Grandparents and Farming

My grandparents would have been elated by my semi feeble attempts at farming, or gardening what ever you choose to call it.

Sekuru vaTiki especially I think, perhaps I'm biased because I have the most vivid memories of him. But they were all agriculture gurus in their own right. I’m told of Sekuru "Kushinga"Chitehwe being a step far ahead of his contemporaries when it came to his farming practices. He was a local legend popularly known as Kushinga- denoting someone who preservers and is strong. He had groves of fruit trees, and gum tree plantations and grew sunflowers that grew bigger than the size of your head I’m told...or maybe they were smaller but I won’t challenge the memory of my mother who worked in those fields as a young girl.

The current urban farming phenomena/craze/fab was daily life to Sekuru Lambert decades before the rest of us caught on to it. I remember seeing his vegetable patch growing in suburban America. His few plants of money maker tomatoes fed us ravenous grandchildren all summer long. It was something quite special for me come to think of it. At the time, our family was based on the East Coast of the USA. Literally on the coast- our back yard overlooked an estuary of the Atlantic Ocean.The most we attempted to ever grow in our yard often got washed away by hurricanes or floods when the vast body of water away turned grey murky and angry.

But back to Sekuru vaTiki, he would be happy. You might say he had failing eye sight but he was on to something spectacular. He often commented on our landscaping choices, or in his opinion, lack off. Our decisions were clearly erroneous; why were we growing so much grass in the yard and not edible plants? He was onto something way before the new movement encouraging people grow food not lawns gained much publicity. I remember his alternative was that we get a little cow or goat if decided to keep all the grass, it would really help in keeping the lawns manicured. Sounded crazy at the time, then I saw the logic of his suggestion some years later in the center of Europe. The city fathers of said city arranged with the local farmers to let their sheep out onto the expansive park land of the city. So it was nothing short of normal to occasionally see sheep innocently manicuring the green lawn, one munch of grass at a time.

Failing eyesight aside he knew that our home was situated on fertile land. You didn’t need to tell Sekuru that the property was carved out of a former commercial farm in the colonial era of Rhodesia. Having been born and raised in rural Zimbabwe and a farmer himself in his own right. I’m quite sure he could see and taste that the land was fertile. Yes taste. That leads me to the story of beans.

There was a time in my memory of Zimbabwe when meat was beyond the reach of the average family household, our household included. But we never lacked protein. Even had surplus. It was a time Mother began to rare her own chickens, something that was a new experience for me. I refused to eat the chickens for a long time since I had seen them grow and had taken care of them, the thought of eating the animal upset me. In my young mind I thought eating them would be very unethical. I got over it at a rapidly, way before I discovered Michael Pollan and the ethics of eating food. It was almost a no-brainer because the only other alternative was beans on Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.  And every day after that that ended in a "y". 

Don’t get me wrong. I like beans. A lot actually.  But it was and still is the combination of limited culinary prowess and those butter bean that I found and still find distasteful. I doubt though that greater culinary capabilities will change my attitude to those beans.

But my Sekuru loved these beans. He said they tasted like meat, bhinzi dzenyama  he called them. Meaning meat beans. Which was a compliment since he really liked his meat.  And  good or even great tasting food as the world is slowly rediscovering is not just in praise of a good cook, but more so of the good farmer who cares for the food.

These beans started off as two or three little beans we had gotten form one of my adopted grandmothers. Like the mythical beans from Jack and The Beanstalk these things just grew, and grew, and grew and are still growing over ten years later. Nothing gets in their way, even when I purposefully forget to water them, the winter, or the hot October heat.  These beans were a saving grace and have fed almost all of our large extended family. I’ve eaten them way too many times, I do not enjoy them. So I’ve found an alternative growing different types of beans since my attempt at sabotage with the beans has never succeeded.

Besides the magic beans growing unattended, I’ve added and care for more intentionally new flavours and varieties of vegetables and legumes. The more conventional green leafy vegetables we find in our home gardens in Zimbabwe taken to another level, last year I experimented with different varieties and colours of broccoli and kale. So today all my grandfathers would have called me a good farmer with my harvest today of Swiss Chard, Sweet Peas, Lettuce, Beetroot, Red Cabbage and then the new and quasi exotic flavours I have picked up along the way of arugula/rocket and fennel.

So with this harvest I’ve done half the work, now to add some culinary prowess to make good food. New recipes, from near and far are always welcome. Especially for beetroot.  An iron rich staple in the garden as it grows all year. 

I adapted  this recipe  with the beetroots I had harvested.After a little hardwork, trial and error I had pillow soft bright pink gnocchi.

Gnocchi is best described as a Northern Italian dumpling like pasta. Most commonly made from potatoes and eggs. Lots of adaptions have been made and these pillow soft dumplings can be made out of most vegetables.

The final taste and the time put in creating these dumplings are a labour of love. Where I situated on a different part of the globe I might just have walked into the local pastificio (a pasta factory or shop)  and ordered X amount of gnocchi. But reality is that I am here on this end, and these gnocchi might taste better. So here you are a labour of love.

Beetroot Gnocchi

2 Cups Beetroot Puree*

1 teaspoon salt

2.5 cups plain flour (plus much more for dusting)

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

In your food processor or like I did, using my hand held mixer with the kneading attachments on; combine beetroot puree, black pepper, salt and vinegar.

Add in the flour, a cup at a time mixing until well combined. Dough should be soft and pliable to touch. Add in a bit more flour if the dough is too sticky and difficult to handle.  Separate the dough into eight equal portions.

If planning to cook gnocchi immediately prepare a large stock, ¾ full with salted water. Begin to boil the water.

Prepare your work surface by flouring the work surface.  Roll out one of the dough portions into a thick log of about 1.5 centimetres thick and 10-12 centimetres long. Using a sharp knife, cut small logs into 2.5 centimetres . Repeat with the other dough portions.

**If freezing gnocchi for use at later date place gnocchi onto parchment lined trays and place in freezer. When ready to cook; use gnocchi directly from the freezer  and cook without .**

Reduce the heat of water until the water is simmering. Add in about half the amount of gnocchi or less depending on the size of your stock pot. The gnocchi will sink to the bottom, but using a spoon carefully lift them off the bottom to prevent sticking.  When ready, about 6- 8 minutes later gnocchi will float to the top.

Remove gnocchi and place in appropriate bowl.

Repeat the process with the other half of the gnocchi.

Serve with a rich sauce to compliment the earthy flavour of the gnocchi.

Enjoy!

*Beetroot puree, can be made from pureeing in a food processor roasted beetroots- Roasted beets give a richer sweeter flavour and have less water content. So this is ideal. I simply used boiled beets that were in the fridge as it was a quicker alternative.

*Not too sure about the technique? Take a look at this video for the basics.