This is a story of hubris, preserves and living in a sitcom.
The first thing I did after breakfast on Saturday was to water the poly tunnel and harvest some of the produce. The first batch of tomatillos were ripe, there were 17 jalapeños ready, some dwarf cucumbers and courgettes ranging from acceptable to giant marrows.
After chucking the marrows to the hens (chickens love them) I laid my haul on the garden table. I called to Mark, "behold, I have a crop of finest Green!" in a daft pompous tone. The photo went to friends and family, Facebook and Twitter; I was extremely satisfied with the fruits of my labours. Downright smug even - look at the Earth Mother growing her veg and making preserves and pickles! How very Good Life.
I wasn't far off the mark, but not in the way I thought.
The next thing I did was tackle the overgrown raised bed to remove some of the giant courgette leaves, the borage that had collapsed in the high winds and was drooping across the path and remove the bits that were rotting or dying back. It's a job I'd been putting off because they are extremely prickly plants. Despite long sleeves and gloves, I had the raised bumps and rashes I always get from the many bristles poking into me. My forearms were covered in them. I hate that job.
Mark and the kids were doing errands in Zach's car (Mum's aged Polo) so I messaged him to ask he buy a big bottle of white vinegar so I could do the pickling in the afternoon. We usually buy the glass bottles with a screw top. This time he bought plastic bottles with the small hole in the stopper (like you use for putting vinegar on your chips) because he thought I might need lots and it was cheaper. This will matter later.
I was looking forward to making the salsa verde with the tomatillos. You can't buy them easily in the UK and they are delicious. We love Mexican/Central American food in general, really - hence the jalapenos!
The counter was *covered* in stuff because I am a slob who lives with slobs. I couldn't be bothered clearing it all properly. I knew I could clean down a working area and ignore the rest - to Mark's horror I can do this perfectly happily. For reference, here's how it looked last week when I was making a curry:
Yes, I am ashamed. Mark can't work in this chaos because he's normal but as long as I can clear and clean a small space I'm good to go.
First, I peeled the papery cases from the tomatillos, washed their soapy residue off, halved them and roasted them skin up in a very hot oven for 10 minutes. I'd then pop them in the blender with half a chopped onion, a big fistful of coriander, a garlic clove, 3 chillies and the juice of a lime. Whizz it up, salt to taste, and there you've got a fantastic salsa that lasts about a week in the fridge or several months in the freezer.
Spot the food blogging in the anecdote; I'm content-rich, me.
While the tomatillos were cooling, I started on the pickling liquor for the jalapeños.
My preferred recipe is 250ml water, 250ml vinegar, a teaspoon or sugar, a tablespoon of salt and a few garlic cloves simmered to boiling, to which I add the sliced chilli peppers off the heat and leave them to infuse/gently cook for 10 minutes before putting in a jar. It's very good, I heartily recomment it.
(See - content! Two recipes already)
I tried to prise the stopper off the vinegar bottle with the edge of a spoon so I could pour out 250ml, but it wouldn't be shifted. Damn it. I squeezed the plastic bottle into the measuring cup.
I squeezed a bit hard.
The stopper came off with a POP and vinegar poured out at force, covering everything.
Everything.
Veg, cooking equipment, papers, a book, bowls, fruit, phone, floor, me.
I found every single scratch I got pruning back all the prickly stuff this morning. Ow.
It took me 40 minutes to clear up: wash everything down, mop the floor, rinse the fruit and veg and leave them out to dry, bin the butter in the butter dish, wash the pasta jar, lay out the papers and novel to dry, change clothes, wash up the crockery I doused.
I was knackered and sweating.
My (freshly washed) hair and face got covered to. I sweated VINEGAR into my EYES.
I smelled like a chip shop.
I want to be an Earth Mother type, whereas I am in fact in a slapstick sitcom or a Carry On film.
It was the hubris particularly. “Look at my amazing monochrome veg harvest. Isn’t it gorgeous! Aren’t I such a great example, growing and preserving things?” to a Joni Mitchell Ladies Of The Canyon soundtrack. Me in my maxi dress and wellies, tending my crops and preserving my veg.
Fast forward to vinegar drenched train wreck.
I did get a happy ending - see the jars below.
This morning I resolved to have a less farcical experience. I went down the garden to sit in my new swing/hammock chair and read a novel. Swaying gently in the sunshine enjoying a favourite book I was feeling at one with the world.
Until the hook holding the chair gave way.
Cue title sequence.
P.S. No, I'm not kidding, yes, it hurt and I'm on painkillers and yes, it did look ridiculous and yes, I was flat on my back like an upturned tortoise.
