May days

April is the most astonishing month.

From misty to hail to sun, the weather is petulant.  And the garden follows suit! Hidden behind the ungiving frosty mornings the ground must secretly be warming, because suddenly the green flourishes. I had been anxiously seeking my peoney plants, worried they had been carelessly squashed or murdered by boisterous fence & shed replacements. I found them on a bleak Sunday in the gloaming evening, their red alien fists punching up through the soil; three weeks later and they were lush, green and a foot tall! Everything is burgeoning. Even the weeds...

I really enjoyed weeding in winter.  My battle with brambles and that sneaky, tenacious ivy actually seemed to be progressing - in my favour. But bring on the April showers and shy first sun and I have a dispiriting handicap, as if I am now fighting with one hand behind my back.  I see I can no longer be a weekender; it begins to seem as if longer days are provided for the sole purpose of keeping on top of the growing vegetation.

For the first time, I have been nurturing* seeds to life. I thought I had over-watered and rotted them, but it turns out that even they are keen to thrive. After 3 weeks of being ignored they sprang to life and now I am thrilled to be growing tomatoes (moneymaker), courgette, patty pan squash and butternut squash. I have some herbs on the go and Rose & Al gifted me two sturdy strawberry plants they have been bringing on.  

I put the seedlings outside yesterday to harden off, only to find it was warmer outside than inside the house. May has over stretched itself into July temperatures: such hot weather! Like being dropped into summer for a day. So today I shelter inside (ironically less hardy than the spindly, baby tomato plants) and make lunch.

 

Surprise-Summer lunch

1) Discover last year's elderflower cordial hasn't gone off & have with fizzy water & lemon.

2) Rootle in the fridge for salad items.  Layer up in a flat bowl:

Watercress; cucumber, cubed; radishes, halved, a spring onion, thinly sliced; avocado; red chilli which later turns out to be disappointingly mild, very finely diced.

Lemon juice, olive oil, black pepper & salt... you know the drill.

3) Make like the Larkin poem and enjoy it with all windows down, all sense of hurry gone.

* neglecting

The Ivy Bubble

Sitting in primark pyjamas, eating fried egg and field mushrooms on toast, I recalled a comment made last night about the beauty of the rose being also in the thorns, and not just the flower. There were both thorns and flowers last night, creating a fully-rounded - and very delightful - experience. But my thoughts led me to wonder if my evening at The Ivy could be called beautiful... given the worrying lack of thorns?

It should, perhaps, more accurately be called 'The Ivy Bubble'. From the moment the top-hatted doorman ushered us inside, (my heart jumping at the mere sight of the famous ivy stained glass!) we were encased in the kind of warm aura that I suspect is also known as 'money'. Someone took our coats, another person sat us down, a third swiftly concocted very fine gin and tonics, should we be parched from our walk to the table.

It gets no worse, so I will whisk you past the entirely charming waiting staff, who wouldn't let you sit down but that they pulled a table discretely aside, past the amount of sequins worn by celeb-spotters at the surrounding tables... and head straight for the food.

My duck and watercress salad was stickily, darkly dressed and be-sessame seeded. Rose had a prosciutto, fig and rocket salad, with provlone cheese - every bit as good as it sounds. I next had monkfish cheeks with chickpeas, chorizo and padron peppers. I don't really remember the padron peppers, they were lost on me but the monkfish cheeks were tasty nuggets, despite their slightly sinewy covering; the chorizo pulled the dish together and gave it a perfect amount of flavour. Rose had a beautiful tuna steak, with that lovely smoky, chargrilled flavour that should accompany such impressive black stripes: her only gripe was that she should have ordered it rare. It was still beautiful.

We drank Limoux Chardonnay (Chateau d'Antugnac 2007 France), recommended by the sommelier, a man I could easily take shopping with me, so user-friendly was he. To ensure we didn't go hungry we accompanied this feast with champ, parmesan-fried courgettes and buttered spinach. We finished with baked alaska, flamed at our table in the most satisfyingly extravagant manner, served with the most alcoholic cherries known to man, and a coffee. The Ivy bubble made everything feel like heaven.

I was a little surprised at how eclectic the menu was - I rather expected something more tightly selected. Instead, bang bang chicken sat next to kingfish sashimi and steak tartare. Rump of saltmarsh lamb nestled alongside the ivy hamburger and the ubiquitous thai green curry. 'Peas and heritage carrots with chervil' make it to my top 10 favourite poncy dishes. Heritage carrots!

I have the receipt as a memo of the food we ate, and the first item is two G&T's priced £15: as it was a birthday gift to me, I think my sister was the beneficiary of the 'thorn' of the evening! The rest really was all roses.

http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/