A dilly of a pickle...

... which happens to be my favourite bon mot at the moment... Anyway, green beans - nightmare - they get out of control running rampant within the confines of their wigwam (so not very out of control at all, in fact), get too long, too twisty, too pale to look any good. So, dear reader, we pickle them.

I've never really been into making jams and pickles and things - never had to deal before with an own-grown glut of things, so this was actually my first attempt. I have been driven for some years, however, to look out for a pickled green bean recipe - when I was in Boston a few years ago we went for the most awesome brunch and my Bloody Mary was served not with a celery stick, but with a pickled green bean. I thought the combination magical and have been on the lookout ever since, but nothing quite hit the mark until this. The base of the recipe comes from Christine McFadden's Farm Shop Cookbook.

So... with my notes...

Makes 4 x 600ml jars (I halved the recipe as I only had 2 jars).

850g green beans, stalks removed (I had as many as I could pick but that seemed to pack into 2 Kilner jars, but I did have to cut them in half to fit them in.)
1 large onion, halved and thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, peeled
8 sprigs dill
1.25 L distilled (malt) vinegar (careful halving this as you may need more than half. I can't explain that - I failed Physics over and over)
280g sugar
2 1/2 tsp salt
2 1/2 tsp dill seeds (in lieu of which I used fennel seeds)

Plunge the beans into boiling water for 3 minutes, then drain and refresh under cold running water. I did this as it's supposed to keep their viridian colour, but mucked it up later - see below. Pack vertically - or anyway you can - or layering into the kilner jars with the onion, garlic and dill sprigs.

Heat the vinegar, sugar, salt and dill/fennel seeds in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Bring to the boil briefly, then remove from the heat and leave to cool for a few minutes. I recommend cooling almost completely, as pouring it over the beans when hot renders them khaki rather than appetisingly bright green, as you're continuing the cooking somewhat. Ideally the liquid should come to the top. Seal and store in a cool place for at least a week.

I left these 9 days, then cracked a jar open. The beans had retained their crunch, which I had been worried about and tasted fabulous. A little on the short side, perhaps, but then, aren't we all...?

More notes on this cheese-making malarkey

So, let's start with the edifying and good: Last night I made 2 tiny simple supper dishes just for me - broad beans with bacon and cream, and the first tiny courgettes avec flowers, sliced, fried briefly in garlic, tipped onto toasted sourdough, drizzled with yoghurt and gaily scattered with basil and mint. Delicious. A triumph, my dear.

All of which is a delaying tactic, you may think. Well, you're right. Where were we? Oh yes, watching the goats cheese drain its life blood away over 2 days and 2 nights. So drained was it, that the end result was a mere 100g of cheese. Delicate, delicious, fresh, not very goaty-y, but definitely on the side of paucity. Now I am at a loss to explain this, following the instructions as exactly as I did. I even took a quick survey of the temperature of my finger to see if I was too unstable to estimate body temperature, but no, I'm reasonably normal. I went back to the ingredients, and lo - the rennet's expiry date is July 2009. Now my instinct is to say it's a bit like dried yeast, which gets panicky at least a month before its expiry date and so our baking cupboard is littered with half-finished packs of fainthearted yeast. It's the only thing I can think of, so I am going to email old Hugh and see if they think this could be the reason....

Anyway, back to the story. This somewhat surprising result left me 650g of cheese to the worse. Consequently, it had to be bought, which - let me add - ain't cheap, so if you're making this recipe with bought goats cheese, think carefully, cos it came to about £15 in the cheese shop (not a famous one). It was salted, but not too much and fresh and tangy in a way/whey (ha) that would hopefully enliven my pallid contribution.

Mixed the goats cheeses, 2 whisked eggs, 75g sugar (no semolina or oatmeal - who wants a sandy cheesecake?) and baked it (without base) in the oven for about 25 mins at I think 170C. And the result was good. It was a little dense, but that was to be expected and quite tangy, but cooking does bring out the goat taste, to the extent that MCD - who is an ardent goat fan on many levels - felt it a bit OTT and didn't really come back for seconds.

I will be posting a photo of the finished result. Feelings on this particular experiment - far too much hassle for a cheesecake, but for making your own cheese, it's low-effort and easy. Just watch your rennet.

A verdant ray of light on a gunmetal grey day...

The excitement. The very excitement. I came home last night, after a mammoth 2 1/2 hour slog (I'm sorry but really I have very little patience with strikers), tired to the very bone. Shuffling into the kitchen, I see on the kitchen table a lone broad bean pod. Now this is curious. I bought a small bag of broad beans at the weekend, as I'd checked ours - rather cursorily I admit - and they didn't seem to be giving forth. Why, I pondered, would MCD have removed a single broad bean pod from the fridge? For educational purposes... compare and contrast... an alternative instrument to unblock the loo... anything was possible. This is not a man known for voluntarily tackling anything green. When questioned, his little face shone like the morning sun and he beamed 'It's ours.' 'I know that, dear, when you exchange money for goods, ownership does tend to pass into your posession' was my weary reply. 'No, no, it's ours...' he maintained and light did indeed dawn.

He had been out pottering in the veg garden and a flash of something had caught his eye. Upon further inspection, lo, the lower echelons of the broad bean plants appeared to be covered in bright green pods. Masses. So tonight the plan will be - and luckily he's off to a Darwin symposium so he won't be helping (btw he's not sure he knows what a symposium is, but hey-ho it's a night out) - me shelling broad beans and freezing what I don't plan to eat over the next few days.

So tonight, broad beans with some creme fraiche and ham; tomorrow, broad beans with parsley and lemon to go with our fish and chips; Saturday more broad bean hummus.

Ooh and to add to it all, our very first pebble-like new potatoes were smashing.

PS: Just to add a note - those broad beans with the creme fraiche. Here's what I did: I got home, found, not the colander with a few pods in but half a stock pot full - MCD had been busy. I poured a glass of wine and went into the garden and left them there... No, not really. I decamped to the garden and podded the beans. It all came to about 2 handfuls - no wonder they're precious. I popped a big handful into a pan with a little butter and a slightly-too-large splash of white wine, added some shredded Parma ham and simmered very gently until they just started to pop through the outer casing and there was a hint of bright green visible. I stirred in creme fraiche, lemon juice and parsley and poured this ragout next to a sizzling pork steak, seasoned with a little lemon juice. Back out into the garden with more white wine - it was blissful and quite extraordinary to be eating the produce picked that morning and prepared a couple of minutes earlier.

Broadly speaking...

It occurred to me the other day as I was shelling my first clutch of broad beans (sadly not own-grown yet but from the farm shop) that - if given the chance - I would really like to come back as one. They nestle in a furry pod, they're the most wonderful vibrant shade of green and they're a real harbinger of summer. Oh, and they're best culinary friends with the pig. The one thing - the only thing - to remember is to peel off that leathery white casing you get round them once podded - or more likely, tipped from the freezer bag. Make sure there's something interesting on the wireless because it's a slightly dull job - blanch them for a minute or so in unsalted boiling water, then squeeze out the outrageously green beans and discard the casing.

Of course, if you grow your own, catch them early enough and you won't need to go through this process. But if there's even a hint of white leather handbag, get squeezing.

Anyway you now have some viridian broad beans. What to do with them - eat with goats cheese or ham, make a parsley cream sauce...? All good. But if you've been there, done that, make a pesto. Take your broad beans - blanched or raw - and pound them in a pestle and mortar with a scrap of garlic, olive oil, a little Pecorino (for preference, but I did use Parmesan), a little chopped mint and a squeeze of lemon. I've left it vague, as the amounts you use are down to taste, as is seasoning. You could add some toasted pine nuts or parsley as well.

I served this spread on bruschetta, then topped with ricotta and a smidge of extra virgin. Lush with a glass of Prosecco with a little strawberry puree in the bottom. Ideal in warm early summer evening sunshine, pretty damn good in front of the TV waiting for Eurovision before dinner.

My Veg Garden

Welcome to my veg garden. You might be struck by the peculiar banner - it's a Happy Birthday banner - the whole thing was built by Pa as a surprise for my husband's birthday. And we love it....

So far we're growing broad beans, potatoes, onions, rocket, lettuces, cavolo nero, kale, runner beans and further up the garden in a sunny spot, courgettes and tomatoes. It's a little exercise in The Good Life (I do long to be Barbara sometimes) and I'll keep you posted on our trials. So far you can take to the bank that spinach hates to be replanted. MCD swears it's growing - I swear it's keeled over with exhaustion.