The Menu: May is when I begin growing food produce at home in earnest

Delicious oregano also served as a decorative plant in Joe McNamee’s old garden where many ornamental plants were edible.

May is upon us once more, and as a proud May baby, I have no hesitation in saying it is the finest month of the year; is there another with the same invigorating sense of vibrant new energy and possibility, including the fingers-crossed possibility of an actual summer ahead.

May is when those early pathfinders of April, asparagus and rhubarb, are superseded by the first real flush of the new growing season. May means succulent strawberries, perky salad greens at their peak, and my favourite dish of all: New potatoes, served up with fresh chopped parsley (another May ‘baby’), and too much butter (mind you, in recent years, new spuds have been laggardly, delaying until June, so fingers crossed for climactic clemency!).

While June is the official start of summer in Ireland, I prefer the ‘old currency’ — when Bealtaine and Lá Bealtaine, the cross quarter day between spring equinox and summer solstice, traditionally marked the beginning of the Irish summer. As a child, I would associate bluebells with my birthday and I would also pot up geraniums: The first flower I ever grew and still grow to this day, a lifetime devotee of its guileless, blousy charms. It is also when any home growing of produce begins for me in earnest.

Having recently moved, and left behind a precious garden over two decades in the making and growing, I am starting anew — albeit in a significantly more challenging location, my lofty perch very exposed to the south-westerlies.

Other than constructing a natural wind break, I will begin as before, observing, moving slowly, taking mostly tiny actions, to learn the characteristics of my new micro-climate over several years.

At the height of summer, the lush growth of my previous demesne gave me untold pleasure. It also furnished a mighty bounty on the plate and I aim to achieve similar here. Save a barrel of spuds, I will steer clear of the ‘big sack’ veg — carrots, onions, cabbages etc — as I will now be growing entirely in planter boxes.

But, as in my last garden, even ornamental growing will also be edible where possible. When my daughter was younger, she relished eating endless random flowers and leaves in front of astonished friends, programmed since birth not to put ‘strange stuff’ in their mouths. I had a dedicated herb bed but also sited herbs elsewhere for visual impact. Oregano, most exquisite when fresh and very fine in pizza sauce, made for a glorious golden-green border plant to frame my ‘forest’ of lupins.

I use fresh bay leaves in multiple dishes, venerating their intricate flavours, but it took several years to learn that my struggling bay laurel didn’t like the wind, only achieving its eventual statuesque grace in a sheltered spot. It will be an even trickier proposition in my new space. The startling big ‘heads’ of globe artichokes chimed with the more delicate purple puffball flowers of chives, while the billowing grace of fennel furnished flavours from flowers, fronds, and pollen throughout summer, and then I’d preserve the seeds.

In the end, I surrendered a tangle of raspberries and blueberries almost entirely to the nesting blackbirds who paid ample ‘rent’ with their daily slug patrol and the jungle meant much of my climbing beans became inaccessible so instead delivered a joyous show of flowers.

I also successfully introduced wild strawberries, three-cornered leek, and wild garlic, and am curious to see how they cope with the restrictions of my new environment — too much probably for wild garlic, but the other pair would grow in your eye.

I’ve never had a greenhouse but south-facing floor-to-ceiling windows mean I already have three flourishing basil plants, flush with vitality, Olympic superstars in comparison to the Park Run pedestrians of their potted compadres on the supermarket shelves. I also fancy this year, I’m going to harvest the finest tomatoes I’ve ever grown.

At a time of global crisis, when our collective angst can be cruel and crippling, re-engaging with nature is incredibly grounding, healing, and therapeutic — never more so than when the fruit of your labour yields food for the table. So get your fingers away from the screen, stick them into the soil, and let May — the force that feeds — be with you.

Galway blossoms in May

Considering the theme of the main piece, Blás na Bealtaine (A Taste of May), running for the entire month, in Galway, is a no-brainer, featuring natural wine pairings, seafood trails, pop-up feasts, chef swaps, with superb cooking and premium West of Ireland produce to the fore. Highlights include a Burgundy wine celebration in Aniar with the wonderful Róisín Curley and Fable Tours’ Clifden Bites & Sights takes in the charming Connemara town and some very fine fare.

atasteofgalway.com/events

TODAY’S SPECIAL

Summer always spells seafood to me and there is a guilty pleasure in taking the easiest and most accessible route of using preserved produce, whether canned or in jars. The range of pâté (lobster, anchovy, tuna and smoked salmon) from Shines’ Seafood, crusty sourdough, green salad leaves, homemade mayo with lemon zest and a good crisp, chilled Burgundy are all that’s needed to start an instant party. Smoked salmon and lobster are crowdpleasers, tuna is better again but I’ll always be a sucker for the umami oomph of anchovy flavours.

shinesseafood.ie