Struan Farm

Quince & Kahikatea Berry Tarte Tatin

We had a rainy afternoon this week and the courier arrived with the bottle of aged grappa I'd ordered, which meant I could finally get around to making Alessandra Zecchini's Quince and Kahitakatea Berry Tart.

After making kahikatea jam last weekend, an impromptu experiment that turned into a daylong journey, this was much less tedious in terms of berries to be de-seeded. In fact the berries just add colour and an element of interest to this tart(e), which is really about meltingly delicious, caramelised quince.

I improvised using her recipe for basic inspiration, adjusting the quantities of butter and sugar to be closer to a traditional apple tarte tatin recipe I've made many times. While I did add the aged grappa she uses for flavour once the peeled and sliced quince started to soften in the pan, I cooked the quince far longer than two minutes, until it was soft and caramelised (similar to what one does for a proper tarte tatin). I also omitted the cornflour since there wasn't a huge amount of liquid and I didn't want a glue-y paste. Once the quince were cooked I added a handful of fresh, de-seeded berries (koroi) to the tarte before popping the puff pastry on top and putting it into the oven. (I didn't marinate the berries overnight in sugar either, since their natural taste is fine with me.) The tarte was baked at 180C until the puff pastry was golden brown.

When the pan was flipped ceremoniously after baking there were no kahikatea berries to be seen, they were hidden below. So I sprinkled a few on top to reinforce the point. When I make this with apples I usually place them in tidy concentric circles around the pan so the top looks beautiful once it's flipped over, something I didn't remember until the quince were already bubbling away. Next time.

Here's how my version of Quince & Kahikatea Berry Tarte Tatin turned out. The aroma is rather amazing!

 

The Year of the Peach in Piopio

I know that 2019 is meant to be the Year of the Pig in Chinese terms, but here at Struan Farm and in the wider King Country it's the "Year of the Peach." Everyone has had bumper crops of peaches, perhaps because of the wet spring followed by a very dry summer.

Our Golden Queen tree has provided hundreds of beautiful fruit this year. We've been eating them for breakfast, making sorbet and delicious peach ice cream for the freezer. I've had to stop John from eating it every night for dessert!

Golden Queen is actually the last of our stone fruit varieties to fruit. Our "Black Boy" and "Karen J's Piopio Peach" were done and pruned weeks ago. While I don't use any chemical sprays on fruit or veggies, and operate as organically as possible, given our wet climate all of the peach and nectarine trees get sprays of copper to help with fungus/brown rot and leaf curl. "June's Northland Nectarine" had a problem with brown rot this summer so we've been careful to remove all mummified fruit and fallen foliage from the tree when we pruned to try to help it on that score next season. Yes, good hygiene is important for us but also for fruit trees too! Next comes the sheep manure, stone fruit loves it.

Tomatoes: The Last Gasp

It's that time of the year here at Struan Farm. The tomato vines are starting to look dead, ratty, depleted. They've done an outstanding job this season and they're tired. They're holding on with some ripening fruit here and there but they're asking me if they can head toward the compost bins, and I don't disagree with that request. I've already pulled out several that finished fruiting earlier than others.

I'll pull them up and put them to rest sometime this week. I've been bringing ripening fruit into the kitchen to finish the job there, especially with some rain forecast for this week. The black cherry tomato plants still have heaps of ripening fruit and don't look quite so awful, so I'll leave them for another week. I've been taking cups of them into the Piopio Community Fruit & Veg Stand each day. Three plants have delivered hundreds of tomatoes, rather incredibly.

Once the tomato plants are pulled out Zack the Scarecrow will be retired to the garden shed for his winter's nap. He'll get a new sunhat next season with fresh veggies for sure!

 

Hazelnuts: When Least Expected

Over the weekend John suggested that we check the hazelnut trees growing near the Cottage here at Struan Farm to see if there were any nuts this autumn. It's been seven long years since we first planted them; I almost said no, why waste the time? But guess again, we've had our first crop of nuts!

Not much, but certainly enough for a batch of Struan Farm muesli. I use our walnuts along with sliced almonds, pecans, cashews and hazelnuts for that. Hazelnuts are quite expensive, so it would be good for us to be able to grow as much as we can.

The nuts are easy to harvest, they drop down out of husks on the trees. We have "Whiteheart" and "Merveille de Bonwiller" along with a third numbered variety I bought from a commercial grower two-three years ago in an attempt to improve the pollination. This seems to have worked.

The nuts are dried, shelled and then can be frozen or used. I'm trying to find out if there's a special nutcracker that might make the job a bit easier, but will start using what we use for walnuts and go from there.

 

Happenings Around the Place

A few days ago John and I went for a drive and wander around Struan Farm. It's good for me to see what he's been up to and for us to take a wee break to stop and enjoy our home.

Down at the river the sheep were blobbing out, trying to work up enough energy to go for a kayak:

Based on what we saw I don't see them doing that any time soon!

The female kahikatea trees are fruiting in bursts of glowing orange. Apparently the fruit is edible, I'm wondering if I should try making a tart? (We plant the seeds to grow the trees in our native nursery.)

Nephew Mike has finished his work improving the track that goes from the pond near the Cottage through the QEII Trust protected bush reserve, down to the river. John is now dumping metal/gravel as time and our supply permits to make it even easier to use. There are huge native trees and lovely ponga (tree ferns) along the path:

Okay, time to go back to work....

Playing with Koroi, Native Kahikatea Berries

I went off on a tangent a few days ago, as is often the case with me here at Struan Farm. Several varieties of our native trees around the place are fruiting at the moment, including totara, rimu, matai, miro, and kahikatea. 

Kahitkatea is one of the oldest and tallest of the native "chiefly trees," standing above the bush canopy. According to the new book "Treasures of Tane" by Rob Tipa, Kahitaktea was one of the five trees in which Mahuika, ancestor of Maui, hid the secret of fire. The berries, called "koroi," were a food source, harvested by either climbing up the trees with baskets or shaking the trees.

Upon discovering that koroi are edible, I thought it might be fun to experiment with them. Traditionally they were eaten raw. I went into research mode and managed to find a "Quince and Kahikatea Berry Tart" recipe that I'm rounding up the ingredients for. The aged grappa called for could not be purchased in our wider provincial area, so it had to be ordered online.

Quite frankly I was surprised that there aren't more recipes using these easily foraged indigenous berries given how trendy both foraging and native, indigenous foods are. 

While the grappa finds its way to Piopio I decided to try making a kahikatea jam, and went out with bucket in hand to two of the older female trees currently laden with berries. I quickly developed a raking motion to pop the berries off the branches in quantity, but it still took some time. My plan had been to harvest a kilogram, but I stopped at about 500 grams. I did tell the grandmothers that the seeds would be planted, so their fruit was not going to waste needlessly on some nutty lady's jam experiment.

Once harvested the berries then had to be de-seeded and washed. It's exceedingly tedious pulling the seeds out one by one, "meditative" would be putting it nicely. For me it was a mind numbing rather than mindful experience. Once I got to 200 grams I'd had enough, also enough berries to make a pot of jam. The seeds we'll put into trays with soil to grow seedling trees in our expanding native tree nursery. 

I put the berries into my jam pan with the juice of one lemon, cooking until they started to soften. After that I added an equivalent amount of sugar (pretty standard approach to making any jam) and let it boil until the set point was reached. I test setting with a cold plate left in the freezer, upon which I dribble some hot jam. If I can run my finger through it and it divides cleanly, the jam is pretty much set.

I must confess the jam looked a bit odd in the sealed jar with the berries floating up top. But when John and I tasted it we agreed it was reasonably good. He thought rather like strawberry jam. Since it hadn't set all that firmly (I'd been afraid about overcooking it), I decided to use it as a warm sauce over ice cream. It might also be nice as a filling for short cake, something I do quite a bit with rhubarb, apple and/or feijoa.

The Verdict: the jam was amazing warm over vanilla ice cream! I'll look forward to trying that quince tart with the berries next, since it uses only 1/2-1 cup of koroi. Just thinking they might also be interesting dotted in salads.

Bye for Now Beebalm

This summer I've had several huge "Monarda citriodora" plants growing in the veggie gardens at Struan Farm. It's a member of the mint family, and is more commonly called "Lemon Beebalm" here. I was interested to read that it's also called "Horse Mint" in North America where it originates.

I love this herb, it's spectacularly ornamental. And of course our pollinators love it. I'm sad to see the flowers starting to go to seed and dry. It is an annual and easiest to grow from a root cutting. I may try that.

 

Let the Walking Walnut Meditations Begin

The walnuts have started to drop in the Pet Paddock here at Struan Farm. Yes, autumn has arrived, this is my indicator rather than a particular day on the calendar. A few days ago on my way to pick the next instalment of Charlie's Granny Smith apples in the Old Orchard area I swung by the walnut trees to check the ground. There have been a few turkeys wandering around, and I don't want them beating me to the nuts. (Not that I'm competitive or anything...)

It's still early, but I managed to gather up quite a few.

These will get put out in the garage on newspaper lined trays to dry for six weeks before shelling. From now on until they finish dropping I'll need to head down to the Pet Paddock each afternoon for my walking walnut meditation, wandering in circles under the trees, reversing direction and perspective several times to gather up fallen nuts with a basket in hand. Being mindful and in the moment. It's quite relaxing, picking up all those nuts. I rather enjoy it. But right now it's also about finding and taking the time...

 

Doing Our Bit to Destroy Evil

I've been out picking the first grapes to grow on the vines planted at our pergola here at Struan Farm. Finally they have triumphed over being chewed to pieces by the feral rabbits, which have been nowhere to be seen this season.

As previously acknowledged, John and I aren't exactly the best at training things (except perhaps for pet lambs). But the larger of the two vines is doing reasonably well, with heaps of clusters of fruit.

I was quite interested to read that grapes symbolise altruism, charity and abundance. In the Bible they are used to symbolise wrath, the anger that destroys evil. Lyrics in the well-known hymn "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" refer to the grapes of wrath, which is also the title of a Pulitzer Prize winning novel by John Steinbeck about a family who loses their farm during the Great Depression, becoming migrant farm workers. (Steinbeck also won the Nobel Prize for Literature largely due to this book.)

I can't say that there is much if any evil lurking around Struan Farm. The feral goats munching on our native tree plantings have moved on, the feral rabbits have disappeared for now, the possums and magpies move on when and if they briefly appear, and the turkeys are mostly under control. Perhaps they saw the grapes and took the hint, so this could be all thanks to those grapes and what they signify.

Or not!

 

 

Making "Membrillo"

It's that time of the year here at Struan Farm, the seasonal experiments continue as the veggie garden and orchard deliver almost daily.

This past week with the quince harvest beginning they've included "membrillo," a Spanish version of quince paste, or what the Brits call "fruit cheese." We've been enjoying the plum paste and damson "fruit cheese" I made this summer with different visitors so I decided to stay on this bandwagon.

I love quince. The fact that they're an ancient fruit, can't be eaten raw, and are totally transformed into aromatic deliciousness when poached or roasted tick all the boxes for me. (Yes, I always love the problem pet lambs too, it's a challenge bringing them around, that's just me.)

To make "membrillo" the quince (1.5kg) are peeled, cored and roughly chopped, then cooked until tender in a pot with water, lemon peel and a vanilla pod and seeds. About 35 minutes, after which they are drained and the vanilla pod removed before a quick whizz in the food processor. The puree is then weighed and a ratio of puree to sugar established, 150 mls. of sugar for every 250 mls. of puree. The puree is gently heated in a heavy pot, into which the sugar is stirred and dissolved followed by the juice of one lemon. This mixture then bubbles away for 1-1 1/2 hours, stirred "every so often." I should warn you that regardless of the temperature, "bubbles" is putting it nicely--the pot spews and burps puree (dare I say "farts?"). Tea towels were deployed on the bench and floor to limit the mess. I was a bit hesitant to get my camera near the firing line, but managed to pull off a photo:

After the puree thickens it is poured into lined and buttered moulds (bread tin, pyrex dish, whatever you want to use really, saw someone use madeleine tins, which would look really pretty on a platter). The moulds are then dry baked at the lowest oven temperature for 40-60 minutes until set. Once cool the "membrillo" is un-moulded, wrapped in baking paper, and stored in an airtight container in the fridge where it will keep for six months or so.

If you don't have access to quinces apples can be substituted. I kept thinking the quince puree looked like apple sauce, so could see that working well and will most likely give it a try when our Monty's Surprise apples are ripe.

 

Next on the Pesto Parade

You may know that I've grown a fair bit of Italian parsley this year here at Struan Farm. I got a bit carried away growing seedlings in the glasshouse (oh really Karen?), and I pretty much saturated the market for the seedling plants at the Piopio Community Fruit & Veg Stand earlier in the season. So into the ground and one of our raised veggie troughs it all went:

I've been using it all summer and taking jars of the freshly cut herb to the Piopio Community Stand as well. But now it's that time of the year where it might go to waste if I don't crank up my efforts. And thus: Walnut Parsley Pesto!

What's particularly good about this recipe is that in autumn our new crop of walnuts starts to drop, and it makes sense to use up whatever lovingly shelled walnuts are left in ziplock bags in the freezer from last year. 

This recipe uses two cups of chopped parsley, one cup of walnuts, 1/2 cup of grated parmesan, two cloves of garlic, a pinch of salt and 1/2 cup of good extra virgin olive oil. I've used NZ grown and produced River Estate olive oil for many years now since buying it at the Clevedon Farmers Market and am a loyal customer.

This pesto is somewhat denser than the basil pesto I recently made. You can vary the consistency by adding more oil, that's entirely up to you. I'll wait to do that until I use it from the freezer later in the year, depending on what I'm using it for. This looks to be a good dip as is, also for spreading onto fish or chicken.

 

On Duty, Still

Like most of us our dog Clifford isn't getting any younger. He's approaching 16, which is saying something for a dog. He's on doggie aspirin monthly for his leg injury (chasing turkeys, twice) and his hearing isn't what it used to be. We've stopped tying him up at his house at night and let him sleep on the doorstep to our house. He just doesn't wander far any more, choosing to stay close to home and mostly nap.

I've been a bit skeptical about his value as security around the place given his evident decline. But I was wrong.

A few nights ago (it was actually 4:24 a.m.) he woke us up barking loudly and madly. I roused John, who went out to find two men sitting in a car in our drive near the house. The security light had gone on but they were afraid of Clifford so had stayed in the car. Seems they were out of petrol driving from Waitara up to Auckland airport to catch a flight to Brisbane. The petrol stations on the way were closed at that hour, obviously. 

John gave them enough petrol from a tin we keep in the garage to get them to Te Kuiti, where a station is open 24/7.  I'm still scratching my head about anyone showing up at someone's house at 4 a.m. in the morning, for whatever reason. 

But the story here is that Clifford is on duty, still.

Pesto Practice

It was time this week to do a purge of the older basil plants in the glasshouse here at Struan Farm. The last crop of the season is now out of the growing cells and potted up, so I am able to de-commission their exhausted predecessors. I cut the usable basil from the plants before tossing them into the compost bin, and cranked up the food processor to make some pesto for the freezer.

This is when I especially need friends Kris and Bob, pesto makers extraordinaire, to come visit. They are living in Charlottesville, Virginia now, a slightly longer trip, so regrettably can't pop down on a moment's notice. I tried to channel their spirit as best I could. Kris tastes as she goes to make sure consistency and seasonings are good. (She does use a spoon to be uber-hygenic, while I am inclined to use my finger...)

Four full cups of basil leaves, 1/2 cup of pine nuts, 1/2 cup of freshly grated parmesan, one clove of garlic and 1/2 cup of extra virgin olive oil (some people add a bit of salt but I prefer it without). Processed until smooth. I made four batches, one to be used this week for our caprese salads while the tomatoes from the garden keep coming, three containers for the freezer. If you don't have pine nuts or parmesan on hand the other ingredients can be used to make a Provencal sauce called "pistou," often used in vegetable soup. We can't let fresh basil go to waste, can we?

Next on the agenda is parsley walnut pesto given the copious amounts of Italian parsley I have growing in the backyard, with walnuts left in the freezer from last year's harvest. It's almost time for this year's walnuts, so I can use last year's up without guilt. I actually prefer this twist on pesto to the more traditional version--it isn't quite as rich.

 

With Thanks to the Kereru

The moral of this story is to follow the birds at Struan Farm. Especially the kereru, our native wood pigeons.

One day this past week John sat down in the living room to watch the midday news before lunch and kept seeing a large number of kereru flying into and out of the large kahikatea and rimu trees on the point in front of our house. We both wondered why they were being drawn to these trees in such numbers.

I thought that maybe the kahikatea had started to fruit, and suggested that he wander over after lunch to check it out. He came back seriously excited: turns out that yes, the kahikatea was fruiting, but more importantly, the rimu is a female starting to fruit! Here we've been wandering around the farm for about two weeks now trying to find a female rimu with no luck. The kererus decided to help these hapless humans out, telling us we were a bit too early in our search and delivering one to us.

John is now busy building a fence around the trees to keep the sheep out and also clearing some of the ground below to make it more hospitable for seedling trees. We're hoping we'll be able to grow rimus for planting around the property along with totara, kahikatea, miro and matai, fingers crossed. 

And guess what? More good news. I took some gardening waste to the compost bins the next day and examined the old rimu that hangs over the entrance to the QEII bush reserve in the back: another female! So John is clearing underneath this tree too.

A Distinctly NZ Peach

I've been very excited this year to see the NZ heirloom "Black Boy" peach fruiting for the first time here at Struan Farm. These peaches are quite unique, a free stone variety with a fuzzy grey skin and red flesh. There is conflicting information on their origins; some people believe they are related to the French "Peche de Vigne," or "vineyard peach," which also has red flesh, and that they were brought to NZ by early French settlers. Others think they are simply a natural mutation that occurred. Either way they are a distinctly NZ peach.

They are delicious, and are meant to be eaten when still firm. I can't wait to grow more to be able to bake with them! Five this year is a start. And happily the birds left them alone, perhaps due to the unusual colour of the skin.

And yes, the name is rather unfortunate.

Charlie's Grannies

We've harvested the first Granny Smith apples from grandson Charlie's apple tree here at Struan Farm this season, hooray! It's quite a decent amount of apples too. This is the first instalment, more remain on the tree yet to be picked in the Old Orchard area of the farm.

Pet lamb Jelly had a nibble on one and she reports they are really good.

Bluebells: Making a Dent

As reported earlier this year the bluebells at Struan Farm have started to take over in the Homestead gardens. John, who previously was protective of them given that they were one of his mum's favourite flowers, gave me a directive to get them under control. All I will say on this score is "ahem," since I remember warning him about them years ago. Perhaps also "yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir?"

And so last spring and summer I dug them out of the main gardens to the extent I was able. Some were saved for sister-in-law Anna, who has visions of a guerilla gardening effort with them somewhere in her area. Many went off to the burn pile. I'm confident they will crop up again in spring despite my best efforts, but in lesser numbers. It's like most invasive or weedy things, a progression. One that requires a consistent campaign over time. And realistic expectations.

Now it is time for me to tackle their numbers in our roadside wooded garden at the main entrance. They have started to strangle out the tulips and daffodils entirely, and we can't have that. I'm finding it's somewhat easier to dig them out in autumn, raking off the leaf mulch in the garden tends to expose them. In numbers! One cluster has 20+ bulbs of various sizes, so you can gauge the extent of the problem (and work involved).

The important thing here is I'm making a dent. That's my mantra and I'm sticking to it. I'm also wondering what Rosemary would think about it. I know what Maurie would say!

Zombie Sheep

This had John and me scratching our heads. A few days ago when it rained we looked out in the paddock in front of our house here at Struan Farm and saw a large group of sheep standing completely still, not moving at all. Often when it rains they will head under the trees for shelter, but not then. And only one was nibbling the grass, the rest were standing motionless. 

Perhaps they were happy for the rain too. Maybe it felt good. Or the unusual event and relaxing sound lulled them into a standing meditation. If I could have asked them I would have, since it went on for quite a long time, almost 30 minutes, very strange! You will see former pet lamb Pepper on the right, she was part of this zombie group. Of course not Rosie, she is never one to follow the crowd, was sensibly under a tree somewhere.

 

Ripening in the Rain

Yesterday afternoon I went outside to the veggie gardens in the rain here at Struan Farm to dig up some beetroot for pickling. It was a good day for that sort of thing. And we really needed the rain, so there were no complaints about the weather from anyone here.

Much to my surprise I found that heaps of tomatoes had ripened since the previous afternoon, when I'd last been out to pick them. If I hadn't seen this for myself I wouldn't have believed it, and I haven't been able to find anything about this phenomenon after searching. I'd made a good job of it yesterday given the forecasted rain, since tomatoes tend to split when it rains and I didn't want to lose good fruit.

Let's just say that tomatoes keep teaching me, and I keep learning!

Making Up for Lost Time

I was thinking perhaps that titling this post "gross negligence" might be appropriate instead, but decided to be kinder to myself since that's a healthier approach. So let's just say I dropped the ball for the past month as it relates to the flower gardens here at Struan Farm. Anyone who knows the place knows that they're extensive, at the Homestead and at our house. Practically one could be outside tending to them daily, and probably one should be if one were fastidious.  I have done a few extended stints deadheading roses and dahlias, something that could be done daily to maintain high standards. Just not nearly enough.

The ball was dropped for many reasons: busy farmstay, Community Fruit & Veg Stand responsibilities, competition from the veggie gardens, and extremely hot weather for several weeks. (Let's not forget playing with damsons too.) At one point I got sunburnt around my neck, and on my chest and forearms, despite using 50+ sunscreen (of course I always wear a hat). It was more like a rash, which makes me think that perhaps I am allergic to something in this particular "sunscreen for sensitive skin."  I'm finding I am hyper-sensitive to almost all sunscreens, except for those that ruin clothing and make one look like a ghost from the black lagoon. The one I used successfully for years, "SunSense," was re-formulated about a year ago, and now I can't use that any more without getting a rash. So ghostly it seems I must be. But the rash/sunburn meant that I couldn't go outside in the heat and bright sun to garden until it subsided. I tried wrapping a rather dashing shawl/scarf made of UV sun protective fabric around my neck to cover up, one that friend Laura gave me a few Christmases ago, but every time I bent down to work I had to fling it back around my neck. Visions of Isadora Duncan, her long white scarf and the convertible, and we all know what happened there.

With cooler nights and mornings this week I've been able to crack in, and have rediscovered some semblance of a groove, spending several days in the Homestead gardens. I discovered powdery mildew on some of the dahlias, something I hadn't seen before, so after major deadheading those have been sprayed with water and baking soda (the other non-chemical option would have skim milk and water). Buckets of water from the roof tank have gone onto wilting rhodos and azaleas in John's new bed in the back in any effort to keep them hanging on through this drought, they were planted too late this past spring. Also on a sagging hydrangea at the front gate. 

I'm doing my best to resist getting stressed out about what remains to be done, rather am taking it one bed at a time, putting one booted foot in front of the other with my niwashi in hand. The hedge trimmer is being deployed too.

After having a close look at the extent of the situation down there I've shuddered with embarrassment, realising we had friends who are serious gardeners stay in the Homestead recently.  Are the gardens a reflection of me? I feel they are. I want them looking their best, and I don't want anyone thinking that I can't cope with what needs to get done. I also know that they depend on me, I am their caregiver and guardian, just one who's been missing in action of late.

So it's back on the job, making up for lost time!