Updates, and courgettes and marrows for times of glut

I've been rather quiet lately, mainly due to work - actually having a job this summer is a bit of a shock, though I'm very glad to have it. Plus various other things - I might actually have got a book accepted for publication, for instance...

Plus I haven't been entirely happy with some of the brews I've made lately: I had a batch go off, which has never happened to me before. I think I know what the problem was - a bit of the mash did not get properly strained out, and so went off and contaminated the demijohn. It's called 'putrefaction' and justly is it so named.

On the bright side, there's a batch of redcurrant rose perking away. It was excellent last year, so I hope I've got it right this year. Last week we picked the first blackberries and elderberries - I was thinking of doing a combined wine, but I've now got enough in the freezer to do one of each - the first of many. Elderberry is one of the best wines I've made, so I hope to do a lot of it. Blackberry has not been so good - rather watery and thin - but last year I used a new recipe with added red grape juice, so the next batch may have a bit more body (I won't know for another year, as the 2010 lot is still in storage: supposed to be a year in bulk and another in the bottle). We shall see.

Found lots of damsons yesterday, not quite ready though, so damson wine next? It's not on our usual routes - in fact, I don't associate damsons with Norfolk at all - so it would mean a special foray... but it it a very fine wine if you get it right. Hmmm.

In the meantime, let me sing the praises of the wonderful Norwich Farm Share. What it is, is a group of people who stumped up a deposit to rent some acres in Postwick, and a standing order of a few quid a week. This pays for an organic grower to... er ... grow stuff organically. The stuff then comes to a distribution point, and everyone gets a share. It's wonderful, and not just because the distribution point is practically in the next street to ours... very handy.

The veg is delicious, fresh, local, varied, and grown by people we are getting to know and like. (I was eating some farmshare carrots the other day and it made me wonder just what is done to ordinary carrots that prevents them tasting like carrots? I can't imagine.) Next weekend there is a communal weed-in which is fun (we haven't been able to visit so far... looking forward to it and also the chance to scope out some potential forage around the site, maybe for spring...)

Anyway, there are gluts. Currently there are loads of courgettes (fabulously delicious... I like them a la greca - sliced thinly lengthways and grilled with a little olive oil and crushed or sliced garlic, with a dab of lemon juice before serving). But I mean LOADS of courgettes. Some of them becoming marrows as we speak.

So... courgette or marrow wine, for dealing with gluts... 

COURGETTE or MARROW WINE

2.5 k ripe courgettes or marrows

2 large unwaxed lemons

1 juicy orange

200g sultanas or raisins (golden sultanas give a good colour)

1 mug of strong black leaf tea

Piece of ginger root about 3 cms long

1 kg of sugar (in two servings of 500 grams each)

4 litres water

1 campden tablet

2 teaspoons pectolase

1 teaspoon Yeast Nutrient

Sauternes or general purpose wine yeast

If using courgettes:

Rinse the courgettes and top and tail them. If any courgettes are borderline turning into marrows, split them down the middle and scrape out the seeds – these become bitter if cut or broken and can spoil the taste of the wine.

Grate the courgettes, skin, vestigal seeds and all.

If using marrow:

Wipe the marrows, split them, remove and discard seeds. Chop the marrow into small pieces.

Some recipes recommend freezing the pulp for 24 hours at this point to help extract juice and flavour.

Sprinkle the veg pulp with 500 grams of the sugar and the pectolase. Leave for 24 hours.

Peel the ginger root, chop and crush into pieces, add to the pulp.

Rinse and chop the sultanas and add.

Scrub the lemons and orange. Peel them finely, avoiding the white pith. Chop the peel and add.

Boil the water and pour over the mash. Stir in the yeast nutrient and black tea.

Squeeze the orange and lemons, discarding the pips, and add to the mix.

When the mix cools to blood temperature, stir in the yeast.

Cover and leave to ferment for five days. Stir twice daily, making sure the veg pulp is submerged.

Strain through a fine sieve or a clean muslin cloth. Squeeze the pulp to get as much liquid out as possible. (The squeezed pulp can then go to your chickens or pigs if you have any. If not, fold it into your compost with some brown material such as twigs, leaves, torn-up paper, etc).

Put a couple of mugfuls of the juice into a saucepan and warm over a low heat, taking care not to let it boil. Stir in the remaining 500 grams of sugar until it dissolves. Then return it to the main bulk of the liquid.

Decant into a sterilised demijohn.

Top up to the neck with cool boiled water, fit an airlock and leave to ferment out.

When fermentation has stopped, rack into a clean demijohn, add 1 crushed campden tablet, top up with cool boiled water if necessary, bung tight and store for 6 months.

Rack again. If the wine is still hazy at this stage, you can fine it using fresh milk (most finings are not vegetarian).

To fine:

Rack into a clean clear glass demijohn and add two tablespoonfuls of fresh milk. Bung tight and roll or rock the demijohn to swish the milk all around it. Leave in a cool place for two weeks. The wine should be brighter and a white must will have formed at the bottom. Rack the wine again to remove this, topping up with water.

Bottle and store for 6 months before drinking.

A-popping and a-perking

There are 4 gallons of wine currently popping and perking away in my kitchen, a result of some mass foraging, and an executive decision to make more of those wines we've enjoyed most. So, two gallons of gorse wine, and two of dandelion, all a-fermenting away like crazy.
(The expression 'barmy', now an antiquated term for stone bonker, comes I think from the word 'barm', ie, yeast. A barmy person has a brain that is fermenting and bubbling with crazy gases, just as my wine is doing).
Now if I had a greenhouse, I'd move the demijohns into that greenhouse right now, because what comes out of those bubbling airlocks is very largely carbon dioxide. Which is a... well, it's a greenhouse gas, I suppose, and overall then a bad thing.
In small quantities, however, and in the right place, f'rinstance in a greenhouse full of plants, where soil fertility, temperature and water supply are all properly calculated for good growth, it makes the plants come on like gangbusters faster.
I don't have a greenhouse, alas, but I do have a large kitchen windowsill, with plants on it, and have recently doubled the area by persuading my Beloved to install a plank shelf across the middle, also with plants on it. So the plants are getting the benefit of the bubbles.
Last time I made gorse wine it was very pretty to look at - bright lemon curd yellow - but a bit disappointing in taste and body. A little bit sour and thin, we thought. I made it with the flowers and just a couple of lemons, which I think did not give enough oomph. This time round I added 300 grams of chopped sultanas, juice and peel of 1 orange and 2 lemons to two litres of flowers, to every gallon of water and kilo of sugar, or thereabouts, plus a mug of strong black tea for the tannin. So it might turn out with a bit more body and smoothness, I hope. We shall see... in about 8 months time.
The dandelion wine, however, has always been exemplary. I make it with dried fruit (either unsulphurated apricots, or chopped raisins) and the result is like a fino sherry. Yum yum. I do hope this batch - 2 gallons made with apricots and some of the sugar muscovado, will be as good.
I should here plug the wonderful Roy's of Wroxham, who now sell plastic reusable demijohns for a mere £1.75 each. A snip, though the "groms" which hold the airlocks in the tops are sold seperately and will set you back another 49p apiece.
So... now those wines are transferred into the demijohns, my fermentation crocks are empty. What is next? I made bramble tip a few years ago and it was good, and kept well too (we finished the last of the 2007 batch just now). Only I can't quite remember the exact recipe - it had no fruit added, and muscovado sugar, that I do recall. Hmm.
I've never made nettle wine, or lime blossom wine, or may blossom wine, so I might try those next. Lots of nettles still around my way, and the may blossom is just coming out. Lime blossom I will look for later on. Just a gallon of each, I think...

Spring Leaves 4; Garlic Mustard Pesto

'I never knew how much there is to see
Until I started looking
I never knew how good my tastes could be
Until I started cooking...'

Foraging for one thing leads to another: once you start looking there's no telling what you might find. A few sunny days have brought everything on like gangbusters.

First I went foraging for gorse flowers to make wine. It's fermenting on the must at the moment, and there is plenty more if I decide to make another batch. At the same time (spiny things tending to congregate together) I got some nice new nettles for risotto. And while looking for the nettles I found some fennel plants, lots of dandelions (that's my next wine batch), the heavenly-scented balsam poplar (which I don't know what to do with, apart from dry for pot pourri: any ideas?), what I'm pretty sure is horseradish (best in October), a spot likely to produce St George's Mushrooms  (so named because they come in on 23rd April, St George's Day) fairly soon, and lots of Garlic Mustard. Phew.

Garlic Mustard looks a bit like nettle, and likes similar places to grow in, but the leaves are heart-shaped and deckle-edged, smooth rather than hairy, non-stinging, and aranged in regular quarters off the straight upright stems, which end in tiny white flowers on top. As the name suggests it is neither a garlic nor a mustard, but a member of the splendid family of the cabbage - the lower leaves taste somewhat cabbagy, in fact, although mainly they taste of... well... of garlic and mustard. They don't smell much, unlike say Ransoms or Wild Garlic, which you can find with your eyes closed: the scent and taste are released when the leaves are bitten, or crushed.

Hmm... crushed...

'Pesto' takes its name from the verb 'pestare' - to pound or strike (also, idomatically to fuck). Pesto sauce is 'that which is pounded' - in the Genovese version, it is pinenuts, garlic, basil and oil which get pounded: a good protein-rich dish.

Well, I didn't have any pinenuts in the cupboard, but I did have some walnuts, and, as it happened, some walnut oil (which is fabulous on toast, btw).

I took 2 handfuls of garlic mustard leaves (removed from the plants without breaking the stalk: it will put out more so I can come again), washed them, made them into a wad and cut them up with kitchen scissors.

I put them into a steep-sided dish with a handful of walnuts and a pinch of sea salt. Then I set about them with the handle of a wooden rolling pin (I don't have a pestle and mortar at the moment), crushing the leaves and the nuts and mixing it all well in.

Add a slug of walnut oil, black pepper and a little ground nutmeg to taste.

Garlic mustard walnut pesto! (I must try it with pine nuts sometime).

I left it overnight in the fridge for it to infuse further before using. If you want it to keep longer, spoon it into a pot and then put a thin layer of oil on top: this seals it. Keep in the fridge.

You know, of course, the trick with pesto? Which is to cook your pasta in fast-boiling salted water, from which, just before the pasta is ready to drain, you ladle a spoonful of the water into the pesto sauce, stir, and then add the drained pasta. But you knew that already.

Spring Leaves 3 Nettle Risotto - Vegan recipe

 For those who don't eat animal products, a creamy effect can be got by cooking a potato with the rice. This is not unusual in the south of Italy, where rich grazing is harder to come by. Sprinkle with poppy seeds or with toasted sunflower seeds for an extra tang and a protein boost.

Ingredients

• 2 litres of young, fresh nettles
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1 tablespoon of cooking oil
• 1 litre good vegetable stock (I usually add a teaspoon of marmite to my stock)
• 1 glass white wine or fino sherry. Bramble or a rich dandelion wine is good for this  
• 300 g short-grain rice. Arborio is best for this.
• I small potato, peeled and cut into pieces
• Salt
• Black pepper
• Fresh chives or parsley, chopped
• Poppy seeds, or toasted sunflower seeds

Fill the sink or a washing bowl with cold water. Wearing rubber gloves, submerge the nettles. Wash thoroughly, changing the water once or twice.

Strip the leaves from the stalks. Discard stalks.

Shake excess water from leaves, place in a pan with a pinch of salt, and cook briskly until leaves are soft and quantity has reduced.

Drain liquid from nettles into the vegetable stock.

Heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the chopped onion. Soften over low heat until translucent.

Press the last drops of liquid out of the nettles into the stock.

Peel the potato, cut it into quarters, and add to the vegetable stock.

Transfer the stock to a saucepan and simmer.

Chop the drained nettles, add them to the onion, and cook for one minute on a low heat, stirring constantly.

Add the rice to the onion and nettle. Cook on a low heat until the edges of the rice grains begin to turn pearly.

Stir in the wine.

Using a ladle or slotted spoon, transfer the pieces of potato from the stock pan to the rice.

Ladle enough liquid from the stock pan onto the rice and potato to just cover it. Stir gently. As the rice absorbs the stock, keep adding a ladleful at a time. You need to stir the rice and potato pieces enough to prevent sticking, but not so much you break them.

When all the liquid has been absorbed the rice will be plump and fluffy and the potato pieces cooked. Remove from heat. Sprinkle with black pepper, the chopped green herbs, and the poppy or sunflower seeds.

Traditionally, a risotto ‘rests’ for a minute after this before it is served.

Serves 4.

Spring Leaves 2 Nettles (Vegetarian recipe)

Round my way the nettles are springing up, about 4-5 inches long and as green as a very green thing - which is what they are... Time for some cautious foraging with gardening gloves, long sleeves, and scissors.
Snip off the top half of the young nettles (or about one third, later on in the year) leaving the lower stem and leaves. Plastic carrier bags are OK to carry them in, providing they are not left sitting in them too long. Calculate quantities as if the leaves were liquid.

Nettle Risotto is a dish from the Abruzzo, the mountainous spine of Italy, a region of poor soil, harsh winters and an inventive local cuisine. To me it has the pure taste of spring: green herbs and a little fresh cream from the first milking to make it really luxurious. It’s vegetarian.

• 2 litres of young, fresh nettles
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 30 g butter
• 1 litre good vegetable stock
• 1 glass white wine or fino sherry. Bramble or a rich dandelion wine is good for this.  
• 300 g short-grain rice. Arborio is best
• 3 tbsp cream
• Salt
• Black pepper
• Fresh chives or parsley, chopped
• 40 g grated parmesan cheese

Fill the sink or a washing bowl with cold water. Wearing rubber gloves, submerge the nettles. Wash thoroughly, changing the water once or twice.

Strip the leaves from the stalks. Discard stalks.

Shake excess water from leaves, place in a pan with a pinch of salt, and cook briskly until leaves are soft and quantity has reduced.

Drain liquid from nettles into the vegetable stock.

Melt butter in a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the chopped onion. Soften over low heat until translucent.

Press the last drops of liquid out of the nettles into the stock. Transfer the stock to a saucepan and simmer.

Chop the drained nettles, add them to the onion, and cook for one minute on a low heat, stirring constantly.

Add the rice to the onion and nettle. Cook on a low heat until the edges of the rice grains begin to turn pearly.

Stir in the wine.

Ladle enough liquid from the stock pan onto the rice to just cover it. Stir gently. As the rice absorbs the stock, keep adding a ladleful at a time. You need to stir the rice enough to prevent sticking, but not so much you break the rice grains.

When all the liquid has been absorbed the rice will be plump and fluffy. Remove from heat. Stir in the cream. Sprinkle with black pepper, the chopped green herbs, and the parmesan.

Traditionally, a risotto ‘rests’ for a minute after this before it is served.

Serves 4.

Spring leaves part 1

Well, all of a sudden it's spring - trees in full blossom, and all the new green leaves popping up all of a sudden.


The blossom came more or less over night - we had a really sunny day last week, and the branches went from little knobbly lumps of bud to full-blown flowers from one day to the next.


With luck we won't get another frost, which should mean a good autumn for fruit forage. 2010 was excellent, due to a cold winter before the sap rose and no frost later to kill the buds. This winter had plenty of cold, which fruit trees like, so fingers crossed for a good vintage 2011. In the mean time, pick leaves.


Dandelions are one of the best forage plants: there's no shortage of them. Indeed, gardeners often go to great lengths to get rid of them: futile lengths, as the plants have amazing powers of regeneration, even from the tiniest fragments of root. But why bother? Every bit of the dandelion  (except the stalk, which is full of bitter latex) is good to eat or brew.


Here's a recipe to do right now. I wrote a meat-eating version for my Wild Brews column in Smallholder magazine, but not sure if it's going in or not (if it doesn't, I'll post it here sometime).


This is a no-animal-produce version, suitable for all.

Dandelion Salad (serves 2-4)

• Two full handfuls of young dandelion leaves
• Two handfuls of sunflower seeds 
• Half a cucumber
• Lemon juice 
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Lay the sunflower seeds of a sheet of foil or baking paper and place under a hot grill, shaking from time to time so the seeds are evenly toasted

Wash dandelion leaves thoroughly in cold water. Drain the leaves, spin dry in a salad spinner, or wrap in a clean dry tea cloth and shake dry, or pat dry.

Wash and chop the cucumber.

Roughly chop the dandelion leaves.

Mix the leaves, cucumber and toasted seeds and toss together with lemon juice. Season with salt and black pepper.

This makes a good starter or side-salad for Risotto alle Ortiche, which uses another good foraging stalwart: nettles. Recipes coming up soon. Enjoy your forage. :)

Signs of Spring

Crocuses, lots of snowdrops still (saw the first on January 2nd and they are still going) and daffs not open yet, little knobs of blossom budding along the blackthorn twigs and just about to break.... but the real sign of spring is that my kitchen is now warm enough for breadmaking to happen quickly and enjoyably. I made a batch last week and it rose so quickly I could feel it under my fingers. Whereas the last few batches I've baked had to be planned over two days to allow the dough to rise overnight - and even then, one lot was a bit flat and heavy. This batch is fine - granary loaves, poppy-seed rolls, rye bread and some apricot buns.