I've been thinking about the earth lately. Not so much on a global scale. Just a 2 acre slice.
Living in the foothills means that I get to experience a sense of protection provided by the mountains that loom in the background. It also means that in early spring, as the melting snow runs off the mountains, there will inevitably be a wet bog that forms in a hollow in my backyard. In the nearly 10 years that I have lived on this property, I have alternately celebrated and waged war on Mother Nature. Just when I dare to believe that I have one-upped her, she reminds me, every spring like clockwork, that I chose that hollow to plant a vegetable garden.
Gardening has taught me many things, not least of which is patience and hope. Patience is what gets me through 4 long months of winter and hope that when I can finally get a shovel in the ground that it will scoop up a glorious mound of loose, friable earth instead of a clump of sodden mud. Both patience and hope is what it will take to get me to try again next week. And the next.
Digging is to gardening what dishwashing is to cooking; ineluctable. Earth must be moved and displaced, there's no getting around that. I've moved vast amounts of earth around here with nothing more than a shovel, wheelbarrow, and the willingness of my back. Now, I'm beginning to imagine what a machine will do.
I've been on construction sites and watched backhoes at work. It amazes me how effortlessly they slice into the earth and reveal striations of soil, peat, rock and clay, like the layers of a cake. It makes me consider the mysterious world that lives under our feet. After all, treasure is found by digging. And so is history.
This morning, as I walked around the yard, I took note of how much of the earth is uncovered and exposed. I thought about all of the tubers, crowns, and roots that lie dormant just beneath the surface. I wondered if they have survived the winter; if they were protected and insulated and are now rested and ready to leave their subterranean home and emerge into the layers of light and air.
Soon, my attention will waver to the life that will occupy the space above the ground, but for now, I'm thinking about the hidden, underlying landscape beneath the earth.
buttermilk pea pudding
malt powder
new potato confit
spring onion granola
pea shoots
Download Recipe: Layers of Earth
Playing with Fire and Water 
Hey foodplayerlinda,
i love your way of plating, specialy the minitures, you have to like the watermelon ( the coolest thing i have seen since a long time ). I do little gardens and landscapes myself and your pea-pot kicks …
LikeLike
Cool name and presentation, Chef.
LikeLike
This reminds me of Blumenthal’s edible Victorian garden though your “dirt” looks more edible than his dirt and there are no distracting deep-fried insects.
Nice presentation, Chef!
LikeLike
This post made me smile…thanks.
I’m a new reader…looking forward to reading (and seeing) more.
LikeLike