You might think he's doing something else. But in reality, he's learning how to sit/stay, and not doing a very good job of it (he eventually learned how to do so beautifully ... sort of ).

giovedì 1 settembre 2011

Vegetable Porn


You know you’re old, or that you’re getting older, when your interests shift from keg (and bong) hits, when you cease to use that obnoxious phrase “pulling an all-nighter,” (why not push one?), when you go to bed long before midnight … and your interests have turned not to whom you might be having sex with tonight but to the flowers and vegetables in your garden. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have one.

Instead of bragging about how many shots of tequila you could knock back (where I grew up, we had a ritual of attempting to down 18 shots of whatever upon the advent of one’s 18th birthday; that none of us died, and that one of us actually did it and lived to tell the tale … well), now we’re bragging about our vegetables.

This braggadocio is most seen on Facebook where, it seems, everyone feels compelled to post photos of luscious produce grown by him- or herself – perfectly-formed zucchini, tomatoes the richest of reds, heirloom this, exotic that.

Call it Vegetable Porn.

Our greatest gardening success story is the three volunteer cherry tomato plants sprung from our compost pile. (You might wonder why we compost if we don’t have a garden. Well, we try to have a garden, but each year, even though the compost gets richer and richer, our garden morphs into the Tuscan equivalent of the Gobi Desert.)

We could blame the weather. It's been really hot in this part of the world for too much of July and August. Last week's heat wave seems, mercifully, to have abated. When it’s that hot, watering regularly really becomes key, and you have to accept the fact that your illegally-imported Silver Queen corn has just withered into Halloween doorway decoration many months in anticipo.

And then we look in our garden, at the tomatoes – in some cases, the tomato – on the vine, and we wonder why we even bothered in the first place. We drive by our neighbor’s lush garden, he of the Green Thumb, and curse him secretly, while we smile broadly and wave hello.

We could blame The Puppers. They kicked off the proceedings nicely in early spring by eating most of the mixed Japanese greens (contained in a large terracotta pot). We could blame them for all the chicken wire that prevented us from picking the lavender when it was at is absolute aromatic best; we could blame them for the fact that the irises …no! wait! That was Harry! He’s the one who trampled the irises… well, you could blame The Puppers for the fact that the bulb garden, pride and joy for many years, is now a sordid, tangled web of weeds.

We could blame one of the semi-feral cats for using the it-used-to-be-lovely thyme plant as an outdoor litter box. (Fortunately, we have other thyme plants, and we will put down pine cones, and pieces of citrus, as those are two things that cats hate, according to Google.)

We could think about blaming ourselves.

Lunched recently with Terracotta Sculptress. Over fajitas and a chicken club (yes, dear reader, we were at the Hard Rock Café), I moaned about our shortcomings and failures in our what-could-be-a-really-wonderful garden if 1) we only watered more and 2) we only had more time. Terracotta Sculptress, formerly an avid gardener herself and a confirmed buona forchetta, confessed that she’d basically given up on her basil. Silently, we probably were both thinking, “And how hard is it to grow that?” At least, I was.

Lunched equally recently with the London-based Musical Lads who have a lovely little spread near Barga. Theirs is a small, but lovingly well-tended garden teeming with lavender, tomatoes, and other stuff. When we finalized plans to meet, they asked if we wanted some of their tomatoes, then said, “Oh, no, but you have your own.” Imagine our shame-faced state when we confessed that no, indeed, we did not (to tell two men, one Canadian, the other English, that we have no tomatoes! The Scallion is Italian: it’s like bringing coals to Newcastle ). We accepted this charitable donation with humility and deep gratitude. We do not even have tomatoes … except, of course, for those Blessed Volunteers.

Add to jealousy of the success of various vegetable garden its evil twin: guilt. If you live in the Tuscan countryside (we do), ought we not to have a beautiful garden? Isn’t it expected of us? Why live in the country, if not to have a beautiful garden teeming with things to eat, the stray herbaceous border? Should we turn our attention to livestock and perhaps get a goat, or some chickens (which really aren’t, properly speaking, livestock. But they certainly are not plants.) We share our space with a flock of sheep, and they seem to be thriving. Perhaps they are trying to tell us something?

While I write this, a mini-drama unfolds in the kitchen. You can see photos on the right. At first, I thought it was a rat, but when it ran across the stove, the Scallion pointed out that it was a mouse. I confess I stood on a chair as Rosie waited it out (how 50s of me, and why the chair?). Rosie stopped waiting it out a little while ago, and my guess is that the rodent beat a hasty retreat (who wouldn’t, with seven dogs in attendance?)(Waldo’s sister Zoe has been spending some quality time with us.)

Yup: we live in the country, have no tomatoes, and have a mouse who wants to come to dinner. And, at present, a grasshopper walking up the wall. (He appears stoned.)

Here’s a tasty recipe for those of you who have too many tomatoes and simply don’t know what to do with them. This isn’t mine, but heaven knows where I plucked it from … we’ve been eating it since the 80s.

Tomato Pie (for those of you with excess tomatoes)

1 c. fresh fine breadcrumbs
3 c. sliced, peeled, vine-ripened tomatoes that have just recently picked (about 1 1/3 lb.(
1/3 c. thinly-sliced red onion
2 c. grated Cheddar cheese (about 6 oz.)
2 large eggs, beaten lightly
3 strips bacon or pancetta, halved crosswise, optional

Preheat the oven to 325°F and butter a nine-inch pie plate. Sprinkle ½ c. bread crumbs evenly on the bottom of the pie plate. Arrange half of the tomatoes on top of the bread crumbs, and top with half of the onions. Sprinkle half of the Cheddar on top and repeat layering (omitting bread crumbs). Pour eggs over all, and add salt and pepper to taste. Top the pie with the remaining ½ c. bread crumbs, arrange the bacon strips (if using) on top of the pie. Bake in the middle of the oven for 45 minutes.
This tastes good hot and cold.

RODENT UPDATE

It is no more, thanks to Rosie.