Start of Olive Harvest 2020

Manzanilla Olives

We have moved up in the world of olive farming. In 2017 we started with a few donated bucket and crates, borrowed ladders and our trusty Toyota to convey our small harvest to the Co-Op in Almonte. We only managed to pick about 2-3 buckets a day, which is 40-60 kilograms, sometimes even less, because the olive trees were so bad; too high to reach, too overgrown to produce much fruit and too diseased, full of dead wood.

Three years later we have four people engaged to help picking, we have a jeep and trailer and a proper crate to transport our bounty to the agent, who collects the olives for the factory in Sevilla.

Thanks to our contractor, Antonio Sanchez, who also acts unofficially as our agricultural advisor, our olive trees look much healthier, greener and fuller. The constant pruning that Nigel does all year round is essential to achieve a good balance between too many or too few branches. We still have a long way to go when it comes to shaping and selecting the right branches to keep. And of course it takes time to let fresh regrowth mature to carry fruit.

This year we started harvesting on Wednesday, 9th of September with 2 Spanish workers and Steffi, our all-round talented neighbour. The following Monday, 14th of September, another Spanish worker joined us and now we are 6 persons picking olives every day.

This is necessary, as the sooner the olives are picked the more money we get. The longer they stay on the tree, the lower is their value as they will mature and turn black and our return on them sinks to 20 cent per kilo as opposed to 75 cent per kilo when they are green.

We are lucky in so far that we have bought an olive farm and not a vineyard. Because of the impact of the virus measures being taken to protect the population through restricting gatherings of people and cancellation of festivals the wine consumption is down 40%.  Thus the price of grapes has nose-dived. In our region here grapes are being left on the vine, as it just does not pay to even harvest them.

Luckily, olives still seem to be a staple on every table and the price is good this year because the lack of rain, again, means less tonnage is being brought in.

On Friday, 18 September 2020 we had our first rain since the end of May with heavy downpours and stormy conditions. The day before I planted out my second batch of tomatoes this year, hoping to get some fruit, as the days are still hot well into October and November, we will see if it works. I also have four young courgette plants in the garden.

Hail the Archeress

armed and dangerous

After a hiatus of seven years I have finally dug out my flat bow and home-made arrows again. They are a sorry sight, maimed and broken most of them. But I have set up a target, a dart board, under an olive tree and surprisingly even manage to hit it, now and then. It’s a great, powerful feeling to release an arrow in absolute silence and see it fly, powered by simple force of resistance and leverage.  I always have enjoyed this ancient craft of instinctive, traditional archery as it requires concentration and skill. Not for me the various implements like cords and pulleys, bow sights, cams and cables on a compound bow that measure the distance and set the exact force to hit home the arrow. In Ireland I had joined a mad-hatters club of archers in County Longford, the Warriors of Queen Maeve, which were more about the roaming of woods and cracking jokes than the seriousness of notching up points to be the best archer of them all. The attraction was the constant changing of targets, rubber animal shapes in all sizes, from a rat to a standing bear set up in various distances from the shooting positions in the wood, which resulted in contortions, kneeling, crouching, and sideways bending to get a clear view of the target through the trees and undergrowth, sometimes even climbing up on a fallen tree trunk or a platform to shoot up or down hills and valleys. To hit your target was real luck, or skill, or mostly a combination of both, just great fun to challenge yourself not to lose or break the arrow in the process, hence my only four remaining arrows.

So I will have to repair, maybe make some more arrows and practice, practice, practice until I can move up to my stronger bow and execute some serious archery.

Compost Toilet

blue window

We are advertising our finca for campers on various sites like pitch-up and areasauto-caravanas.com for people that like a quiet, rural place far from crowds and noise. Occasionally we do get somebody. Since we are not a dedicated camping site and do this only on a trial basis we do not have any services as yet.

In August a huge campervan drove up with seven people, three generations. They were the rather tiny granny and her grandchildren of 18 months and six years; also her three children, two sons and a daughter with her husband. Did you count? They all shared happily this one space, only Spanish are so family-loving. They had all they needed in this campervan and we only supplied water and two hours of generator connection. We don’t really earn anything out of it, it’s the novelty and giving people a choice, when in the high season all camping sites are stuffed full of holiday makers.

Another day one Renault arrived with four French lads and their tents. These were three brothers and a friend, they were really nice and we prepared breakfast for them. They also needed a shower and toilet, which was fine, as we had no guests in the downstairs bedroom. With the Covid-19 drama ongoing we cannot have guests, strangers, sharing a bathroom.

When we had Dodi and his tent here for a week, he definitely needed access to a bathroom, which was not possible when we had guests in the house.

Therefore I set upon Nigel with much nagging to build a compost toilet. And so he did, within four days he had constructed a solid building which will withstand any storm. Then the olive harvest started and we (or rather Nigel) have not got around to adding a roof, a proper door and a nice tiled floor, but it will happen.

I am all in favour of a dry toilet, which is by no means a new and radical thing. Compost toilets have been around for donkey’s years but nobody seems to want to invite them into their homes. I have come across them first in the 1990s in the Health Food Store in Berlin I worked. They sold upmarket types for garden sheds and holiday homes. In Ireland I used one in a converted outbuilding on a farm. Also German friends of ours that bought a finca have built a simple one and use it every time they are in the country, until they have modernised the house. A perfect solution for water preservation, no fussy plumbing required, and it provides the garden with manure. There is no smell, as liquids are soaked up by a layer of sawdust. They resulting human manure has to be composted for at least a year to be used in the garden. If you don’t believe me please read for yourself ‘The Humanure Handbook’ from Joseph Jenkins, available from Amazon or separate chapters are free to download.

The Egg Trick

Hens are clever; they hide their eggs in plain sight. We recently found a clutch of 19 eggs, right beside the door to the hen house, under the rose bush. We should have known because previously they hid the eggs around the corner in the rose bush. So without a date on the eggs, how would we know how old they were and if they were still ok to eat? It’s easy. Just put the eggs into a bowl of water and the fresh ones will stay below, see the egg marked ‘new egg’ in the photo, the old ones will float as the gases inside the shell develop. With the floating eggs I made a nice ‘dogs dinner’ scrambled egg. They were all good bar one that smelled like rotten eggs smell. The dogs anyway were delighted about their nice dinner.

LOVE & HATE August 2020

6 Nations in one House

The world we live in is divided, and always will be, by nature.

Between the hunters and the hunted, the perpetrators and the victims, people that love Brussels sprouts (I do) and ones that hate them. Some people prefer dogs over cats, or vise versa.

The divisions exist mostly in our brains, through judgments.

We are at present divided by fear and confusion. Fear against a virus, that is part of the ‘flu and cold viruses, but behaves differently, seemingly unpredictable, because we haven’t had time and experience to suss it out yet.

We are unsure whether mask wearing is life saving or nonsense, at least I am, because different so-called experts give diametrically opposed answers.

Our collective governments chose to restrict the most basic of human needs, to socialise, meet our families, carry out our hobbies (singing, playing wind instruments, mens’sheds, dancing) that help our mental well-being, all in the name of trying to save us from a virus, that to date has officially killed just about 0.026 per cent of the world population.

Conspiracy theories don’t help with feeling calm, all of it adds up to feeling completely controlled, by the virus and the governmental restrictions, and at the same time not feeling in control of our life at all.

However, here we are receiving guests.

August has been a very busy months, thankfully, making up for the 4 months of solitude. We had even non-Spanish visitors, from France, Brasil, Holland, Ireland (although living in La Linea) and Portugal. One day we were six nations assembled: 

Irish, German, Colombian, Moroccan, Bulgarian, Spanish.

Of course, we both are already two and then four guests make up six.

Guests either love it here, and 90% do, or they hate it.

There is a kind of person that should not be here, should not book here; mainly city-dwellers that need to be right there where the action is and other people; where everything is in walking distance, bars, cafes, restaurants, parks, entertainment. Some people hate to drive over the dusty, bumpy road with their beloved car and yes, the Spanish like to keep their cars shiny and clean.

Most people like a bargain; I do, but read no further than the price and end up here, en el campo.

We had a run of the friendliest people that gave us 10 point reviews on Booking.com but also a few flops, people that were unhappy and gave us bad reviews.

One couple arrived in the afternoon, their faces already not as bright as could be, saw the room and ask if there is a terrace, which I showed them and also the other bedroom upstairs. They favoured it as opposed to the high-quality sofa bed downstairs. Unfortunately it was only available for two nights, not the three nights they had booked. They proceeded to lie down for a rest and after an hour went out, never to be seen again.

An hour later I received the cancellation on my handy. Right, well, I feel it was a bit childish to walk away like that instead of trying to sort something out. I could have given the other room for two nights and then returned the money for the third night. I now get to keep the payment for three days, but they gave us a bad review. It seems to be a recurring theme that the Spanish are too proud to admit they made a mistake and have to find reasons why our place is unacceptable to them.

Another time the guests arrived also in the afternoon, he got out of the car, was shown the room, changed his clothes and drove away. He returned some time later, had a shower and left, again, never to be seen again. His girlfriend didn’t even get out of the car. He also left a bad review, he didn’t even stay overnight. He was not treated any different and everything was the same as for any other guest.

You can’t please everyone, certainly not when the expectations are different from reality.

We go out of our way to please our guests, make up dinners or lunches at the drop of a hat, breakfasts at 7.00am, will accommodate early or late arrivals and Nigel provides most of the entertainment, coaxing Spanish to speak English and most oblige and even get to enjoy practising a long forgotten foreign language.

And then…. there came a knock on our front door on Sunday noon. We did not expect anybody; our last guests were just ready to leave. Upon opening the door I saw two casually dressed men, shorts, sunglasses, t-shirts and a Toyota car. And then they identified themselves as the local police and told me there was a ‘denuncia’, we have been reported. I think our guests were more in shock than we were, because I am duly licenced and have an accountant to show i am willing to pay tax, if I had enough income. So I proceeded to copy the requested documentation and they informed me I had to take details of every guests ID, passport or similar. I was actually waiting for somebody official to tell me what I needed to do. Obviously it is up to the entrepreneur to obtain this information for themselves.  That is what I fell down on and my excuse was that Booking.com keeps all that info. Anyway, they said they would email me a program, so I can easily input all the required information, and so I wait…  In the meantime I am of course complying, so they won’t pull me up a second time, as they promised to be back.

I first suspected a couple of guests that booked for three days, but disappeared after an hour’s rest without a word and subsequently cancelled the booking.  I got in touch with them and they swore it wasn’t them. So who objects to our little business we will probably never know.

Emil

And then there was Emil (not his real name) from Holland, that arrived here with his tent and not much more than stories to his name. With thirty-five years of age, his mother pulled the purse strings because he had lost his passport so many times, that the police thought he sold it off. There is a reason of course for his misfortunes. At fifteen he had a bad car accident which left him in a coma for a week and since then he has trouble focusing, remembering and concentrating. Anytime he needs some funds, he calls his mum to explain how much, what for and she would transfer some to his account.

He, or rather his mother, booked for one night and he stayed six.

We felt sorry for him and brought him along to the beach and to a night out in El Rocio, together with another guest. On her last night, we had a little sun-downer on the upper terrace, Gin&Tonics, music and some Aniseed liquor, Emil’s favourite. He fell for her hook, line and sinker, but she had to return to her friends and job in Malaga.

Guapa & Ingles

We have added to our menagerie of hens, cats and dogs and now have permanently also two horses on loan from Sandrine, the owner of Doñana Horse Adventure. Ingles came first, he is 24 years old and retired. When our neighbours horses were still around, he was happy having the odd chat with them. But they went home, having eaten everything available, and so he went in search of company, jumping the fence and breaking a few posts in the process. To alleviate his loneliness Sandrine brought along Guapo, a white temperamental seven-year old. Now they are happy together, although Guapo is a little bully, trying to get his fair share of oats and more.

Isla Cristina, Huelva FISHING PORT

The harbour on Isla Cristina, just after Huelva town, is one of the most important fishing ports in Spain, so a guest told us. So we went to visit some Saturday evening. It took us one hour to get there. Isla Cristina is also one of the summer hotspots for life on the beach with numerous holiday apartments, hotels and holiday homes.

Here we see the gritty, dirty side of the sea, although in the evening all is quiet, the fishermen still resting from the early morning return with their big catches, which are being sold in the market hall and now in the many restaurants scattered throughout the town.

We select a quiet restaurant, Bar Escobalin (you can download their menu) directly at the harbour which sits relatively forlorn on Calle Muelle Marina, where the working boats are anchored. At half past eight we are, as usual, too early and have to go for another little stroll to watch the crabs slowly walking sideways away from the incoming tide.

At nine o’clock the owner proceeds to take out more tables and chairs and the small restaurant grows into a rather large affair, it seems it is a well-known place to eat away from the restaurants opposite the Lonja de Isla Cristina, the seafood market, where you find later on the crowds eating the fish and seafood caught in the night.

In fact, this seafood market functions like an auction house, where all the fish is coming along a conveyor belt and is being sold off to the traders and restaurants. It opens at 3.30am and sells its wares until 8pm.

Here is a video clip from facebook, which makes dead fish seem sexy https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=925781284180693

Of course the Gamba Blanca de Huelva are famous all over Spain and command a price, depending on their size, from €25/kilo to up 125€/kg.

And ordering a small dish of Huelva gambas in garlic and olive oil in a restaurant will set you back around €14.00.

We ate well for €32.00 with two tapas as starters and two racíon medio and one plato, a good slice of pez espada, swordfish. Yes, we were hungry and enjoyed our night out, because with so many guests we seldom have time to go out in the evenings.

June, 2020, 4th months of Covid- Madness

He is handsome, strong and Italian. And I just love him. He is called Polti.

I love to handle him, plug him in and hear him roar.

Is it a sign of Corona-Madness or just a sign of over-domestication since the lock-up and lack of meeting people?

I have started talking to my new vacuum cleaner. I have heard myself introducing him to our downstairs bathroom and telling him to clean those corners well. And look, there is Imelda in the shower, the palm house plant. She needed a bit of de-dusting and some freshening up ….

I am reading a book called ‘The Shaman’ by Noah Gordon and its having me in its thrall, I think about the people and the storyline incessantly. I love historical fiction, as not only is it entertaining, I also learn a bit about how people lived in bygone eras. This one is about a Scottish doctor putting down his roots as one of the first settlers in Illinois. There are still the last remaining native Indians, which are moved by force and threat to the reservations and also still slaves. It is a very emotional story, with interesting medical and agricultural details thrown in. I was surprised to see that I am not even half way through and so much has happened already. It just shows, the more change and drama a story has, the more it keeps the reader engaged.

Maybe I should be a bit more inventive in my blog, and not keep strictly to reality and truth?

Early June, Phase Three of the Corona Opening

The beach season has finally returned and with it the siesta. We don’t usually go to the beach before 16.00 because it is just too hot. Swimming in the warm Atlantic and splashing with the waves is the ultimate stress buster. I just feel myself de-tense, and I get a whole body work-out too.

We did that from Monday till Wednesday, when we finally realised that the beach was actually not open, not at all. The red flag on the main beach in Matalascanas was still up and police was patrolling the promenade.

A man beside us on our normal spot at Heidi Bananas chiringito told us, to fold up our sun umbrella, as it would attract the police and they can fine us. What?  Really?

Well, we weren’t the only oblivious or ignorant people, for there were more umbrellas to be seen flouting the law. But we folded it up and pretended we weren’t sunbathing at all…

It was going to get worse…

They nearly got us, €600 euro each for breaching the order to stay in our province. On Sunday evening we took a drive to Villamanrique with our guest Andres. We decided to take a road we didn’t know yet to El Rocio through the National Park. Half way a police patrol with three cars and six officers stopped us.

Oh no, I left all the papers, passports and NIEs in the other bag, Nigel’s driving licence was in the jeep, how stupid. Now what?

So the officer asked us where do we live, where did we come from, where do we go to and how did we get here. Turns out, we left our province on the way and were in Sevilla province, by maybe six kilometers. There was no sign or indication that pointed this out to us. Our guest explained that that he was here to find a job, stayed with us and we wanted to show him around a bit.

I don’t know what did it in the end, but we got off, puuh! But next time we would be fined, up to €600 each. Maybe it was the car, steering wheel on the wrong side or the fact that we are extranjeros, not speaking much Spanish, or our obvious stupidity, going around without identification. At least the car had a valid NCT (ITV) and new tires, so that was in our favour.

And then there was BERLIN….

On the bus to Sevilla

Impressions of an unusual journey:

I ended up spending the rest of the months in Berlin, three weeks to be precise. On Sunday I got a phone call from the carers that look after my mother. She had just been out a week from one of her more frequently-getting hospital stays and they were getting concerned about her condition. So by Thursday I was en route via Sevilla – Madrid- Frankfurt. The train from Sevilla to Madrid was full and so were the flights, Corona or not. But the airports were eerily empty, devoid of food, drink, noise and bustle. What a very relaxing and strange experience.

My mother was 96 years old, born in 1924 and witnessed the second world war as a young woman. She had to become part of the war machinery by working wherever she was sent; farms, an ammunition factory, do secretarial work and never got to carry out her chosen profession, hat making. She nearly died of diphtheria, had typhus and chill blains.

After the war she got married and moved from her native Havelberg to Berlin. There the young couple shared the bombed out city by lodging in cramped conditions, several families to an apartment until my father took over the upholstery business of his father. My brother was born, then I, 11 ½ years later. The marriage was not a happy one, my brother left when I was five, my father died when I was nine. Then my mother started to blossom and enjoy life again. She needed to look after me and became a shop assistant with a family friend, who had three fashion shops to her name. The work was varied, brought my mother into different parts of Berlin and she enjoyed earning her own money. She was good at her job and was eventually taken on by the big fashion store ‘Kuehl’ who owned a store Am Ku’Damm and another in Steglitz. She worked there nearly up to 70 years of age.

Her twin brother had already died in 2002, she mourned him deeply for two years, even though they had little actual contact, his family living in West-Germany.

Any time in the last few years after I visited her, I thought that this could have been the last time I saw her alive. Her death did not come unexpected at her age and we had time to say Good-bye.

She was the lucky one in this crazy time of Covid-19. Would it have happened earlier, I would not have been able to be with her, or my children. We feel privileged to have had the chance to share these last days with her, even if her dementia meant there was very little real conversation.

She died on the 19th of June 2020 and we were so very lucky to be there with her, my two children, her grand-children, and I. I stayed with her in her apartment where she died, as was her wish. I can only express my deepest thanks to the dedicated carers, who looked after her with compassion and love and did not let me out of their thoughts, even when she was gone, sending messages on Whatsapp how I was keeping.

I had time to sift through all her paperwork; every postcard she ever got, all her bills, shopping lists, even my father’s documents from when he was released as a POW (prisoner of war) in France; all my letters to her she never threw away, which are my innermost thoughts and my life story, she was always a part of that.

For her funeral we were fifteen, as most of the surviving relatives were too old to make the journey and by then my brother was also out of hospital. She has found a resting place in a quiet, intimate graveyard with old trees and an old village church nearby, and this in the heart of Berlin, not far from where she lived for 70 years.

Considering it all, I have to say that this was a good experience. Everything came together wonderfully. And most important of all my mum did not have to suffer long. It was the second time I have accompanied a person in his/her last days, every time is different, every time is special and every time it is painful to let go.

Impressions of Berlin:

The Madness continues…

I have been busy at the sewing machine as the wearing of face masks is here to stay and I hate disposable anything. Too much throw-away items like gloves, masks, bags, wipes, paper towels and gowns are being used to combat the spread of this ominous corona virus.

I looked on YouTube to find a good tutorial for a comfortable face mask [ see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fySsaOojEVM or http://www.fabricpatch.net/face-masks-for-covid-19-relief.htm with full instructions, excellent] and have now made four. Another two will go to Ireland to my kids. I am taking orders ;0)

Food Worries

(or rather shape shame)

I am in trouble, again. Not in the criminal sense but in the food way. Since my teens I have been interested in and looking for information on healthy eating and slowly developed my own way of cooking and creating dishes that are based on lots of vegetables. I don’t have a sweet tooth, so sweets, chocolate, deserts and unfortunately fruit don’t feature in my diet a lot.

The other important part I believed in is whole wheat and sour dough breads. I am aware that white sugar and white flour are bad for you and should be minimised. However, now that I am gluten-intolerant I have to cut out the wholemeal and am left with the gluten free white, starchy alternatives like maize, rice and potato starch. They don’t fill me up since the gluten is a hard to digest part and makes you feel full.

I have now mastered to bake nice, fluffy toast bread with egg, sesame, poppy, sunflower and pumpkin seeds. I have also baked lovely gluten-free muffins, cakes and cookies.

Only now to realise that, as I had the suspicion, these starchy baked goods will play havoc with my midriff. Yes, it’s the dreaded spare tire. And it won’t budge, even though I have embarked on a strenuous daily 45-minutes dance-fitness routine and all my legs and arms are strong and toned and my heart gets a good work out too. I have done this now six weeks. It’s great fun and makes me feel – every muscle in my body.

I have never been on a diet as I eat healthy enough and my weight has been stable. I did some fasting when younger, and would prefer this as a renewal and clean-out.

But the bulge has to go!! This means to avoid the majority of all cereals, starches and carbohydrates; which brings me to the Keto-diet. I have read up on it and dismissed it at first. It would mean eating a lot of protein, so more meat and cheese and milk products. Now, I am also lactose-intolerant and cream and butter is a pure terror on my digestion. So I am pretty much limited if I also want to be more vegetarian then not.

I needed to do a lot more research on this one and maybe adjust my attitude. Here is where I looked:

http://www.eatingwell.com/article/291245/complete-keto-diet-food-list-what-you-can-and-cannot-eat-if-youre-on-a-ketogenic-diet/

This is the blurb:

‘The ketogenic diet is a high-fat, moderate-protein and very low-carbohydrate diet. Carbohydrates are the body’s preferred source of energy, but on a strict ketogenic diet, less than 5 percent of energy intake is from carbohydrates. The reduction of carbohydrates puts the body into a metabolic state called ketosis. Ketosis is when the body starts breaking down stored fat into molecules called ketone bodies to use for energy, in the absence of circulating blood sugar from food. Once the body reaches ketosis, most cells will use ketone bodies to generate energy until you start eating carbohydrates again.’

Thank goodness for our hens which produce wholesome eggs every day. At least here is something I can eat without guilt or pain. I also rather like feta cheese (and other cheeses), Greek yoghurt, avocado, fish, chicken or turkey, nuts and seeds. Dark chocolate, tea and coffee are allowed for some reason, of course unsweetened and only berries when it comes to fruit. Luckily courgettes or zucchini features heavily as a vegetable and at the moment I have so much that they get pickled, frozen and turned into chutney.

Keto means no baked goods or even muesli, no honey or juices, no starchy, sweet fruit like bananas, apples, canned fruit. No potatoes, not even sweet potato or rice. This is tough, I don’t think this is for me since I don’t suffer from a disease and am not overweight and also this disclaimer worries me a bit: “Like most highly restrictive diets, it is difficult to meet nutritional needs while doing keto,” says Stone. “It often comes with uncomfortable side effects like constipation and the ‘keto flu.’ Also, the long-term health consequences are not well understood.”

 There are also side-effects like bad breath. So I will take the middle road by cutting out most carbs and see what happens. We are now into the hot summer, with temperatures of over 30 degrees Celsius, so naturally we won’t be eating the starchy comfort food popular in Germany and Ireland. A smoothy or salad for lunch will do nicely, and for dinner it will be even more veg, meat or fish and some carbs for Nigel, as he burns a lot more calories per day and needs them.

Here is another website with common sense approach to lose that belly fat and this seems to make a lot more sense: https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/20-tips-to-lose-belly-fat#The-bottom-line .

The recommendations include a 24-hour fast once a week, which has always been a great way to boost the body’s defense system, clear out the intestines and give the tummy a rest,  clear the fog in the mind. Most religions have fasting in-build into their believe system, like Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Taoism, Jainism, and Hinduism. Go to https://www.telegraph.co.uk/lifestyle/11524808/The-history-of-fasting.html to get a rundown of the history and benefits of fasting.

Now, this is a real challenge. Because I love harvesting delicious fresh produce from the garden, I love cooking and eating I am not sure if I have the willpower to do without those pleasurable things…..

End of May – full on summer

            I had my first success with carrots, which is funny as I had given up on growing carrots. I actually only threw the remaining carrot seeds from last year’s debacle together with the chamomile seeds into one half of our high growing container, thinking that as the chamomile grows up the carrots grow down and also this companion planting will deter the carrot fly. Lo and behold, the carrots actually grew!

We actually had one guest in May, a Spanish single traveler that got stuck in Huelva during the quarantine and stayed with us for one week. Angel was very kind, he brought back food for the dogs and cats and introduced us to typical Andalusian dishes, including snails, caracoles. They are seasonal and are collected in the vineyards (or gardens). We ate them, Nigel liked them , I only ate them as revenge for their cousins eating my plants, but won’t repeat the experience.

First day allowed in the water

            Andalucia has now entered phase two of the de-escalation, as the government calls it here, and we are finally allowed into the water and not just looking at it. We only go in the late afternoon, as the heat is dangerous, it is over 34 degrees Celsius.

Kitchen and Garden Magic – Still in part-quarantine

dav

(and not another word of the ‘virus’ in this blog)

There are quite a few very lovely, strong leeks in the garden that started their lives last September. Now they have reached full height and are going to start to push up flower stems inside. We obviously can’t eat them all at once, so they need to be preserved. I am freezing these four leeks.

Step 1: stick knife into the ground to loosen the leek from its roots by cutting around it. I keep the roots in the ground as organic matter which is very needed here as the soil is very loamy and sticky, and gets hard like concrete when dry.

Step 2: shake the leek vigorously upside down to dislodge any snails!

Step 3: discard any old, dried and discoloured outer leaves and cut the upper green leaves off from the lighter coloured stalk. I use the entire leek, why waste it?

Step 4: wash the dark leaves; it’s easier when cutting off the part that was attached to the main trunk. Wash also the trunk or stalk part.

Step 5: Cut all in equal big chunks, but keep dark and white parts separate.

Step 6: Blanch cut bits for 2-3 minutes (depending on the size) in boiling water; drain, splash with cold water to cool down and bag up. I blanched the outer green leaves, which tend to be tougher separately and then bag them up together with the white parts.

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stuffed baked courgette

The other vegetable that starts producing now at an alarming rate is the courgette or zucchini. Last year I just could not get them going, but this year I successfully raised four plants from seed. They are lovely just sautéed with butter (or oil) and garlic, and I add them to almost everything, from soups to Bolognese sauce, curries and chutneys. And the stuffed courgettes were not bad either.

This year I have started to pickle them sweet-sour together with some pumpkin and onions and they turned out very yummy. The next batch will go into chutney.

 

Let me explain why I enthuse so much about my garden and its successes and failures. I was born and reared in Berlin, when it was still divided by a wall and fenced all around. I grew up in a street with tall old buildings and big old trees, in a district considered fairly good, where we were not allowed to speak slang. My mother is from a town 70 kms to the north-east, my father was from Berlin, but his parents hailed from Vienna.

My mother instilled a love for the outdoors and nature in me. She would take me to the parks, the lakes, the forests and the amazing sandy beach, all in West-Berlin. We took the pleasure steam boats across the chain of lakes, visit the island of peacocks with the mock castle, went swimming in summer and sleighing and ice-skating in the snow in winter. She was once very sporty and loved being active, she never drove a car and so all shopping was done by foot, which kept her active until only two years ago, at the age of ninety-four she finally had to admit to needing help, as she lives alone, still at ninety-six.

I have always dreamt of green fields behind the grey walls of the houses. I always cried when returning from a holiday away from the city. I was always stressed by the people, the traffic and not being able to see the horizon. So it was only a question of time when I would leave the big city behind and venture forth, to lonely places, blue horizons and endless sky.

My first escape out of the city, other than a holiday, was a six month stint on an organic farm in north Germany near Flensburg. I then studied agriculture and that brought me to Ireland, another six months to learn the ways of farming and proper English. Ireland has long been the escapism dream of Germans. Many have bought a small holding there and settled away from the maddening crowd.

There I met my husband to be, eventually got married, lived and worked on his dairy farm, had two children, worked as an agricultural consultant, divorced and finally continued my life with Nigel in Spain. I would not like to live again in a city or even a town. So here I am, trying my hand at gardening in the hot climate. Now you know why I am so filled with wonder, excitement and awe when a little seed grows into a big plant to give us food and pleasure as flower or herb.

More Gluten-free Cake

This time I tried ‘Karina’s Jewish Apple Cake Recipe with Sour Cream’ I found here: https://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/2007/03/flourless-apple-cake.html

It came out juicy, lovely, more-ish. As usual I adapted the recipe to what I have available. I believe recipes are not to be taken too serious; they serve me more as an inspiration to try out something new. Here is the recipe:

Ingredients:

5 medium apples, room temperature, peeled, cored (I used a mix of both and pears)

A little lemon juice for spritzing the apples

Wet ingredients:

3 large organic free-range eggs

1 cup packed organic light brown sugar & 1/2 cup organic cane sugar (this sounded way too sweet, considering that my strawberry yoghurt already had sugar in it, so I only used a ¾ cup of sugar, which was just right)

2 teaspoons bourbon vanilla extract

3 tablespoons extra light olive oil

1/4 cup sour cream (I used strawberry yoghurt)

Dry ingredients:

2 cups almond flour aka almond meal

1/4 cup rice (this confused me, does it mean cooked rice or rice flour or actual uncooked rice? I went with the latter and it gives the cake a surprising crunch as the rice did not fully cook. It’s not bad but maybe milled coarse rice would achieve a nicer result)

1/2 cup potato starch or tapioca starch (I used Maizena, maize starch)

1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon McCormick Apple Pie Spice ( I used ground cloves)

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon or cardamom, 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350ºF/180 C. Line a 10-inch springform pan with greased parchment paper. Springform pans are deeper than average cake pans. (Mine is a silicone form).

Chop the apples/pears and toss them into a bowl; spritz with a little fresh lemon juice. Toss to coat.

In a separate bowl beat the eggs with the sugar until smooth. Add the vanilla, oil and sour cream/yoghurt; beat to combine.

Stir together the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Slowly add them into the wet mixture and combine well. Drain the apples, if necessary (you don’t need any extra lemon juice). Toss them in a light sprinkle of cane sugar.

Pour half of the cake batter into the prepared pan. Add the drained sugared apples into the batter. Shake the pan a bit. Add half of the nuts.

Pour the remaining batter on top of the apples; shake the pan again to distribute the batter around the apple pieces. Add the rest of the nuts to the top and lightly press in.

Bake in the center of a preheated oven for ~ 1 hour. The cake should be done in about 60 to 70 minutes. Test for doneness with a wooden skewer. If the cake begins to over-brown before it is done, cover the edges loosely with pieces of foil.

Cool on a rack for ten to fifteen minutes. Loosen the cake gently from the sides of the pan with a thin spatula. Release the clasp and remove the pan ring. Allow the cake to cool completely on a wire rack. Serve warm or room temperature. Obviously best eaten with whipped cream or custard …………….

Karina's Jewish Apple Cake Recipe with Sour Cream’