The dog has a slipped disc. Don’t ask. Three times a day, I carry him outside to the patch of garden he thinks is his. After a fortnight, he’s capable of doing the shortest of 3 metre circuits on level ground before he stops, staring straight ahead. It is the sign I should lift and bring him back in the house, where he resumes mithering anyone who’ll listen in hope of feeding his addiction to the pills he’s taking, or more likely the cheese in which they’re disguised.
If the few owls that love our road so well, who call to each other from either end, are joined by one sitting in the gingko that overhangs our garden, Harris - reminded of the presence of an outside - will realise he needs a late night pee. Open the door and he will sniff the air, sneeze twice at the change of temperature, and once carefully set down on four paws pretends he is going to the camellia that grows by the window that while no-one particularly loves, thrives merrily enough that it seems unfair to curtail its exuberance.
Siberian chives in summer
The bed he likes best is full of unusual alliums, globe artichokes, Tulbaghia and other edible pleasures, and having pee-free ingredients is - I think - the very minimum my family - and readers - expect of me.
The dog is fooling no-one. He knows that he’s allowed to wander among the plants as long as he doesn’t entertain the idea of a pee until he’s off that bed and nearer the compost bins. Having pretended he’s interested in the camellia, he sneaks to his favourite bed. He almost always stops by the Siberian chives, looks over his right shoulder, and checks I see him about to pee: ‘On you go’, I tell him and he does as he’s told.
This late at night, my mind isn’t wandering; it’s not distracted by anything to get back to. I notice 3 young globe artichokes growing on a single plant. Every year I forget that autumn brings a second spring-like rush of growth. The crisp summer stem and gone-over flowers on the globe artichokes are being pushed into the background by glaucous new growth. I could pick a few of these new artichokes, but my heart’s not in it; other than an early summer vignorola, I mostly want artichokes just boiled into submission, to pull to pieces, each petal dipped in hollandaise, a dry white wine and summer sunshine to accompany. Whatever pleasures autumn may offer, it’s not time for artichokes; they can stay as they are for whatever creatures climb the stems in search of overwintering.
As the hound makes his way back his side brushes against the Siberian chives; a couple of flowerheads rattle. The driest are full of seed, about to fall; the greenest hold tight to the immature seed within.
Siberian chives in autumn
This morning, I’m back with the secateurs. A dozen or so of these rattling flowerheads rubbed against a palm release enough seed for a small jar; some to sow for more plants, the rest for the kitchen. The tiny black seeds are similar to nigella seeds - with perhaps a touch more bite - and I use them for oniony punctuation in salads, on potatoes, with eggs, and - where I like them best - in bread.
A few steps behind the Siberian chives in its life cycle, the oregano is in flower. The cold that most years would’ve been here to darken the tender flowers has yet to arrive; for once, the snip of the kitchen scissors will beat that of the frost. The flavour and scent of oregano flowers is close to that of the leaves, though there’s maybe a touch less diesel about them; a gap between the first semi-acrid hit and the smoothness of what follows. If you have leaves - dried even - they work differently well in the recipe below. And if the cold is coming and you’re in a rush, snip the flowers off and swizz them with salt in a food processor or using a stick blender: depending on how dry the flowers are you’ll end up with a paste of some kind - a coarse adjika of sorts - that you can sprinkle wherever you think salt and oregano might work. A midweek jacket potato is very glad of its attention.
Onion seed and oregano flower focaccia
This is the easiest thing to make, just let the dough rise rather than pay too much attention to exact timings, as they’ll vary depending on the temperature of your house.
This recipe is highly adaptable: try 50/50 bread flower and ‘00’ pasta flour; swap the olives for cooked shallots, gooseberries etc; and for oregano flowers try sage, rosemary or any other woody herbs that take your fancy.
This will make either one 24cm square focaccia or two smaller ones. Don’t worry if your tray is larger than this: the dough doesn’t have to fill the space.
One big tip when making focaccia: soak any herbs you’re using in a little oil - just enough to coat them - as without that, the herbs will desiccate and lose much of their intensity to the heat of the oven.