Here comes the sun, little darling?

Tulips in bloom

With a spring in its step, summer strode into our gardens weeks ahead of schedule at the beginning of April.  The daffodils were barely over, the tulips were still fresh faced, filling the garden with a spring song after winter's long lament.  And then overnight spring became summer.

And whilst there have been significant national and international events gracing the front pages in recent weeks - the Royal wedding, the death of Osama bin Laden, the referendum on the Alternative Vote to name but a few - the unseasonal sunshine has given us the excuse to indulge in that perenially British preoccupation of talking about the weather.  And rightly so.

For whilst the sunny weather has been gleefully soaked up by beachgoers, picnicers, street party organisers and Waitrose shareholders over the glut of Bank Holiday weekends for which this period shall no doubt be first and foremost remembered (Waitrose sales were up 23.1% as compared to last year's Easter break, with the sale of plastic spoons(!) up 900% on last year), it also prompts uncomfortable questions about climate change which affect us all.  Are the soaring April temperatures yet another manifestation of the impact global warming is having on our precious planet?  And the lack of rain?  Presumably we are on course for a hosepipe ban long before most of us would have normally even thought about getting our shorts out of the cupboard?  Farmers too have voiced concern that the lack of rain (the south east has been hardest hit receiving only 10% of the rainfall usually expected at this time of year) risks dramatically reducing harvests and may cause a shortage of crops needed to feed livestock.

The first sweet pea

On a more micro level, the sunny weather and lack of rain has caused confusion in my corner of south-east London (where temperatures reached a staggering 27.8 degrees celcius on 23 April 2011): my white sprouting broccoli bolted at the first sign of summer's early arrival; the nuptial sweet peas (which I offered to grow for my friends', Paul and Ellie's, very English wedding on 21 May) have reached the tops of their wigwams and against all the odds (and everyone else's pessimistic predictions) I picked their first flower yesterday (the task of producing flowering sweet peas by 21 May seeming much less ambitious/unrealistic after the sunshine of the last few weeks) (admittedly I have picked the first and only flower but with 2 weeks still to go I am hopeful that I will still be vindicated); and whilst mowing has already become a regular weekend commitment, the grass is looking parched, its ragged, browning leaves more usually associated with August rather than April.

Strawberries and flowers

And in my vegetable garden, the warm weather has given rise to unreasonable expectations.  We are in fact on the brink between winter and summer when the winter crops are over and the summer ones are yet to fill their space.  And yet I feel disappointed that I cannot subsist entirely from what I grow.  I have to remind myself that it is only April (now May) and I have to give the garden a chance to grow.

And the early signs are looking good (subject to getting rain): I have a steady supply of rocket, lettuce, mizuna, spinach and chard, sown inside in window boxes at the beginning of the year and planted out as soon as the seedlings were big enough to handle the still cold nights; my basil and parsley are thriving in the greenhouse and are a very welcome summery addition to the hardier herbs in the garden (oregano, thyme, sage, chives, marjoram and rosemary) and to my cooking; the peas are looking promising and are already in flower; the french beans germinated indoors and are now outside enjoying steady growth (so long as they are protected from the nightly ravages of the marauding snails from my neighbour's garden who march across our border under cover of darkness); the rhubarb continues to keep me in compote and cake; the strawberries are pert and showy wth a tantalising display of flowers and green fruit; and the beetroot, tomatoes and chicory all seem to be en route to summer glory.

Pea flowers

Lettuce and chard

The other unparalled joy of this time of year, for gardeners lucky enough to have the space for a bed and for the rest of us who are lucky enough to get our hands of some of their tender, green spears, is the arrival of British asparagus.  With only a few short weeks to indulge in its divine goodness (the season only lasts from May to mid-June), I have been taking every opportunity I can to cook with it.  Equally good steamed, boiled, grilled, fried or roasted, below are a couple of the recipes I have been cooking, using what's in the garden to complement this wonderfully British vegetable (there are lots more fantastic recipes ideas at http://www.british-asparagus.co.uk/).

Soft boiled egg with asparagus soldiers
(makes a cheeky starter or a wonderfully easy week night supper)

Eggs

Asparagus

Toast

Place the eggs in a pan of boiling water (use eggs at room temperature if possible to prevent their shells from cracking in the hot water) and simmer for 6 minutes. 

Trim the woody ends off the asparagus.  Steam the stems for 2-3 minutes until just tender. 

 Place the eggs in egg cups.  Take off the tops and season the yolk.  Dunk your asparagus spears!

Use buttered (sourdough) toast to mop up any leftover eggy, asparagus mess.

Grilled asparagus with olive oil, lemon juice and parmesan shavings

Mix 1 part lemon juice to 3 parts olive oil.

Griddle or fry the asparagus spears until tender.  Whilst warm pour over the dressing and season with salt and pepper.  Top with parmesan shavings.

Summer couscous

Asparagus

Rocket, roughly chopped.

Broad beans

Mint, finely chopped

Parsley, finely chopped

Lemon juice

Olive oil

Couscous

Zest the lemons with a lemon zester (so you have curled strips of zest).  Juice the lemons and mix 1 part lemon juice and 3 parts olive oil (you will need quite a lot of dressing for this recipe as the couscous will absorb it).  Add the strips of zest and season.

Trim the woody ends of the aspargus and discard.  Remove the tips (about 5cm) and put to one side.  Chop the remaining section of the spears into 1cm pieces.  Boil or steam until just tender.  Drain and refresh in cold water (to stop the cooking process). 

Cook the broad beans in boiling water.  Drain and refresh under cold water.  Pod the beans (if you can't be bothered or have not got time, it will taste equally good with unpodded beans).

Cook the couscous according to the instructions.

In a bowl, mix the couscous, rocket, cooked asparagus, broad beans mint and parsley and pour over the dressing. 

Griddle or fry the asparagus tips in olive oil until just tender and serve on top of the couscous.

3 of the 8 pots of nuptial sweet peas