Monday 31st May - Bank Holiday
This evening the allotment gave us the last of the asparagus and the first rose. A single dark red one on a flimsy stem, perfectly whorled petals, scented deep and rich like long memory.
I remembered a loaf of bread baked with wild garlic in the freezer when we were on our walk this afternoon along wide avenues fringed with huge beech trees and the strong flavour of wild garlic below them. And the idea for supper came to me.
We sat down late with the light fading - our plates laden with fat and thin, short and long asparagus spears, curled up pink prawns, squeezed with lemon, flecked with parsley, a pool of mustard seed speckled mayonnaise, wilted neroli cabbage leaves and at the last minute, a bright yolked poached egg. On our side plates lay the fat slices of double garlic bread, crusty outside, damp and buttery inside.
A bunch of purple sage flowers, three lupins and an armful of mauve flax flowers, furled like prawns - more allotment gifts - added their perfume to our night kitchen. We lingered at the table not wanting it to end - this Monday which all along has felt like Sunday.