Since the weather has gotten cold I’ve pretty much given up on my remaining outdoor vegetables. The tomato vines have wilted, I pulled out the runner beans, and the last few zucchini are melting into the ground. The tomatillo plants continued to fruit despite everything, although I was feeling a bit burned out on actually eating them. I decided to pick all the remaining fruits a few weeks ago and keep them in a bowl on the counter, just for decor. I adore the texture of these tomatillos, and the mix of jewel tones as some turn purple and others remain brilliant green.

Yesterday I finally threw them into the compost, but took one last picture in the soft afternoon light. I had just finished weaving a teal wool scarf for the upcoming Rexville art show, so I used that as a color backdrop for the tomatillos. I like the resulting contrast.

I will always make room in my garden for herbs.

Also garlic, and spring bulbs, and maple trees, and iris (my garden is pretty full of stuff)…but if I could only grow a few plants, they would almost certainly be herbs. Pretty, hardy, easy to grow, and edible – what more could you ask from a plant? Not to mention how much a pack of fresh herbs costs at the grocery store. It’s cheaper to grow them yourself, and you know they’re fresh when you picked out of the back garden just a few minutes before dinner.

Here’s what’s currently growing in my garden:

I’ve always grown sage. My main sage bush came from a clump in my mother’s garden in Eastern Washington, unceremoniously dug out with a shovel and plopped into my first real garden over ten years ago. It gets straggly, but I simply cut it back hard and back it comes. I have several more sage plants, including a culinary sage in a pot on the deck, a large leaf sage mostly for ornament in the front yard, and a few purple sages for color. I hardly ever have dried sage on hand in the kitchen, because I can always go outside and pick some fresh, even in the snow.

I was so thrilled when I realized the Western Washington climate allowed me to grow bay laurel. I’m not sure I’d ever had sweet bay before, just the slightly toxic and harsh California bay sold in grocery stores. I adore fresh bay leaves, and use them in soups, braises, curries and roasts. A leaf in a simmering bechamel sauce gives it a great earthy scent. Going out to the patio in my bathrobe to pick a few leaves is a wonderful thing. My tree was enormous a few years ago, pushing up through the decking, but then a hard winter took it down and it’s currently reinventing itself with a forest of suckers. Sometimes when it needs pruning I’ll take a branch inside, so I’ll have dry leaves for blending into curry powders and sausage.

Rosemary is an absolute must. It grows like a weed in this climate, apart from the occasional hard frost, and I wouldn’t want to do without it. Our house came with an enormous Tuscan Blue plant established in the backyard, and I have to dissuade it from taking over the garden by whacking off several feet of new growth every spring. I also have an “Arp” in the front, in a difficult dry sunny spot. It’s blooming its little head off this year.

Fresh thyme is a wonderful thing. I have different varieties of thyme all over my garden, especially out in that difficult area by the sidewalk- lemon, lime, and Doone Valley – but I always make sure to have a pot or clump of regular culinary thyme. It’s not as tidy a grower as some, but a branch or two in a pot of beans provides a flavor nothing else can match. And when it blooms it’s always covered in bees.

I love chives. I currently have two clumps, but I hope to work up to several more. The season for snipping fresh chives is fairly short, so I tend to look for excuses to use it in the early spring before the tender sprigs toughen up. Scallion-chive breads are an absolute necessity, and anything involving cream cheese, goat cheese or eggs (not to mention crab risotto). When the flowers bloom, petals can be included in the snips. I have trouble keeping crabgrass from growing up into my chives, so whenever I bring some into the house I make sure to sort through it and pull out the flat blades. I really need to do a better job of weeding.

Parsley is a tender herb that I try not to be without. Every spring I buy a six-pack of starts and plant them out on the deck, which usually keeps me in tabouli all summer. It’s easy to grow and bug-free. I usually get Italian flat-leaf, but I have one plant of curly parsley that’s been hogging a container since last year.

Spearmint is very important! I don’t dare plant mint in the ground, as it would probably join forces with the buttercup and bindweed and take over the neighborhood, but I always keep a pot of it going, sometimes two or three. Fresh spearmint (not peppermint, mind you) is indispensible for mint juleps, mojitos, and our favorite lamb noodles with yogurt. We go through a lot of it.

Cilantro is an herb that I love, but seldom grow. This year I have a few starts tossed into pots alongside leafy greens and flowers – not enough for cooking, but it should provide the occasional garnish over the summer. Back when I had a full-sun garden I grew vast amounts of cilantro from seed, which was wonderful.

And then there’s fennel. When we lived near the sea bluffs in California, I would walk through the fields of wild fennel and inhale the fragrance of it. When I began gardening, I discovered the existence of bronze-leafed fennel, bought a plant, and now have an inexhaustible supply, as it’s an enthusiastic self-seeder. When the plants are allowed to establish, they get to be six feet tall and over a foot across at the base, and the only care they require is pruning out the old stalks in the early spring.

Note that this is a different variety than Florence, or bulb, fennel – there’s no bulbous root here to eat – but the leaves and seeds are edible. I sometimes harvest the seeds, but mostly I leave them for the adorable tiny birds that come through every winter and cling to the branches.

I may as well mention lemon balm, or melissa, as I will probably never be rid of it. This also came from my mother’s garden, planted by me with the thought of repelling mosquitoes and maybe flavoring iced tea. In truth, I’ve seen loads of mosquitoes around the plant, and rubbing it on skin has no effect at all except to make yourself smell like a citronella candle. The leaves are pretty enough and the scent is bright and lemony (although a bit reminiscent of furniture polish), but it spreads quickly, is hard to dig out and needs to be pruned to the ground twice a year to keep it tidy. I’ve found clumps of it coming up in remote parts of the garden, presumably transmitted through compost. Or magic. I may have put a leaf in a glass of tea once. Perhaps.

I’ve just added oregano and tarragon this year. I had an oregano plant for a while, but it got eaten by the sage bush. I recently planted a healthy start in a pot on the deck where it should get plenty of sun, and I just made a batch of chimichurri with it. The hailstorm we had last week knocked it pretty flat, but it looks vigorous enough to rebound. Tarragon is something I’ve never grown, and I hear it’s finicky and delicate. I love the occasional tarragon-scented sauce for fish, though, so I’m hopeful. It will probably go in a container as well – it’s currently in one of those plantable peat pots.

What herbs are you growing this season?

Spring has officially sprung! We’ve had some frost on the ground this past week (a rarity this winter), but the days have been mostly sunny and the breezes blow eddies of cherry petals around the streets. Daffodils are in full bloom and the tulips are already beginning to blaze away in pots, borders and farm fields. My garden is beginning to come to life, which makes my fingers itch to get out and weed and plant and take pictures.

When spring is beginning to get into your bones, what better cocktail to enjoy than the Spring Feeling? Pale green, tart and very refreshing, this is one of my favorite pick-me-ups. If you have a warm sunny spot in your house, preferably with a view of the garden, this is the drink to take with you. Before or after you get that weeding done.

Spring Feeling

• 1 Tbsp lemon juice
• ½ oz green Chartreuse
• 1 oz gin

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Needs no garnish, but a lemon or lime twist is nice.

At this point in the season, the rhubarb plants have peaked, attempted to bloom their heads off (and been thwarted by my Felcos), and are beginning to settle back into merely being a large green presence in the yard without actually attempting to overrun or squash anything. We’ve had rhubarb crisp, clafoutis, pie, compote, and muffins, and stowed away a large freezer bag of chopped stalks for later.

Despite all that, I’m nowhere near rhubarb burnout, and there are several recipes left that I want to try – for instance, I’ve still never roasted rhubarb. Or poached it in red wine. I have, however, braised it with green herbs, onion, tomato and saffron. Sound weird? It’s actually really, really good.

I found this recipe quite by accident, several years ago, in a library book called Silk Road Cooking (come to think of it, I should check it out again). Out of curiosity I tried it out, and liked it so much I immediately wrote it into my personal recipe notebook. My parents have made it several times, too. It’s piquant and savory and a great way to use up rhubarb. This is a perfect time of year to make it, too, when all the green herbs are hitting their stride.

The book attributes this dish to Kurdish nomads, living in the mountains where rhubarb grows wild. The smell as it cooks is very much like the Afghan soup called ash, redolent with dill and turmeric. There’s just a hint of heat, depending on what kind of chile you add.

The recipe is very specific about what herbs to use, but I would feel free to make substitutions or change quantities (make sure you use at least some dill, though, if possible). For this last batch, I happened to have tons of fresh mint, dill, parsley and cilantro, but I didn’t want to use up all my chives so I left them out. Dried herbs could work fine as well, since they are incorporated early and have plenty of time to stew.

The other ingredient that I’ve considered changing is the split peas. They give the braise a more colorful appearance – rather like corn - and a subtle nutty flavor, but I have trouble getting them to cook soft enough in the given cooking time, and find them a little distracting in texture. Next time I might substitute chickpeas, or leave them out altogether, depending on how I’m serving the braise.

Despite having both rhubarb and lime juice, this really isn’t too tart – the sweet onion and the herbs really cut the sour. But feel free to add extra sugar at the end if you think it needs it. Personally I like the tartness.

Kurdish Braised Rhubarb

adapted from Silk Road Cooking: A Vegetarian Journey
by Najmieh Batmanglij

• 4 Tbsp oil
• 1 sweet onion, thinly sliced
• 4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
• 1 hot chile or 1/2 tsp chile paste (she specifies a red chile, but I sliced up a green serrano)
• 3 cups chopped parsley
• 1/2 cup chopped mint
• 1/2 cup chopped chives
• 1/2 cup choppped dill
• 1/2 cup chopped cilantro
• 2/3 cup yellow split peas (or canned chickpeas)
• salt and pepper
• 1/4 tsp turmeric
• 3 1/2 cups stock or water
• 1 fresh tomato, sliced
• pinch of saffron soaked in 2 Tbsp hot water
• juice of half a lime
• 2 Tbsp sugar
• 1 lb rhubarb, cut into 1 inch chunks

Saute the onion in the oil until soft, then add the garlic, chile and herbs. Add the split peas, salt, pepper and turmeric, saute for a few minutes. Add stock or water, bring to a boil, cover and simmer 20 min or until the split peas have softened. Check to make sure it’s not boiling dry; if so, add a little more water.

Add the tomato, the saffron and its soaking liquid, the lime juice and sugar. Bring back to a boil, then arrange the rhubarb on top, cover and simmer another 10-15 minutes, until the rhubarb is soft. Taste and adjust salt or sugar as necessary.

Serve over couscous or rice, or with plenty of bread – something to soak up all the tart herby sauce. Excellent with lamb or chicken. Leftovers could easily be turned into a soup.

This post is part of the Grow Your Own blog event – check out the roundup at Gardenopolis!

I have news!

As you may have noticed, ever since I started this blog, I’ve been amusing myself with a self-indulgent weekly Saturday post featuring something blooming in my garden. I have no idea if this has been interesting to any of my foodie readers, so I decided to do a little rearrangement.

Henceforth, Food on the Brain shall be food only. Those wishing for more of a garden photo fix, or just see what’s blooming here in Skagit Valley, may now repair to its sister site, Jessamyn’s Garden. I can definitely say that there will continue to be some crossover, since food and gardening are my passions and they keep leaking into each other, but it won’t be quite such a jumble. I’ll be moving all the old “in the garden” posts to the new site as I have time.

Please check out the new blog, and let me know how you like it!

Edited 8/4/08: I have moved all the old garden posts over, and deleted them from this site.

Edited 9/14/09: I started the new blog as The Weekend Gardener, but got tired of it and changed it to Jessamyn’s Garden as of today. Hopefully it’ll stay put now!

I’ve been growing garlic for years – it’s one of the few vegetables that I consistently have in my garden, and I can usually grow enough that we only need to buy a few heads in the spring to tide us over. I used to grow softneck, but I discovered Rocambole hardneck garlic about 5 years ago and have grown it exclusively ever since – I think it has a better flavor, and it’s often much easier to peel.

One major difference between softneck and hardneck is that hardneck puts up flower stalks in the spring. If you leave them on, the flowers turn into little clusters of bulbils, taking energy from the main bulb, so it’s best to cut them off – I haven’t always been good about this, but I usually make it out there at some point, haphazardly whack off the flower scapes and compost them.

But this year! This year I’ve been reading food blogs, and I’ve discovered something new. Turns out, if you pick the scape before it blooms and hardens, you can eat it! I have never seen this information in a cookbook, not even my Alice Waters book. So last week, when I saw the scapes coming up from my little garlic plot, I made sure I got right out there with my clippers and gathered up a good handful. I wasn’t sure what to do with them, but they seem to get treated rather like asparagus or green beans, so I decided to try a really straightforward approach for our first attempt: olive oil and salt, and a quick toss on a hot grill.

J had seasoned a boneless leg of lamb with garlic and lemon juice, then grilled it until it was nice and crispy on the outside. Then we tossed on some Japanese eggplant and the garlic scapes. They seemed to grill nicely, although they have a tendency to try to slip between the grates.

The verdict? They were fun, with a very pleasant green garlic flavor. We discovered that the sheaths covering the flower buds are not good to eat – very tough and stringy – but if you pull on them they pop right off, and there’s a bit of tasty stuff rather like an artichoke leaf right at the base of the sheath. The stem is tender, just a little firmer than a fresh asparagus stem. I think I won’t have any trouble trimming my garlic scapes in future years.

We are off to the Big Island of Hawaii today, to experience the delights of hot lava, sulfur gas and plate lunch! The garden and this blog will have to get by without me for the next week. As you can see, the garden’s doing pretty well on its own anyway (ignore the weeds), and I’ll have at least one post lined up so the place won’t be completely deserted. I won’t be around to respond to comments, though, unless I stumble across a computer along the way.

But with any luck, I’ll have some great material when I get back!

The rhubarb in the back yard is just beginning to sprout. It’s not any sort of fancy variety – in fact, it came with the house. But it’s vigorous and tasty, and we’re really looking forward to our first rhubarb pie.

The early stalks have a certain alien quality to them, like a gunnera or a tree fern. Who first thought that it might be edible?