Thursday, 15 September 2011

On being in season

Let's talk space and time. You've probably noticed that it's getting pretty autumnal out there. Exciting stuff. Show me someone who is bored of autumn and I'll show you someone who is bored of life, OF LIFE ITSELF. Or maybe they just don't like autumn, who knows?

You should already be reading all of the blogs in my link list already anyway because they are all better than mine, but in case you missed it at the weekend, here's a lovely summary of autumn goodness from Skulls and Ponies.

Now that that's got you in the mood, I'm going to discuss three autumnal things and the personal policies which have arisen from them. You may learn something about me. You may even realise why it's a good idea to hate me more.

1. Seasonality
Anyone who has ever done did some gardening or suchlike will know that certain things only grow at certain times of the year. When I was a child, this fact was reflected in the supermarket shelves. Globalisation has seen to that, rather. I'm always a little despirited to see strawberries on the shelves in January.

Just because you can find a supplier abroad who will send you strawberries all winter long, doesn't mean it's a good idea. For one thing, where's the magic and excitement gone? But on a less metaphysical level, strawberries flown in from abroad are always terrible, because they have to be picked early so as not to spoil on the way. I would rather wait all year for a 6 week window when I can enjoy strawberries, or peaches, or asparagus than sit around in February eating a Peruvian strawberry which has all of the taste and texture of a raw new potato. So I do. It's good. It's nice to have that bit of magic back.

I like to think of it as a soft fruit hairshirt I choose to wear.

2. Spider's webs
Autumn is a pretty spidery time. Look around any garden you see in the street and you're almost guaranteed to see a big fat garden spider in a pristine, due-flecked web. I have a very clear policy of spider's webs. It is this. I will absolutely not destroy them. Not until I learn how to spin a silken web out of my own bum, anyway.

The other day I was getting some herbs from the garden (I am a big ponce like that) and found a spider had slung (probably her, I didn't stop to ask) web in such a place that I couldn't get to the marjoram. Middle class emergency! However, I worked round it and did without. Just because I am bigger than a spider doesn't give me the right to lord it up. That thing just MADE ITS OWN HOUSE OUT OF SILK IT MADE ITSELF. If that's not worthy of respect, I don't know what is.

3. Glut busting
Harvest time is upon us. There'll be many a glut of vegetables to sort out before winter brings naught but preserved summer stuff and huffy brassicas for the seasoned and disciplined seasonal vegetable eater (me). I have nothing much to say about this, nor any great tips. So instead I'm going to use gluts as a jumping off point to explain why I don't like celery.

Christmas 1989 and I am eating celery. There's a big jug full of it. And I'm making merry. Crunch crunch crunch. Crunch crunch. Dip dip dip (that's the salt). Crunch crunch. Dip dip. Crunch crunch. Ooh, stringy bit. Crunch crunch crunch.

I could go on. I did, actually. Nine-year old me nailed that whole jug of celery.

Unfortunately, it being Christmas time there was also a rather nasty stomach bug going around. In the middle of the night, I am being heroically sick. This was, of course, nothing to do with the celery. However, the brain linked the two up and that was the end of that. I am glad it did. It was nature's way of demonstrating that celery is evil and not to be trusted. I have not eaten another stick of celery since.

1 comment:

alicestronaut said...

That is not the reason I don't like celery but I don't like celery. BAD CELERY.

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