Mexican Black and Blue

I have a blue wooden treasure box. It is filled with little packets of promises. Guy and Lianne gave them to me when they left for the UK. Last summer I took a particularly promising packet of promises and planted them near the pine tree. I watered and waited and watched. Some of them were empty promises, but a few came to life and pushed their way towards the light, stretching tall to the sun. I waited all summer and as the days cooled to autumn they faded and dried and died. I gathered their heavy black heads and placed them in a basket near my front door. A basket of promises.

What to do with Black Aztec maize? I had no idea. A little research filled my culinary imaginations with images of blue corn tortillas and Mexican food. Winter visited, and spring came calling. Then, when summer had come to stay for a while, on a Wednesday afternoon, an unexpected gift of tomatillos from my friend reminded me of the silent basket of promises that greeted every guest who entered through my front door. It was time.

Black Aztec Corn

On Thursday morning I shucked the black pearls into a bowl while teaching a Maths lesson. One kilogram of them were boiled and soaked overnight with one tablespoon of lime in a pot of water.

Add 1 T slaked lime in 1 c water, pour into pot of corn, cover with water. Bring to the boil for 5 minutes and soak overnight. 

On Thursday afternoon, during an art lesson, I turned two kilograms of tomatillos into dizzyingly delicious salsa verde. It was my first time tasting the unusual fruit. I am smitten.

Tomatillos are not a kind of green tomato. They are in the gooseberry family. Thank you Stacey.

Boil the tomatillos with 2 jalapeño chilis until tender. Drain and blend with seasoning, coriander leaves garlic and onion. Simmer the sauce in a little oil for ten minutes. The recipe is from the blog Patti's Kitchen Table

On Friday morning, while a Maths test was underway, I rubbed off the corn skins under running water, then ground the wet Black Aztec Maize kernels into a masa. The soft mound of masa, a grey-blue with flecks of black, looked like granite. The promise of a good dinner and the hope of success resulted in a phone call. Fun food is for sharing.

Rub the soaked kernels in your hands under running water

Grind or use a food processor to form a pliable dough or masa

Knead the masa for 10 min until it is smooth

All day on Friday pots of spicy mince and Spanish Black Beans simmered on the hob while I scurried between the schoolroom and the stove. The beans came from another packet of promises that produced prolifically last summer. Poetically, they were the perfect partner for the promised repast.

Like the corn, these Spanish Black Beans dried in the summer sun and then we collected them for our winter pantry

Simmer cooked beans with onion, green pepper, celery, garlic, cumin, coriander, chilli, origanum and tomato

On Friday evening our friends arrived and the men set to work pressing out blue tortillas between sheets of plastic using a pie plate. They turned a purply grey as they browned on the skillet. We ladies sipped tequila and enjoyed the summer evening with grey thunderclouds and purple Maluti Mountains in the distance.

Cook the tortillas for a few minutes on each side on a heavy, flat skillet

They really do look blue

We ate outside, on the verandah after dark, our table dimly lit by a row of solar light jars. I am glad it was dark so no-one could see the salsa running down my chin as I relished my magnificent Mexican meal.

Coriander leaves, red tomato salsa, chopped chilis, salsa verde, cooked chicken tossed in salsa verde on an appropriately South American tablecloth

Blue corn tortillas filled with chicken / spicy pastured beef mince / Mexican beans and topped with salsa, coriander leaves, rather runny home made yoghurt and grated mild farm cheese.

Summer Evening Stroll in the Tunnel

Strains of Michael Buble waft out into the sultry Summer night. A belated birthday meal is sizzling and bubbling in the kitchen, green peppercorn sauce over our own grass fed rump steak at my request. I sit on the wooden floor, sorting sandy potatoes into small piles for keeping and sharing. The mondial potatoes that I grew from a shop bought bag produced a disappointing harvest this year. Ladybug imposters gobbled their leaves faster than I could squash them and so the tubers stayed small. These, my early potatoes will provide us with just a few meals, including the potato chips tonight. I have my hopes set on the organic Varna seed potatoes planted later in Spring. Maybe they will perform better. Tonight, against all my grain, I sprayed them with an organic pesticide in the hopes of defeating the voracious red beetles before they defoliate our winter potato stores as well.

They are looking relatively healthy. Come and stroll through my veggie garden with  me...

The Country Gentleman sweetcorn has grown up tall and dignified as a gentleman should, so tall that the stalks are pushing up against the top of the tunnel. Maize pollinates via the wind. I hope their position in the plastic section of our tunnel doesn't prevent them from giving us full cobs of summer sweetness.

There is a green tunnel of maize and runner beans that my little nephew ran up and down when he visited from Cape Town. Every time I pick the rough skinned beans I remember his delight as he scampered in and out of green light and shadow, willing me to spray him with the hosepipe.


The tomatoes are happier than last week. They drunkenly cling to their stakes as their heavy fruits threaten to topple them over. Each morning I pick the fruit just as the colour is turning. I am jealous of my tomato harvest and refuse to share the ripe fruit with the resident field mouse and birds, so I set them in baskets to ripen on the kitchen counter.

The Kuroda carrots are the most disciplined of all out plantings this season. They stand to attention, proudly parading their promise of Autumn delights. Not so the rebellious Yellowstone carrots which, although vigorous, appear haphazardly in their allocated bed. Our spring planting of Purple Dragon carrots continue to mature randomly and so provide us with a continual supply of the pretty purple skinned orange vegetables.

Heirloom lettuce is gaily going to seed. I hope for many tiny babies that I can transplant at my leisure. Germinating the seed in trays has proved disastrous. From packet and packets of old heirloom lettuces, I have only successfully managed to grow three pink tinged Regina Di Maggio lettuces.

The Drumhead Savoy cabbages are just beginning to form round heads. They are rather moth eaten. Every day I mean to cover them with netting. Maybe tomorrow I will remember.

The pile of Waltham butternuts is growing inside the house. This is our first year growing them. Previously pumpkins took precedence. I am not sure how well these squashes keep. I will do my best to enable these beauties to reach their full culinary potential.

Winter meals of hearty dry Spanish Black beans are peeping through the leaves, biding their time until they are fully dry and ready for podding.

Bath-sponges-to-be hang seductively from their vine. Many many loofah seeds were planted before this one plant took root and trailed up the stake.

A stroll through our tunnel at sunset brings closure to my day, and hope for the harvest to come. Tomorrow morning, just after sunrise, I will return and greet my new day with the birds, our enthusiastically vociferous rooster and loving Lucy Lamb while my men young and old snore in good company with Winifred and Sausage, our two late-rising Piggies.

Elastic Mom Bounces Back

I sat in the dry dirt, hidden amongst tomato plants straggling up their spindly stakes and there I methodically snipped yellow leaves, collected fallen green promises and our long awaited, nurtured from seed since July, first of the season, worm pierced beauties and wept with dry eyes at the devastation. My despairing thoughts drifted over fig trees not blossoming and Job's woe and visions melodramatically burned down the tunnel, sold the animals, sent the boy to school and walked away.

"Though the fig tree does not blossom, yet will I praise the Lord"

I feebly sang a rote-remembered hymn as I gathered up stray cuttings and moped indoors. 

That was yesterday. 

Today, while contemplating the green folds of Purple Calabash tomatoes, the untouched by worm parts, and the unripe marbles of fallen Sweetie tomatoes my tenacious thoughts drifted over movies loved long ago and treasured jars relished a few years back. 

Green tomatoes with nasty bits cut away, sliced up, dipped in beaten egg and then in cornflour, salt and pepper were scrumptious fried in an olive oil and butter.

Nigel Slater, yet again, deserves all the credit for what happened next. Hope wafted through the house on the tangy spicy scent as his memorable Mixed Tomato Chutney simmered cheerfully in the kitchen. 

Tomorrow, we will eat my rather greener version slathered over our very own nine-month mature cheddar on warm buttermilk bread. I know it will be sublime, the sweet tart relish compliments sharp strong cheese perfectly. 

Strawberry Popcorn

Everybody's intrigued by this beautifully ornamental, delicious strawberry popcorn. It is an heirloom corn. We planted more than 40 plants in our veggie tunnel as early as I could after the frost ended on Spring so that they wouldn't cross-pollinate with the maize on the farm. The plants were planted in a block rather than in rows to aid wind, pollination.The seeds germinated well, sending their grass-like leaves up in promise of a good harvest. As they matured they were attacked by aphids, but a host of ladybug larvae were soon feasting on the miniature invaders. We have had a heap of rain lately so I picked the cobs before the plants were fully dry to prevent them from going mouldy.

I dried the miniature cobs on a sunny windowsill. 

When the kernels are dry enough, they shuck easily off the cob. One cob gives about 1/3 cup of red jewel kernels.

The secret to perfect popping corn is the kernels being dry enough. If, like me, you are impatient, your popcorn will only pop open in tiny cracks.

 On the other hand, if you wait a little longer while they dry...

you will be rewarded with fluffy bowls of tiny popcorn. 

Delicious.

Heirloom Tomato Saga.

I have a treasure trove of seeds, a precious collection given to me by my generous brother-in-law when he left South Africa for the UK. I sorted them into  ten shoe- and ice-cream boxes, one for each family of plants: roots, brassicaceae, curcurbits, aliiums, solanaceae, flowers, herbs, lettuces, legumes, corn and miscellaneous. The solanaceae box alone has more than forty packets of tomatoes, peppers and brinjals. In early winter last year I carefully planned my Spring planting to maximise the use of  these wonderful seeds in our vegetable tunnel. 

In mid-winter we constructed trays of seedling pots from newspaper and sowed seeds in our own home-made seedling mix using sand hauled from the river bed, vermiculite saved from the attic and our own compost.  To thwart frost's dominion over our planting times, I placed the seed pots under lights in our sun room to germinate. 

Besides all the other types of seeds, I sowed 15 varieties of full sized tomatoes and 6 varieties of cherry tomatoes. Last Summer we didn't harvest enough tomatoes to see us through our year, so I planned to grow 24 regular and 12 cherry tomato plants this year. I had glorious visions of tomato sauces, dried and frozen tomatoes stored up for winter. 

I knew that I needed to sow more seeds than we needed in case of failure to germinate. Seed insurance. It's just as well that I did, as quite a few varieties did not germinate at all. From those that did, there were losses along the way, like the time I was ill and my family forgot to water them, and the time the cat thought the trays of seedlings would make a great kitty toilet. 

After months of indoor nurturing, the survivor seedlings were eventually transplanted into bigger pots and hardened outdoors until they were ready for planting in the tunnel. Only 3 varieties of cherry tomato and 8 varieties of regular tomato had made it to this point. However, I still had more than 36 plants waiting for transplanting. My two beloved men prepared the beds, doing the backbreaking work of digging in barrow loads of compost. Then I carefully set out and labelled the seedlings. 

The tomatoes grew fast and furiously. We built wooden trellises to support them. By December they were reaching for the sky and, laden with green globes, bearing promises of a bountiful Summer. We flanked them with borage, nasturtiums  and cornflowers to attract the pollinating insects, and basil to repel the chomping insects. 

Then in January we were away for three weeks. Our home and garden were left int he capable hands of Molly and Blantina. 

We arrived home after dark. We were tired and hungry.  

Baskets of tomatoes and a pile of eggs were a welcome sight. 

My tired brain mulled over the supper problem. What could I make, relatively effortlessly, using egg and tomatoes. There wasn't even any bread in the house. A frittatta was the solution. Fast food, farm style. 

The following morning I was stunned to see the change in our beautiful tomato plants after three weeks. 

They were falling over their supports, all brown and dying, fruit valiantly ripening on the wilted vines. Apparently, while we were in Cape Town,  our water pump was out of order for two of the three weeks, and in scorching weather. 

Over the next few days I rescued as many of the fruit as I could, picking them slightly underripe to prevent pest damage on top of their distress. I tied up, fed and watered the vines, yet we still lost about a third of the plants, with more dying daily. 

With my plans for saving seeds and preserving a year's worth of tomatoes dashed, as few of the tomatoes were still producing flowers, I did what I could to enjoy the wonderful, mostly heirloom varieties that had survived. My scientific nature kicked in. I sorted the tomatoes into their varieties as they ripened indoors and we had tasting contests, and I also experimented with cooking methods for the different varieties.

Here are some of my findings:

CHERRY TOMATOES

BLACK CHERRY (Heirloom, Living Seeds - original cellophane packaging*): Larger than  most cherries, firm and juicy, perfect for salads. Flavour tart and mild. Robust, prolific producer. 100% germination. 

BLONDKOPFCHEN (Heirloom, Living Seeds - original cellophane packaging*): Pretty bright yellow tomato, standard cherry size. Thin skinned. Sweet, tasty tomato. Lovely for drying, salads, and tomato tart. Prolific producer, vigorous vine. Good germination rate.

SWEETIE (Commercial, Kirchoffs): Tiny, bright orange, sweet, tasty cherry. Looks pretty alongside the yellow cherry in a salad or tomato tart. Succumbed to disease more quickly than other cherry types. 100% germination

SMALL TOMATOES

MONEYMAKER (Commercial, Starke Ayres): Small red tomatoes, not quite cherry, nor regular size. They ripened completely to a good red. The plant had died by the time we were home, so only we had a few to try. Good for sauces and stews. Taste unmemorable.

TIGERELLA (Heirloom, Gravel Garden**): Two pretty, small, still green, striped tomatoes were left on the dead plant. They didn't make it to the kitchen. My chef friend says these are wonderful, and sought after, sadly though, not robust enough for our drought.  50% germination (No photo)

REGULAR TOMATOES

HEINZ (Commercial, Starke Ayres): Small to medium, delicious bright red tomatoes. Firm textured. Robust tangy flavour. Perfect for roasting and sauces (obviously). Determinate tomato. Died from drought, but would have died anyway. Short lived, early abundant fruiting. 100% germination.

HILLBILLY (Heirloom, Living Seeds - original cellophane packaging*): I rescued one tomato before the stressed plant succumbed to disease. Interesting yellow and pink markings. Large, boat shaped, well flavoured, juicy tomato. 50% germination. (No photo)

CHEROKEE CHOCOLATE (Heirloom, Living Seeds - original cellophane packaging*). Old style, large boat shaped, mottled orange/olive/brown unattractive colour.  Flavourful firm tomato. Tasty eaten raw or cooked. Suited best to ratatouille-type dishes. Valiant producer in spite of drought.  50% germination.

 ESTLERS MORTGAGE LIFTER (Heirloom, Living Seeds - new paper packaging*). I would love to know the origin of the delightful name. A winner. Abundant fruit. Fairly robust plants. Bright pinky-red, large, boat shaped. The ultimate richly flavoured, juicy sandwich tomato. This is what a home grown tomato should taste like. Great for cooking too. 90% germination.
*** Edited to add link to a different Mortgage Lifter tomato story. I love it.***

COSTOLUTO GENOVESE (Heirloom, Living Seeds - original cellophane packaging*): Medium to small Italian ribbed tomato. Ripens to a bright orange red. Susceptible to disease, not a strong plant, but absolutely the best tasting tomato that we have ever tried. Very decorative when sliced.  Savoury, deep flavour. Definitely wins the prize for most delicious of all. 10% germination.

 GOLDEN MONARCH (Heirloom, Gravel Garden**): Definitely the queen of the tomato garden. A survivor. Enormous bright yellow, old fashioned boat shape. Savoury, sweet and juicy tomato, best served raw, sliced on a plate with a sprinkling of salt. By far the best drought and disease resistance of all the tomatoes I planted this summer. Late, generous producer. Rampant vine. 20% germination.

In spite of all the setbacks and disappointments, I am looking forward to trying again with some different tomato varieties and some of my new favourites next summer. In the meantime, we have pulled up a third of our tomato plants, with more on their way out, and sowed lettuce and chicory seeds in their place to carry us through the rest of this summer.


* Living Seeds is an excellent heirloom seed supplier in South Africa. I picked out their seeds to try from my collection that were the oldest (in their original cellophane packaging). Saved seeds are not usually viable for many years, so those that germinated well are a tribute to the variety and to the way they were saved.

** Gravel Garden is a delightful heirloom seed supplier in the Cape. We visited them in January