A Tale of Two Crops

Most growing seasons deliver the best of times and the worst of times for different crops simultaneously.  This has been a banner year for beans, but a near total bust for the broccoli.  With all the rain we've had, I wouldn't have expected a great vegetable season to begin with.  And given the real tragedy that struck some of our upstate local farms -- one of our favorites, Bradley Farm, saw all 18 acres of its crops destroyed -- I have no intention of complaining about the vagaries of nature.

I do, however, find it intriguing to look at how differently the beans and broccoli have fared under exactly the same conditions, producing polar opposite outcomes: Gross and disgusting virtual crop failure versus a whole freezer full of frozen legumes to tide us over for the winter.

I'll tackle the bad news first.  The wet weather has proven to be the ideal breeding ground for our very own batch of not-really-but-certainly-looks-like caviar.  These are the eggs of those cute little white moths that visit the garden in mid-summer.  Or I should say, these are the gazillions of eggs that coat almost every nook and cranny of the otherwise robust broccoli stalks.  And since we really try to be as organic as possible, there's not a whole lot we can do other than try to rinse as many off as possible.  This has proven to be a less than effective remedy.

If only these were beluga instead of caterpillars-to-be!

That this goo is all over the plants is bad enough, but within days, whatever eggs remain safely hidden in the unreachable nooks and crannies turn into hundreds of voracious eating machines like this:

He has only just begun to eat

And within short order, the broccoli leaves are reduced to the vegetative equivalent of a lace antimacassar, more suited to draping over Grandma's sofa than providing nourishment for what was supposed to have been a delicious head of Romanescu.

Broccoli Doily

We may yet see a head or two develop, but if we want to make a meal out of broccoli, we'll have to rely on our local farmer's market.  So much for the worst of this year's garden.

Now for the best of times:  Beans!  

We grow both Haricots Verts and Garden of Eden flat Italian beans.  The former are hard to find in markets when they're still young and tender; the latter are a particularly good variety for blanching, frenching, and freezing, and we usually grow enough to give us a dozen or so meals-worth through the depths of the winter.  This season, however, it seems as though the rain that spelled disaster for the broccoli has encouraged the beans to convert all that moisture into wave after wave of tasty legumes.  I can spend 30 minutes picking beans one day, to return the following day and find the same amount has enthusiastically swollen to ripeness overnight.  And they're tricky to pick -- in fact, the best way to do so is to think like a bean.  

You see, if you simply look at the bush, expecting the beans to volunteer themselves, you'll see one or two.  LIke this:

These beans are playing decoy for all the others hiding under the leaves

But to find the real motherlode, you have to imagine where you might hide, if you were on this particular vine -- and suddenly, a whole new trove will be revealed. 

Haricots Verts hiding

Garden of Eden playing coy

For me, picking beans is a grand game of hide and seek with Mother Nature.  I take an embarrassing amount of pride in being able to ferret out the best-camouflaged pods and fill my basket -- and subsequently freezer -- with as many beans as possible.  I admit that outwitting a brainless vine isn't exactly a major mental challenge, but it certainly beats missing beans at the peak of their ripeness only to discover them days later when they're the length of a yardstick, and as inedible as a box of rocks.  I much prefer them like this:

Garden of Eden beans captured!

And then like this:

Freezer ready: Haricots Verts blanched and bagged; Garden of Eden blanched and frenched

 

And then they're even better in the depths of winter when defrosted and sauteed in garlic and oil for a little taste of summer.  We'll just have to do without the broccoli this January.