Good, hearty cooking.

Sausage, braised red cabbage, leeky mashed potato.
Simple, tasty, satisfying.
This meal seems to encapsulate all that we are trying to achieve
here on the smallholding.

I've just been searching out recipes for the Cavolo Nero which is looking so enticing in the veg patch at the moment and I came across this inspiring piece of writing.

It’s not often that we serve up peasants meals  in this modern high flying twenty first century that we find ourselves living in now. No it’s more about weekday meals made from duck breast, fillet of beef and free range chickens, how disillusioned are we? I think we have lost appreciation for good hearty meals cooked with love and understanding, recipes like this one. Throw in perhaps a couple of ingredients from our own gardens, and then, only then,will I think we are heading back in the right direction of appreciating good food cooked well.
It breaks my heart when you see everyone trying to recreate restaurant meals at home to eat everyday. I think it’s wrong and we are making out as if good old fashioned home cooking is something of the past,but it isn’t and it’s got to come back and deserves a place at our table . Restaurant meals should be for those special occasions when we have worked hard to save the pennies  and can really appreciate its value.

For more, look here, but don't forget to come back to my blog!

The quote above sums up better than I could ever express just how I felt and what I thought when I made this meal. It doesn't look much, but this is the tastiest meal I've had in a long, long time. Sausage from our own pig, braised red cabbage and mashed potato with leek.
A little sugar and red wine vinegar in the red cabbage were the only ingredients which didn't come straight from the smallholding. This is not unusual these days, but what made this meal so special was that it somehow captured the spirit of what we are trying to achieve here.

Here's the recipe, so to speak. Sorry if it's not very precise, it's just the way I cook. I'm not trying to be a recipe website.
You can easily find others, probably just as good, on the interweb.

One or two sausages per person, preferably from your own pig! If not, buy the best you can get. It really will be worth it.
Fry slowly till evenly browned all over. A good quality sausage shouldn't need oil or fat for frying.

Braised Red Cabbage - this will make loads, at least enough for a family. It keeps well in the fridge for the next day and the flavours develop.
Pick one small red cabbage, trim, wash and slice thinly.
Slice and lightly fry between one and three onions - depends on size of onions and how much you like onion. I prefer red for this recipe. Colour and sweetness goes well with the red cabbage.
Add in a glug of red wine vinegar (I used some old sherry vinegar as I'd run out), one or 2 spoonfuls of brown sugar (doesn't really matter what sort), all the cabbage and a chopped up cooking apple.
Then some spices. Here you can add your own stamp. I used about a teaspoon of ground allspice and the same of nutmeg. Finally add about 100ml of stock and bring to the boil.
Simmer for at least an hour, so that all the liquid cooks off. If necessary, add more liquid - water is fine.
Taste towards the end and add whatever you like - salt, pepper, more spices...

Mashed potato and leeks
Make mashed potatoes - I'm not telling you how to do this!
Pick a couple of leeks from the plot, trim, wash and lightly fry with a couple of cloves of garlic, crushed. Increase or decrease this depending on how much you like garlic.
When everything's cooked, simply mix it all together. I like to add a good sprinkle of pepper to zing it up a little. 

The timings on the three components of this meal are all very loose so you don't end up rushing to get everything done in a couple of minutes at the end.

So there you have it. A simple, delicious, tasty meal made from ingredients which are all ready at the same time of year.
And back to that quote about hearty home cooking compared to restaurant meals. On a slightly different tack, I could rant for pages on the subject of processed foods and ready meals. But I won't. If you understand what I mean about good, hearty cooking, I'll be preaching to the converted.

First Frost Winter 2013/14

The title of this post seems somewhat precise compared to my usual organic style.
And there's a reason. For I wrote about this same subject last year and I probably will next year too!

Working the land as I do, the seasons shape my life more than ever before. Each has its merits, each has its problems. But there's no point moaning about the heat in summer, the wind in autumn or the cold in winter. They should be embraced, as long as they're not too extreme.

As the seasons cycle by, I have found it more difficult to blog this year as I seem to be in constant danger of repeating myself. Having said that, I enjoy this annual cycle. I look forward to the first frost, I look forward to sowing seeds in spring, to earthing up potatoes, to the first rhubarb, the return of the swallows to their nests, long summer evenings, harvest time, Autumn gallivanting after rare birds and, dare I say it, the first frost come round again.

So it was that one morning this week I stepped out of the door and the crisp air instantly invigorated my lungs. A frosty morning means clear skies, still air and a beautiful winters day.
These winter frosts are welcome. They get rid of nasty diseases and they break up the soil. They sweeten up the parsnips and take the bitterness off the kale. They announce a fine day - it may snow but it probably won't be a soggy day.

Come May, I won't be waxing lyrical about Jack Frost any more, for he'll be threatening my young seedlings and stopping me planting my beans and squashes outside.

But, for the moment, winter is here and I'm looking forward to it. I'll have to find a good way to fill those long, dark evenings in front of the fire. I've got lots of projects in the offing and now I'll have some indoor time to get them rolling.

Not the sharpest of frosts, but the first of the winter.

I just couldn't resist the 'snips

Last year I had an amazing crop of parsnips. They were real whoppers and it wasn't an unusual occurrence for me to have to leave the tail end in the ground having already dug down two fork depths.
I grow the variety Tender And True and it's always served me well. But when I thinned out the parsnips this year, I was slightly perturbed by the number which hadn't developed a strong root. I guess it just depends on the soil conditions early on in their life.

Parsnips are one of the first seeds to be sown in the veg garden. Their papery seeds easily get blown away as you try to sow them. Not only that, but the seeds famously only last one year. After that they rapidly lose viability. So why do you get about a thousand in a packet? I always end up with loads left over.

They do say that parsnips should be picked only after the first frost has got at them. Apparently it makes them sweeter. But today, having read about a couple of other bloggers' first parsnip harvests, I just couldn't resist any longer.
Sue had asked me to dig some carrots and swede to go with some lamb, but I decided that parsnip would be a better bet.

So I sunk in the fork and loosened the soil, teasing carefully so as not to snap the parsnip off in the soil. But I didn't need to worry, for here's what emerged from the ground.

Yes, it's a veritable octopus of the parsnip world! It might be alright for a stock, but it's not the ideal shape to ease food preparation. I could understand if we had stony ground or if I'd manured the soil overwinter, but neither of those is the case.
Anyway, I got out the iron and got to work and after a couple of hours steam ironing here's what I managed to come up with.

I lost the taproot on this one, which is the way it should be.
Can't wait to eat it with that lamb.

Shaggy Inkcaps

I once dabbled in a bit of mushroom identification and even joined in a few fungal forays. In fact for a couple of years I could regularly be found of an autumn weekend rummaging around in the leaf litter of Oxleas Woods in South-East London.

Mushrooms (or toadstools if you prefer) really are amazing organisms, coming in a range of colours, shapes, sizes and even smells. Not to mention their armoury of chemical and neurological warfare, which is what stops me eating them, however much I think I know what they are.

Here on the farm mushrooms are not too common and it lifts my heart when I find even the smallest tucked away in the grass.
So when I noticed a small group of Shaggy Inkcaps in the goose paddock I really was very pleased.



Shaggy Inkcap

IF I've got the identification correct and IF I remember correctly, these are not only edible but actually quite tasty, with a nutty flavour. But you need to catch them quickly, otherwise they quickly turn to an inky mess. They change shape too, resembling a tall black parasol.

Spurred on to look more closely, I also found these couple of fine specimens.
I really must search out a local fungal foray group to join. It's fascinating and amazing stuff.





 

House Refurbishments...for Daisy

What a beautiful day it was today! A bit nippy, but you'd expect that on a clear November day.

 

But earlier this year when the weather was slightly more inclement, the winds whipped the roofing felt off the top of Daisy's shelter. It wasn't a major issue, just another job on the list. A job which I never quite got round to. Daisy does have a more conventional ark too, but between her and the multitude of other pigs which have passed through, they have managed to almost totally destroy it. Mind you, it was half rotten when we inherited it. She still uses it sometimes, but more in the summer for shade. It is certainly not weather proof.

 

But when I saw Daisy attempting to make alterations herself, I started to feel a twang of guilt for not getting round to the job.

 

So today I dug out some old roofing felt and wheeled it down to Daisy's pen, along with a tub full of roofing tacks, some wood, a saw and a hammer. Daisy was, as ever, all too keen to help. Her gentle nudges almost sent me flying! She then affectionately shook her muddy head, splattering my face with speckles of mud.

 



 

 

The new felt going on









Daisy approves

 

This time, I learned from the past and screwed a couple of old planks of wood over the join in the felt. I then painted this with some bituminous paint - like spreading thick, gooey treacle. Hopefully it will keep Daisy dry for a good few winters yet - or whichever animal replaces her when she goes.



Rodent Wars

 

After the fields are harvested, we certainly notice more rodent activity on the farm. Usually Gerry catches plenty of voles (short-tailed field voles) and just occasionally he finds a shrew's nest.

But just a day after the next field was harvested this year, he appeared with a field mouse in his jaws.

And the humane trap inside the polytunnel, which has never trapped a thing, suddenly contained four field mice.
As the weather gets cooler, so the rodents creep closer and closer. Polytunnel crops get nibbled, little furry critters scurry away as I walk the meadow or work in the veg plot, the walls of the farmhouse echo with scratching and scurrying, always sounding unfeasibly loud.
There may even be the odd bit of burrowing under the chicken houses - much bigger holes these ones. For yes. The voles, the field mice and even the occasional rat are seeking food and shelter.



A bad day at the office
for this young rat!


If you can't work out what's happened,
it tried to go through a hole in the fence
which was too small for it.


I had to put it out of its misery.


But then, it had been nibbling
at my mangel wurzels!

Now, the occasional vole scurrying through the grass, or a field mouse running up the wall of the chicken food shed, these seem cute and I could maybe tolerate them. But I once thought the same about some of the prettier 'weeds', perhaps I could just leave a few.
But no, things don't work like that. Any sign of weakness and before you know it you have a plague. And just a few mice can do a lot of damage. They don't just nibble what you expect them too.

So, regrettably, I have had to get the poison out. I try to use this as little as possible and it is best to hit them hard for a short period. Last year I did a post on the wonder that is Eradibait, approved by the Barn Owl Trust and apparently only harmful to small rodents.
See here - Oh Rats! However, having purchased a large and expensive tub of this panacea, I have found that unfortunately the rodents don't actually seem to like the taste of it! They do say to ensure that no other food sources are available. The problem with this is, surely, that if no other food were available there wouldn't be any rodents in the first place. And they clearly prefer whatever they're already eating compared to the Eradibait pellets. Shame.

Of course, cleanliness and hygiene are important. We are careful not to put meat on the compost, we don't top up the birdtables at this time of year and we keep all our grain in rodent-proof containers.
In the house, all the most attractive foods are kept in plastic tubs with secure lids, though the cats tend to ensure that scurrying little creatures stay in the roof spaces and the walls.

This little critter scurried out
 from underneath my laptop in the front room.
Presumably brought in by Gerry to 'play' with later.

 

But, just for the moment, there is a bit of chemical warfare going on.

And this field mouse has taken up residence
in the food shed down by the chickens.
It is brazenly bold, but I can't afford to feel sorry for it.

Pink Fir Apples. Not Apples, Potatoes!

 

I grow eight different varieties of potato and with good reason.

Different colours, different shapes, different textures and different tastes. Earlies, second earlies, maincrop and lates. Some more blight resistant than others. Some more slug resistant. Some perform better in cold, wet summers, some do better with a bit of heat.

In fact, it's quite a struggle to keep it down to eight varieties and over the last few years I've experimented quite a lot to try to arrive at the best selection.







Pink Fir Apples, freshly dug.

Today's post is all about Pink Fir Apples, a rather strangely named old-fashioned potato variety. They produce knobbly, fingerlike tubers with a waxy, yellow flesh and a wonderfully nutty, earthy taste.

Their shape makes them difficult to peel, but they scrub easily and the skin is good for you.





Fortunately this was about the only plant hit by blight.

The bigger problem with this variety is that it is a very late potato and so the whole crop can be lost in a poor blight year, as happened last year.

But this year only a few plants were affected by blight so I had high hopes. Only worry was that I've left it late to dig them up and I was worried about slug damage. When I harvested my Desirees a few weeks back, I was very disappointed that over half of them had suffered slug damage. In the previous three years this had been my most reliable cropper, producing wonderfully large red tubers. But not this year. And therein lies the reason for growing a few varieties. Eggs in one basket and all that.

On the other hand my Charlottes, a second early salad potato, only came out last week and virtually none had been attacked by slugs. I got so many that I needed two sacks.

So it was that I approached the Pink Fir Apple bed. The potato tops had long since been chopped off and the stubby stems were now hidden by marigolds and a few weeds. As the fork went in and I pulled out the marigolds, already fingers were poking above the ground and emerging from the crumbly soil. A bit grizzly really.




The crop wasn't amazing - it's been a dry year - but the first few plants delivered well. But then I began to find more and more damaged tubers, some plants yielding only a handful of edible tubers.



I lost over half the crop like this.
Not a total disaster, as I still have enough,
but a bit disappointing.

Something had clearly been busy enjoying the pink firs. The tubers had peculiar patterns on them, rasped or gnawed away. I couldn't quite decide whether this was the work of rodents - but could they really live underground and eat the tubers from the bottom? Or could this be the work of slugs. If so, they were large ones, not the sort that leave little holes and tunnel through the potato, no, giant ones which rasp away at the tuber, eating the fingers down to stumps.

 



While I was digging I was distracted
by the calls of this greenfinch,
 attracted to the sunflowers
which I grew especially for this purpose.
I've not seen them on the farm for quite a few months now.

The chickens were keen to help me with my digging today. It's the first time since early spring that they've been allowed into the veg plot. They have an important job to do over the winter, winkling out the grubs and nourishing the soil.

 

Back to those damaged tubers.

As I dug I found virtually no slugs and it does seem to be a good year for rodents (a post about this to follow). It was then that I noticed the soil where I had just dug moving. Something was in there, tunnelling away, and it was getting near the surface.

I got all excited, expecting to get a rare glimpse of a mole. Then out popped a vole before scurrying off.





That neat bundle of dried grass
is actually a vole's nest that
I disturbed while digging the potatoes.
It seems it made its home
next to its lunch!!

Not long later I came across this...


an underground nest of dry grass, and from it emerged a brown, furry body. Again it scuttled away, but the mystery of who's been eating my Pink Fir Apples has, I think, been solved. Next year I must get them dug before the harvest, which is when most of the rodents seem to come into the garden (and the house, the sheds and the stables).



Can you see it yet?

Still can't see it?


Surely you can see it now!


There! Hiding under that leaf.


Aaaawww. How cute is that!


The little blighter that's been nibbling my fingers.

 

 

 











At least we still got a half decent harvest.

 

The King Is Dead ... Long Live The King!

Something sad happened today.

We lost Cocky, our gentle giant.

He was the leader of the gang, an attentive cockerel under whose reign peace and harmony broke out. His passing away will mark a time of change in the chicken pen.

A good cockerel has to be strong enough to look after his ladies and keep them from squabbling, but gentle too. Many is the time I've watched him find a nice juicy morsel and start clucking and dancing to let his ladies know of his find. He never took it for himself.

Even the guinea fowl saw him as their protector. He got on with everybody, except any young pretenders who he was always able to put in their place.


For the last few months he was the only cockerel in the main pen, but he has been showing signs of old age, roosting up early, last out in the mornings and his comb distinctly limp and lacking colour.

The signs were there, even the fact that only one of Elvis's eggs from his girls managed to produce a healthy chick. And that chick, though we didn't know it, is the last of Cocky's offspring.

We now need to find a replacement for him. The hope is that the Cream Legbar cockerel can take over - he is certainly gentle with his two females and even with the diminutive Polands who are in with him. But he always had the balls to stand up to Cocky, often duelling with him through the fence.
So now his time has come. Along with his group he will now be allowed in with the other poultry. There's bound to be a few settling in problems to start with, but hopefully by the spring all will be calm again...

until these little ones grow up, for at least two of them are cockerels.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCiU54msTeo


Meanwhile, a thought for Cocky.

The Great Swede Debate (NOT The Great Turnip Debate)



 

Pickings straight from the veg plot.





Reading this blog, you might think that Sue and I lead a rather idyllic life. Well, we’ve worked hard to get to where we are and I don’t always write about the downsides. After all, who wants to read about those.

But, to tell you the truth, Sue and I have been having our problems lately. It’s the arguments. Constant arguments.  Always about the same thing.

I guess it stems from a difference in culture. Sue is a northerner. I am a southerner.

But, alas, it seems that our differences are irreconcilable.

The subject of our arguments?

These…

 

On the left, TURNIPS, with their hard, white flesh. These ones happen to be purple topped.

And on the right, a SWEDE, a winter vegetable with softer, orange flesh.

It’s not difficult.

White = turnip. Orange = swede.

And coming from Essex, a county where the inhabitants are fondly known as SWEDEBASHERS (a term developed, presumably, when Essex was slightly more rural and slightly less a suburb of London), I feel I am well qualified to judge this matter.

But no! Despite all my logic, Sue insists that there are turnips and, wait for it, white turnips!!! Yes, that’s right. Read that last sentence again. It’s not a typo. TURNIPS and WHITE TURNIPS.

Why use two different names for two different vegetables when you can completely complicate matters?

Not only that but the swede is, according to her, the turnip. And the turnip is the white turnip. Total craziness.

 

So a plea. Can someone please leave a comment on this blog telling Sue that she is wrong and I am right.

Please. For the sake of our relationship.

Elvis - A Mum Again!

On the last day of July 2013 Elvis had quite a surprise. For she hatched out some chicks with rather strange bills and rather odd habits, like constantly jumping into water and waddling around in a line.

 

 

For those of you not familiar with Elvis, she is our broody hen. She is a black Silkie and she was one of the hens we inherited when we moved in three years ago. Elvis has an incredibly strong maternal instinct. So much so that she rarely goes a few weeks between sending off one group of youngsters to fend for themselves and sitting tight on whatever eggs she can find.

At this stage, gathering eggs becomes a risky affair, as she will just sit tight and peck viciously at your hand. At all other times Elvis is a very affectionate hen.

We have now lost count of how many clutches of eggs Elvis has hatched, but after her surprise at delivering us six ducklings last time, Sue decided she could have some more chicken eggs to sit on. So she got a few of the blue Crested Cream Legbar eggs and a few eggs from the other hens. Sue gave her eleven eggs to sit on altogether.

By the end of week two, Elvis was somehow incubating seventeen eggs, so it was time to isolate her from the other hens. At this time of year, we are hardly getting any eggs from the chickens, so we could ill afford to lose half a dozen which were destined never to hatch.

Then it was just a case of waiting, and last Sunday as I locked the chickens away I could hear the tell tale high cheeps of newborn chicks. The next morning, Elvis had moved off the nest, leaving a very smelly poo (they always do this) alongside the unhatched eggs.

 

 

Unfortunately only four chicks successfully hatched. A further two were fully grown but hadn't managed to escape their shells. One of these was actually still alive, so Sue cracked the shell some more and placed it back under Elvis. But Elvis always knows the best thing to do and she had left this egg behind for a reason. Although it got out of the shell, it didn't survive much longer.

Usually we have a much better return for naturally incubated eggs, but I guess it's late in the season so some of the eggs may never have been fertilised in the first place. Also, Cocky is getting a little older now. We'll have to see how he performs next year.

As for those four cute little chicks, we have one archetypal pale yellow ball of fluff. Very cute! The other three are Crested Cream Legbars, the ones that lay blue eggs (the females, that is!). These are very unusual in that the chicks are autosexing. This means that there are clear plumage differences between the sexes.

The females are darker and have a dark stripe running down their back and behind their eyes. The males are lighter with a light dot on top of their head.

Unfortunately, I think we only have one Cream Legbar girl. But at least Elvis is all clucky again.