New Vegetable Garden, and a recipe for Sorrel

The oldsters still check the almanac and wag a finger – “don’t plant your tomatoes until after the “saints de glace” – these 3 days in mid May when the last fear of crop-killing frost is over.  This period also coincides with Mother’s Day and John’s birthday.  Since he’s become such a mere poule over the years I like how it all comes together symmetrically on my calendar.

Perhaps foolishly, but in tune with his cell deep “life is short” hard-wiring, we jumped the gun and planted a new vegetable garden this week on the hilltop near the vineyard.  Rhubarb, cucumber, aubergine, courgettes, peppers, pumpkins, a section of herbs, a row of raspberries and 20 tomato plants.  The old vegetable garden became a wild lawn over last winter, and with the tractor-mower in hospital the grass is so high we had to wade through in boots.

The wading was worth it, for I found some hidden jewels – the old sorrel John’s mother planted at least 30 years ago.  What a miracle plant.  Nothing kills it, full of vitamins, powerful but aristocratic tang, heavenly with eggs and cream, and it comes back year after year.  So we pulled up a few descendants and made a little home for them in the new patch.

I’m the first to admit that lugging wheelbarrows-full of compost and digging holes sorely lacks in glamour.  But this time I found a way to ignore my petulant, complaining back.  With each thrust of the spade and careful patting of a young plant into earth, I murmur an intention.  Henri and I often talk about “intentionality,” focusing your thoughts with full force on your subject to make manifest a desired outcome.  People used to call this prayer.  As I pray for each plant to grow healthy and strong, I add intentions: good neighbors, good weather, good wine.  Then blessings for family and friends: good partners, good jobs, good health.  And last but far from least, blessings for would-be adversaries, since they exist even in the best-intentioned gardens: clarity, consciousness, reparation.

For John’s birthday dinner I prepared this simple dish as his mother used to make it in May, when the sorrel is tender and as yet unblemished by garden critters.

Sorrel with Egg and Cream

Ingredients for 2:

A big basket of sorrel

1 shallot (optional)

olive oil or butter

cream (I used crème fraiche; sour cream or regular, medium weight cream is good too.)

2 eggs

Rinse the sorrel and drain.

Preheat the oven to 190-200 Celsius. (380-390 F)

Dice the shallot and sauté in a little olive oil or butter. Add a dash of salt and pepper.

Add the sorrel to the shallot mixture.

On low heat, turn the leaves constantly for about 3 minutes or until they have wilted.  (Don’t be surprised by the small volume remaining.)

Spoon the sorrel mixture into 2 ramekins.

Spoon a couple of dollops of cream on top.

Break an egg over each, keep the yolk intact.

Bake for about 10 minutes until the white of the eggs are cooked.  The yolk should still be runny when you taste it.

We toasted with champagne given to us by a friend from his own ½ acre vineyard in the North.  Happy Birthday, John.