Privilege: a right, exemption, or immunity granted as a particular benefit, advantage, or favor
~Merriam-Webster
Dear Reader
As fall edges past its midpoint and tiptoes toward the Winter Solstice, the pulse of the garden slows. So much so that I must engage with it for periods of time to feel its impact. But lest I forget while indoors looking out, its heart still beats.
The outer beds, all former homes to long-since-completed summer crops, are now filled with a cover crop or a blanket of leaves and hay, but in the center, a burst of green is still vibrant. Planted in mid-April and producing since May are beds of mixed varieties of Kale, Cascade Glaze collards, Fordhook Chard, and my house blend of radicchio. Growing and giving now for six full months, they are a thriving example of reciprocity. I care for the soil that supports their growth, and they provide a harvest of leaves for our spring, summer, and fall salads, soups, and more. These are long-season contributors and should be first on the list for anyone wishing to put this growing life to the test.
We purposely gathered the plants we harvest from most frequently in the center rows. The first to be tucked in under fleecy row covers and the last to share their gifts. Until recently, they were each paired with a friendly companion and support plant such as garlic, leeks, kohlrabi, fennel, nasturtiums and borage.
Before last season, my experience with radicchio was restricted to the grocery produce section, a seemingly overpriced purplish globe stacked among the salad greens, but oh so lovely. I would treat myself to one every so often, slicing it carefully into thin strips to let it brighten a bowl of winter lettuce. But that was the extent of my relationship until now.
What I have since learned is that “the radicchio" most of us know is only one of many varieties. Rosso di Chioggia is the most widely grown and what most folks associate with the word radicchio. But should you venture into specialty farmers' markets or travel through the Veneto region of Italy, you will soon discover what we’ve been missing.
I’ve schooled myself on these varieties through information from several sources, the best coming from Uprising Seeds out of Oregon. You can learn about their Gusto Italiano program here. But before I get too deep into this subject and lose myself, which I can do so quite easily, let me share my learning curve with this ravishing autumnal beauty.
Last summer was my first dance with radicchio, and I opted to grow it as early-season baby salad greens rather than encouraging heads to form. Densely planted, I cut as needed, and we had a generous supply right up until late July. I then assumed that, as it began to bolt, it had given all it could and flipped the bed.
This year I repeated my effort, but as the plants began to bolt, I thinned them and cut them back to the ground. I was curious to see what would occur. Not much happened until the night temps began to drop and they spread horizontally, layering on outer leaves. My fascination peaked, so I kept watering and watching. By mid-September, it was clear new leaves continued to develop, but there were also signs of heads forming. Encouraged by my experiment, I let them be. In mid-October, during some bitter cold nights, something shifted, and the outer leaves began to decay and die off. As November arrived, all that remained was a slimy few leaves along with some crumbly bits. Heartsick that somehow I had missed their moment I made a note to return to the bed for more careful inspection.
I surveyed what looked like a decomposing mass of plants. Using my garden knife, I cut what remained of one head as close to the ground as possible. Wiping off the decomposing outer wrapper, expecting decay all the way through, I discovered the most perfect head of Rossa di Chiogga. So that’s how you do it, I thought, disguising yourself under the rot. Making my way down the bed path, I searched for another. Now, with two glistening plum-colored globes in my hand, my mind leaped to the kitchen and began piecing together a rustic meal in which this garden wonder could star.
Pausing to survey the remains of those inner beds, I chose two weather-worn leeks and considered the brown bag of remaining mushrooms on the fridge shelf. Laying it all out on the counter, I identified the missing ingredient: thyme, and dashed out front to cut a few sprigs from the patches growing beneath the fruit trees.
I couldn’t wait to taste a forkful of what I had in mind. While my heavy Staub sauté pan heated over a high flame, I cut thick slices of mushrooms and tossed them in for a quick dry sear. When both sides took on a dark coat, I removed them and turned down the heat. Letting the pan cool, I added a splash or two of olive oil to help the roughly chopped leeks and radicchio melt. Spreading them out in the warm pan, I pulled open the freezer drawer and plucked out the container of chopped garlic scapes. A few pinches of those into the slow-simmering mix added depth to the enticing aroma that already filled the air. Seasoning to taste with French grey salt and a generous grind of pepper, I tipped in the mushrooms and the stripped thyme leaves, added the lid, and kept it on low, slow heat.
Now what to serve with this melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness? Pasta, pan-fried gnocchi, a creamy polenta? All were strong contenders. A glance at the clock led me to settle on the shelf-stable gnocchi I keep on hand. Heating up another skillet with the tiniest splash of olive oil, I turned off the veggie blend, allowing it to sit for the few minutes the gnocchi required to first soften and then form a crispy crust. That’s when a last-minute idea dropped in, and I pulled down the jar of walnuts to toast and use as a topping. A small skillet joined the other two. Serving it up and savoring each bite was a splendid celebration of this plant and its states of transmutation. So many lessons. Patience and giving processes what they deserve come to mind first, but something more robust lies beneath those attributes: the willingness to look beyond the signs of decay to discover the true value.
Beyond my tiny corner of New Hampshire, there is a world that is highly skilled at conditioning us to believe many untruths. One of those is that dialing up a DoorDash delivery from your favorite restaurant is part of a privileged life. There was a time I was tricked by this narrative as well, but that is no longer the case. I've come to realize that true privilege is having the opportunity to feed myself and my family, in any small way, from plants nurtured from seed and matured in the soil where I live. It’s just taken some decades and twists and turns of life for me to return to this birthright.
Energies I will be noting in the week ahead:
Friday, 13 November: Venus and Mercury, after weeks in retrograde, go direct. I'm noting clarity and a readiness to finalize the decisions I've been pondering. The days following should support moving stalled projects forward.
Until next week,
A new format to explore coherence!
Listen to November's Update
