The Good Life - Rain

View from the shed where sheltered during the showers

There are holes in the sky where the rain gets in

But they're ever so small

That's why the rain is thin

Spike Milligan

Nearly four weeks of dry weather ended on Saturday evening as gradually but surely isolated droplets of rain began to fall through the small holes in the sky. Initially I could count the drops on the windscreen of Corinne's car, monitoring with interest the possibility of a downpour, and after about 20 minutes of it became clear we would have a decent shower or two overnight. Harry worships the rain, and waxes lyrically about the special nourishment all vegetation receives from it. He often says that the watering can is no substitute for the rain and in his experience plants would be jumping out the ground after a good spell of rain.

The first radish; a striking 1960's red against our 1960's baby blue table

Harry always recommends a steady slow pace of work in order to make it through to the end of the day. He has numerous stories, approaching the status of parables of a bygone age, from his days working with Dublin Corporation. In between planting a few rows of onions Harry broke off and told me a story of a man he used to work with. He had been tasked with the preparation of a patch of ground for a lawn and half way through the day, but not the job itself, a manager arrived on site and insisted the grass be sewn that evening. After a moments thought, this man seeing the impossibility of the demand and the lack of knowledge or his supervisor, responded with a moderate amount of Dublin sarcasm, and requested permission to mow the grass the following morning. We laughed heartily for a while before casually progressing onto the few remaining shallots, while Corinne was slaving away elsewhere in the allotment transplanting beans.

Corinne sorting through the dandelion flower heads

 

Bright full blooming dandelions during a sunny spell in the afternoon

There has been a fantastic growth of dandelions in the last three weeks and recently I have been reading about traditional Midday Dandelion Wine. I suggested to Corinne that we might try to make a batch. She seemed to be quite enthusiastic and told me her father made many bottles of what they called vin de pissenlits in France and went on to say that it tasted very nice. I was immediately sold on the idea, and when we had a break on Sunday afternoon I walked across to a neighbouring field and set about collecting as many dandelions as I could. The idea is to pick the flowers at midday or when they are fully open. After about two hours I had tired of the constant picking and bending routine, and became slighly worried by the fact my fingers were being stained black, and  returned to Corinne. For a good hour we picked through the flowers watching the little beatles make their escape from the pile of yellow flowers while removing as much of the green leaves and stalk from beneath the flower head as possible.

Upon returning home, I measured out 8 pints of flowers into a clean bucket and then poured 16 pints of boiling water over them finally covering the bucket with a clean cloth. The recipe stipulates that they be left to steep for two days and no longer. The mixture must then be strained and poured back into a pot and brought to the boil. For the quantities I am using, I must use the zest of 8 oranges and boil the mixture for ten minutes. The mixture must then be strained again through a muslin cloth into a clean bucket containing what I am currently calculating to be 6 pounds of sugar, making sure to dissolve the sugar. When cooled sufficiently, the juice of the oranges and the yeast can be added, and this mixture can be poured into a secondary fermentation vessel with a fermentation trap, and allowed to ferment completely.
 

Corinne's father has warmed me already that yeast will not be necessary as this mixture will ferment like crazy. Furthermore he recommended I should leave at least 20% free space in the demi john to deal with the highly active fermentation process. The English recipes recommend racking and bottling the wine when it becomes clear and to allow it to age six months in the bottle before tasting. Corinne's father differs on this point as well, and being French he is probably more patient with the whole process. He advises bottling the wine after a year and promises us time will improve the wine. In any event my next date with the dandelions is Tuesday evening when I must strain the mix and add the zest and sugar, and make a decision in the yeast.
 

The forecast for the week is good for the allotment because showers are forecasted for just about everyday during the week providing good prospects for the initial growth period and reported green shoots. The Irish economy may not be as fortunate as every week brings with it revelations of financial impropriety. The unimaginative politician's refrain of green shoots has now lapsed only to be replaced with the specter of projected economic growth, which it must be said would sound more convincing from an old haggard gypsy clasping a crystal ball.

The Good Life - Green shoots

 Redcurrants beginning to flower

The good weather has continued for yet another weekend and the green shoots of growth are everywhere to be seen in the allotment. The beans and peas have broken through the caked dy earth and I have been sowing more peas in order to lengthen the harvest period when it arrives. There are early signs of slug visitations, so we must be vigilant to prevent these guys from taking up permanent residence. There have alsobeen lush green leaves appearing on the currant bushes, some of which are already bearing small flowers. The leaves on the raspberry canes are slowly shooting and we expect to have a good crop from them throughout the year in the berry garden. In contrast the gooseberries are slow to show signs of life, but I am prepared for this annual disappointment.

Forcing the rhubarb has been profitable; the large drum covering the rhubarb crown was lifted off the ground such was the extent of the growth. It has since been plundered a few times for tarts and my personal favourite, rhubarb and walnut sponge.

We have three small nursery beds into which have been sewn a variety of lettuce, cress, mustard leaf, radish and beetroot. The mustard leaf is growing rapidly under a thin protective cover as have the radishes. Meanwhile the lettuce is somewhat frail and slow however they will soon grow to be big and healthy specimens once transplanted into a larger bed.

 The colourful and rapid growing mustard leaf

My nettle beer brew was slow to ferment at first but after about three days the situation changed and the fermentation went into overdrive. The temperature of the room where I had left the brew was quite stable only dropping to a low of 16C and rising to a maximum of 19C during the week. By Sunday morning the fermentation had stopped and I racked the brew into my expensive swing top lemonade bottles priming each bottle with a teaspoon and a half of demerera sugar. I hope this does not mean I shall be picking shards of glass out of the walls in the coming days but it should guarantee a bubbly brew. Instead of tasting the beer after a few days I have decided to let it stand and clear for at least a week. 

The next entry should be interesting. By then I will know the result of my labours. I may also know where I went wrong because I should have received Mary Aylett's book on Country Winemaking by then. In particular many of the recipes and methods I have read to date use cream of tartar in the process, and I must admit I do not understand what this ingredient actually brings to the mix, or what its purpose is. Mary might help out on this point! In any event, if it tastes good all will be well for a week or two; if it does not hit the spot the slugs will die happy. Corinne has suggested that we might experiment and develop a black fly treatment for the vegtables based upon the nettles; I have of course ignored this suggestion because picking nettles to fix a few black fly is not my idea of fun when a perfectly acceptable beer can be produced from them.

The skies have been remarkably clear since a little volcanic activity commenced in Iceland on or about midnight on the 14th April. Dublin normally has a lot of planes coming a going, and passing over on transaltlantic routes. Hence, it was quite remarkable to have an unmarked skies overhead late last week with not a single vapour trail to be seen. I have heard there are quite a few people looking for clean underwear and wondering when they will make it home, but the photograph below demonstrates just how empty and beautiful the sky above Dublin's docklands was on Thursday evening.

 

The Good Life - Sunshine, stories and tea breaks

 The allotment looks bare but there is life!

It has been a fantastic weekend in Dublin. The high pressure is well established and the the high cloud has yielded an uninterupted spell of sunshine for the last two days. We have moved from Winter to Spring in a matter of two weeks and the Birch have still not even begin to bud. However, when we were doing our shopping yesterday there were a number of people leaving the stores with BBQ sets and charcoal. Corrine says "En Avril ne te decouvre pas d'un fil, en Mai fait se qu'il te plait". In other words In April you wouldn't take off a thread, but in May you can do as you please. As I was digging I felt tempted to peel off a layer or two as the temperature rose however the arrival of a chilly sea breeze quickly changed my mind. The seasonal warm weather is welcome but you have to be wary.

The rise in temperature is evident in the ground as the seeds we have planted outdoors have been germanating;  the radish, salsify, peas and various beans, lettuce and spring onion have been shooting strongly in the last week. The indoor crop is already a good handspan high except for the pumpkin and pattison which remain dormant beneath their thin duvet of clay and compost. We have also been boosting our berry garden by purchasing cambridge favourite strawberries, late producing black currants and early season red currants. All these have been purchased at Lisenhall Nurseries, which is well worth a mention, because everything we have purchased there was in excellent condition and had a very healthy root system, guaranteeing growth and fruit. This is in stark contrast to a few gooseberry cuttings my parents purchased for in a well known German cut price supermaket (begins in "L" and ends in "l"). Corinne and I planted a few asparagus crowns in the last two weeks and already there is a little evidence of growth as shoots are breaking out through the soil. The only problem is that I do not necessarily believe the shoots that are appearing are asparagus. This could spell some trouble for Corinne, the horticulturally trained half of the partnership. If I find she has planted some dodgy piece of inedible shrubbery, or worse still a flower of some sort, there will be hell to pay.

As my four litre batch of birch sap wine enters its fourth week of production, I have decided to extend my home production to nettle beer. After spending an hour and half collecting young nettle tips I had amassed just over a kilo. I thought they would be plentiful and everywhere for the taking, but the nettles were sporadic thriving in well shaded patches of the birch forest, or where new runners had spread growth rapidly to newly cleared ground. In taking some of the tips the nettle was so tender the runner would also be easily pulled from the ground.

The ever dependable radish;.they sprout quickly and make me look like I know what I am doing!

For this experimental brew I gathered just over a kilo of nettles and simmered them in a large pot with approximately 4.5 liters of water, and a dandilion root for a little bitterness, for about an hour. After leaving the nettles in their pot for a further period to stew, they were strained and I added a pound of sugar and the juice of a lemon to the chestnut coloured wash. The sugar dissolved quite easily at this stage because the wash was just over 40 celsius, however it took some time for the temperature of the liquid to drop below 30 celsius, the point at which the yeast can be added. Adding it at too high a temperature will kill the yeast. The idea is that you let the brew ferment for three or four days, or until fermentation has stopped and then bottle it with a little sugar in each bottle. Some recipes call for sugar syrup others a teaspoon of sugar. We have bought some nice French lemonade with swing top bottles to drink for the next few days, whereupon we can use these bottles to rack the fermented wash. Fingers crosssed all goes well, or else there could be a lot of scrubing and repainting in the spare room. Apparently the beer can drunk within a week but it may be best to let it rest for at least two weeks. As it is an experiment I suppose I should test it at various stages, but we shall see.

I planted potatoes with Harry on Saturday. As a retired parks man from Dublin Corporation and having learned his trade at the Botanic Gardens it was inevitable that every time he stood up to rest on his hands on top of his shovel he had a story to tell. This makes for a very pleasant way to draw breath and pace yourself through a job that was going to last for two hours as we went back and forth preparing the drills and planting potatoes. Over the last few weeks I had seen most people around us planting potatoes on their plots. They were meticulous in their digging, preparation of the drills, and laying in the potatoes. Some used pegs and lines for straightness, others measured the distance between the potatoes with tape measures and some extolled the various attributes of their favourite potato.

This is Harry (wearing hat far right) multi-tasking; listening, resting, giving advice peppered with abuse and milking the shovel.

Harry is quite layed back in this regard and we fitted our four rows into a raised bed with a minimum of fuss. On one break he stood up straight supporting his body weight yet again, possibly sniffing for tea in the air, with both hands set u[pon the top ofv his shovel. Corrine calls this stance "milking the shovel". He collecgted himself slowly and began to tell me a story of an old lady in her 90s who had once asked him for some advice on the way she had been planting her potatoes. Harry opted to answer her question with a question of his own and smiled inquiring "How long have you been doing it your way and what have the results been like?" She replied "Twenty years and the crop has always been excellent". Harry retorted "I wouldn't change a thing if I were you". We continued digging and finished the job; it was not neatest or straightest bit of planting as we guessestimated our way across the bed but Harry's wisdom and experience will always produce a good crop. He commented at one point: " I see alot of people here putting potaotes straight into the manure or dung in the bottom of their drills, but to prevent any potential burning of the seed potato you must spread a little barrier of peat compost, across the bed and then place it in the ground". And so the stories continued and the day went on: stories and tea breaks

Palermo at Easter

A view looking over the bay of Palermo from Monte Pellegrino

I have taken a break from digging in the allotment, and office work, to visit friends in Palermo. It is almost a year since I was last here and I have been taking the opportunity to visit some of my favourite; the church of San Cataldo, the cathedral at Monreale and the wonderful bread from a small wood fired bakery there, and the lively street markets of Palermo. The weather is warm and the season's fruit and vegetable production is already well underway. Different varieties of artichokes, vast mounds of fennel, the first strawberries and citrus are sold on overloaded stalls or are being sold directly from the backs of piaggio or aprilia trucks. The fish markets are notable principally for the absence of the big tuna fish. They have not arrived yet, but their arrival is imminent because boxes of beautiful sardine are plentiful. The mackerel and swordfish, which also feed on the sardine are to be found in the market. Meanwhile, messages from Dublin keep me advised of the unseasonably inclement and cold weather conditions taking hold of Ireland.

Under Roger II, Palermo was the most important port and enlightened Court in the Mediterranean, and a shining light in the Medieval age. Sicily today is rudderless and Palermo has changed in the eleven moonths since I left. Recent elections promise little or no change because the same personnel are in charge of the continued slide into the abyss. The people are unhappy in a place where poverty is no stranger. Sicily has a reported unemployment of 30%, but as with everything official here the official figures mask a critical situation in order to present a more acceptable state of affairs than the actual reality. Heavily policed protests on the streets are the visible resistance to the loss of work and pending closure of local factories. There would appear to be little hope, and even less of a future here for most people.  There is however some moderately good news in the papers this week. La Republicca in Palermo reports a hoard of silver removed from the site of Morgantina, (near Aidone in the province of Enna) during the early 1980s is to be returned to Sicily. This hoard of Hellenistic silver is currently on display in Rome having been on display and in the possession of the Metropolitan Museum, New York.

 The atmospheric and undecorated interior of the mid 12th Century Byzantine inspired church of San Cataldo, Palermo.

To escape the chaos and populace of Palermo we decided to take the train to Cefalu. The train's destination was Messina, and as such it served every village and town along the way. Consequently, the two carriages which made up our train were full of people with luggage and crates of every size and shape. We slowly exited the predictable and decaying monotonous structures of the suburbs and when the train tracks retreated from the coast our journey took us through field after field of artichokes, and brightly coloured orange groves. While most people may have had a purpose for their trip, one poorly attired old man, with a northern European appearance, broke the silence and attempted to engage in conversation with his fashionable female Sicilian neighbour. His angular and broad face with narrowed eyes had focused upon a book she had in her hand. He inquired from her what she was reading. She initially attempted to ignore him, and resisted the conversation bringing her patent leather bag closer to her chest and lowering her head a little, but their proximity and his persistence, required her to communicate, and she did so reluctantly.

"Oscar Wilde" she said, but without giving the title, or softening her withdrawn expression. The man's eyes were suddenly alight and he smiled broadly as he began to speak to her warmly and with great interest in Oscar Wilde, and his own personal favourite work, "Salome". Unfortunately the well dressed and elegant lady had never heard of "Salome", and it was only through the gesturing of his hand to his neck and referencing San Giovanni this large and energetic old man managed to relate the background of the story of "Salome".

I could see the disappointment come upon him as she clearly did not know much about Oscar Wilde or "Salome", and once again he adopted a vacant and distant expression. After a few minutes he began checking through his meager belongings in search of something, and eventually drew out a leaflet on Oscar Wilde. She again resisted his overtures but relinquished once again and in doing so he proudly presented her with his valued leaflet. She looked at it, and accepting it she then read it with great interest. She smiled looking at him for the first time and inquired if she could keep the leaflet and the old man gestured to her generously and smiled. Oscar Wilde may have mused on such an encounter and possibly remarked: " There are two types of people that are really fascinating: people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing."

The mid 12th Century Byzantine mosaics at Cefalu commissioned by Roger II

Cefalu is a small coastal town with a little harbour and long beach which stretches practically to the next headland. There is something quite special about this place; the intensity of the suns light is reflected from the azure blue sea onto the patchwork of buildings that line promontory and the sandy shore next to the harbour. We had a lunch which consisted of an octopus salad and grilled swordfish before visiting the Norman cathedral or duomo. The entire cathedral is not decorated with Byzantine mosaic like the one at Monreale. Instead the golden mosaics are confined to the apsidal end of the church and in the vaulting above the altar.

Sprightly mountain goats made their way about the mountain more naturally than the day trippers

To the west of Cefalu there is a mountain which overlooks the quaint terracotta roofs of the town. Getting to the top requires some effort, and we were justly rewarded with not only vast panoramic views to the west along the coast, and to the north towards Ustica and the Lipari islands, but also the cooling breeze that passed over the mountain itself. 

Throughout the Mediterranean the week before Easter, or Settimana Santa, is celebrated with processions along the streets of parishes, and quarters of most cities. For many years I spent Easter in Palma, but this year in Palermo I had an opportunity to witness the Sicilian celebration of Holy Week, and in particular the processions which took place in the city on Good Friday. Where the Spanish are robed in full gowns with pointed hats and veils, the Sicilians carried statues of the dead Jesus and Virgin Mary on large biers wearing impeccably tailoured black suits, with white shirts and black ties. Many of the concelebrants completed their ensemble with gold embroidered velvet gillet smocks over their well tailoured suits. Preceding the biers was an escort of Roman soldiers and women holding the instruments of passion. Shrill brass bands brought up the rear, with a wind section principally made up of clarinets, and a percussion section of deep drums and cymbals. They played somber, but uniquely Sicilian (to my limited ear), religious marching compositions.

 A view of the congregation in front of Chiesa di Santa Caterina

We followed one procession for almost an hour as it slowly made its way from Corso Vittorio Emanuele to Piazza Bellini. The procession moved very slowly as the biers were raised and moved along for only a few meters before being lowered again. A man with a large black castanet signaled the raising and lowering of the biers. The well dressed elder gentlemen of the group marshaled the procession from the front and the rear. While the procession is as a religious one, these individuals take a notable and public role. The procession halted at Piazza Bellini and a female soprano sang two hymns from the steps of Chiesa di Santa Caterina which overlooked the gathering congregation. It must be said that she did so without being accompanied by the brass band who were improving as they went along. We parted company with the procession as it left Piazza Bellini and meandered its way deeper into the narrow streets of the city.

We have eaten on board in the port of Palermo most days enjoying the wonderfully fresh vegetables and fish which are available in the market. Moritz and Caryn have extended their Italian repetoire by including simple dishes such as spagetti a la norma and spagetti a la Romana. They have also managed to obtain recipes from friends. One in particular, Mama Paladino, has been a positive influence in the development of the menu of dishes served on board, offering invaluable instruction and guidence while sharing her vast knowledge. I will close out my adventure through Palermo's Holy Week with her very own recipe for Lasagne.

Quantities are not necessarily exactly defined in this oral tradition of passing on recipes. The following recipe may require some element of code breaking, deciphering and tinkering to achieve her high standards, however she regulates her own true D.O.P. Lasagne being composed of 2 or 3 onions finely chopped; 2 big carrots chopped, and two handfuls of celery finely chopped. 4 tablespoons of tomato paste (estratto di pomodori) and a tin of tomato concentrate (with no liquid). The other principal ingredients are 1 kg minced meat, olive oil, salt, pepper and sugar.Cook the onion, celery and carrots in the olive oil before adding the meat. While the meat is cooking dissolve the tomato paste in a little water and add this along with the tomato concetrate and 750mls of water to the pot with the meat and cooked vegetables. At this point you should add 2 tablespoons of sugar together with your salt and pepper and leave the lot to cook for an hour.

The bechemel sauce used by Mama Paladino is made up of 1 liter of milk, 1 cup of flour, salt and 4 tablespoons of butter. It must be pointed out that she adds grated parmasan cheese to her sauce; the exact quantity of which is a secret but linked to the consistency I believe.

Line a bowl with lasagne pasta before adding a thin layer of meat sauce. Then sprinkle with a layer of parmasan cheese before putting on another layer of lasagne pasta. Keep on repeating the process ending with meat sauce on top which should be covered with a bechemel sauce followed by another layer of pasta lasagne. This final layer of pasta is covered with bechemel sauce, a generous amount of grated parmasan cheese and dotted with knobs of butter. Once construction has been completed, it can be cooked for 30 minutes at 200C. Ciao Regazzi!

A box of octopus being sold at a street stall in Mondello