In a vegetable garden, I'm learning, timing is everything. It's the difference between watermelons you can eat and Lilliputian ones that only feed mice; between thriving tomato plants and frozen seedlings. Three years into my experiment, I'd like to say that I've got it figured out, but weather and life often intervene in this gardener's best-laid plans.
This year, like Alice's White Rabbit, I was late. (So was spring, so I felt somewhat justified.) I had planned to start some of my own seeds indoors under lights, especially favorite brassicas, like rapini and cabbage. But the experts said I should germinate them in late March, when I had to be out of town. When it comes to the need for attention, in my experience, seedlings are children, not cats: they can’t be left untended, even for a day. (The opposing view: a friend recently told me she has great luck starting tomato plants from seed on her kitchen window sill, every year. Maybe it’s just that my black thumb dies hard.)
No harm, really. I bought the broccoli and brussels sprouts from a local grower, and save the trauma of ant infestation, they seem to be thriving. I bought tomato seedlings, too, and though they are also a week or so late going in, I’m hoping that better methods will compensate for poor timing. Last year, I overcrowded my tomatoes, which are notorious for needing plenty of elbow room and, depending up on the variety, support. This year, following advice from the square foot gardeners over at GardenWeb, I’m going to hold them up with a strong trellis, rather than the stake-and-tie method I’ve used in the past. I’ve also given them more space, planting five plants on either side of my 8-foot-long beds.
In addition to those intentional tomatoes, I have a dozen or so “volunteers,” plants seeded by fallen fruit last season. I believe they are the offspring of last year’s Sun Gold cherry tomatoes, a hybrid whose seeds will not produce the same plant as the parent. (For a refresher course, or introduction, on the complexities of tomato genetics, Tomatoville’s forums offer a great primer.) Gardening mentors of mine (like the amazing Margaret Roach of A Way To Garden) are vigilant about removing self-sown tomatoes in order to reduce the risk of disease. While I’m sure Margaret is right about this -- as she is about pretty much all things plant-related -- because they’re a bed away from this year’s tomato plants, I’m tempted to let them grow just to see what sort of fruit they produce.
This week in my garden:
READING: A new book by Ron Kujawski and Jennifer Kujawski, Week-by-Week Vegetable Gardener’s Handbook (Storey, 2010), is a great tool for the timing-challenged (like me.) All you do is find the average date of your area’s last frost (try the calculator at Dave’s Garden, which grabs your data according to your zip code) and work through the book week by week, following guidelines for prepping and planting. The Kujawskis, who are a father-daughter gardening team from western Massachusetts, are both funny and practical. Start really small, they counsel, and then take it step by step. This book makes it easy to do just that. (Disclosure: I asked for and received a free review copy of this book from the publisher.)
WEEDING: In addition to the usual pulling of stray grass, dandelions, and all the other determined invaders, this week I’m pulling my own carefully planted seedlings, too. I’m thinning out my arugula plants so that a few will grow larger. I eat the thinned plants (whole, except for the roots) in salad, and then pick individual leaves off the larger plants as they grow.
SEEDING: This week I’m contemplating, not planting: it’s time to choose varieties of summer squash, and quick: I could have gotten them in the ground a week or two ago (there’s that timing problem again). I’m hoping to track down a local source for these Rond de Nice zucchini, a French heirloom variety.
FEEDING: My asparagus is coming to an end, and I’ve been enjoying it for breakfast, cut on the diagonal into inch-long pieces, sautéed quickly in a little butter with some torn leaves of fresh tarragon. I like flaky sea salt and freshly ground pepper added at the end, too. Sometimes, to make it more substantial, I toss in an equal amount of cannelini beans (yes, from a can). Either way, it’s heaven alongside scrambled eggs.
But all this talk of tomatoes has left me dreaming of late summer. Luckily, I put tomatoes up last year, cooking them quickly and then freezing them for nearly instant sauce through the winter. I have some left and have been making cold, slushy gazpacho with them. Think of this like a guideline, not a recipe; season to taste, process to the texture you like, and enjoy a quick cooling lunch while you contemplate your own garden.
Simplest Gazpacho (serves 2-4 depending upon serving size)
1 quart frozen tomatoes, just beginning to defrost (I run the bag or jar under water to begin the thaw)
1 standard cucumber, peeled, or 1/2 an English cucumber, peeled or not, according to your preference
1/2 a red onion
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive
1 teaspoon Sriracha or other preferred hot sauce (more or less to taste)
salt and freshly ground pepper
This recipe is entirely open to interpretation. Sometimes, I combine all the veggies in the blender, and purée, purée, purée until the mixture has the texture of soft sorbet. Other times, I blend the tomatoes, add half the other veggies and then finely chop the remaining onion and cucumber, stirring these in at the end to give the soup more texture.
Either way, coarsely chop the cuke and onion you plan to purée, to make the work easier for your blender or food processor.
When the vegetables are puréed to your liking, stir in the vinegar, olive oil, and hot sauce, and salt and pepper to taste.
Because you started with frozen tomatoes, the soup is chilled and ready to eat instantly, but it will develop flavor if refrigerated a bit (an hour or two) before eating. It will keep for a day or two in the fridge, but not more.
Photo by Liz West/Muffet via Flickr
