Potato season is opening, just as raspberry season is closing. That's what's happening locally, at least. When I say locally, I mean within a third of a mile of my kitchen work surfaces. According to my parkrun experiences, a mile is around 2,000 of my paces.
I harvested the first of my roof garden potatoes (20 paces there, 20 back = 40 paces) this morning. I am growing them in the tubs that my longest-serving friend gave me even though I've been letting the rest of the roof do its own thing.
Harvesting this year's first portion of potatoes made me think about tonight's supper, though it was only 9.30am. I felt a little dejected, in view of the potato triumph and the fact that I was getting my hair done this afternoon, that I wasn't going to be cooking for anyone else this evening. I decided, notwithstanding, to gather some mint and chives from my window box (8 paces there, 7 back = 55 paces).
As the day went on, a plan started growing in my imagination which was this: to make my supper for one an occasion by cooking a meal for the first time in my life entirely from ingredients I'd grown and gathered myself.
I wasn't dependent only on my window box and rooftop garden for supper as I've been helping Pete with his garden since last autumn (600 paces there, 600 back, or thereabouts). I offered to help him out boosted by my onion success last year. I've been enjoying planting and tending to runner beans, tomatoes, onions, garlic, courgettes, aubergines all through the cold spring, hot June, wet July.
After having my hair done, I went round to Pete's (+ 600 = 655 paces) and picked tomatoes, rhubarb, four remaining raspberries, a courgette, quantities of sage and thyme. I dug up a couple of onions and located the first runner bean. (Thank goodness no one else was expecting supper - I wasn't prepared to share that bean or those raspberries).
On the way back (+ 600 = 1,255 paces), I picked blackberries from the hedgerows by the River Severn (+ 0 paces as I was going that way anyway). I tipped these ingredients out of my bag onto my work surface to join the potatoes, mint and chives.
I made an occasion of a meal for one, all in well under a food mile and with my hair sleek and tidy. The runner bean came into its own among the fried green tomatoes, baked courgette, deliciously sweet onion, and crispy sage leaves. I cooked and sieved the majority of the blackberries to make an intense coulis to accompany the braised rhubarb and a few whole berries.
After it had all been translated, there was nothing leftover from today's supper. Judging by the number of red flowers on the runner bean plants, I can look forward to haricots verts plural suppers very soon.
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