Painted gardens prove a peaceful tonic to modern life

Water Lillies (1916-26) Monet

Picasso observed that “art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life,” so what better way to start a weekend than to spend time in a gallery?

And even more than that, how therapeutic would that art be if it was to be about gardens?

The announcement of London’s first art blockbuster of 2016 was met by much muttering that the Royal Academy was merely chasing after the money of a sort of art show dilettante.

There seemed to be a suggestion that Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse was not quite ‘serious,’ as art goes.

The Wall of the Vegetable Garden, Yerres, Caillebotte

Even the Daily Mail got in on the act with a sneery piece about ‘Monet mania’.

But none of that was going to put off someone who has, in recent years, experienced Damascene moments when it comes to both of those named artists.

So a week ago, after work, The Other Half and I toddled along to Piccadilly.

It must be said that, in terms of the Matisse element of the exhibition, it’s a bit of a disappointment.

Organised in conjunction with the Cleveland Museum of Art, some paintings are being seen in London but not in the States and visa versa.

Woman and Child in a Meadow at Bougival, Morisot

In the US, according to the catalogue (which is rather poorly printed in terms of colour reproduction, by the way), there will be three Matisse’s on view that are not to be found in London.

The two here are not his finest, although Rose Marble Table (1917), on a second look, does generate light, even though, by Matisse’s standards, the background is downright muddy. Bloody geniuses.

But that’s being picky. There are fascinating works here by myriad other painters – some of whom were new or little-known to us – and then there are the works by Monet.

The exhibition opens with two fascinating pairings: first, of flower pictures by Renoir and Monet and then, Renoir’s Monet Painting In His Garden At Argenteuil together with the painting that Monet is shown working on, The Artist’s Garden in Argenteuil (A Corner of the Garden with Dahlias), from 1873.

View of a Garden, Linköping, Johan Fredrick Krouthén

The first duo are highly conventional still life paintings; the second sees both artists moving toward what we recognise today as an Impressionist approach.

The exhibition makes much of the rise of recreational gardening among the growing middle class and its influence on artists, although some painters continued to be inspired by their own preference for rather more traditional vegetable gardening – a group that included Camille Pissarro, who painted his kitchen garden.

And indeed, Gustave Caillebotte did the same, with The Wall of the Vegetable Garden, Yerres (1877) proving a rare pastel work in such exhibitions, and very modern, with its stark geometry.

The Terrace at Méric, Bazille

In making sure that the link between recreational gardening and painting is clear, there are exhibits of seed catalogues, magazines and other gardening materials, plus a rather marvelous film of Monet painting.

There are painters represented from around the world, including the likes of Joaquin Sorolla, with his Spanish courtyard gardens dripping in heat and the cool of shade.

In such terms, Frédéric Bazille’s The Terrace at Méric (1867), though unfinished, reeks of the warmth and light of the south.

The Birch Avenue in the Garden of Wannsee ... Libermann

We have the chance to meet up again with other artists, including Berthe Morisot, whose beautiful Woman and Child in a Meadow at Bougival from 1882 is on display, while there are the joys on a single Manet in Young Women Among Flowers from 1879.

There are several fine works by John Singer Sargent, and then there are the Scandinavians, Karl Nordström, Laurits Tuxen and Peder Krøyer.

For me, Johan Fredrik Krouthén’s View of a Garden, Linköping (1887-88), stood out from these works.

Murnau II, Kandinsky

Light-dappled paths leading through tree-filled gardens are a particularly successful recurring theme – Max Libermann’s The Birch Avenue in the Garden of Wannsee Looking West (1918) is just one excellent example.  

Setting aside the fact that whoever named the next part of the exhibition ‘Avant Gardens’ (hohoho) should be given a serious seeing to (fnar fnar), we then move into an explosion of colour. 

And what is very clear is that the artistic leap forward from red and white borders to riots of colour was made possible, in part at least, by improvements in botanical science. 

Emil Nolde’s canvases of flowers bring extra vivacity to the exhibition, as does Kandinsky’s wonderful Murnau II. 

Munch’s Apple Tree in a Garden (1932-42) is a revelation if one is primarily only familiar with The Scream. 

Rose Marble Table, Matisse

We are even treated to three fascinating small pieces by Klee, while Klimt’s Cottage Garden from 1905-07 is unmistakable and Santiago Rusiñol’s Gardens of Monforte (1917) has wonderful light.

But then, as throughout this exhibition, is Monet – taking an extraordinary artistic journey in one lifetime.

And the three vast Water Lillies canvases, from 1915-26, 1916-26 and 1915-26 (left to right as they are hung) are staggering. Now all hanging in different US galleries, they are reunited here, in Europe, for the first time in the best part of a century.

Like the paintings at the Orangerie in Paris, they have the power to evoke a sublime, almost spiritual response. Their apparent simplicity belies their power and their beauty.

So forget the cynics and the snide snobs. Quite simply, time spent contemplating these works is worth the admission price alone.

Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse is at the Royal Academy in London until 20 April.

The biggest one you ever did see

Having a Kenneth Williams moment

On the subterranean last leg of our journey back to Blighty on Sunday, the only possible sport was in contemplating what awaited to cheer us on our return from civilisation.

One thing, of course, is The Girls. We are not immune to a syndrome, while away anywhere, of musing between ourselves on what the cats would think of such and such. After all, however daft it may seem to some, they’re our family.

In Collioure, for instance, we have occasionally seen small lizards – which provokes comments about how the cats would hunt them and then be rather surprised to find that their tails can come off without killing them.

And indeed, the terrible trio were delighted to see us. They didn’t even bother with the usual: ‘Who are you? You’re scary’ or the formality of a five-minute sulk. Their major concern was simple: fuss!

We’ve been immensely lucky over the years, with friends who will come in and feed and water them, and clean their litter trays. I much prefer it this way because, even if they do fret a little, they’re ultimately still in their own home, with their own familiar smells and places and toys and food and so on.

And I’ve heard more than a few horror stories about cats and dogs coming home from catteries and kennels with illnesses, fleas and whatever.

Some years ago, one of our cats – Trickie, who we’d ‘rescued’ from Battersea and was approximately 12 at the time – died suddenly while we were away on a long weekend. She’d gone and found somewhere dark, in a box under the bed, and simply curled up and died. It was unexpected and unpleasant to discover, obviously, but I’m glad that she was somewhere quiet and safe and familiar.

This bunch have had plenty of entertainment while we were away, as Ian, who is an absolute diamond, has been in both looking after them and sorting out our tiny home office.

He’s turned it from being a cramped, dark room into a light one, with – somehow – both more storage and more space.

Since his wife is allergic to cats and he loves them, this gives him the opportunity to enjoy some feline company. And we know from past experience that Otto in particular will sit for hours watching (supervising?) any work he’s doing.

We moved into the flat 18 years ago. As a new-build housing association block, it had carpets and basics – points that, as very low-paid hacks at the time, were both essential and very welcome.

But after 16 years, it needed work, so we’ve been steadily dealing with it over the last couple of years. And of course, once you sort one thing out, another goes – and everything else looks even shabbier by comparison.

The supervisor

We had been intending to do the kitchen this summer – the cupboards are falling apart – but after the boiler died early this year, that went out of the window. So we settled for a rather easier (and cheaper) job.

Good god: I remember the days – and with no faux romantic fondness whatsoever – when that boiler would have wiped us out. It should go without saying, but unfortunately doesn't in the UK at present, that low pay is no fun, and that poverty remains a very real situation for many, many people.

But anyway, there was also the question of seeing a ‘new’ room to welcome us home.

And then there was the patio and the potager.

By the time we unlocked the front door, dark had descended outside, so a full and proper inspection had to wait until the following morning.

In the event, there was plenty to be pleased with.

While the tomato plants have not produced a vast harvest, there is a nice collection of sizeable fruits that are just coming toward ripeness. And thank you to Lucie, who donated four to us after my attempts to grow from seed had all come to naught.

The chilies too are doing well – small, but the first ones are now turning red.

The thyme has died, but the oregano is flourishing. And the little olive tree, bought for decoration alone, is still sporting tiny olives. I doubt they’ll grow much further now, but it’s going to be transplanted into a bigger pot this autumn, replacing the lemon tree, which seems much more temperamental about temperature and water, and much less inclined to bear fruit than had been thought.

That south-facing wall of the patio really does have to be treated like the Mediterranean – in fact, very much like Roussillon, where frosts can hit, but where the heat in summer is high. I have much thinking to do.

Olives cope with frost, without needing to be wrapped in fleece – and indeed, a sharp spell of cold in the winter can actually help to promote to development of fruits in the summer.

Beyond the patio, in the carpark, the potager has done well. There are runner beans in various stages of development – even still some flowers – and I was able to enjoy harvesting the largest ones last night for dinner.

There’s some lettuce and the chard is knee-high and looking fantastic.

The shock was the courgettes. When we left, there were a number of very small ones, and when we returned, most had grown a bit larger – but one had grown insanely to at least a foot in length!

It was harvested on Monday evening and weighed in at a staggering 713g. And it still was a lovely delicate flavour when sliced and cooked for around 10 minutes with some mince and onion, that was simply garnished with fleur de sel, pepper – and nothing more.

Actually, it contributed to three meals.

Away from matters horticultural, I’ve always said that I don’t do new year’s resolutions.

But I have, in effect, made a number of post-holiday resolutions. I don’t want to lose all I gained in that three weeks in Pays Catalan.

Yesterday evening, I had an appointment at the local leisure centre, to sign up for a membership. I’m going to get back into a gym for the first time in 15 years. There are two reasons.

One: a bit of physical activity is a good way to deal with stress. And two, if I want to do more kayaking – and I do – then strengthening my torso, back, shoulders and arms wouldn’t go amiss.

And then there’s the writing.

According to a piece at the beginning of the week at BBC online, the ‘post-holiday blues’ include the feeling that nothing has changed – not least because you didn’t start that novel.

Well, I did.

And keeping more relaxed and energised could just be things that will help me continue it. That – and whopping big, home-grown vegetables!

Forget the dolmades – try this with your vine leaves

Mushrooms on top of vine leaves

There’s always something new to learn – and neither the world of gardening nor that of cooking are any exception.



After mentioning, a few days ago, that my vine is developing nicely, m’friend George pointed out that the is a recipe that uses vine leaves in the Divine Mrs D’s Summer Cooking.



Mushrooms cooked in vine leaves, apparently.

 I went straight to the cookery books.



My copy is part of the Grub Street hardback Elizabeth David Classics, which also includes Mediterranean Food and French Country Cooking: a delightful collection.



In this context, that means that I had two recipes for this same dish.

In Mediterranean Food – her 1950 debut – Mrs D included a recipe for ‘Cèpes à l’Italienne’, which involved “1lb cèpes or morels or other mushrooms, vine leaves, oil, garlic, salt and pepper”.



The mushrooms are cleaned, de-stalked, sprinkled with salt and left for a few minutes, before being put “in a warm oven a minute or two to dry”.



The “washed and dried” leaves are placed at the bottom of a “fireproof” dish and covered with a film of olive oil, before being placed “over the flame” until the oil is hot: “not boiling”, though.



The cèpes go in (“stalk side up”) and the pot goes in a moderate oven for half an hour.



After that, the stalks are cut into thin pieces and, with a clove of garlic, added to the dish. It’s seasoned and cooked for a further 10 minutes.



By 1955, when Summer Cooking was first published, the recipe had been changed subtly.



Now called simply: “mushrooms cooked in vine leaves”, David introduces it by saying that she has “already published recipes similar to this one,” but she makes “no apology for including it again here, as I think many people who have a vine growing in their gardens would be glad to now it”.



The mushrooms by this time are simply “cleaned whole flat” ones, and the leaves are blanched before lining the dish.



There is more garlic here too – “3 or 4 whole cloves” – and the mushrooms are finally covered with more vine leaves before the dish is lidded.



In this case, it requires a slow oven for 35 minutes.



But apart from the simplification – had David and/or her publishers decided that readers might prefer a simpler version? – the most interesting difference in how this is written up is in the explanation of what the dish achieves.



“The great point about this dish is that the vine leaves make cultivated mushrooms taste like field mushrooms,” explains David, in a short, bracketed note.



All of which sounds fascinating – and very tempting. Now my vine isn’t currently big enough to be raiding for leaves for such an experiment, but the one at the back of the potager is.



Although it borders the area where the bins are kept, I picked leaves from furthest away. The blanching ensured they were clean.

I hadn't gone for the most generic of ’shrooms, since this was intended as the first course of a Sunday dinner, but for a selection of girolles, pied bleu and king oysters.

One of the latter was sliced into four lengthways. The rest were trimmed and brushed as necessary.



And I diverted from the recipe slightly in slicing my garlic.



It’s a perfectly easy dish to construct. Since I don’t have a small lidded dish, I covered one tightly with foil, pleated.



My “slow oven” was set to 150˚C (fan).



This really is something that I will do again. The leaves add something to the mushrooms that seems to deepen the flavour. A very, very satisfying result.



After that, it was a simple case of little lamb chops, each topped with a sprig of fresh oregano from the patio and grilled until the fat was crisp, then served with lemon, in true Italian style.



Ready for the oven

Given such an Italian influence to the meal, the only question was what else to serve with that.



Since The Other Half isn't exactly keen on polenta – which is how my first experience of lamb chops and lemon came when it was served in Venice – I opted for a rather French solution. Well, one I picked up in Paris, at any rate.



I cooked and puréed a small amount of potato, but mixed it with good virgin oil instead of cream and butter.

Seasoned with fleur de sel, each serving was in a small bowl, with a dimple in the smoothed top (back of a teaspoon), into which a little further of my best virgin oil, green and peppery, was dripped.



Perfect. Though I say so myself.



What that single potato also meant, though, was a debut for one of the new Le Creuset saucepans.



They’ll take some getting used to – not least because of a smashing piece of design.



Every lid has a small hole in it to vent the steam, meaning that you can boil without either having the lid balanced so as to leave a gap or having to keep the temperature higher.



So it’s easy to see that those pans will actually save on fuel – they’re not just good to look at.



Good design can pay dividends. And a recipe for mushrooms cooked in vine leaves, whether published once or more, will certainly be done more.

Pots and pans and Bruno's cocotte

It is presumably a sign of increasing age when one be ones excited by new pans. By which logic, I have already reached an advanced stage of decrepitude.

I have new pans - and not just any old pans, but a mix of Le Creuset and Mauviel. The former are wonderful - the latter makes me feel incredibly cheffy.

The old ones were dying. We'd had them for close to 18 years - not quite the 25 years of the guarantee, but not bad service. And particularly not given my early lack of any culinary expertise.

They were from an advert in a Sunday supplement and were paid for in three instalments. Before that, we'd already been through several pans, because we'd gone as cheap as possible.

We'd bought - and had to replace - more than a few basic pans; all from street markets and as cheaply as possible because that was what we could afford at the time.

Which brings me to a particular observation.

In the UK, good kitchen tool are more expensive than across the Channel. We first noticed this about five years ago, when we headed to Collioure for our second holiday - and our first self catering.

I was concerned that there wouldn't be any really decent knives. On the first two trips down there, we traveled via Perpignan, spending a night there before making the last, brief leg of the journey.

On the Saturday morning, we slipped into Galleries Lafayette and went to look for a basic cook's knife. And both of us remarked just how affordable good knives were.

It seems that, in France at least, a serious knife is not considered a luxury, to only be available at a luxury price.

That said, it's a philosophy that transfers to the UK market - at least a bit. My first set of knives, bought about 12 years ago were cheap and not of particularly good quality. Oh, they did okay for a few years, but they were very limited. And as my culinary skills improved, I felt a need for better tools.

Sabatier, I discovered, were actually a much better price alongside a range of much mor designery knifes - including the very costly Japanese ones that have been popularised by some celebrity chefs. It's not difficult to see a link in that.

A year or so later, I picked up a proper, heavy, copper omelette pan in Paris. It wasn't cheap, but if I harboured any doubts about the value, it was illustrated the first time that I used it - and it produced the best omelette I'd made. It makes jolly good pancakes too.

When I eventually - after a very deep breath - invested in a couple of Le Creuset pieces a couple of years ago (a seriously heavy casserole and a shallow one) again the difference was instantly noticeable.

Mind, I did read the instructions first to learn about how not to over blast them with heat - or stick them straight into water after cooking.

The old pans had long lost their conductivity - my earlier uses may well not have helped - and at least one was also now starting to leak as the base gradually started splitting from the rest.

So they have now been retired.

The replacements are the Le Cresuet saucepans with lids - 20, 18 and 16cm - and a 14cm Mauviel for serious sauce making.

All come with a lifetime guarantee. A lifetime. You're not supposed to ever have to replace these, but to hand these down to the next generation.

And that is craftsmanship and an investment.

It's also in complete contradiction to the prevailing attitude of goods being manufactured with a quite deliberately limited lifespan. Invest all you want, but in many cases, the whole idea is that you will have to buy - and buy again. Such is The Market.

But a glance online, at sites in France itself, revealed that they are all cheaper over there than here. Not cheap, but cheaper.

It seems to illustrate a culture where cooking is regarded as a luxury pastime rather than something that should be within everybody's grasp, and part of the nation's culture as a whole.

So, with spangly new pans on their hooks, what is first to be cooked in them?

Well, of course life doesn't really work like that.

And what the weekend brought was the chance to use kit that was already in the house.

First up, the shallow Le Creuset was used for a cocotte of summer vegetables.

A cocotte is actually what we'd call a casserole. In this case, I had been inspired by Bruno Loubet's new book to try his seasonal version.

For some weeks now, as the potager has grown increasingly green and lush, I've been wondering just how to use the produce I'm longing to harvest.

After all, you'd have to have a pretty sizeable plot in order to be able to harvest an entire, single portion of any one vegetable at any time. And most vegetables don't grow in the sort of synchronised way that makes that easy.

So far, I've had three pods of peas - and two tiny turnips.

Bruno's cocotte, on the other hand, takes care of this, as it's a dish of - in effect - what's available on any given day from your garden.

He describes, quite delightfully, how his father would return home from his own garden with a basket of various freshly-picked vegetables, presenting them to his mother as though they were the most beautiful flowers in the world.

And the cocotte allows you to use this variety of a produce in a single dish.

This first effort had little from the potager - but some. The two available pods of broad beans that have sped away from the rest. Thyme and bay came from the patio too, and I added a few young chard leaves to wilt at the end. In coming weeks, the proportion of homegrown crop will increase.

A cocotte also answers another question: what to do with a glut.

In Bruno's version, he includes radishes. 'Radishes?' you say. 'Cooked?' you say.

Well indeed. It's as alien to us as cooking endive or lettuce, but that's the sort of dirty tricks those Continental types play in the kitchen. But after all, how many radishes can you eat over a few days in salads?

And it's equally a great way to use up odds and ends.

My radishes aren't ready yet, so I picked up a bunch from the market, plus two small turnips, asparagus - the season isn't quite over - a bunch of young carrots, two of the thinnest leeks I could spot and fine beans. And went to work.

According to the recipe, you heat olive oil and pop in the root veg. Stir into the oil, season and add a clove of garlic. Lid the pan, turn the hob to its lowest, and leave for five minutes or until the carrots are al dente.

Actually, that took rather longer, so I may well not have got the oil hot enough to start with.

Then you add further vegetables, half a glass of water, and re-lid, but with a slight gap.

A few minutes later, the rest of the veg - you get the gist. At the end, a knob of butter, a spoon of cream and a squeeze of lemon.

Okay, it took longer that the recipe suggested. I added thyme and bay to flavour and, as mentioned, a few thinned-out chard leaves at the end, plus some large spring onion bulbs at the start.

It wasn't perfect - but it was the sort of first effort that means it won't be long before it's tried again.

It's funny that France has such a bad reputation for vegetarian eating, when it's also a country that arguably understand and appreciates veg far better than we do. This dish is an illustration of that.

To follow, we had filleted Dover sole, simply grilled and served with lemon. Fruit for dessert - with cheese, for me.

Good food doesn't have to be complex. But good tools most certainly make it easier to prepare - and they help increase the pleasure of cooking too.

And perhaps at least one of the new pans will get a run out tomorrow.

Easy options on the food front

Bacon and new spuds and asparagus

One of the most surprising things about the last week has been that, after arriving home from Liverpool last Friday, I didn’t leap straight into a Pot Noodle phase.

Utterly knackered, it was tempting. But when I'd crawled up the platform at Euston, I opted instead for the easiest ‘quality’ option: M&S.

I had been contemplating lamb chops, but since the only available ones were from New Zealand, I opted for something a little more local – British bacon.

And to go with that, new potatoes and asparagus.

It was a simple matter to boil the spuds and the asparagus (20 and three minutes respectively) and then pop the bacon into a hot pan and let it sizzle gently for a while, curling and browning; moved around occasionally with tongs.

Frankly, I didn’t even feel like arranging it on a plate, but tossed it all together, added butter, seasoning and the bacon juices.

Even after a week that had seen a couple of decent restaurant meals, there was something heavenly about the result. And it had all been ridiculously easy top cook.

The cats were delighted to see me home, but an absence means that one is told in no uncertain terms, that they are owed.

In Otti’s case, she was determined that, despite never having eaten it before, she was going to try bacon. Allowed to have a little piece (after I’d finished – I do try to teach them some patience) she then decided that it was very nice indeed and why hadn’t I shared more with her?

Saturday allowed a return to Broadway Market and the great what-shall-we-eat-for-the-coming-week challenge.

In this case, I started from a fishy perspective – sea bass, filleted.

Potatoes were par boiled and then slightly crushed before being drizzled with olive oil, seasoned and then popped into the oven (160˚C fan) for 20 minutes.

The bass – slashed carefully on the skin, seasoned and lightly oiled – were placed on top and given a further 15 minutes.

Bass with potatoes and seasonal veg.

This was served with fine beans and asparagus, a drizzle or two of my balsamic glaze and a wedge of lemon. And jolly nice it was too.

An experiment with tuna didn’t quite go as planned, though.

Unusually, Vicki had a big slab, so I decided to buy a slice (it’s enough for the two of us).

It was intended for Monday – Vicki said it should be okay for that, but to watch out for the ‘rainbow’ effect in case it did start to go.

To be on the safe side, I decided to try something a bit different, and salt it. The Spanish – mojama – and although I couldn’t find a specific recipe, how hard could it be?

I used a mix of ordinary salt together with some fleur de sel that The Other Half had picked up for me on his recent trip to Perpignan: one that was infused with banyuls, the sweet wine from that area.

On Sunday evening, I rinsed it off and left it to soak ion fresh water. That was changed again on Monday morning and one last time when I got home that afternoon.

Pods growing fat

The plan was then to use Bruno Loubet’s guidelines and confit it – approximately 30 minutes in olive oil heated to approximately 50-55˚C.

All that went okay, but unfortunately it still came out as incredibly salty.

Still, failures are part of the process of learning.

In the meantime, the potager is going a bit bonkers after struggling to show real signs of life for so long.

I will shortly have peas – and the broad bean pods are just appearing. One of the runner beans is already taller than me – okay, I know this doesn’t mean much.

There will be a small crop of blackcurrants – but this is year one.

The salad leaves are doing well, as are the radishes, the spring onions and the gem lettuces, while the chard is coming on decently, as are the carrots and turnips.

The vine is growing well, the lemon has produced a plethora of buds, the nasturtiums are finally producing leaves in something approaching abundance and the four tomato plants that we were given by a friend look to have settled in comfortably.

Who knows – the weather might even allow for cropping a few leaves this weekend. But it’s enormously exciting to see crops developing in such a way.