Sage

Beautiful Tricolor Sage.

My tenth and last Globe & Mail Kitchen Gardening article for the 2010 growing season is set to be published this coming Saturday. It is on growing and eating cardoons, an Italian delicacy that I experimented with this year.

Until then, here’s a timely piece that was published in the Saturday paper on August 27, 2010. Even though the hardy garden sage begins producing leaves very early in the growing season, I most associate its warm aroma with the fall. Sage and squash is a classic combination. I suggest steeping some in oil to drizzle on top of warm squash soup or mash. Bloody good stuff.

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Warm and pungent, common garden sage is a classic culinary herb most associated with the flavours of the fall harvest – and now is a great time to plant it. Get yourself a year-old transplant on discount at an end-of-season sale and you should have a small bounty just in time to add to Thanksgiving stuffing, steep in lightly warmed olive oil or drizzle on top of a hearty squash soup.

The sage family is huge, but only a few are edible and even fewer still are cold-hardy enough to survive winter across most of Canada. Like other Mediterranean herbs, they like a sunny spot in the garden and prefer poor, dry soil that drains freely. Keeping their “feet” or roots from stagnating in moist soil is the secret to keeping them alive year-round, especially in climates considered slightly out of their zone. Another trick is to plant sage in the shelter of a warm wall, where it will have the greatest chance of survival.

Whatever you do, resist the urge to fertilize at planting time – or at any time for that matter. Culinary sages grown in rich soil tend to lose their spicy edge and can turn out rather bland leaves that are too “soft” and pest-prone. Otherwise they’re a pretty foolproof plant. My biggest hurdle each year is a mid-summer bout of a fungal disease called powdery mildew that is caused by high humidity around the leaves. Well-draining soil will go a long way to prevention, but, since you can’t control the weather, try plucking out excess foliage (and eating it, too) to increase airflow.

The most common variety (Salvia officinalis) is also the toughest of the bunch. Don’t prune it now. Wait until early spring and cut into the green growth only – never go into the woody stems. At its worst, hard pruning can kill the plant or at least prevent it from flowering – and the edible, slightly sweet flowers are one of the best reasons for growing your own. Toss a few into a spring salad or chop them up and infuse into softened butter or vinegar.

Beyond the common type, the remaining culinary sages won’t live past a year in most Canadian gardens, but are still well worth growing for their unique foliage and varied flavours. ‘Berggarten‘ tastes a lot like common sage but is much prettier, with very broad, oval leaves and a low, densely compact growth habit. ‘Purpurascens,’ ‘Tricolor‘ and ‘Golden’ a.k.a. ‘Aurea’ are the best choice for containers, as they stay compact and adapt well to cramped quarters. In fact, you can even bring one indoors to overwinter on a sunny windowsill for fresh sage year-round.

For something even more unusual, try growing a tropical sage such as ‘Pineapple’ (Salvia elegans) or ‘Fruit’ sage (Salvia dorsiana). Both grow edible, sticky leaves and bold flowers with a fruity, sweet taste that is most often used to make tea or garnish desserts. I’m currently hot on Autumn sage (Salvia greggii), a southwestern salvia that produces delectable, nectar-filled flowers in a wide range of interesting colours from subtle peach to hot pink and the deepest, darkest burgundy. I find the highly aromatic leaves are too bitter to eat, but so delicious to run your hands over on a grey winter day when you can use a boost in spirit and a reminder of the spring to come.

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Morelle de Balbis Fruit

It’s mid-September (let’s pretend I did not say that out loud), and the glorious Morelle de Balbis plant is bearing ripe fruit. This process began a few weeks ago but I withheld my judgement until several were ready for picking.

I’ve had several opportunities to try them now and can report that the taste is, in a word, insipid. I read several descriptions shortly after purchasing the seeds and the fruit I am picking from our yardshare garden does not meet some of the more flattering accounts. They do have a slight citrus note, but watermelon and cherries… Please. Either my palette is unrefined or others’ are overambitious. Mind you I am basing my entire assessment on a single plant grown in a rather wet year, but still.

The texture of the fruit is very similar to a tomatillo or ground cherry. I suspect that cooking might be in order for the remaining harvest. If I can manage to harvest it all. Those spikes are deadly. Like a tomatillo, the husks pull back from the soft part of the fruit as they mature. This leaves a little bit of room to manage them but not much. Davin was unable to pick even one the other day without spearing his fingers on those spines. He claims they are poisoned in some way and that the ensuing welt was bigger and more painful than it should have been for a spine of that size. This is one crop I’d happily leave to the critters, but I doubt they’ll be bothered when there are still so many passive foodstuffs left to steal.

So let’s tally up the score. Litchi tomato is a hostile and belligerent plant that threatens personal injury at every turn and produces tasteless fruit that is damned near impossible to harvest.

Will I grow it again? YES!

Regardless of the outcome I’m glad I tried this plant and will definitely grow it again, especially when I’ve got more space. The flowers are gorgeous and have attracted an abundance of pollinators to the garden. Watching it’s progress has been a delightful experiment and a good start to my explorations in Solanum Family oddities. In the future I will grow it for show only without the expectation of a useful food crop at the end of the season.

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Medusa Head

I bought this Euphorbia a few months ago at the local Cactus and Succulent Society show and sale. It’s called a Medusa Head (Euphorbia flanaganii). I knew I had to have one when I saw my friend Barry’s potted up in an old clay mortar (he drilled a hole in the bottom for drainage).

It’s the sort of plant you can only picture as a houseplant. It seems too weird to come from nature, and yet it does… Somewhere in South Africa these are growing wild.

I would love to see that landscape. Wouldn’t you?

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My Sinningia is Blooming!

Inspired by a tour of Erika’s unusual houseplants, I bought myself a Sinningia. I purchased it for 2 bucks at the spring Toronto African Violet Society sale, which happened to be taking place at the Toronto Botanical Gardens at the same time as the Ontario Rock Garden Society annual sale, which I was helping out with. This is all by chance, as I am not a member of either group.

But I digress (again). The Sinningia I bought is called ‘Kevin Garnett’. At the time, I had no idea what I was getting, nor a choice for that matter — I was just happy to find one at all, and so cheaply, too. Given a choice, I would have selected a plant that produces a much simpler, red flower. Regardless, I’m happy with this one, despite the fact that it’s not really to my taste. The novelty of keeping it alive and making it bloom hasn’t worn out yet.

At home, I repotted the plant up in a little terracotta pot and placed it alongside my other African Violet Family plants. I used African Violet soil and planted it shallow, exposing the caudex like Erika’s. Mine did not come that way, but I prefer the look.

It is still early days in my Sinningia growing experience and I am not well-read on the subject. To be honest, I’m kind of winging it, going on instinct more than anything else. Whether or not exposing the caudex is good or bad for the plant is beyond me; however, months later and ta-da, my plant is blooming. I must be doing something right.

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Buried in Bounty


Blackberries and greenberries aka Morelle verte (Solanum opacum)

The harvest is so bountiful this year. It’s no surprise really, considering the weather we’ve had. Dry and hot, then wet, followed again by heat. The plants love it. I collected enough herbs from our community garden plot yesterday to cover the kitchen floor. Literally. I then spent hours preparing it all to preserve by varying methods. Let’s just say, we’re not going to be short on herbs this winter.

If you’re looking for a way to use up some of those baseball bat-sized zucchinis, I highly recommend this zucchini bread recipe from Heidi of 101 Cookbooks. It is a revelation. We’ve made it several times, altering the optional ingredients, and it comes out perfect and incredibly delicious every single time. I will never use another zucchini bread recipe again. Go make some now. You will not regret it.

I made this last batch using a giant roll of cinnamon I brought back from Dominica. Look at the size of it against a typical supermarket piece! In fact, the small, locally purchased piece is probably not cinnamon, but cassia, a cinnamon substitute more commonly found in North American supermarkets. Grinding that big piece of cinnamon was very satisfying, the smell so wonderfully sweet and aromatic. I love that every time I use this spice — which judging by the size of it will be for a very long time — I will be taken back to our trip.

What are you making with your bounty?

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