After the lettuce has bolted

One advantage of living in a place that is rarely hot and dry for any length of time is that green leafy crops stand well in the ground. I am still finishing off the first sowing of lettuces made back in early April. Conventional gardening wisdom is to sow a few seeds every couple of weeks, but I find that three (or at most four) outdoor sowings of saladings is usually sufficient for the whole season. And that applied even when there were two of us here to eat them.

But even under my cool, damp conditions they do eventually bolt. My chickens don't appear very interested in them, and I am a little reluctant to give the pigs too much lettuce. I am sure they would happily demolish the lot, but I am not sure the effect it would have on their, admittedly none-too-delicate, digestions while they are still quite young. It is certainly a waste to throw it straight onto the compost heap. So what to do?

Lettuce is not an obvious ingredient for hot dishes, with one or two notable exceptions. I sometimes use a few chopped leaves if I am short of green stuff for noodle soup, and braised peas and lettuce is a lovely way to make use of peas that escaped being picked while young and tender and have turned a little mealy.

Sadly there is no excess of peas, either fresh or mealy, in my garden this year. I have made several sowings - both directly into the ground and in lengths of guttering indoors - using older and freshly-bought seed. In return I have had about half a dozen pea plants. A complete disaster that I am at a loss to explain.

There were some shop-bought peas in the freezer, however, which gave me the idea of making a soupy version of the braised lettuce. I simply softened a couple of chopped shallots in a little butter (and I think it does have to be butter here, rather than oil), and threw in a couple of handfuls of frozen peas, the washed and shredded lettuce and a nice sprig of mint. I then waited for the mountain of lettuce to subside a little before pouring in some vegetable stock (in this case the liquid saved from cooking chick peas, which makes a very serviceable and savoury stock). This was simply simmered for ten minutes or so, seasoned and then attacked with the hand blender until smooth.

I was very pleased with the result. The slight bitterness from the lettuce contrasts beautifully with the sweetness of the peas, while the hint of mint gives the whole soup a satisfying depth of flavour. I did think of adding a little cream, but in the end didn't think it needed it.

All in all a happy end for something that originally looked destined for the compost heap!

Rhiwbob

Rhiwbob is the Welsh spelling of rhubarb. It is pronounced rhee-you-bob and is a word that always makes me smile when I see it.

This weekend I harvested the last few sticks I wanted from the plants. A few sticks were chopped up and frozen as is for making crumbles later on in the year, but most of it was rendered down in the oven with some sugar and crystallised ginger. This I use as a topping for my breakfast oats. It has been a good year so, with any luck, the tubs of frozen rhubarb will last me until the apples come on stream.

I have no idea what variety of rhubarb it is. All I know is that it is robust, flavoursome and prolific. Very prolific!

R was given the original roots by a work colleague. Chris and his family had a 10-acre farm near the coast, and it was a place we loved to visit whenever we could. I think it was there that R realised that smallholding was something ordinary people like us could do, and I often wonder if we would have found our way to Wales and our little place on the hill if it hadn't been for those visits.

The resulting rhubarb plants certainly love it here, helped along with a generous helping of well-rotted stable manure every winter. The received wisdom about growing rhubarb is that you shouldn't let it flower, as that will weaken the plants. I think that is nonsense. I have been letting these plants go to flower and then seed every year for seven years. The massive flower spikes are so dramatic and exotic-looking that I always look forward to them in the Spring. I have certainly not noticed any fall-off in stalk production, fortified as the plants are with their generous top-dressing of manure.

As the oven was on already for stewing most of the stalks, I decided to make a batch of my favourite rhubarb and walnut muffins. Made with wholemeal flour, freshly-laid egg, rhubarb and nuts, these delightfully moist and sticky buns feel almost healthy. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how to make muffins, but the recipe I use is similar to this one by Nigella, although I use about half the quantity of rhubarb, don't use cinnamon and do add chopped walnut pieces.

They also freeze and defrost beautifully, so I don't have to worry about eating up a dozen muffins in the next 24 hours!