The issue of financial gain with regard to an allotment
September 5, 2006
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My neighbour Sidi ElGouche is smokin’ again.
Yesterday my dear colleague (from the Dott07 CityFarming project) posed the very good question of how much one could earn from one’s kitchen garden. Apparently he had read two disparate studies and the numbers varied ten-fold as to what a garden allotment yields in terms of produce. As per usual, my answer was blunt and wordy:
From my UNSCIENTIFIC, culiblogish research into the matter (in the form of having an allotment for 2 years), I can say that in pure economic terms, these will be the most expensive tomatoes and lettuces I will ever eat. I can buy 3 head of lettuce at the organic farmer’s market for 1 euro.
Why is my allotment produce so expensive? Because time is money, honey. In order to have an allotment, I have to reorder my life, and in a rather extreme way. My kitchen garden is one big black hole of very expensive time.
But the amount of pleasure I get from my garden, even when I am away from it, is UNSPEAKABLY LARGE. What does that mean financially for my physical and mental health, aside from free access to the potentially healthy veg? What about the relationships that I have to build up to be part of an allotment group? What are those worth? These relationships nourish me and improve my quality of life. In my unique situation, they offer me access to a diverse culture. My garden gives me a place in the community and some people know me and like me simply because I have a garden. Suddenly I’m a nice person.
To get to my garden I ride my bike down a country lane with astounding views and watermills and clear views of all the town’s farms. My heart is racing because of the sheer physical beauty. I am smiling. I see what the farmers are growing. I see the geese that Monsieur Caizergue just bought to raise for an Xmas slaughter. I have something to talk about with everyone along the road. Hell, the garden was the reason that I was invited to a dazzling Berber wedding last April!
And the garden keeps me a bit physically fit.
And the garden yields some vegetables, soft fruit and some flowers.
Big whoop.
If someone were to say to me, ‘Here’s £3.000,- (or £300,- for that matter) of high-quality free veg, flowers, herbs and soft fruit spread out over the course of a year,’ I’d accept, but I don’t see that as being the only benefit of having a garden. To cite financial gain as a potential benefit specifically or separately from a multitude of other factors is to not truly address what a garden allotment really is. Or what a garden allotment can do to you.
If you want:
– warm relationships with a new set of inspiring friends
– a positive sense of who makes up your community
– more conviviality in your life
– knowledge about the flora and fauna in your environment
– a grasp of your area’s weather
– a role in increasing bio-diversity in your region
– a taste of yer own dang terroir
– expertise in the art of preparing traditional foods from your turf
– a connection with the history of your small corner of the world in cultural as well as geologic terms
– a sense of accomplishment for growing your own food
– a role in decreasing pollution and your area’s reliance on petrol products
– a regular supply of endorphin
– £ 300,- (or £ 3.000,-) worth of fresh veg, fruit and flowers in season
– the smug feeling of self-righteousness
– an excellent ass
Get an allotment.
debra at 15:41 | Comments (0) | post to del.icio.us
Cèpes are proof that Gawd loves us, and wants us to be happy
August 29, 2006
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Today in the market it was all pointy elbows and wingflappenings. Watch out for elderfolk in packs.
‘Cèpes are proof that Gawd loves us, and wants us to be happy…’ Also sprach Ben Franklin. At least that’s what folks down here in Occitania are saying he said. Then there are the other folks with a different take on the true sujet of this quote, but my point is, I’ve just eaten some cèpes and I’m quite convinced they could whoop any truffle’s ass.
Thank Gawd for cèpes.
Merçi.
Bedankt.
Remerçi.
Vielen Dank.
Gracias.
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Cèppity peppity!
Today the cèpes appeared for the first time at the market. Not local ones, but from two faraway sources, the Lozère (€ 8,- per kilo, looking a bit poorly, wetly and wormly), and the Ardèche (€ 20,- per kilo, sheer perfection). I bought two from the Ardèche and raced home to get on the horn with Peggy and gloat.
Since the onset of unseasonally cool weather, I’ve been pestering our resident mushroom expert Peggy to go mushrooming with me. Never mind that she’s wearing a cast up to her knee or that she can’t walk without crutches. We’re talking cèpes! Peggy, a bonafide mushroom freaque, has offered to sit in the car while new-guy-in-town Ari and I proxy-crawl around through the leaf-mould on our bellies.
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I wish I had found this here big pile o’ cèpes!
The two cèpes that I bought didn’t make it past lunch. No time for taking pictures. I just brushed them off, sliced them thinly and fried them in slightly salted butter. This became the topping for some full-fat scrambled eggs (eggs whipped up with more than a llittle creme fraiche, fried in the mushroomy butter). We devoured this heavenly meal with our eyes closed and then licked the remaining beads of cèpe butter out of the bowls with our fingers. There was a lot of sighing. And that’s when we started with the crazy proclamations, like the one about cèpes being more delicious than truffles! It was just one hour ago, but I’m still bringing my hands to my nose to inhale deeply.
Dang.
Please pray that it rains on our mountains.
- РWikipedia c̬pes/porcini/cep/bolete/penny bun/Steinpilz
– What Ben meant and what Ben said are two different things
РA list of the French d̩partements. Which are not the regions. Which is confusing.
synonyms: Bolet comestible, Cep, Cèpe de Bordeaux, Champignon Polonais, King Bolete, Penny Bun, Porcini, Steinpilz
debra at 16:38 | Comments (1) | post to del.icio.us
This year’s potatoes, last year’s mushrooms
August 26, 2006
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Peruvian purple potato mash with pickled grisets (tricholoma terreum). Colours unretouched.
It’s a luxury to wear yer bikini top as a bra and to get sick of peaches and yer own homegrown tomatoes, but now that the temperatures are regularly dipping below 28°c, Lawd knows we need our carbs. I’m longing for autumn’s heavier food and I can’t wait to go mushrooming, so this morning I went on a one course sabbatical from summer food. Good thing we’re not really subsistence farmers because we’d be subsisting on this one meagre portion. The rest of the Purple Peruvian potatoes are still unseasonally in the ground, as tiny as you please. Next year’s seeds.
What do they taste like? Good texture, nutty and full of flavour, almost cashew-like. I recommend eating these Peruvians. But growing them? For a potato that’s supposed to be hardy, they didn’t stand up very well to the neglect and covercrop takeover that they suffered at K’tje’s hands this year. I’m reserving judgement until next year when I give them a go in my own kitchen garden. They’re so beautiful, it’s like handling jewels.
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Mash in the making. Colours unretouched.
Potato Mash
2 parts potatoes
1 part creme fraiche
pinch of fleur de sel to taste
Boil potatoes dirty and unpeeled in a pan of salted water. When they’re soft enough, pour off the muddy hot water and fill the pan with cold water. Let sit for a moment and then peel the papery skin off in one fell swoop. This is the easiest method for removing jackets from potatoes. Just the jacket and nothing more.
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Peel thusly. Colours unretouched. (Please read more… )
debra at 23:39 | Comments (5) | post to del.icio.us
