The Sage arrived home, having been to feed and let out our hospitalised friend’s chickens and do a delivery for Al. “That wind is cold” he said cheerfully. “I just saw John and Betty arm in arm to keep each other upright.” I intimated that perhaps that put the kybosh on my cycle ride to get the weekend veggies. He paused. He realised he’d made a tactical mistake, for it is his mission in life to keep me pedalling. “The wind’s dropped now. D’you see, the sun’s come out?” “You’re just saying that. I’d better go in the car.” I was teasing. I knew I wasn’t going to get away with it.
He held the bike while I scrambled on. It was an east wind again, so in my face on the way in. I came home with potatoes, sprouting broccoli, a parsnip, turnip, swede, some beetroot, a cauliflower, a large mushroom, two small butternut squashes, four bananas, eight juicing oranges and four stalks of forced rhubarb. And two garlic bulbs and eight shallots. The Sage dug up some leeks from the garden. I made a venison casserole and a pot of leek and potato soup, and am planning roast lamb with the vegetables we haven’t eaten yet, and beetroot risotto which, though good, is not the most very delicious risotto but is the most startling colour. I will poach the rhubarb, cool it and then sprinkle it with sugar and blowtorch it, in a bruléeish sort of manner to impress the Sage and Ro into not noticing the absence of cream or crumble.
I’ve nearly finished preparing the propagators, and may sow some lettuce seeds tomorrow – not in heat, but in trays in the greenhouse. Assuming no one takes me out for lunch.