Nettles – should I? And broad beans – definitely.

A tale of a recalcitrant garden in the tuscan hills, a broad bean, tomato, and pomegranate salad – plus the easiest starter ever, and some very good news about intermittent fasting.

The trouble with not living somewhere permanently, is the garden takes liberties – along with the wild boar, porcupine, and deer – and not forgetting the wolves. There’s a limit to how much more damage the four-legged invaders can still do – the boar turned my lawn into a ploughed field years ago – boar are very good at ploughed fields – the deer have had most of the bark off most of the fruit trees and all but two of the roses, and the porcupine have gobbled up every single iris. Wolves are apparently not into gardening, which is something at least. And so far no one has made off with the lavender, rosemary and wisteria – the only other things to put up with growing somewhere that offers a tablespoon of soil to every cubic metre of stones, and at an altitude where extreme weather rains down on them. Although not necessarily as rain.

The garden would point out that location has nothing to do with it; it’s my complete lack of gardening skills and zero application, and gets its revenge for my neglect with nettles. And it’s a clever move: they don’t need soil or any of that sissy stuff, they just go for it wherever they are. You literally never hear people say, ‘I can’t get my nettles to grow here’.

However, this year I’m fighting back. I am going to eat them. If you google, ‘eating nettles’, in 0.37 seconds you get nearly 3 million results about how delicious they are, how nutritious they are, and more recipes than I’ve had hot dinners.   I am good at eating – speed, quantity, persistence – so their days are numbered.

At least they were until I picked some.

Using my greed as a weapon of mass destruction  might not be the answer.

I don’t like the look of these nettles. Very hairy. A lot of aphids. Can one eat aphids? And if not, how can I be sure I will get them all off? Leaves need to be smooth for aphids to slide off without a fuss, and nettles are not smooth. I washed them, and the aphids were still there. I blanched them, and no change. The aphids are not moving, but they don’t look very dead either.* 

* Note to self: it’s not nice to boil things alive. 

And how will I know that the nettles will not sting me as I eat them? They might be in league with the aphids. I have put them to the side in the hope that I feel braver tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after. But I have to face the possibility that in addition to being a hopeless gardener, I am also an inadequate nettle-eater.

But it’s time for broad beans – the fava – and the market is full of them, so who needs nettles.

It was a surprise to me when I first discovered – in Italy – that broad beans could be a positive addition to my life:  the tough, bitter (and boiled) ones I’d been fed as a child, were just yet another assault on my lunch.  And not only did the Italians introduce me to the idea that they could be delicious, but they could be eaten raw,  and with their genius  for combining delicious with faff-free, a particularly favourite way of serving them is to put a great pile of them, still in their pods, on a plate alongside a hunk of pecorino, and everyone grabs a large handful, takes them out of the pods over much wine and chat, and eats each bean with a piece of cheese. No podding, no knives and forks, no dressings, and it’s very, very good. And also 50% low-calorie dense. If you want to be moderate in your cheese consumption, instead of a hunk of cheese, you could have a plate of finely shaved  slivers. And everyone can decide for themselves if they want to remove the outer shell of the bean or not: there’s no doubt that taking it off makes them more tender and less bitter but leaving it on makes them more nutritious (probably) and gives extra fibre (certainly). So either way you win.

Broad beans are also a wonderful addition to a salad, like this one, which is delicious on its own, or goes well with breast of chicken, a dish of beluga lentils and an escarole salad.

You can make it plant-based or vegetarian by leaving out either or both the ricotta  and anchovies

Tomato, broad bean, and pomegranate salad, with ricotta and anchovy

• A good handful of tomatoes

• A less good handful of shelled broad beans

• A smallish salad onion

• A carrot

• A couple of radishes

• Pomegranate seeds

• A handful of parsley

• A small sprig of mint

• The peel of half a lemon   

• 50g ricotta – optional

• A couple of anchovies – optional

• Balsamic vinegar

• Olive oil

• Salt and pepper

  

1. Roughly chop the tomatoes.

2. Shell the broad beans and remove the outer skins.

3. Peel the carrot, wash the radish and onion, and finely slice them.

4. Give the parsley and mint  a good chopping.

5. Deseed the pomegranate – about a quarter of it.

6. Peel the lemon  – thinly, so you only get a little of the pith – and  dice it.

7. Finely chop the anchovies.

8. Put everything in a bowl except the anchovies. Season well with salt and pepper and mix well with your hands.

9. When it tastes well seasoned, add the anchovies and mix well

10. Drizzle with balsamic – mix well – and then olive oil and mix again.

11. When it is tasting fantastic, put it on a shallow plate, tear some ricotta, and scatter it over.

Diva Notes

Podding broad beans and removing the outer skins is pleasurable but time-consuming. The use of skivvies is highly recommended. If you have no skivvies to hand, it is not essential to remove the outer skin of the bean.

N.b Skivvies like to think of themselves as partners, spouses, children, friends, but it’s important to be firm or you’ll get nothing done.

Use a mandolin

Finely slicing the carrot etc is best achieved using a mandolin, but either be very careful or make sure that you have a fully equipped paramedic team to hand. Otherwise use a knife. You can cut yourself using a knife, but it’s not quite so easy to get carried away.

And on the same subject, I briefly tried julienning the radish and carrot with my mandolin, without using the finger guard. Do not try that at home.

And finally, this week’s good news: intermittent fasting offers no benefit to either health or weight-loss; it just means that on the whole, you eat fewer calories. And you can do the same eating three meals a day.    And if they are made up largely of low-calorie-dense things, they can be substantial.

But think how many people’s lives have been blighted by days and days of nothing to eat. Perhaps we should start a charity in memory of all those tragically lost breakfasts, lunches, dinners. We can never get them back, but we can move on. And on a happy note, the nettles are now safely in the bin.