Squeaky beans, Deputy Dawg, a straw hat and two knockout summer recipes

Abundance: Tuesday 3 Sept 2024

I wish I suited a hat. At best, when placed on my head, a hat - of whatever kind - looks like a practical joke; at worst, something I’m doing for a very deserving charity. I’d like to look as gorgeous as Marlon in a hat, as cool as Clint, or like I had been born to wear it like David Rawlings¹; instead I’m Deputy Dawg.

Nevertheless, I have dug out two: a wooly hat that my head will soon call for on early dog walks, and a straw hat I resolve to wear whenever I’m in the garden from St Valentine’s Day. 

Costoluto fiorentino in late summer

I resolve to wear a hat because in a few days, a skilled lady will remove a small oval from my cheek in hope and expectation it is nothing tedious. That woman, a specialist in the organ² that covers us, tells me every time I see her that ’the skin remembers’.

Perhaps in those days when smoking was good for you, when no-one spoke about their feelings (because we didn’t have any, obvs), a me in small packaging was - as was fashionable at the time - packed off to frazzle, largely unsupervised, at the seaside for the day, merrily entertained by a football the weight of a balloon, a Dairylea and sand sandwich, a spiral of ice cream showered in hundreds and thousands, and a net made - it seemed - for efficiently lifting seaweed from rock pools while in search of crabs. These were days of suntan lotion rather than sun protection cream³, the antidote to which was either top-of-the-milk (really) or calamine lotion. Even now, the scent of the latter tightens my skin to cheap greaseproof in memory of those evenings when so burnt I couldn’t move my shoulders enough to get a shirt on. Pulling off jigsaw pieces of peeling skin was as much of a summer holiday pastime as anything back then.

Two of my closest gardening friends - neither as pasty as your correspondent - have similarly lost a small portion of their external real estate to the sharpest of blades. ‘The skin remembers’: I find myself repeating the words to my daughter. She will ignore them, as is customary (and indeed, right and proper) when a parent offers unsolicited advice to a late teenager.

I’ve chosen 14 February to become Deputy Dawg as this is the day I sow tomatoes, chillis, aubergines and other sun lovers, and while I will do this indoors, it marks the start of spring in my mind, of intentions towards the longer days, being more conscious of what’s to come, and engaging with the growing year.

For the last few years, my wife has grown almost all of the annual vegetables⁴ - those sown, grown, harvested and gone in a single year - and right now summer-into-autumn me is very grateful to late-winter her for sowing those tomatoes in the propagator. Next year, with her busy on the herb allotment she’s developing, I’ll be back on the seeds.

Japanese peppercorns ripening

Every year I do it, I grow five varieties of tomato: three favourites and two that are new to me. It’s a good rule for gardeners old and new. The law of averages means that even if you are beginner, three varieties will be special, one will be pretty good and one will be well ordinary. Eat the three best ones, cook the pretty good one and give someone you pretend to like the ordinary ones. The two new varieties are important: they keep the door open to new flavours, to the possibility of new favourites and frankly it’s important to keep changing even the small things up.

There was a time when I couldn’t imagine a better tasting cherry tomato than Gardeners’ Delight or Peacevine Cherry, but Honeycomb is genuinely such a wild upgrade on both that August-into-September wouldn’t be August-into-September without them.

So when I light that first fire of autumn, when the needle drops softly on to River Man, after I’ve slipped a stack of personal admin - safer burnt than recycled - into those first flames as if guiding paper into a fax machine, I will make a seed list and tomatoes will be top of it. And while I can almost smell the first log fire of autumn, I’m going to try to remember to keep my hand on summer’s end of the changing seasonal baton a little longer. There’s still so much to pick and to enjoy.

My wife picking beans

And now I look at it in the hall mirror, that straw hat at least isn’t entirely ruined by being placed on my head. And it looks a darn sight more fitting than that dressing I’ll soon be sporting soon. So I will wear it that hat from spring. I will be a good boy, and hope the skin remembers.

Fresh tomato, runner bean and tarragon pasta

While I can take no credit for this year’s tomatoes, the beans and so on, I can at least turn them into something that does them justice.

This is the easiest, freshest, most wonderful of pasta dishes, and it uses raw tomatoes - retaining the brightness and delicacy of their summer flavour - along side just-cooked and still-squeaky runner beans.

It takes little time or effort - only the beans are cooked for the sauce - but you’ll have to commit 5 minutes of your time the night before.

I’ve been making versions of this raw tomato sauce for 30 odd years - it is so light and fresh, with a serious garlic poke - and I’m particularly attached to this version, where the height of the green bean season meets the best of the greenhouse. This is differently splendid with basil, but I am deep in the arms of tarragon love at the moment, hence it is both of these recipes, though it is very swappable if you prefer.

Parmesan might be to your liking - I prefer it cleaner, without - but on you go if you fancy.

Serves 4

500g pasta - something like Fusilloni that will cling on to the sauce
700g large, ripe tomatoes
6 gloves of garlic, finely chopped
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
10 tbsp olive oil
50g tarragon, leaves only, roughly chopped
400g runner beans, stalk removed
Zest of 1 lemon
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Half fill a large bowl or pan with boiling water and lower the tomatoes in. After a couple of minutes, lift the tomatoes out of the water. Cut a cross in the end of each and remove the skin from each. Chop roughly, discarding the tough core.

Place in a large bowl with the garlic, olive oil and tarragon. Cover and leave in the fridge overnight.

Bring a large saucepan of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta according to the packet instructions. Drain.

Bring a medium saucepan of salted water to the boil and lower the runner beans in. return to a simmer and cook for anything from 2-5 minutes depending on their size and variety. They should be firm but giving to the bite, and still squeaky on the teeth. Drain and refresh with cold water to prevent green turning to khaki. Slice on the angle, into 5cm pieces.

Stir half of the sauce into the pasta. Add the beans to the rest of the sauce and stir into the pasta. Season generously and spoon into 4 bowls. Sprinkle with lemon zest and serve immediately.

Cherry chana chaaty salad

Chana chaat is a classic Indian street food classically bringing together chick peas, tomatoes and cucumber with the sour spiciness of chaat masala spice blend. The observant of you will have noticed an absence not only of one of the key ingredients but also the spice mix that lends its name to the recipe. I can only apologise. I did at least add a ‘y’ to the recipe title.

What replaces those missing elements is the sweet pleasure of a good handful of cherries and a combination of extra lemon and smoked paprika. The usual coriander is switched for tarragon. Authenticity is not something that this recipe might be accused of. It is, however, delicious, I promise.

It would be completely usual to serve chana chaat splashed with natural yoghurt, dashed with pomegranate seeds and fresh chillis, and showered in sev or Bombay mix; I’m sure that would work well here, but wanted something simpler today. Embellish as you wish.

Serves 4

250g cooked, drained chickpeas
16 cherries, torn open and stoned
1 red onion, very finely sliced
3 ripe, good sized tomatoes, finely chopped
A small bunch of tarragon, leaves only, roughly chopped
Juice from ½-1 lemon
Salt and pepper
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 tsp hot paprika

Stir the chickpeas into the cherries, onion, tomato and half the lemon juice in a large bowl, then season to taste with salt and pepper. Add more lemon juice if a little more zing would be to your taste. Sprinkle with both paprikas.

Serve with a good crisp lettuce and good oil as a quick lunch, or as a side for supper.

1. In a close race between Jimi Hendrix, Glen Campbell, Nick Drake and David Rawlings, it might just be the latter that I’d happily sell one of the two I have to play like. Or maybe I should choose Prince and then I could play like anyone

2. Until our first meeting, I had no idea the skin was an organ; our largest

3. I had browner skinned friends who routinely covered themselves in olive oil to sunbathe

4. Costoluto fiorentino, Honeycomb, Shimmer and are the tomatoes I recommend to anyone who’ll listen. Streamline, Polestar and Scarlett Emperor are my favourite runner beans