Is there anything better than thinking you’ve dug up all your tatties then finding some more?
I am, as you know, a man of simple pleasures (reader’s voice: “You’re a simple man”), and this is definitely one of them.
One day, there was a disturbance in The Force here, when I realised I didn’t have any tatties for my dinner. Quelle horreur! I couldn’t have spaghetti with my sausage roll. It wouldn’t sit right.
So, what did I do? Correct, madam: as intimated above, I got my spade oot the shed and waddled up to the veg patch for a last dig. My goodness, there were still reserves of gold under yon soil!
Indeed, I found enough for two or three dinners, and I’m a man who likes a good pile of tatties. What a lovely feeling: to be able to eat more of my own tatties, washing off my own soil and peeling skin that, effectively, I’d grown myself, with some help from Old Ma Nature.
Like most gardeners, I never cease to be amazed by the wonder of growing anything from seed, or in this case seed potatoes. Next to the potatoes, I’d grown carrots too from seed and, although these were mostly rather stubby, they were perfectly serviceable.
I’m not over-fond of boiled carrots, but have taken to slicing these controversial veggies into slivers, covering them in olive oil and honey, and baking them in the oven. Then I throw them in the bin.
Again, as with the tatties, it’s awfy fine, when preparing a meal, just to nip out the back and dig up your dinner.
It was about 5pm when I went out to search for The Last Tattie, which I did more in hope than expectation. But, as it turned out, it seems I hadn’t been all that thorough before.
The soil was heavy after a day of rain, and a wee robin watched me from a nearby tree. He trilled away merrily, and I fancied that he was saying: “Gawn yirsell, Big Man. Get that soil turned so that I can find wee beasties for my tea tae!”
Everyone’s a winner. I though I’d won the Lottery when I discovered a pear tree in the garden. There are only a few fruits on it, and the tree is hidden among other foliage, but I’ve plucked a couple. They’re right hard at the time of going to press, and I don’t want to break my teeth on a pear.
But I’ve put them in a bowl to soften and, if they do turn out to be edible, I will inform the newsdesk immediately.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be self-sufficient, growing your own pies and making your own aperitifs? It’s decades since I brewed home-made beer. You used to get kits, and the results were guaranteed to be undrinkable.
I don’t think I’ll ever risk making veggie wines. A former neighbour once said to me: “Do you want some free booze, Rab?” After thinking for 0.0001 of a second, I said: “Yes.” And she gave me a couple of bottles of her late husband’s home made wine.
Three days’ later, I woke up in the garden shed wearing a lampshade on my head and with my bare feet in a bag of compost. Never again.