice, raising thousands of pounds every year. They loved dividing their plants (hostas, hemerocallis, geums and geraniums in particular) and passing on their years of experience and plant knowledge to prospective purchasers. I couldn’t resist joining the club when I moved down South further down the line, as did my uncle and aunt from Winchester – it became a real family affair! Gardeners love to share, whether it’s plants, seed or tips. It seemed a fitting tribute to Mum to ask for donations in lieu of flowers to the very same hospice, St. Catherine’s in East Grinstead, when Mum passed away.

One of Mum’s favourite gardens (and we’re very spoiled for choice down here on the Sussex/Surrey/Kent borders) is the RHS flagship garden at Wisley. I have so many happy memories of visits there over the years, with my boys when they were children, and latterly keeping to the main paths as Dad’s mobility deteriorated. After Mum’s funeral at the end of November, I had to drop my younger son and family off at Heathrow for their flight back to the US and drove past Wisley en route. On my way back, feeling empty and sad after a difficult week, I decided on the spur of the moment to call in at Wisley, just off the M25, for coffee and a stroll as it was such a sunny day. I did think it might feel strange being there on my own, but in fact it was an immensely comforting experience, retracing old paths and remembering happier times. I was accompanied by birds throughout – a robin, then a particularly bright chaffinch and a very chirpy magpie. I didn’t feel alone.

Mum had a long and mainly very happy life, with gardening a central theme running throughout. She told tales of her childhood wartime garden, where her father grew veg and thought nothing of wringing chicken’s necks for the pot, not unusual in those days. My first rhubarb plant originally came from my Grandad’s garden – apple rhubarb, he called it. She loved her gardening books and quizzes, and her encyclopaedic knowledge of garden plants, Latin names included, is definitely responsible for my own. She even had the advantage of having studied Latin at school, something I was never able to do, much to my chagrin, as they stopped Latin a few years before I reached the requisite age.

Rest in peace, Mum – you’ve taught me much of what I know about gardens and so much more besides. Miss you…

Adventures in North America

I know, I know, shocking to realise it’s been six months since I last posted here. It’s been one of those years: busy with work, plus my father has been unwell again, so I’ve spent a lot of time helping out at my parents’ and somehow time has just flown.

Then, joy of joys, I’ve finally managed to fly out to New England to visit my son, daughter-in-law and adorable new granddaughter Emma, not forgetting granddog Callie, another pandemic new arrival. I may have had to come via a circuitous route, spending 14 days in Canada first to get around the fact that most Europeans, vaccinated or otherwise, are still not allowed to enter the US if they’ve been in the Schengen zone, UK or Ireland for the past 14 days. In the event, my cousin and his wife kindly invited me to stay with them in North Vancouver and house-sit for part of the time they were away. They were the most generous hosts, taking me to see some jaw-droppingly beautiful sites up and around the North Shore and beyond, but I also enjoyed exploring British Columbia myself via the excellent public transport system. My unexpected diversion definitely turned into an adventure in its own right. I was absolutely blown away by the stunning scenery and Vancouver is a very special city, surrounded by water and mountains, beautiful gardens, friendly people and a great vibe.

Needless to say, I had to do a PCR test before flying – so stressful even though I knew I was double-vaccinated, had really not been anywhere and had been very careful when mixing with other people. The 24-hour wait before my results felt like one of the longest in my life! I think I was more nervous than before any exam I’ve ever taken! Waiting at Border Control on arrival in Canada was another anxious wait, just in case some part of my vaccination or test certification didn’t pass muster… Then I had to do it all over again before flying to the US, although this time I only needed a rapid antigen test, with results available after 20 (still anxious) minutes. I didn’t need proof of vaccination to get into the US, but I was still worried as the Canadian border officials hadn’t stamped my passport on arrival. In the event, although there was a huge queue for US Border Control in Vancouver Airport, it was primarily down to there being only two staff on duty and a lot of people travelling that day. I’m sure many people will have missed their flights as a result, but thankfully I’d allowed plenty of time and the friendly officer didn’t even ask how long I’d been in Canada! Mission accomplished – what a relief! I don’t think either my son or I stopped smiling or talking for the entire drive home after he picked me up at Boston Airport….

 

Now I’ve been here a week or so, I’ve finally got to know my beautiful granddaughter and it’s so nice to see their house and garden for real, as opposed to through the Facetime lens. They bought their first home in Beverly, on Boston’s North Shore, last summer, at the height of the pandemic, and have done amazingly well with the garden, sowing salvias, zinnias, echinaceas and many other flowers from seed and planting dahlias as tubers to superb effect, even if the varied colour mix they’d hoped for turned out to be just purple and crimson!

Of course, I couldn’t be here and not get stuck into cooking, gardening and flower arranging as well as cuddling the baby! They’ve had excellent crops of tomatoes (no blight here, unlike at home where my crop has been devastated this year), mounds of courgettes (zucchini!) and a fair number of aubergines (or should I say eggplants?!), both purple and white. Cue for me to make roast tomato soup, baba ghanoush and aubergine parmigiana, plus adapt a vegan zucchini soup recipe I found online to include lemon and thyme to great effect. The courgette soups I’ve tried in the past have often been fairly insipid, but the use of coconut oil in this one and the tang added by the lemon and thyme made it extremely good.

Courgette, Lemon & Thyme Soup
serves 4-6 (depending on portion size!)

1 tbsp olive oil
1 large onion, chopped (or use a generous bunch of spring onions / couple of leeks)
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
Handful of fresh thyme, tied with string (remember to remove when blending)
1-2 bay leaves (fresh or dried)
1 kg courgettes, roughly chopped (you can even use courgettes that have turned into sneaky marrows!)
1 litre vegetable stock (or chicken stock if that’s all you have)
1 can coconut milk
Seasoning
Juice and grated zest of 1 lemon

Grated Parmesan and fresh thyme leaves to serve

Warm the olive oil, then add the chopped onion and garlic and cook gently until softened. Add the chopped courgettes, bay leaves, bunch of thyme and continue to cook gently for 15 minutes or so. Add the stock and coconut milk, plus the juice and zest of half a lemon, and season to taste. Cover and cook for 20-30 minutes, covered. Allow to cool slightly, then remove thyme and bay leaves before blending with a stick blender until smooth. If you prefer, transfer to a liquidiser goblet to blend, but it shouldn’t need sieving either way – unless, like me, you forget to remove the thyme first time round and need to sieve to make sure you remove any string/stems!.

The soup was perfect served with the cheese scones my cousin’s wife made for me in Vancouver – light and fluffy, plus very easy to make. The original recipe came from a guest house they stayed in where the hostess insisted on receiving a recipe in exchange for this one, but it’s well worth the barter – not that any cook worth his/her salt ever minds trading recipes! They can also be made without the cheese and served with jam for afternoon tea or breakfast. My cousin and his son raved about them lightly toasted for breakfast, and I’m sure that a dollop of clotted cream wouldn’t go amiss with jam either….

Sally’s Canadian Scones – makes 8

2 cups plain/all-purpose flour (330g)
4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup butter (110g – 1 stick!)
1 cup milk or 1/2 milk & orange juice
2 tbsp grated Parmesan (or Cheddar), optional
1 tsp thyme leaves (optional)

Pre-heat oven to 425 F/200 C/Gas 6.
Sift or mix first three ingredients. Rub in butter. Add milk/juice and knead gently. Roll or pat out to desired thickness. Cut into 8 squares. Bake for approx. 12-15 mins. Cool and split before buttering to serve.

If making the cheese version, add cheese to the dry ingredients or brush the tops with milk and sprinkle with cheese before baking.
Enjoy!

Something to look forward to…

In this second week of the second lockdown of this dreadful pandemic, it can be hard to keep positive, especially in the dank and dreary weather of a typical British November. Last time round we were blessed with glorious weather, so at least we could get out and about in the garden or countryside. This time, even though the lockdown regulations aren’t quite as strict – schools and colleges are open, along with garden centres, parks and country estates, thank goodness, and people living alone are permitted to join a support bubble, so I’m allowed to see my elder son and family – the weather isn’t quite as auspicious and the longer nights mean that we’re stuck indoors from 4 in the afternoon even on the brightest of days.

At times like these, having something to look forward to is essential. Even though lockdown in England is set to end in early December, none of us can be confident that it won’t be extended, or that we won’t be subject to some other system of draconian tiers, bubbles or bans. Christmas, despite what the politicians keep saying, is looking as though it might be very different this year and being able to travel again is but a distant hope on the horizon… Many people’s livelihoods are currently threatened by the constant stop-start of lockdown life, so it’s hardly surprising that we’re all feeling down.

It may not offer all the answers, but gardening definitely helps when uncertainty reigns. We know that the garden will go to sleep over the winter now the glorious hues of the autumn leaf spectacle are drawing to a close. But equally certainly, we know it will wake up again in spring: there are already plump buds on my daphnes with promises of heady scent to come in the dark days of January and February. Some winter-flowering shrubs like Viburnum bodnantense Charles Lamont (sadly not as scented as its counterpart Dawn) and the sweetly scented mahonias and eleagnus are already in flower. 

Tidying up the flower beds on the odd fine day reminds us of these delights to come. I leave most spent seedheads and stalks in situ over the winter to provide food and hideaways for bugs and animals, but I do clear away hosta leaves that might otherwise rot down and allow slugs and snails to multiply. I’ve also taken the opportunity of the occasional sunny afternoon to relocate plants that have outgrown their space or seen better days. Only recently, I took out a leggy cistus that has given me a wonderful display for well over ten years near the front arch, but has now reached the end of the road. They are short-lived plants and I’ve been thinking for a while that it needed to go. In its place, I’ve planted a new rose I’ve had in a pot this year, one of the new Persian ‘Eyes’ series. This one is ‘Eyes for You’ (think Art Garfunkel) and is a relatively low-growing, semi-double creamy white with a pink centre: delightful and wonderfully floriferous, still flowering now in fact (although the picture below was back in August).

It’s amazing how much space removing one straggly plant can open up. I was also able to add a couple of day lilies (Hemerocallis) relocated from elsewhere in the garden where it has become too shady for them to thrive: Joan Senior (creamy white) and Burlesque (a very early buttermilk yellow with a deep purple throat). Another rose (Darcy Bussell, deep magenta-red) that really wasn’t enjoying its position on the hot sunny bank opposite my house was also shoehorned in – offering plenty of anticipation for next summer. This is an excellent time of year to move plants: you can see what you’re doing, the ground should still be warm and damp, and they’ll have ample time for their roots to establish before the growing season starts next spring.

I’ve also recently finished emptying my summer containers, despite the begonias still flowering bravely away, to make space for winter plantings of pansies and primulas with an understorey of bulbs: a real promise of spring glories to come. The very act of choosing them online or in the garden centres (where they are often half price at the moment, despite it being nowhere near too late to plant tulips!) is an act of faith and a reminder that spring will come round again and hopefully we’ll be closer to finding a way out of the woods by then.

This year, I ordered some tulips from Sarah Raven as I’ve done in the past: these were the fabulously OTT Copper Image which I bought for the first time and adored last year.

For the rest of my containers, a friend had discovered a wholesale bulb website Parkers Bulbs, where you can order large quantities of bulbs at much lower prices: more choice than the garden centres and a great deal cheaper besides. By pooling our order, we ended up with a fabulous selection of bulbs, although admittedly I probably didn’t spend any less than usual as it was hard to resist the huge selection on offer: that child in a sweetshop moment again…. On the upside, I should have twice as many tulips in my barrel containers than usual. I’ve experimented with the lasagne method of two deep layers of tulips, topped off with crocus and dwarf daffodils saved from previous years. I will also add seed-grown wallflowers when the weather allows me to being them back from the allotment, but they are still available in garden centres too if you haven’t sown your own.

For next year’s tulip spectacular I went for Belle Epoque (fabulously blowsy double cappuccino fading to softest pink and cream – usually very expensive, but much more reasonable wholesale), Antraciet (deepest dark red, also double), Dream Touch (another double – seems to be a theme this year – with deep burgundy petals edged with white, almost like a purple globe artichoke. I saw this on Sarah Raven’s Instagram feed this spring and fell in love with it), Orca (an old gold double this time), Pink Star (you’ve guessed it, yet another double, this time with showy pink, peony-like flowers and finally Elegant Lady, the only single in the pack this year, a lily-flowered tulip with cream and pink flowers. Just thinking about them makes me smile – definitely something to look forward to.

 

The courgettes are coming!

Yes, it’s that season again: the courgettes are arriving thick and fast, green and gold. It always seems to take a while for the first fruit to set – often you get lots of male flowers with their jaunty yellow blooms, but the female flowers aren’t usually far behind. The first fruits to set may be small and slow to swell, but if you pick these young, more will swiftly follow and from then there’s no turning back! I’m currently keeping an eye on my neighbour’s plot as well while she’s away, so I have far more courgettes than I can handle. I have to confess to leaving some of the spares on the allotment sharing table to feed passers-by who aren’t as well endowed with these delicious summer squash family members.

I actually planted more seeds than usual this year as courgette sowing time (late April) coincided with mid-lockdown, panic-buying and shortages of various things in the shops. Who knew what the situation would be like later in the year? Fortunately, food supplies seem to have returned to normal, especially as lockdown eases, but I still have extra courgette plants growing at home in my oak barrels, amidst the begonias and lobelia. I may well regret having so many further down the line, but for now I’m enjoying them. I sowed three varieties this year: my usual reliable Defender (green), Gold Rush (yellow) and Shooting Star (supposedly climbing yellow), but I’m finding it quite a heavy, stiff plant, not conducive to climbing, so it’s more of a trailing specimen. The gold ones are proving delicious and vigorous this year – they must have enjoyed the fine weather and lots of sunshine.

All gardeners are desperate for new ways to ring the changes with courgettes by the end of summer, but at this stage I’m really enjoying rediscovering old favourites: courgette pasta with homemade pesto, courgette pancakes, courgette & lentil gratin and tangy summer vegetable salad to name but a few. There again, it’s always nice to try new recipes to add to the repertoire, so thought I’d share a recent discovery with you, as well as one old favourite that I’ve never got around to writing up for some reason, a courgette, feta & dill tart, with a filo pastry crust, so quick and easy to prepare for a relaxed Sunday lunch with guests. Of course, you can equally well make it with a shortcrust pastry case if you happen to have one lying around.

Courgette, Feta and Dill Tart – serves 6

2 tbsp olive oil
4 medium courgettes, about 450g in weight, thinly sliced (even better if you have both gold and green)
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tbsp capers, drained and chopped
1 lemon, grated zest
3 large eggs
200g natural yogurt
100g feta cheese, crumbled
2 tbsp fresh dill, chilled
seasoning
1 pack filo pastry
30g butter, melted

Heat the oil in a large frying pan and gently cook the sliced courgettes for about 10 minutes, turning as you go, until just starting to soften and turn golden. Add the garlic and capers and cook for another minute or so, then remove from the heat and add the lemon zest and chopped dill. Leave to cool.

Whisk the eggs in a large bowl, then mix in the yogurt and crumbled feta. Season generously, then stir in the cooled courgette mixture.

Heat the oven to 180°C, and place a baking sheet in the oven to heat up, then prepare the pastry case. Grease a 23cm deep round tart tin (or use a 20 x 30 cm rectangular tin if you prefer). Take out the filo pastry, but cover the pile with a damp tea towel as you work to prevent it drying out. Place one sheet at a time in the tin and brush with melted butter. Place new sheets at an angle to the previous one, allowing the edges to overhang, until the tin is full and you have a pastry shell with at least 2-3 layers in all parts. You may not need the whole pack of filo.

Pour the courgette mixture into the pastry shell and place on the pre-heated baking tray. Cook in the oven for about 30 minutes until the filling is set and just turning golden. Leave to set for about 10 minutes before serving with a garden salad.

Also great served cold or warmed in the microwave the following day.

Along the same lines, I also experimented with a sourdough pizza bianca topped with green and yellow courgettes with very good results. Sourdough bread has been a revelation over the weeks of lockdown and I will dedicate a special post just to that one of these days, but for now I’ll just refer you to this recipe for pizza using sourdough discard: https://www.kingarthurbaking.com/recipes/sourdough-pizza-crust-recipe – you can thank me later. This recipe makes enough dough for two large pizzas, but I find you can either freeze half or leave in the fridge overnight and roll out the next day if you don’t want to cook both at once.

My topping, which you could just as easily try on a standard pizza dough base, uses 1 egg beaten with 1 tbsp crème fraîche and brushed over the base. Top with two or three thinly sliced courgettes (again, two colours look pretty), a scattering of capers, a handful of pine nuts and seasoning, chopped dill or shredded basil and grated parmesan or Cheddar to taste, drizzled with olive oil before baking for 15-20 minutes. Yum!

However, my discovery of the season so far has been Sarah Raven’s courgette balls with a spicy tomato and coconut sauce from her ‘Good, Good Food’ book. Can’t think why I’ve never tried them before! Not unlike Indian pakora and absolutely delicious – try them and see. They are quite time-consuming, so allow plenty of time, but well worth the initial faff.

Courgette Balls with Spiced Tomato & Coconut Sauce – serves 2

500g courgettes
1/2 tsp salt
1 red onion, finely chopped
1 heaped tsp coconut oil
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 thumb-size piece of root ginger, grated
I lime, grated zest and juice
1 tbsp pine nuts
1 tbsp fresh coriander, finely chopped
50g gram flour
More coconut oil (to bake) or rapeseed/groundnut oil (to fry)

Sauce

2 onions, chopped
1 heaped tsp coconut oil
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp ground cumin
1 red chilli, chopped
2 tsp ground coriander
1 400g tin chopped tomatoes
400ml tin of coconut milk
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp cumin seeds, dry-fried and ground
1 tbsp fresh coriander, chopped
seasoning

For the courgette balls, grate the courgettes and place in a colander set over a bowl, sprinkle with salt and leave for 30 minutes or so to allow the excess liquid to drain out. The salty liquid can be added to the sauce later, so don’t discard.

Gently fry the finely chopped onion in the coconut oil in a large frying pan until soft, but not brown – about 10 minutes. Add the chopped chilli, garlic and grated ginger and cook for another couple of minutes. Remove from the heat and add the lime zest and juice, pine nuts and fresh coriander.

Tip the courgettes into a clean tea towel and squeeze dry with your hands, draining excess liquid into the bowl. Mix the courgette with the onion and spice mix, then sprinkle in the gram flour and mix again. Chill in the fridge while you make the sauce.

For the sauce, fry the onions in the coconut oil for about 10 minutes, as before. Add the turmeric, cumin, chilli and ground coriander. Stir in the tinned tomatoes and the salty courgette liquid, then bring to the boil. Add the coconut milk and simmer for about 15 minutes until reduced and a dipping consistency. Sprinkle in the garam masala and ground cumin seeds, season to taste and sprinkle with fresh coriander.

To make the balls, roll small handfuls of the courgette mixture into 16 table-tennis-sized balls and then either shallow-fry in coconut oil in a large frying pan for about 10 minutes or bake in the oven at 170°C on a greased baking sheet, drizzling with rapeseed or groundnut oil before baking. Bake for 15 minutes, then turn and crisp on the other side for a further 15 minutes. If your oven is hotter or cooler you may need to adjust these times, of course.

Serve with the sauce for dipping – and enjoy! The amount of sauce here will be a lot more than you need for two, but can easily be frozen for the next time.

 

Gardening as distraction therapy?

I’m sure I’m not the only one finding my garden a wonderful haven to take my mind off the dreadful news all around us. Gardening is such a distraction: even though many of the jobs we have to do, especially at this time of year, are fairly basic, they require us to concentrate on what we’re doing and live for the moment. The perfect definition of mindfulness – and thank goodness for that! Today I’ve mowed my lawn (second cut of the year, on a slightly lower setting than last week’s on a still slightly boggy lawn), painted a fence panel between me and my neighbour having taken out an overgrown pyracantha this winter, finished dead-heading my hydrangeas and sowed my first batch of seeds in the propagator for the season to come: tomatoes Sungold, Black Cherry and Tigerella, all old favourites, plus a new variety recommended by an American colleague, Rosella. I also sowed Hungarian Black chillis, sweet peppers California Wonder and Corno di Torro Rosso, aubergines Long Purple and Prosperosa, sweet basil, leeks Musselburgh, Tornado and Below-Zero, and flowers including lobelia Sapphire, Cobaea (cup and saucer plant) and marigold Strawberry Blonde. Despite the chilly wind, it was a delightful way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon in the garden – and my mind didn’t turn to coronavirus even once!

Tomorrow’s task is to spread last year’s compost – well, strictly speaking, the year before’s compost as I have two compost bins, filled in rotation. When I empty the one that’s now ready, I’ll stop adding things to the current bin and leave that to rot down for a year before it gets spread around the garden in its turn. Distributing it is hard work, but eminently satisfying. This year I intend to use most of it to extend a flower bed in the front garden near my Katy apple tree. The lawn that’s currently there always goes brown in summer and has root suckers from my neighbour’s beautiful but vigorous ornamental cherry, which probably take up all the available water in the dry season. Better by far to abandon the lawn and grow plants that won’t mind being dry for part of the year – any excuse to grow more plants! Although sourcing them may be a challenge with the garden centres being closed at present….

Then I can turn my attention to the allotment, which we’re also allowed to visit and tend despite the current restrictions. Such a blessing to have green space to enjoy and keep busy in – and we may possibly be even more grateful than usual for the extra fresh food if the crisis continues into the summer, although I fervently hope it doesn’t. I’m currently picking purple-sprouting broccoli, flowering sprout leaves, leeks, spinach, chard and parsley – not bad for the hungry gap! Plus rhubarb just coming (I’ve had a couple of small pickings so far) and the early tulips about to come into flower to cut for the house. Just what we need to brighten us all up. I’ve been picking posies of camellias to keep me going until mine start, but they go over very quickly inside – better than being caught by the frost outside, though!

Bought tulips from my local independent supermarket eked out with daphne and hellebores from the garden

Harbingers of Spring

January is the time to consider cutting back last year’s hellebore leaves to reveal the promising new shoots and flower buds unfurling beneath. In fact, when I ventured outside this afternoon, taking advantage of a rare lull between translation projects, the new flower stems were much taller than I’d expected, up to 8″ above the ground. If I’d left it any longer, it would have been tricky to distinguish between the new and old stems! I’d cut half my plants back on Sunday morning in a brief glimpse of sunshine, while waiting for my parents to arrive to go over to my son’s for an early birthday lunch, but managed to finish the job today. Very satisfying: the haircut seems to encourage the strength, which would otherwise have sustained the parasol-like leaves, into the developing flowers, allowing them to come on in leaps and bounds over the next few weeks. The dense leaf cover often conceals emerging snowdrops too, as the two go wonderfully together. Newly released from their leafy prison, they can now open up their faces to the elements, especially if the weather continues wet and mild.

Accompanying me as I worked was the heady scent of Daphne bholua Jacqueline Postill, now a huge bush in the back garden, but its delicious fragrance carries all the way to the front – an extra incentive to get outside and blow away the winter cobwebs! I hadn’t even realised it was flowering until a week ago, when a chance comment about favourite scented plants on Instagram prompted me into the back garden to check up on it – and there it was in full flower! Just shows how awful the weather has been that I hadn’t noticed… Considering I absolutely hacked this shrub back in the summer, it clearly thrives on being treated mean. It’s now about 6-7 feet tall and would be much bigger if I didn’t prune it so severely after flowering. Although the cuttings I took in 2018 all perished in the end, despite looking promising initially, last year I noticed that the plant has sent up strong suckers in about four places. I’m going to leave it until the springtime and then try and lift them – wish me luck!

Isn’t it amazing how just 30 minutes or so in the garden at this time of year makes you feel SO much better? Despite my twice-daily dog walks, there’s really no substitute for the mindfulness of just being out in the fresh air, with your hands in or near the earth, messing about with plants…. Maybe spring isn’t that far away after all?

 

 

 

Better late than never

This weekend I finally got around to emptying out my summer containers in the garden and planting up my winter displays. I’m not sure I’ve ever been quite this late, but this year’s wettest autumn I can remember has called a halt to most gardening activities since the end of September. I’ve had other engagements on the rare dry weekend days we’ve had, but even they have been few and far between – and of course, there’s so little daylight at this time of year. To really make the most of it, you have to put all your other household chores on hold, and get outside as soon as you can! I usually resist going out to “play” in the garden until I’ve done my less appealing household tasks, knowing I’ll get carried away and not want to come back inside. But if I’m to get anything done at this time of year, I have to resist the lure of the duster and head out first thing – how sad….

I’ve had this year’s tulip selections since September: Flaming Flag and Peach Blossom from a 20% off day at my local garden centre, and Copper Image, Ridgedale and Louvre Orange ordered mail order from Sarah Raven, who always has a fantastic range of new and exciting tulips.

A friend then ordered more in a late sale at the end of October and asked me to share half the Sarah Raven Pewter Collection, so of course, I couldn’t resist that either – there are always plenty of pots to fill in Spring. This collection includes the sombre Continental, exotic two-tone Slawa and peach-hued Salmon Van Eijk and Salmon Jimmy. I’ve planted them all in one container near the front door, and am looking forward to a fabulous show; as long as they all flower at the same time. I’ve been disappointed in the past when collections don’t flower together, so you don’t get maximum effect – but here’s hoping.

I also added last year’s narcissus and crocuses, plus some bog-standard “fill-a-bag for a £1” daffodils from the garden centre and more Ruby Giant crocuses to fill the gaps. Topped off with pansies in raspberry shades and Pink Giant wallflowers – there should be more seed-grown wallflowers at the allotment, but they went in late and have been terribly slow to take off because of the damp weather. When I last looked, there weren’t many, but I’ll retrieve what I can when I next go down.

I’ve still got to plant out last year’s tulips in the new cutting garden at the allotment, where I’ve plenty of space around the dahlias. As long as I do it at some point in December, there should still be chance for them to grow and give me tulips to pick in April. Tulips are always fine planted well into December anyway – my aunt used to buy hers at bargain basement prices in the January sales and plant out in the early New Year, with no ill effects!

I’m relieved to have finally got my containers planted anyway – now I can turn my attention to Christmas! Happy Advent 🙂

 

 

The rainy season

Cotinus Grace in all its autumn glory – despite the grey skies

Oh dear, nearly 6 weeks since I last wrote here – how on earth has that happened?! I can only blame dreadful weather, pressures of work and another trip abroad, this time to Split, in Croatia, for a translation conference and one last opportunity to top up on sunshine for the year. Since getting back at the beginning of October, we’ve hardly seen the sun here in this south-eastern corner of the country. Inevitably, that means I’ve barely had chance to go down to the allotment, or do anything in the garden at home. I did manage to mow the lawn (or should that be meadow?!) one day this week after a couple of dry, but mainly grey days, having not touched it since before I went away at the end of September. My summer containers are still flowering away, as it has been fairly mild apart from one sharp frost which put paid to the courgette plants – begonias are clearly tough specimens. Just as well, as I really haven’t had the time or the weather to plant my bulbs yet for the winter/spring display. Surely we’ll get a dry weekend some time soon?

Today it’s been so vile, with heavy rain and gale-force winds, that even the annual village fireworks display has been called off – first time I’ve known that happen since I moved to the village 14 years ago. At least the time feels right to start cooking winter stews and warming casseroles, hence tonight’s comforting venison shank dish. I’d forgotten I had the joint in the freezer, but unearthed it today when deciding what to cook this evening. Perfect for a miserable November day when all you want to do is snuggle in front of the fire with your knitting or a good book. I adapted a Mary Berry lamb shank recipe, but this is basically a straightforward casserole, browning the meat, then the veg, adding liquid of your choice and leaving to simmer in the oven until the meat falls off the bone – delicious. I just used one shank and will definitely have plenty of stew left over to freeze, but it’s easy to scale up as you require, allowing one venison shank per 2/3 people.

Venison Shanks with Rosemary & Redcurrant Jelly – serves 2-3

Glug of olive oil
1 venison shank
1 red onion, sliced
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
1 stick celery, chopped
1/4 swede, diced
1 generous sprig of rosemary, leaves finely chopped
1 bay leaf
1 tbsp plain flour
1 generous tbsp redcurrant jelly (preferably homemade)
400 ml chicken or vegetable stock
200 ml red wine
salt and pepper
chopped parsley to garnish

Brown the venison shank all over in the olive oil in a large casserole, then set to one side. Add the prepared onion, celery, carrot and swede to the oil and cook gently for 10 minutes or so, or until starting to soften. Add the chopped rosemary and sprinkle over the flour. Mix in and cook for a minute or so, then add the stock and red wine. Season and stir in the redcurrant jelly and the bay leaf. Bring to the boil, then transfer to the oven, pre-heated to 150°C fan/Gas 3, and cook for 2 to 2 1/2 hours, or until the meat falls off the bone. You might want to turn the venison shank(s) every hour to make sure all sides are exposed to the liquid, and you may need to add more liquid towards the end, depending how hot your oven is. Serve with creamy mashed potatoes and vegetables of your choice. (I tossed roasted beetroot in butter with finely chopped baby leeks, adding a touch of allspice and cream at the end.) Winter-warming wonderfood.

I’ve not even been able to bring much produce back from the allotment recently, although I have harvested my apples in dribs and drabs, picking what I could when the worst of the weather held off. The calabrese, which had been infested by whitefly under its mesh pigeon and butterfly protection in September, seems to have come to a halt and the kale I would normally expect to be harvesting now has been stopped in its tracks by caterpillars (even through netting!) in the mild, wet weather. Sigh. I dusted them with organic pyrethrum powder, and they do look happier, as do the flower sprouts (kalettes), so fingers crossed they recover soon. Fortunately, I have been able to harvest leeks, rocket, spinach and chard on damp, late afternoon dog walks to the plot, and last year’s parsley is doing amazingly well, so there’s no shortage of herbs. I’m still picking dahlias and chrysanthemums (bought as bargain cuttings from the village open gardens plant stall back in June), but they are so sodden that they don’t last long in the house. I’m just enjoying them while I can, as they will soon be curtailed by the inevitable frosts.

 

Yet more rhubarb….

Another holiday weekend, and while the weather hasn’t been as glorious as the Easter weekend, it has at least been dry and sunny in parts, if cold for the time of the year, so limited gardening has been on the agenda. Having mown the lawn – and neatened the edges with a half-moon spade – last week, and paid someone to cut the over-long grass and edges at the allotment, I’ve been able to concentrate on weeding the raised beds and potting on my chilli and aubergine seedlings at home. For some reason, my sweet pepper and basil seeds have failed to germinate in the propagator this year. While I can sow more basil (from a new packet), it’s too late to sow pepper seeds in May. I’ll either have to do without, or buy a couple of plants. Strange how the chilli and peppers seem to germinate better in alternate years… I also dead-headed my hellebore flowers to give other plants more room and stop the plants putting energy into producing seed. I have quite enough self-sown hellebores around the garden after all!

At the allotment, I spent a good hour yesterday painstakingly prising the dreaded couch grass out of my existing strawberry bed, where it has really taken hold. I’ve already planted up a new bed earlier this year, so if I can just keep this one going this season, I can empty the whole bed over winter and really blitz this pernicious weed. I also cleared my sprouting broccoli beds: most of the plants have gone to flower by this stage and I need the tunnel structure to protect my peas, sown last weekend, from the pigeons. The sprouting broccoli has done amazingly well this year, so the individual plants took some removing – four-feet tall triffids with yellow flowers everywhere! The stalks are too chunky for the compost heap, so up to the communal bonfire pile they went. I still have a couple of plants with edible shoots, but I suspect they won’t last more than a couple of days. Just in time for the asparagus to come on stream 🙂

Needless to say, the rhubarb is still going strong and more experimentation has been in order to keep up with the flow. I hosted another four-generational lunch this weekend with my parents, my elder son and his wife, plus my granddaughter of course, and inevitably rhubarb had to feature on the menu, this time in the guise of a rhubarb & ginger trifle, perfect for my gluten-intolerant daughter-in-law. You could also make it with plain sponge if you felt so inclined, or, if you are catering for coeliacs, make sure you check that the Amaretti really are gluten-free – homemade macaroons would fit the bill in that case too.

Rhubarb & Ginger Trifle – serves 8

500-600g rhubarb, trimmed and chopped into 1cm slices
3-4 tbsp demerara sugar
Juice and rind of 1 large orange (or 2 small)
2 tbsp syrup from a jar pf preserved stem ginger
2 pieces preserved stem ginger, finely chopped
2 tbsp rhubarb gin (or Grand Marnier / liqueur of your choice)

4 egg yolks
2 tbsp caster (or vanilla) sugar
2 heaped tsp cornflour
300ml milk
few drops orange blossom water
Rind of 1 orange

15 or so Amaretti biscuits, plus extra to garnish
300ml double cream (or mix whipped cream and mascarpone)

First, trim and cut the rhubarb (unpeeled unless really thick and woody – shouldn’t be necessary with early-season produce) into 1cm pieces, halving the stems first if really chunky. Place in a shallow, rectangular baking dish and sprinkle with the brown sugar (to taste), orange rind and juice, plus the chopped preserved ginger and 2 tbsp syrup from the ginger jar. Roast in a pre-heated oven at 180°C (Gas 5) until tender, but still whole, for about 30-40 minutes. Leave to cool, then add the rhubarb gin (or alcohol of your choice)

Combine the egg yolks, 2 tbsp caster sugar and cornflour in a small bowl. Stir in the cold milk, then strain into a small pan. Cook gently until the mixture starts to thicken, stirring constantly. Add the grated orange rind and orange blossom water to the custard. Allow to cool slightly.

Place the cooked rhubarb into a trifle bowl and place the Amaretti biscuits on top to cover, pushing partly into the liquid to allow them to take up the juice. Pour over the cooled orange custard and place in the fridge to set for a couple of hours.

Whip the double cream and spread carefully over the custard, making generous swirls with a large spoon. Crumble a few extra Amaretti and sprinkle on top, adding pansies or other spring flowers to garnish if the mood takes you! Trifle fans will be in seventh heaven…

You’ll have four egg whites left over from this recipe, so you can either make macaroons or, as I did, lemon & almond ricciarelli, which conveniently use precisely 4 egg whites and are also ideal for gluten-free guests. In actual fact, I adapted the recipe to make lime & almond ricciarelli and they were equally good.

Then again, if you decide to turn the egg whites into meringues, either one large pavlova, or smaller rounds or individual cases (using 225g caster sugar to 4 egg whites) to keep for another day, you could consider combining crushed meringue and rhubarb to make a wonderful Rhubarb Eton Mess.

Rhubarb Eton Mess – serves 2-3

300g rhubarb, chopped
Juice and rind of 1 orange
2-3 tbsp demerara sugar
150ml double cream, softly whipped
2-3 tbsp natural yogurt
2-3 meringues, roughly crushed

Place the rhubarb in a shallow ovenproof dish and add the grated rind and juice of the oranges, then sprinkle with the demerara sugar. Roast in the oven at 180°C (Gas 5) for 30-40 minutes or until tender. Leave to cool.

Whip the double cream until soft peak stage, then fold in the natural yogurt, followed by the roughly crumbled meringues – aim to leave some big chunks for texture.

Spoon into 2-3 glass dishes and swirl the top, decorating with toasted flaked almonds or crushed biscuits depending what you have at hand.

A variation on this theme when you haven’t any rhubarb is a Blueberry Mess: Sainsbury’s had large punnets of blueberries on offer recently, so I stirred a large handful, washed but uncooked, into the cream and yogurt mixture above along with 1 tbsp Chambord raspberry liqueur and crushed Amaretti rather than meringue. Grated white chocolate and blueberries to decorate – to die for…