Here’s the third of four newsletters reporting from a recent project on an organic farm in Reepham, Norfolk, featuring journal entries, scans of my scrapbook (made by Rosie Lee Wilson), photos and drawings, as well as an interview with Tommy, Helen and Meg from Salle Moor Market Garden.
Here are pt1 and pt2 if you fancy following.
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A plant is a plant is a plant
As the week went on, I started getting more stuck in with the tasks around the plot; sowing new seeds, potting on plantlets, harvesting ripe produce and preparing soil for next crops. I had some experience of this during my stay at Round The Bend in Massachusetts, following instructions from the biodynamic calendar. Once roots have been pulled and either chopped-and-dropped or shaken-and-composted, the topsoil needs to be soaked, broken up slightly and fed with minerals or cow-dung. Allowing this to rot down for a few days so nutrients can penetrate the soil and myceliate networking can refresh gives the farmers a chance to measure beds and decide on the most suitable crops. It also gave me a chance to glean odds’n’sods that weren’t sellable, and collect volunteer plants, diverting fresh materials towards the kitchen to keep me busy.
I mostly worked in small batches to try different techniques with the same main ingredient, for example, a barrow kohlrabi cleared from a polytunnel to make space for pumpkins: cubed for a pink pickle, slices for carpaccio w capers, grated in a sauerkraut, matchsticks for a crunchy slaw, and peeled stems for lactofermented batons. In this way, I was able to try multiple different processes which would ultimately tell me all I needed to know about the characteristics of the crop: its flavour, texture, porosity, ability to hold flavour, reaction to heat. This illustrates my materials-based research, usually applied to commercial debris. Within this information that presents itself to me, I was able to think more unobstructedly about the true essence of each plant grown by Tommy, Helen and Meg, without needing externally-grown crops for comparison.
If we are to start rejecting labour-intensive, soil-destructive modes of growing food, and supporting fair, local and regenerative practices, for me the key is to remove our heads from the market. By this I mean we will always find cheaper, larger, more beautiful versions of those crops tended to by small farmers in any number of supermarkets, but there is an astronomical difference in the way these are produced. One look at a neatly-stacked crate of apples tells us that there is no room for imperfect. Of course, we have recently seen the introduction of “wonky boxes”, singling out some of the more odd-shapes and creating a wholly new item, rather than integrating them into the motherload. It’s a great item because the price to weight ratio is excellent, but the thought that these might otherwise be chucked is prescient. This reitereates to me that commodification is an anthropocentric, aesthetic judgement rather than a baseline functional one, and it still sits very much within market logic
The perceived lifecycle of a plant on a supermarket shelf is an extremely small sliver of the whole, which holds little or no information about the provenance, farmer, production methods, transportation, air miles or institutional labour (all contain agents that need paying). Consumer capitalism purposefully obfuscates parts of, or totally, this information to keep us in the dark, and to reinforce the status of a plant as a commodified item in a scarcity market: the idea being that the illusion of choice pushes us further towards individualised notions of security, convenience and luxury.
Skill sharing for sovereignty
On Friday morning, I ran a kimchi workshop in the polytunnel that has been earmarked for a new classroom. I’d had help in de-leafing and brining large amounts of cabbage leaves the night before, to soften them and draw the moisture out, so just rinsed them in preparation for the session. Trying to work with covid restrictions was fine in such a big space, and each participant brought a knife, chopping board, apron and cleaning rag. There was no recipe as such, but I was able to at least weigh all the materials so I could at least use a sensible amount of salt. No other exactitudes are really needed in any fermentation process, particularly in a materials-led philosophy, and learning to feel your way through a series of movements and choices based on the circumstances (in my opinion) offers the chance to deepen the connection with ingredients and become adept at troubleshooting along the way. Unlike following a recipe, there is no right or wrong if you’re freestyling!
I always work in quite an intuitive way: add in a glug of this or a dash of that, substitute similar ingredients in and out, incorporate wild and abundant plants. I never like to buy extra materials if I can use something to-hand, especially if I can’t get anything organic or surplus. This methodology is rooted in enforced resourcefulness stemming from the economic scarcity mindset I was raised in, except I have now fully embraced and solidified it as a personal strength!
To refuse a standardised route or relinquish control can open us to the infinity of chance. Consistency of product is a characteristic of commodified food: two bottles of the same brand ketchup bought years apart will be almost identical. We like to know where we stand. Inconsistency, while traditionally weighted with negativity, holds potential language of experimentation, of making-do, of improvisation, and of personal liberation from rules written somewhere else by someone else. This is the beauty of any sort of domesticated food practice: the amateur reigns. Why strive for uniformity with materials that are very much living and random? Is following rigid guidelines just another way of humans exhibiting control over lifeforms that we deem inferior, even dead, objects?
In working with plants under their tutelage, in withholding judgement and being open to learn from these more-than-humans, it’s possible we can relieve ourselves of species supremacy.
101 Uses for cabbage leaves
Food vehicle ie burrito
Ferment plug
Bib
Placemat
Chopping board stabiliser
Cleaning cloth
Door wedge
Plate
Fan
Pot lid
Sunhat
Soup spoon
Oven mitt
Hot plate
Face mask
Spoon rest
Rain hat
Table shim
Loo roll
Journal
“Thurs 17 Jun
6am start! We harvested for CSA boxes in the translucency, learnt lots about italian lettuce varieties & digging our carrots. Keeping the soil + fodder in the ground is key – doing work in the tunnel simplifies all succeeding steps, keeping dirt on ensures visual authenticity, also protect the plant from oxidising quickly. Packing crates was super interesting and I saw a well-organised team in their flow. When we stopped for coffee I initiated a conversation about their project, teasing out some thoughts on reasons, methodologies, aims and plans. The underlying theme is so pure: to grow delicious food, revitalise the soil and gain meaningful employment. After lunch I made a bunch of ferments, then Jack came, we brined some cabbages for kimchi and drank beers while deconstructing ‘Line Of Duty’.”
Recipe
Lactospuds recipe
1kg small potatoes
3 cloves garlic
3 sprigs rosemary
60g sea salt
1L dechlorinated tap water
Wash and scrub the spids but keep the skin on. Prick w a fork
Remove the garlic paper and chop (cloves) tiny
Stir salt into water in a large tub until dissolved, then add spuds, garlic and herbs
Cover pot or bucket with muslin (or a teatowel) and leave to ferment in an ambient spot out of sunlight for 2 days
Drain and keep brine for soup, broth, gravy
Rinse spuds, steam then pan fry w butter to finish - don’t boil!