The Impulsive Gardener

...or 'zucchini' to those reading state-side.

First off, let me apologise for lack of pictures. I have reasons!
A. my kitchen is literally under ground, so if it isn't reeeally sunny, everything the camera sees looks orange.  B. My cat is the spawn of something extreemly feral and with that amount of hard-to-find-this-fresh, arm-and-a-leg salmon in one place I wasn't going to risk get distracted with fiddling around with the micro settings.
C. You try catching her.

Annnnd there may have been a tiny shallow piece of me that didn't want a fishy smelling camera -but, I will make it in the daytime, put the cat Outside and man up next time. Promise.

Now, what is ceviche? Well, it's essentially raw fish which has been immersed in a lemony/limey/orangey bath with herbs and spices. The citric acid in the lemon/lime/orange/etc juice denatures the proteins in the fish making it appear cooked, which you can see almost immediately when you add the salmon to the marinade. Cool, huh? Food poisoning is still possible which is why, like sushi, you use the absolute freshest fish available and console yourself with dreaming about it otherwise.

1 boneless fillet of spankin' fresh salmon per person.*
Juice of 2 limes and 1 orange
2 tsp sea salt
2 garlic cloves, crushed

1-2 slices of crusty white bread
Enough ricotta cheese to spread over the bread (in a pinch, cream cheese works too)
Few sprigs dill 

1 courgette, cut into thick matchsticks
1 bell pepper, cut into similar sized pieces
1 table spoon butter

*It's really worth chilling the salmon in the fridge or freezer so that its firmer and a lot easier to slice when the time comes. You can also have the fishmonger skin it and give it the once over for pesky bones if you ask nicely. 

Juice the limes and orange into a non-reactive bowl (i.e. enamelled, stoneware, glass or Tupperware), then add the salt and garlic cloves.
Thinly slice the salmon sides, turning the knife parallel when you come to the skin to keep it from coming away with the meat. Be careful and experiment, you'll get the knack. Add the sliced salmon to the salty, garlicky citrus juice and stir to coat. Pop into the fridge for 30 min, then drain.

Get the drained salmon, bread, cheese and stir fry veggies to hand and ready to assemble because a very large part of this dish's detectability depends on that contrast of hot and cold, soft and crunchy.

Put the bread on to toast and immediately after melt the butter in a frying pan and add the bell pepper and courgette. Stir fry for 3-5 min (the smaller the pieces the less cooking time) or until the veggies are hot but still have some crunch.

Take the still-warm toasted bread and spread with ricotta. Sprinkle with the dill, then pile on the hot veggies and top with the salmon ceviche. Serve straight away.

Also works brilliantly with cold avocado and thinly sliced raw fennel in place of the courgettes and maybe chives instead of/with the dill.

There exists a place, deep in the frosted country lanes of darkest Suffolk where, for a mere £2.30 you can buy three dozen of the kookiest eggs around. Behold.

Move over fancy pants blue eggs, these beauties are the result of a little hiccough in the hens laying facilities. Funny aureole-like spots of pigmentation, crinkly wrinkles, delicate thin shells or streamlined shapes like airstream trailers, any or all of these little eccentricities will invariably find their way into the nest box. Learn to love them.

Errrg.

Tis the season of the post-Christmas bloat; Everythings full. I'm full. The fridge is full (shavings of roast goost jostle for space with half-moons of smelly cheeses that keep belching out their fumes every time you reach in for a pint of milk). I actually have a loot bag this year (from Amazon, in cookie-monster-blue, which previously only held a much anticipated pasta maker) and guess what? Thats full. Of cookbooks and funny flavoured liquors - step aside sloe gin, I've got elderflower and horseradish -

The garden is full of tufty uncut winter grass growth, mud and wet sticky leaves which unerringly plaster themselves to an already slippery pathway. My beds are for once, not empty. Coriander, cultivated rocket, marvel of four seasons lettuce and land cress are all eeking themselves along, popping up tentative tender leaves every week or so, which is pretty slow compared to their summer pace but getting home in the dark evenings means my foraging is more infrequent any way.

The cardoon grown from seed last summer that won't take the hint and keeps re-sprouting.

While they're not much, these little leaves pack a punch of slow growth flavour and make perfect little jewel-hued salads alongside what ever I'm making from my horde on new cookbooks.