Plant A Cauliflower Rainbow

Posted on March 18, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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From Bland To Bodacious

Poor old cauliflower. A lot of people my age (and up) still think it’s totally boring, just another white food without a particularly distinctive flavor of its own. Maybe it’s because it used to get boiled to mush, or because most older recipe books offer ideas for cauliflower with cheese sauce, period. That’s about as racy as it got, back in the day. These days, however, cauliflower is as trendy as kale was a decade ago. This is fair enough, since cauliflower starts to shine the minute we kick it up a notch. I must admit that I’m not a fan of cauliflower pizza crust, and I don’t really love the cheese sauce thing either. However, whether roasted or steamed or riced or made into crispy cakes, cauliflower makes a simply sensational showcase for creatively zippy sauces.

Besides, white cauliflower is getting gently nudged aside by its prettier cousins. These days, we can grow rosy purple or orange or soft golden or green cauliflowers that look great on the plate and provide a nutritional punch. These pretty colors aren’t due to GMO tinkering, but the result of some bright eyed farmers and researchers who noticed oddball colored heads amid a zillion of their plain Jane kin. Clever hybridizers have hand bred selected colorful forms from such chance variations. The result is cheery orange cauliflowers like Orange Burst, high in carotene and vitamin A, as well as gorgeous purples like Graffiti or lavenders like DePurple, both rich in anthocyanins, the antioxidants that make blueberries blue.

Give It Saucy Treatments

There’s even a true green cauliflower, Vitaverde, with bright chartreuse-lime heads and a clean flavor that’s a great carrier for spunky sauces on raw veggie plates. That’s also a great way to use stick cauliflowers such as Fioretto, with tender, creamy curds balanced atop jade green stems. Heritage Italian romanesco cauliflower is sometimes considered to be broccoli, since these cole cousins are closely related; romanesco is actually a transitional form between these two vegetables. Vivid green romanesco has a mellower, less peppery flavor than white cauliflower and it’s lovely both raw and roasted or grilled in slender spears like asparagus.

Personally, I prefer cauliflower either raw, lightly steamed, or roasted into caramelized sweetness; boiling for more than about three minutes is Just Wrong, in my book. Try dipping raw or lightly steamed florets with lemony, garlic-y hummus, a spicy white bean spread, or goat cheese mixed with minced chives or basil. Toss roasted cauliflower florets with curry powder, garam masala, chili powder, or a deep red mixture of mayo and hot smoked paprika. Yow! Drizzle steamed cauliflower with fresh lime juice, homemade garlic salt, and toasted (unsweetened) coconut flakes. Toss thinly sliced purple or golden cauliflower with avocado oil and a little sea salt and roast it to crisp, golden perfection. It’s one of my favorite suppers for one and any leftovers are great in an omelet the next morning. These crispy cakes, liberally splashed with a buttery lemon and caper sauce, are another favorite.

Golden Cauliflower Cakes

1 large head cauliflower, cut in florets (about 8 cups)
1/2 teaspoon homemade garlic salt OR sea salt
2 eggs, lightly beaten
4 green onions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons whole wheat pastry flour OR rice flour
2-3 tablespoons avocado oil
2 tablespoons butter
juice of 1 lemon, rind grated
2 tablespoons capers, drained
1/8 teaspoon smoked paprika

Steam cauliflower until barely tender (3-5 minutes). Mash, cool, and stir in salt, eggs, and green onions. Form into 8 balls, roll in flour and pat into flat cakes about half an inch thick, set aside. Heat oil in a wide, shallow pan over medium high heat and cook cakes a few at a time until crisp and golden, turning once (4-6 minutes per side). Remove to a plate in a warm oven as the cakes are done and add butter to the pan. When melted and sizzling, add lemon juice and rind to taste, then capers and paprika (and more salt to taste if need be) and spoon over cakes. Serves 4.

Better Than Rice

Light and airy, riced cauliflower is a magnificent replacement for pasta or real rice or even mashed potatoes. All kind of sauces sing on a bed of this fluffy stuff, including gravy.

Riced Cauliflower

1 whole head cauliflower, cut in florets
1-2 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon sea salt

Steam cauliflower for 5-7 minutes then press through a ricer into a serving bowl. Gently stir in butter and salt, set aside and serve with Singing Spring Green Sauce (see below), or any pasta or curry sauce.

Singing Spring Green Sauce

2 cups chopped Italian parsley, lightly packed (with stems)
2 tablespoons lightly chopped thyme sprigs
1 tablespoon stemmed, lightly chopped rosemary
4 green onions, chopped
1/4 cup toasted pumpkin seeds (or any nuts)
1 large clove garlic, chopped
1/3 cup avocado or fruity olive oil
2 tablespoons coarsely grated Romano cheese
OR 2 tablespoons flaked nutritional yeast (vegan option)
1-2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
Few twists freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon capers, drained

In a food processor, grind herbs, green onions, pumpkin seeds or nuts, and garlic to a coarse paste. Slowly add the oil, with machine running, then add cheese or nutritional yeast and pulse a few times to blend. Season to taste with cider vinegar, salt and pepper. Stir in capers and serve at room temperature. Makes about 1 cup. Refrigerate leftovers for up to 3 days.

 

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Early Bloomers For Late Winter Gardens

Posted on March 11, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Bulbs That Take Snow In Stride

I’ve had several anxious questions about how bulbs might be faring in the recent to and fro of frost and snow. Happily, early bulbs are sturdy little critters that bounce back from snowy burdens at the first hint of thaw. Though small, they have the strength of spring itself; years ago, I saw ancient daffodils effortlessly pierce through asphalt when an elderly Seattle cottage was razed to make way for an auto dealership. Surrounded by fancy imported cars, the bright trumpets blew undeterred by the thick blanket of tar that covered their long time home.

This is good news, as we’re still deep in frost season. Clear days can mean freezing nights, since the insulting cloud blanket is not around to keep the day’s meager heat in place. Most perennials are still dormant, or just breaking ground, still protected by soil and mulch. Spring bulbs, in contrast, are popping up in force. Earliest of all are the smallest ones classified as minor bulbs. Between the deer and the moles and excess summer irrigation, bigger, bolder border beauties like fancy tulips and tall stemmed daffodils can act like spendy annuals. Smaller daffodils and species tulips, snowdrops and crocus, hardy cyclamen and fritillaries are longer lived and surprisingly tough, despite their apparent shy delicacy.

Nevertheless, They Persisted

Where gardens have been made on the old bones of earlier plantings, unsuspected gifts are likely, and minor bulbs are often among them. I once visited an abandoned nursery where ivy had carpeted at least an acre of open woodland. When new owners cut the ivy in strips and rolled it up like a shaggy carpet, sheets of snowdrops were revealed. Planted about a century ago, these persistent bulbs had steadily proliferated despite smothering layers of bigleaf maple leaves atop the ivy.

Snowdrops don’t always grow well when we buy them from catalogs, because they hate to dry out. The best way to get some going is to buy them “in the green”, potted up and already showing leaves if not blooms. These will settle in far more quickly than dried ones, as will any dug from a flourishing snowdrop patch. This is best done soonish, when the flowers have faded but the foliage is still sturdy. Even a modest established clump may yield 40-50 bulbs: To reset them, shake each bulb free of soil and plant them in clusters of five or six. Next year, spring’s promise will bloom in your own backyard, spreading ever onward in years to come.

Blooming In Snow

Small but vivid, the snow crocuses can being to bloom as early as late January, alongside those snowdrops. Both multiply readily as long as you give them a well drained site that’s sunny in late winter. It’s fine if their spot is shaded later on, but when in active growth, crocus do best with lots of light. Among the most vigorous are the Tommies, selections of Crocus tommasinianus that range from lavender and violet to rose and white. If squirrels and chipmunks famously enjoy stealing crocus bulbs, they don’t seem to have a taste for these early bloomers, which proliferate rapidly in beds and borders as well as lawns and naturalized meadows of natives plus pretties.

At the local library, beds I’ve tended for over twenty years are thick with Tommies, thanks to our homemade compost. When we clean up the borders, everything gets tossed into our big compost windrows, including seedling bulbs. Even mature crocus bulbs take up very little room, and they bloom for a long time, even through snow. So do the appropriately named Snow Crocus species, such as C. chrysanthus, which also boasts a bunch of named selections. Purple striped, glowing golden hearted Advance is one of my favorites. I also like Dorothy, a golden beauty, as well as Romance and Cream beauty, both of which bloom in gentle pastel tints of yellow. Elegant Ladykiller is dapper in almost-black and white, while Snow Bunting is clean white. Bluebird, Blue Pearl, and Blue Peter are shades of lavender blue. All are easy to please and long lived.

When Foliage Flops

Spring bulbs are so boldly beautiful that it’s tempting to pack the borders with them. A dazzle of daffodils, a triumph of tulips, a hurrah of hyacinths, what’s not to love? Frankly, their ripening foliage looks pretty tatty, especially when it tumbles in damp heaps over neighboring perennials. Indeed, most bulbs aren’t good mixers, wanting dry soil for dormancy just when thirsty perennials are rarin’ to go. Funky foliage can tempt us to chop it all off, but that weakens the bulbs so they re-bloom sparsely if at all.

To keep bulbs prolific, feed them while their foliage is still green. Bloom time is too chilly for chemical fertilizers, but compost mulch and a slow organic feed of soy or cottonseed meal and kelp meal will encourage future blooms. So will compost mulch or aged dairy manure. When bulb foliage flops, gently fold it down. Once it yellows, it’s no longer replenishing the mother bulb. Tucked under the mulch, it can mature without becoming an eyesore. Where bulbs are naturalized in lawns, don’t mow until the foliage has browned off and dried up. In meadows, hold off your first mowing until late June or July to be sure all the bulbs (including native camas) are fully topped up and sleeping it off until another snowy winter arrives.

 

 

 

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Joyful Garden Design

Posted on March 5, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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The Gift Of Creativity

As I’m preparing for the upcoming remodel of my vintage mobile home, there are lots of logistics to juggle. Which comes first, painting or roofing or flooring or kitchen? The order largely depends on the schedules of the lovely people who are helping me; whoever is available first will probably start the process, and each piece will inevitably lead to the next. Or so I hope. Still, I’m trying to make sensible decisions; the new roof can happen anytime, presumably, and it will be idea if we can do the interior painting before the flooring goes in. Oh, and the kitchen should be gutted before that as well, ideally.

All of these decisions will affect our move-in date, which remains unknown and unknowable. In the meantime, I can at least dream into the garden. Though the available space will be small, it’s a lot bigger now that forty years’ worth of overgrown and inappropriate shrubs are being removed. Some of it was pretty impressive; old growth Fatsia pulled down the gutters on one side, and what I thought was a compact shrub turned out to be suckers off a huge trunk that’s going to be challenging to remove, as it’s snugged into the foundation of the deck.

Finding Creative Solutions

Some of my assumptions about what might stay and what could go have changed as I’ve learned more. Initially I thought I’d move the Fatsias to the back for a leafy green screen, but they’re too old. That sets me free to imagine a different screening solution, starting with replacing the elderly, sagging fence with a higher version. There will be room for a sturdy hog-wire frame to support espaliered fruit trees. I’d love to replace the three-way espaliered apple I left behind several houses back, and perhaps train some raspberries up the wire as well. For visual screening, I think I’’ll wrap the tall fir trunk in one corner with chicken wire and thread it with an evergreen Clematis cirrhosa Landsdowne Gem, a fragrant winter bloomer that would enjoy this sheltered spot.

I had also assumed that the (very) old heat pump system was barely functional and planned to replace it, moving the new outside unit to free up space in the little back yard. It turns out that the old equipment works fine but the ducts need replacing; that minor fix would cost about 15% of the bigger one. Hmm. Looks like my back garden will be fitted around the heat pump. For now anyway, I’ll add a box of lattice screening to mask the homely thing without blocking air flow or access for the service folks. I’ll skirt the new fence with crushed gravel, which will also surround the building and deck and serve as a pathway. Whatever’s left will be plantable space, and I’ll tuck in my dear favorite plants wherever they can thrive. Figuring that out will of curse take some tinkering, but that’s the soul of gardening as opposed to landscaping.

What’s Creativity, Anyway?

I was recently invited—challenged?—to give a little talk about creativity. I wrote several versions, which shifted with my thoughts. After all, what is creativity? There are quite a few definitions; some stress imagination or inventiveness or innovation, while others lean more into the unique and original. To my way of thinking, there is far more richness and depth to cultural creativity that assumes and relies on interconnectedness. My own creativity often takes the form of making and mending. As a kid, I was the family member who sewed on buttons, fixed damaged toys, and glued broken cups back together, usually to nobody’s satisfaction. I’m not that good at it, but I love mending, from darning socks to making tired leftovers delicious.

I’m always drawn to the ideas captured in lots of the “re” words; recycling, renewal, renovation, refreshment, restoration, recreation, reimagining, reclaiming… Fun as it is to make something lovely or entertaining from scratch with all new materials, it feels more creative to find ways to make the useless useful or fix the broken. There are also lovely satisfactions in giving something old new life; it’s delightful to fill a garden with plants that remind us of dear friends, or gardens of the past. It’s sweet to use a quilt or children’s clothing made from much-loved hand-me-downs.

(Re)Claiming Our Creativity

I feel sad when people tell me they aren’t creative. It’s easy to confuse creativity with accomplishment, but they aren’t the same. Indeed, talent, skill, and mastery are actually measures for comparison. Creativity isn’t only about painting beautiful pictures or writing best sellers. I’d define creativity as the ability to see past what is to what could be. How might that manifest? Perhaps your strength is in generating ideas, or in finding practical solutions to persistent problems. You may mix a memorable salad or craft a tantalizing cocktail. Maybe you throw parties where friendships are forged because you chose just the right guest list. You might be a baby whisperer who can soothe the wildest child. You may have a gift for making a home welcoming. Maybe you dress with your very own style or bake killer brownies. Maybe you’re a garden artist or a genius at fixing hair. Maybe you bring out the best in people!

Though I’ve enjoyed creativity all my life, it’s also been laced with joy-destroying judgements. Nothing I made or did was ever quite good enough. For me, the gift of turning judgement to joy came through my grandmother and my grandkids. Some 65 years ago, my grandmother, whom I barely knew, made me two soft dolls. Last fall, they showed up in a box, battered and stained. To clean them, the old stuffing had to come out, and while re-sewing them, I found that my grandmother’s stitch holes were still in place. As I slid my needle through those same holes, I felt such a loving connection; my hands moving as her hands had done, with the same intention of making a toy for a beloved grandchild. I also realized that her sewing was as clumsy as mine. Yay! It’s hereditary! More to the point, her imperfect gift delighted me for years, as mine delight my grandkids. Perfect? No. Good enough? Absolutely!

 

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Planning For Heat And Drought

Posted on February 25, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Poppies Will Make You Sleep….

Looking Forward To Warm

Is it over yet? I’m so DONE with the winter thing. Seriously. And I’m not alone: the robins are back in force and the thawing earth (ok, mud) smells like spring. The soft, warm chinook has replaced the Arctic express. I’m so ready to move on! Before the snow arrived, I had been potting up forgotten bulbs (right?), rooted hydrangea cuttings and divisions of grasses and strawberries that were slated for the compost heap. Now that I can see it all again, none of it looks damaged by the cold or the wet, and I’m amazed once again by the toughness of so many wonderful plants.

After disasters, whether caused by wicked weather, fire, or floods, or all of the above, it’s best not to look back too much. Yes, a lot of much-loved plants are lost and yes, that feels really sad. But. Once they’re gone, it can feel like Kansas out there; acres wide, just ready to be planted. Getting them gone is the key to a happy new start. If you find the work of removal too painful (physically and/or emotionally), remember the First Rule of Sustainable Gardening: Cause it to be done by others.

I Can See Clearly Now

It can be tricky to see new possibilities through a mass of mess and muddle. Clear it away and give yourself some time to refresh your thoughts. When all the wreckage is removed, stumps are pulled, and roots are wrenched up, take more time to prep the soil. Break up any lumps and bumps, rake each area smooth, and layer on some mature compost or aged dairy manure. There now, isn’t that better? Is there a more inspiring sight than beautiful soil, ready for planting? Dream into the newly available space and consider what might fare better this summer than your late plants.

If you’re having trouble re-imagining favorite beds and borders in the wake of winter’s dead, buy yourself some time by filling in with fabulous annuals. These days, there are zillions of gorgeous annuals that are also long blooming, heat loving, drought tolerant and deer resistant. Once you start playing around with them, you may end up deciding that, far from just being space holders, annuals can earn as much border space as any proud perennial. Consider the once humble cosmos, now a knockout with doubled (Double Click Cranberry, f’rinstance) or cupped blossoms (check out the Cupcakes Mix) as well as striped-and-picoteed Veloute. And how about ornamental carrots? Purple Kisses carrots produce lacy swirls of midnight purple, while Dara’s umbels are shades of rose and wine. Or the summer sky blue whirls of Didiscus Lacy Blue…

Zinnias With Zing

For hot, dry, sunny areas, zinnias are among my top choices. I’ve seen articles that insist that zinnias need regular water during hot spells, but that hasn’t been my experience. Gardener friends all over the country report zinnias to be tough as nails-unless we get a wet summer. Then, various mildews can be a problem, but wet summers are extremely rare along the West Coast. So far, anyway. Some of the best for a showboat spot are the long legged beauties of the Benary Bunch, from envy-colored Benary’s Giant Lime through yellows and oranges to coral, salmon, rose, and purple. All boast big, brilliant blossoms on strong 3-foot stems that make these the It Girls of the zinnia family for florists and flower arrangers.

The hard blooming Yoga zinnias are equally floriferous and similarly statuesque, boasting large and supremely showy blossoms on 2-3 foot stems. Like all their cousins, the Yogas are butterfly and pollinator magnets. They produce amazing quantities of flowers in striking shades from powerhouse purple to sumptuous salmon, screaming red, tawny orange, and burnished gold. Oh, and there’s a crisp, elegantly green-blushed white, if you’re working on a White Garden theme. I’m also wild about the Cupcakes series, as luscious a mixture as I’ve ever grown. These are more compact, mostly around 2 feet tall, with deliciously frilled and fluffy flowers in confectionary colors, from butter yellow to citrus tints, as well as reds, pinks, and lavenders.

Bohemian Rhapsody?

Maybe it’s my Freddy Mercury fan-ness showing but I’m totally high on the Queens, starting with dramatic Queen Red Lime, shading from dusty red to coral to soft green at the centers. Queen Lime Blotch shades from pink-tinged green to rosy centers, while Queen Lime Orange makes a starburst from hot red to chartreuse to burnt orange. Most of these award winners are 2-footers, great for cuts and terrific for beds and borders. The big blossoms look a lot like dahlias and look exactly like something Frida Kahlo would wear in her hair. So do calendulas, which I’ve planted in every garden I’ve made, as much for their sunny cheerfulness as for their habit of producing blossoms all year round. If the old favorites aren’t snazzy enough, try Calexis Yellow or Calexis Orange, both with quilled and frilled flowers that look more like a Cactus zinnia than something you’d feed the chickens to make their egg yolks brighter orange (that actually works quite well).

I’ve always been a sucker for the tall green spires of Bells Of Ireland (Molucella laevis), an excellent contrast to fluffier flowers. And what can I say about Sweet Cream marigolds except that they’re mouth-watering? I love the spunky scent of marigolds, which makes them very good at chasing off pesty bugs. These tall gals make great cuts, as do both Bali Orange and Bali Yellow, sturdy super bloomers that can crank out over a hundred flowers in a season. Tart, tangy Lemon Gem marigolds are tidy little things; short, bushy plants with fine-textured, fragrant foliage and countless little lemony star flowers. A sister variety, Tangerine Gem, has warmer orange blossoms that can decorate soup or salad with panache. Ready for summer yet? I can’t wait!

 

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