After almost 20 years of living in Northern Europe, Chefette’s internal culinary calendar was pretty much set in stone. Different months each had their respective treasures to be awaited, craved and devoured. May meant crisp and tender spears of English asparagus. August meant the start of greengage plums and juicy wild blackberries. October meant sweet-fleshed pumpkins and earthy wild mushrooms.
Here in Bermuda, a sub-tropical climate in the middle of the Gulf Stream, it’s all gone topsy-turvy. Loads of vegetables – like the local pumpkins – don’t seem to have a season at all. They’re on some kind of perpetual harvest all year round. Other bits seem to come at completely the “wrong” time, like strawberries in March.
For a while, this mixup of the seasons had me a bit freaked out. But I’ve come to realise that it can be a good thing. I’ve returned to an age of innocence, when everything’s new and unexpected.
New season’s sweetcorn
Imagine my unadorned delight when I saw the first sweetcorn of the season over at the Sea Swept Farm stand at Barnes Corner on Wednesday. I hadn’t been expecting it, but I had to buy it there and then. I cooked it on the grill with an ancho-lime butter, then cut the kernels off the cob to use in a sweetcorn and tomato salsa. Mmmmm.
Here in Bermuda, a sub-tropical climate in the middle of the Gulf Stream, it’s all gone topsy-turvy. Loads of vegetables – like the local pumpkins – don’t seem to have a season at all. They’re on some kind of perpetual harvest all year round. Other bits seem to come at completely the “wrong” time, like strawberries in March.
For a while, this mixup of the seasons had me a bit freaked out. But I’ve come to realise that it can be a good thing. I’ve returned to an age of innocence, when everything’s new and unexpected.
New season’s sweetcorn
Imagine my unadorned delight when I saw the first sweetcorn of the season over at the Sea Swept Farm stand at Barnes Corner on Wednesday. I hadn’t been expecting it, but I had to buy it there and then. I cooked it on the grill with an ancho-lime butter, then cut the kernels off the cob to use in a sweetcorn and tomato salsa. Mmmmm.
No comments:
Post a Comment