Brrr - chilly

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15194426.post-1162749304672782962006-11-05T17:41:00.000Z2006-11-05T20:46:31.366ZBrrr - chilly<div style="text-align: justify;">I was enjoying a quick cup of tea before work on Thursday morning when my eye happened to catch the tomatoes out on the patio. Given the season, they hadn't been doing well recently. However, something much more dramatic had clearly happened overnight: The tomatoes had thrown in the towel, called it a year and died. I opened the patio door - brrr - and peered out. Yes, I could see my breath. Yes, there was ice over the tray of water on the patio. Yes, the lawn was white. Yes, it had frosted overnight. No, I hadn't harvested all of the tender vegetables yet. I couldn't do anything about it on a work day, so the veg. had to endure another two nights of frost. Yesterday morning I was up good and early, equipment in hand to mount a rescue mission. The allotment was an apocalyptic vision of vegetable carnage. Those that were supposed to have lived - the kale, the sprouts - had lived. Those of a nervous disposition had died. The sweet potato vines were mush, the yacon a few blackened stalks and the Jerusalem artichokes stripped woody stems. Luckily, things weren't as bad as they first appeared. Digging into the ground, the frosts hadn't gone that deep. The tender root crops had survived. If, by some miracle of poor judgement, this blog has a regular reader, they'll know that I've been trying out some unusual vegetables from Simon Hickmott's book of the same name. They all came out of it, thus: Sweet potato - Beauregard "improved" (Thompson and Morgan) A bit of a cheat this one. It's in the book, so I can count it, even though this is the third year I've grown sweet potatoes. Once again, they were a success. Interestingly, the tubers grew much closer to the stem than normal, making them much easier to harvest. This might be something to do with the weather this year, but I suspect the fact that I had them growing in a bucketful of home made compost in otherwise awful thick orange clay had something to do with it. I can imagine the roots venturing to the edge of the compost and saying "oh no! not for me" in a comedy mincing voice, before retreating to safety. Of the two varieties of sweet potato that are on offer here in the UK, Beauregard tastes the best, seems to be the most pest resistant, seems to be joint first for yield, stores the best and produces the most consistent and usable sized tubers. To be honest, I can't think of any benefits of the alternative, T56. <a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/beauregard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/beauregard.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> Sweet potato - T56 (T&M, OGC) The poor relation of Beauregard, but the only way I could get my hands on the latter this year, given my home slipping attempts had failed, was to buy ten of these and get five Beauregard free. T56 is better than nothing, but the taste isn't spectacular and you do end up with a hotch-potch of finger sized tubers and rugby balls. On the plus side, I gave a few slips away to some friends - sweet potato growing virgins - earlier in the year and they both succeeded in growing a crop. Maybe they'll get into the habit. (Actually, that makes me sound like some sort of sweet potato slip dealer.) <a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/t56.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/t56.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I've made good and sure that I get my own Beauregard plants next year by taking some very early cuttings from this year's plants. <a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/beauregard_slips.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/beauregard_slips.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Oca (Edulis and Unusual Herbs and Edibles) The oca started well, but got knocked back by the dry July. They were in a bed with ulloco (more of which below) and leek seedlings, so there was no real ground cover. The soil yawned wide gaps as the month got drier, and the oca wilted. Nonetheless, they bounced back with aplomb in August. The Allotmentboss's boss made a comment about the yield per unit area when compared to potatoes. I made an ill formed and ill informed reply about promoting diversity rather than monoculture. The yield isn't great, but it's not bad either. Overall, I'd say oca is a bit of a winner. The leaves are like a pleasantly sharp version of sorrel and can be eaten in abundance. The tubers are crispy, but with a lot of moisture. They smell and taste a little of rhubarb crumble, again with the oxalic acid taste of sorrel. Oca is also a pretty plant, with its small hairy leaves and pink stems.<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/oca.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/oca.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Ulloco (Graines Baumaux) These plants never really got going. I think I ordered them too late to give them any real chance of growing in the short English season, and the drought in July knocked them so hard they never recovered. As a consequence the yield was, well, ... one that placed a considerable demand on the zoom function of my camera. <a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/ulloco.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/ulloco.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I'm not sure how much I like them. I seem to remember Simon Hickmott describing them as having a mucilaginous texture (too lazy to go downstairs to check). If he means that they have no real taste but leave your mouth feeling slimy and clammy, I agree. American ground nut (Edulis) I've decided not to harvest these this year. They grew pretty well, but I think my chances of getting a decent crop will be improved if I leave them to spread about a bit. Chinese Yam (Edulis) Likewise, these are supposed to take three or four years to reach a decent size. Yacon (Edulis) The yacon had a poor start. I'm not sure I was the best parent to it. Four out of the five tubers I was sent rotted. The remaining one grew very slowly. In fact, it only really got going in mid June. Once it did get going it was great, but it was a little too late to be spectacular. The book talks about a giant amongst vegetables. My yacon grew to about three feet high. It was very stately, though, with large arching leaves. Moreover, it produced a modest crop of tubers. The tubers taste pretty good, sort of nutty and sweet. If you think in terms of a dessert version of a Jerusalem artichoke, you're along the right lines. I'll be growing yacon again; it tastes good and the plant is attractive. I've taken nine root tubers for next year. <a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/1600/yacon.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8187/1398/320/yacon.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div>AllotmentBosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13308700625074489682noreply@blogger.com