Harvest boon
My vegetable garden is a little like a good vinaigrette – about three quarters happiness and one quarter consternation. The consternation is like the acidic component of the vinaigrette – absolutely essential, as it balances the fullness and the softness of the oil, but on its own it can range from piquant to a little too sharp.
The happiness comes in many forms. Researching and choosing seeds is like being a kid in a lolly shop.
What varieties will I grow this season? What have I tried before and not liked? Which micro greens? Which heading lettuces? Which tomatoes? The problem is there are so many to choose from.
Once the seeds are delivered and planted I eagerly await the results. The salad greens are the quickest to emerge. It is one of my great delights to mix and match different small salad greens that can make a perfect accompaniment to rich dishes such as double-baked cheese soufflés. A couple of years ago I selected a salad green labelled “pink sprouting kale”. It grew beautifully, was delicious as a very small leaf, but was not terribly pleasant once it got a bit bigger, as it was a bit tough and stringy. It was even worse on the second cut. This was not really an acceptable result. I need to get at least two cuts from each salad row and have the option of using them as bigger leaves, either cooked or raw. With some consternation, poor old “pink sprouting kale” was deemed a failure.
That row of kale was ignored while all its successful friends were being harvested and harvested again. But then something miraculous happened. The plants formed bulb shapes above the ground, started to flourish, and transmogrified into kohlrabi. When we harvested and tasted the first one, it was absolutely delicious. Crisp, sweet, juicy – a little like biting into a savoury apple. Having never explored the idea of growing kohlrabi, I was smitten.
In these two recipes I take the same three vegetables, roast one selection and turn the other into coleslaw.
It showcases the beautiful white flesh of my kohlrabi, the verdant green of my vertus/savoy cabbage and the deep pink and white of my watermelon radishes. If you can’t get watermelon radishes, use standard ones
• or turnips.