Soilman's Allotment Blog

Chicon tonight... not

I'm pretty sure I'm doing something wrong with this chicory. But as usual, I don't know what.

I bought these seeds on a whim. Liked the picture (I'm a sucker for this. It brings me no end of grief). Germinated them according to the destructions and planted out. They've grown well and I've been looking forward to the 'tight heads' that the blurb assures me will form 'in autumn and winter, when temperatures are low'.

OK, so it's not exactly cold yet. But there's no sign at all of chicon-like heads. In fact, the plants have done bugger-all for weeks. They don't even look much like the picture on the packet:

Am I being immeasurably dim? Do these plants not even form chicons? Or am I just wretchedly impatient?

Mellow fruitfulness... at last

Phew. Something to supplement the beetroot. Not a day too soon.

This is a fair-sized celeriac, given the crappy season we've had. And it only took 8 months to grow. Effortless!

Actually I'd still grow it even if it were 10 times harder to cultivate. I love celeriac, especially raw. Grated and mixed with mustard mayonnaise, it mutates into something exquisitely ambrosial. Seriously: If I could eat only three foods for the rest of my life, it would be on the list (along with freshly cut asparagus in hollandaise sauce and bouillabaisse with crusty bread).

Curses. Now I'm hungry. And it's only 8am.

The wages of sloth

I let some of the fennel go to seed. By mistake, obviously – we'd eaten so much we couldn't face any more. I've been racked with guilt about it (people starving in the world, here am I wasting food etc etc).

Now I'm rather glad. The tiny flowers are beautiful. And I'll save some seed for next year.

Soilman's Allotment Bistro

Forgive crap photos. I have strip lights in the kitchen and they give everything a ghastly green overtone.

Much though I don't want this blog to turn into 'What I Ate Last Night', I have to report on this meal with pride. This is corn fresh from the plot (and sweet as nectar), fennel braised in stock and butter, roast chicken and Vitelotte potato chips. Yum.

This is when growing vegetables comes into its own. No matter how excellent your local shop (if you've still got one, that is), you can't buy food as fresh and wonderful as this.

Game on

It's glut time. Everything's coming at once and I'm loving it.

Even the dismal fennel has picked up. The one in the basket is a runt that I pulled to make room for the better specimens.

The only disappointment is the carrots. I grew Amsterdam Forcing as an early crop, and they're crap. Erratic germination and tiny, tasteless carrots. Should have stuck with Early Nantes, my old favourite.

Warning: more cauliflower pictures. I know I shouldn't. Vainglorious pride is a terrible thing in a middle-aged suburban man.

But you know, they're so utterly gorgeous. And I'm cock-a-hoop.

 

Anyone here grown fennel and speaks English?

I've never grown fennel before. Does it show?

Not sure these look too great for mid-June. Don't they grow slowly, though? Decades to germinate, aeons to grow beyond seedling stage. At this rate, I fear autumn will time them out before cropping.

I'll be frank here: I could do with some guidance. Anyone got any tips?

Growing, growing, grown

It's only nine days since we took the last asparagus cut of the season. But already the ferns are two feet high.

This appears to contradict one of my cherished gardening dictums. It was told me originally by a grizzled old allotmenteer when I asked him how to discern seedling vegetables from weeds.

"If it grows like a weed," he scowled, "then it is a f*****g weed."

Memorable. But apparently inaccurate.

In other news, my celeriac is coming along well. Wish I could say the same for the garlic, which is suffering from serious rust. That crazy April weather did for it. I dug up a few plants and the bulbs are still tragically small.

What a beautiful weekend it was. Mrs Soilman and I profited from the sunshine to enjoy one of the few perks of living in the UK's south east: the RHS gardens at Wisley. It's not the same as being there, but here's a picture:

Betting on black

The massacre at the allotment is too depressing to think about. So here's a pic of the tomatoes I'm praying will give me something to eat come July.

They're an unusual variety called Crimean Black. Huge fruits with a curious dark brown tint. Absolutely delicious, with a rich, slightly salty flavour. I don't grow them at the plot, because of blight; it kills everyone's tomatoes in August. Also you have to water them every day, and my plot's just far enough to make that a serious pain.

Black tomatoes were apparently bred in Eastern Europe to grow well outdoors. They certainly do. In fact, they don't like being under glass. The leaves seem to scorch easily (see top pic – I left these in the 'greenhouse' a little too long).

Got these seeds in France, although you can get them in the UK easily enough. I'm trying a new growbag system this year. The way this season's shaping up, it probably won't work. If I wasn't getting the bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all.

Holes in the plot

This is one half of the allotment, now filling up nicely. I have room for at least one more row of carrots and beetroot, plus two more rows of brassicas. And there's some fennel in there somewhere.

Despite disasters elsewhere, the parsnips have come through brilliantly. 100% germination and growing strongly. Baffling. They're usually sparse, straggly and shit.

For the umpteenth time, I'm puzzling over the two perennial gardening questions:

1. Where did I go wrong?

2. What did I do right?

The allotment Hydra

I love asparagus – honestly I do – but I'm not sure I can cope with much more. It's only week three, but already it's beginning to pall. God help us, we're eating it every other night. This was the sight that greeted me this evening, a bare 36 hours since the last cut:

And another thing. Perhaps indelicate to mention this, but the noisome state of our lavatory these days is a concern. That's all I'm saying.