A Simple Seasonal Salad from the Garden

Why a Garden Salad Tastes Different

There is a particular satisfaction in carrying a colander of young leaves from the plot to the kitchen, rinsing them under the cold tap and eating them within the hour. Shop-bought salad is bred for shelf life and travel; it is cut, chilled, bagged and driven many miles before it reaches your plate. A leaf picked at nine and eaten at one has a sweetness and a bite that no plastic bag can preserve. Growing it yourself is one of the simplest acts of slow living there is — and it takes up far less space than most people imagine.

A few metres of ground, or even a deep pot by the back door, will keep a household in cut-and-come-again leaves from April right through to the first hard frosts.

Sowing a Small, Steady Supply

The mistake most new growers make is sowing a whole packet at once in a flush of March enthusiasm. Three weeks later there is more lettuce than any family can eat, and by July the row has bolted and turned bitter. Far better to sow little and often.

From early March, once the soil has warmed a little and dried enough to crumble in your hand, sow a short row every fortnight. A one-metre row is plenty for two people. Pause in the heat of July and start again in late August for an autumn crop.

Good varieties for the British climate include:

• Loose-leaf lettuce such as 'Salad Bowl' and 'Lollo Rossa', which you cut rather than pull.
• Mizuna and red mustard, peppery and quick, ready in three weeks.
• Rocket, sown thinly, which will give you leaves before the flea beetle finds it.
• Spinach 'Perpetual', which crops for months if kept picked.
• Corn salad, or lamb's lettuce, sown in late summer for winter picking.

Sow into shallow drills about a centimetre deep, in rows 15cm apart, and water gently with a fine rose. If slugs are a nuisance, a night-time torchlight patrol will do more good than anything from a bottle. Thin the seedlings to roughly 10cm apart if you want hearts, or leave them crowded and cut the whole row young.

The Cut-and-Come-Again Harvest

This is the technique that makes a small plot enormously productive. Rather than pulling whole plants, take a pair of sharp scissors and cut the leaves two to three centimetres above the crown, leaving the growing point intact. Water the row afterwards. Within a fortnight you will have a fresh flush, and most mixes will regrow two or three times before they tire.

Harvest in the cool of the morning, when the leaves are plump with water, and take only what you need for that meal. A cut leaf begins to wilt within hours, and the whole point of growing your own is to eat it at its peak. Wash in cold water, pat dry, and keep the dressing separate until the last moment.

Radishes, Herbs and the Rest of the Bowl

A salad of leaves alone is pleasant; a salad with something crisp and something aromatic is memorable. Radishes are the fastest reward in the garden — 'French Breakfast' can be on the plate three to four weeks after sowing. Sow a short row every ten days from March to September, about a centimetre deep and 2.5cm apart, and keep them well watered. Dry soil makes them hot, woody and hollow.

Herbs do the rest of the work. Chives, parsley, chervil, dill, coriander and a leaf or two of mint all lift a bowl of leaves. Salad burnet tastes faintly of cucumber and is one of the most underrated plants in a cottage garden. A few edible flowers — nasturtium, borage or a viola — make the bowl look as good as it tastes.

Pick herbs just before you eat; their oils are volatile and a sprig left overnight loses most of its perfume.

A Light Dressing, Made in a Jam Jar

Strong dressings drown young leaves. Keep it simple and make it fresh.

• Three tablespoons of olive oil, or British rapeseed oil for a grassier note.
• One tablespoon of cider vinegar or lemon juice.
• A teaspoon of Dijon mustard, to emulsify.
• A pinch of sugar, a good pinch of salt and plenty of black pepper.

Shake it all in a clean jam jar until it turns opaque, then taste. If it is too sharp, add a little more oil; if it is flat, a few more drops of vinegar. Dress the leaves at the very last second, toss with your hands so every leaf is barely glossed, and serve at once with bread and good butter.

Leaving Room for the Wild Things

A productive plot and a wild one are not opposites. Let a few lettuces bolt and their small yellow flowers will feed hoverflies and bees long after the row has finished. Leave a patch of ground undisturbed for beetles and ground-nesting bees, keep a shallow dish of water for birds and hedgehogs, and resist the urge to tidy every seedhead away in autumn.

Gardening slowly is less about perfection than attention: noticing when the soil is warm enough, when the flea beetle arrives, when the first radish is ready. The salad is only part of the reward. The real pleasure is the half-hour among the rows, scissors in hand, before the kettle goes on.