Monthly Archives: August 2011

greengage, hyssop, and vodka sorbet

greengages

Confession time. I’m brand new to gardening, apart from ‘helping’ my grandparents when I was a small child. Five months in – I started in early April – I’ve found that there’s nothing like planting a garden from scratch to make you learn quickly.

Hyssop is one of my new-found discoveries and joys.

hyssop 1

Everything about it appeals to me (and, seemingly, to the local bees) - the deep green shiny foliage, its regal purple flowers, and its unique bitter mintgreen scent.

hyssop 2

To cap it all, of course, I love the fact that I can use it for cooking. 

To my palate, hyssop has a natural affinity with greengages – those luscious juicy green plums which we see so rarely. Happily, like a lot of soft fruit in these parts this summer, there appears to be a strong showing this year, and I’m doing my best to make the most of them. If you’ve never tried them, do please give them a go – contrary to the common perception, they’re not sour, but as sweet and delicious as any ‘normal’ plum, if not more so.

To make the sorbet:
1 large punnet (approx. 2lbs)  greengages
sugar
to taste, approx. 4-5 tablespoons (remember that freezing will lessen the sweetness)
150-200 ml or so of water
a couple of sprigs of hyssop

a generous splosh of vodka

Put all the ingredients except for the vodka into a large pan, and cover with a lid. Place over a low to medium heat for as long as it takes for the fruit to soften fully and release its juices, probably 15-20 mins. Turn the heat off, and leave the pan contents to cool.

Pour the cooled greengages into a sieve, along with the liquid, over the container you intend to use for freezing the sorbet. Gently push the solid fruit with the back of the spoon to squeeze some extra juice through, but don’t go mad. What remains in the sieve is now a delicious compote to eat with yogurt.

To the greengage syrup in the container, add your vodka. By all means be generous, but go carefully – too much alcohol will mean that the sorbet won’t freeze so readily. Give everything a good stir, and put it in the freezer to set. If using an ice cream maker, follow the manufacturer’s instructions. If not, simply take the sorbet out of the freezer every half hour or so, and give the mixture another thorough stir, taking particular care to break down the larger crystals at the edge of the container. The more times you can be bothered to do this – and I happen to find it mildly therapeutic – the smoother your final sorbet will be.

greengage sorbet

Kentish cob nut and carrot top pesto

It’s at this time of year that I tend to make pesto out of almost anything fresh, green, and leafy – not just herbs, but beet greens, radish tops, spinach… you name it. So when @CarlLegge tweeted brief details of a version that he’d made from carrot tops, I felt compelled to try it for myself.

carrot top pesto 1

But since I have a kitchen filled with Kentish ingredients, the challenge of tweaking Carl’s recipe to make a more local version also tickled my fancy. And, of course, its adaptability is in any case part of pesto’s appeal. Ask a hundred Italians, and you will hear a hundred different methods of making the stuff!

I also decided to keep the carrot tops raw in order to harness as much of their essence as possible. Together with the sweet golden Kent-grown cob nuts, cold-pressed buttery rapeseed oil from north Kent (Quex Estate), and umami-tangy Lord of the Hundreds cheese (which tastes somewhere between Parmesan and pecorino, and is made in East Sussex), my version makes for a fragrant and wonderfully flavoursome pesto which captures all the goodness of summer’s carrots.

carrot top pesto 2

Kentish cob nut and carrot top pesto (serves 4)
(I give inexact quantities quite deliberately. For me, pesto is all about playing with your ingredients until you achieve the flavour and texture you prefer.)

A large handful of fresh, well-washed carrot tops (about 100g) – they need to be as fresh as possible, as older tops will introduce an unwelcome bitterness. Discard any particularly thick stems, as they will be overly fibrous
A handful of shelled cob nuts (about 50 – 75g)
About 75g or so of Lord of the Hundreds, or any cheese similar to Parmesan or pecorino
As much rapeseed oil as you need for your preferred consistency – probably 150-200ml or so
Half a garlic clove
Sea salt and black pepper

Roughly chop the carrot tops and garlic, and put them in a food processor together with the cob nuts, cheese, oil, and seasoning.

(Note – if you want a more toasted flavour to the pesto, pre-roast the nuts for about 20 mins in the oven at about 160C, or by ‘frying’ them in a pan on the hob for a few minutes. Watch them very carefully, though – once they start releasing their oils, they burn very quickly.)

Pulse until you have pesto! As Carl says, be prepared to scrape down the processor every so often to ensure everything is properly blended. Taste as you go along and adjust the quantities of your ingredients to suit. You may also want to add a squirt of lemon juice at the end.

If you don’t eat it immediately, spoon the pesto into a jar, and seal it with a layer of more oil – half a centimetre should be fine. This will stop the pesto deteriorating and will help it retain its colour.

carrot top pesto 3

Use as you would do ‘normal’ pesto. With pasta is probably the obvious choice, but I also like to stir a couple of tablespoons through puy lentils, served with (confit) roast pork belly.

The original, slightly shorter version of this post first appeared in Permaculture online.

radishes with summer savory butter

As I type away here, the sun is streaming through my window and the temperature is already in the high 20s. It is, as the tabloids would have it, ‘a scorcher’. And on days like this, I have little inclination to get behind the stove. Anything I prepare has to be quick, tasty, and preferably cooling, too. After all, I’d rather be sitting outside with a glass of something chilled.

Crisp radishes, straight from the garden, make the perfect snack or appetite sharpener for a meal. And summer savory – with its inimitable scent, falling somewhere between rosemary, thyme, and pepper, as the herb expert, Jekka McVicar once described it – is the perfect accompaniment, especially when combined with a little cold unsalted butter.

summer savory

Savory is a wonderfully versatile herb, and makes an refreshing substitute for salt and pepper. It’s a mystery to me why it ever fell out of favour, particularly as it’s easy to grow and attractive to look at. Try the tips scattered over salads, in meat rubs, or with egg dishes.

Or try this ridiculously simple combination: take 1 teaspoon of summer savoury tips, chop finely, and add to 50-75g (according to taste) of slightly softened unsalted butter in a bowl. Mash the two together until well blended. Spoon the butter out into a small sheet of clingfilm or baking parchment, and make a roll. Put into the fridge until cold and firm. To serve, slice and eat with freshly pulled and washed radishes.

radishes summer savory butter

Wash down with something equally chilled and spicy.

Use the leftover green radish tops in salads, or wilt them with a little butter, as you would do spinach. Or blitz them to make a more unusual addition to a pesto.