The Dirt on Soil

I’ve been down for the count these past few days with some sort of epic plague. My brain is slow and foggy so now is the perfect time to republish a few of my Globe and Mail Kitchen Gardening articles.

This one on good soil for your vegetable garden is the perfect companion to my recent HGTV article on reusing container soil. Speaking of… I have a new article up on HGTV that answers the ever popular question, “Are there any edibles that I can grow in the shade?”

Happy Gardening!

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Originally published in the Globe and Mail on May. 23, 2009.

The subject of garden soil is conversational codeine to most people. Yet refer to that brown stuff as “dirt” in the wrong company and be prepared to have some thrown in your face.

It’s soil, you moron, not dirt!” an obviously superior gardener recently informed me. “Only idiots like you call it dirt.

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Growing and Eating Cardoon

My final Globe and Mail article for the 2010 growing season was on growing and eating cardoon. Cardoon is lesser-known relative of the artichoke that is considered a delicacy in Mediterranean cuisine. Like artichokes it grows into a stately and somewhat dangerous thistle-like plant, but unlike artichokes you eat the stems, not the flower buds. It tastes a lot like artichoke, too.

Back in the spring, I started a few cardoon plants from seed, eventually growing one in my community garden plot and the other at my friend Barry’s.

His spot was ideal, whereas mine fell a bit short. My cardoon grew well enough, but stayed small. The plant at Barry’s got just want it needed and then some. It was really sunny, warm, protected, and in soil that was well watered but very free-draining. Mine was in rich soil with lots of organic matter, but watering was inconsistent (we ran out of water at the garden for a time), and the only spot I could afford was a bit cramped with a taller, more robust plant that shaded out the young cardoon a bit too much.

Last weekend we finally went to Barry’s to harvest the cardoon. It turned out to be the biggest I have ever seen. The yield from one plant was a lot more than I’ve seen in stores or purchased myself. We actually got enough out of it to make 2 batches of cardoon gratin (see recipe below), whereas a typical stalk yields only one.

Many cardoon growers say that going to the trouble of blanching the stems is unnecessary, but now that I have done it, I disagree. For such a large and fibrous plant the stalks we blanched were tender and delicious. I didn’t have to overcook them the way I’ve had to with some of the bunches I have purchased in the past.

I stick by my original assessment. Cardoon is a bit of a pain, and an absolute nightmare to prepare and cook, but it is a stunning plant and a delectable, but acquired taste. What can I say? Some of the best things in life don’t come easy.
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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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It’s About Thyme

I’m way behind on posting past articles from my Globe & Mail column. This profile of thyme was published on July 19, 2010. I thought I’d go with it first since the article set to be published this coming Saturday is a profile of another favourite garden herb: sage.

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Most of the country, including Toronto, has just now survived a heat wave. It was hot, especially out on the roof garden, my little piece of heaven turned to hell by the scorching sun. It was only inhabitable after dark – we spent the week offering emergency critical plant care by flashlight.

In that heat, some containers required watering three times per day! The lettuces, violas (miraculously still alive), and even typically resilient basil and tomatoes growing in larger pots put up a fuss of dramatic fainting, fretting, and impromptu wilting when the heat was at its worst. My once lush and healthy lemon tree mysteriously dropped all of its leaves on one side. But trusty, tough-as-nails thyme never once complained. I simply shifted a few pots into slightly less intense sun and it was business as usual.

For a tiny plant, thyme has got it all – looks, an easy going nature, a deliciously warm aroma, a pungent, complicated flavour, and it makes an impact in a cramped space. It is one of only a few edibles that can survive a full growing season in the 4” transplant pot it came home in. In fact, thyme will grow just about anywhere and in anything. In the wild, thyme grows among rocks in very free-draining and poor, often sandy soil.

It’s a very hardy plant that can survive a cold zone 4 winter, as long as the soil is not dense or soggy. I inexplicably lost several plants in my community garden’s premium soil, until I finally hit on the key – thyme simply will not tolerant life in wet soil through a wet winter. This plant doesn’t do nutrient rich, gorgeous soil well. To keep it alive, add lots of rock, sand or grit to increase your soil drainage in-ground. I recently visited a garden filled with happy thyme, all grown directly on top of driveway gravel!

Soil drainage is generally easier to achieve in pots. Most thyme varieties will adapt to pots too small or difficult for anything but cacti and succulents as long as there are lots of holes for water to flow straight out. Potted plants won’t survive outside year-round throughout most parts of Canada but a little pot in a sunny window can provide some fresh greenery here and there until it is warm enough to go back out in the early spring. Otherwise it is new transplants each year. Don’t bother growing from seed unless you intend to grow a lot of any one variety.

Speaking of variety, thyme is an incredibly versatile herb and far beyond the woody and pungent common type (Thymus vulgaris) available at most grocery stores. I’ve got about 12 varieties in a surprising breadth of flavours, smells, colours, and growth forms growing on my roof right now, yet my collection if far from complete.

Next to the common English thyme, deliciously fragrant lemon and lime citrus types (Thymus x citrodorus) are probably most popular and widely available in garden shops and corner markets. There are several varieties that qualify in this category – they come in shades of green, gold, variegated gold ‘Aureus’, and variegated silver ‘Silver Lemon Queen’. ‘Doone Valley’ is very low growing, with round, green leaves spattered with pale gold and cream. ‘Orange Balsam’ and ‘Orange Spice’ have a sweet and spicy orange peel smell and pointy leaves that strike me as a bit conifer-like.

Next up are the creepers: Mother-of-thyme (Thymus serphyllum), Thymus ‘Coccineus’, and woolly thyme (Thymus psuedolanuginosus). They aren’t particularly edible, but they make an aromatic, drought tolerant lawn alternative that you can actually walk on. There are also very diminutive types that form a soft, plush carpet over and between cracks in cement and stone walls. If you’re going to go this route, be sure to grow several varieties together so that you have different textures, smells, and flower colours in bloom together and at varying intervals.

The most compelling are the mimics; thyme plants that smell convincingly like other herbs. I’m currently growing ‘Lavender’, ‘Nutmeg’, ‘Oregano’, ‘Caraway’ (Thymus herba-barona), and ‘Rose Petal’. While I am still finding culinary uses for some of the more unusual flavours, I’ve found that all types seem to pair well with onions. Roast a couple of summer onions in the oven along with thyme leaves and stems, and a splash of olive oil. Don’t forget to dry a few sprigs at the season’s end so you can enjoy this warming dish through the winter.

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Canning Tomatoes: 3 Recipes

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

This article and the accompanying recipes originally appeared in print in the Globe & Mail on September 5, 2009. I thought I’d repost it here today since the season is so ahead this year and my large, indeterminate tomato plants are on the verge of a first round of ripening. CAN NOT WAIT! If you’re in a warmer climate, you’re probably enjoying them already and wondering how to use up the extras that are quickly rotting in a bowl and breeding fruit flies on your kitchen counter.

Perhaps that was not the image I should have left you with. Now I am obsessing about my own bowl of small tomatoes and the fruit fly colony I am potentially raising as I write this.

[At which point I did get up to go inspect my bowl of fruit that was in fact housing one rotting tomato and a few fruit flies.]

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

The article below includes some brief canning instruction and three recipes: Gayla’s definitive green tomato chutney, Superior heirloom tomatoes, and Old-fashioned tomato ketchup.

If you’re itching to dive in further, I’ve included more detailed instructions in my book Grow Great Grub: Organic Food From Small Spaces, along with a few extra recipes.

The Ball and Bernardin (in Canada) books are highly regarded as the most popular tomes, but I have to admit that I find them a bit dull and have never made a single recipe from these books. I personally recommend Well-Preserved by Eugenia Bone. Her writing is conversational and entertaining, and is written from the perspective of a New York apartment dweller with real-world ingredients and realistic, small-batch quantities. I do not have a copy nor have I read it, but someone brought a copy of Canning & Preserving with Ashley English to my spring canning class and on a quick flip-through it looked very thorough, inviting and engaging.

I’m practically writing another article here, but since I’m on the subject, there are three contemporary British canning books that I would also highly recommend: Jellies, Jams & Chutneys, Preserves (This is the copy I have but it is listing at $206!!), and Fruits of the Earth The recipes are a bit more unusual than the stuff I have found in American books, using ingredients and combinations I had never thought to try.

Enjoy!

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