In a stew

Tallulah, like most turnips, is a rather sensitive soul. Root vegetables in general have an unfair reputation as being somewhat hard, knobbly, and unfeeling but in reality their main aim is to fulfil. Sure an addition of pepper, coriander or similar can spice things up somewhat but they like nothing better than to bring a smile by adding a bit of colour to a roast or warming a person’s day as part of a comforting soup. Tallulah’s particular distress today, which she is sharing in a trembling voice, is caused by the jokes made at her and her sisters’ expense following the ‘cherish turnips, forget tomatoes’ comments made by the Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. To be fair Tanya tomato and family aren’t that chuffed either. Not only do they constantly have to deal with the ‘but you’re a fruit really’ comments from those who really should know better (excluding of course Casper cucumber (who has the same problem himself, although a little less often) and Lola lettuce, who they know truly value any tomatoes’ contribution to a dish) but now this. ‘Forget tomatoes’ indeed! Whether the current UK shortage is down to the weather or Brexit or both, it’s certainly upsetting enough to give anyone with a heart the pip. Surely this, Tanya demands, should be the focus of concern today?

Chairing his first local Allotment Dwellers meeting, Oliver onion is beginning to sweat a little. Why oh why did this controversy have to happen at the beginning of his watch? As if taking over from Alicia avocado with her on trend popularity, her air of exoticism and her greenhouse superiority, hasn't been bad enough.

‘Order, order, meeting to order’, Oliver cries, but to no avail as tensions rise and the roots and salads thrown insults, and even a few poor peas, at each other.

Desperately Oliver looks around for help. The cabbages, caulis and sprouts are no use given their rather sad ostracization due to the faint farty smell that always lingers over them. The beans and sweetcorns aren’t going to be any help either; too busy discussing amongst themselves their personal preference of meat and fish accompaniments or not. And as for the courgettes. They really don’t know what all the fuss is about given that they’re themselves forever having to cope with the ‘but when is a courgette not a courgette?’ / ‘When it’s a marrow’, jibe.

Then just when he’s thinking that multiple layers or not he’s really not up to the job a saviour comes to Oliver’s rescue. Having followed the debate (or rather the unruly ratatouille of a meeting) thus far with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation Petunia potato decides it’s time to do her usual and brings some order to proceedings. Respected for her versatility and her ability to complete so many dishes and please so many palates the other allotment dwellers always listen when she speaks. Having cleared her throat - that’s all it takes for silence (after Roland radish nudges and shushes Cecily celeriac that is) - she begins.

‘Now come on everyone, show some solidarity. For after all we’re all in this together. We each bring something to the table, to the plate, to the bowl. We’re all somebody’s favourite individually (well maybe not the parsnips, sorry guys) and in our various groups we make delicious combinations. Let’s not spoil what we offer – our ability to inspire cooks and delight eaters the world over – by falling out amongst ourselves.’

At this, barring a bit of grumbling, peace is restored, for now at least. Giving up any hope of getting through the original agenda (which included important issues such as the (over) use of cloches and tunnels and the space needed for kale and rhubarb planting) Oliver brings the meeting to an end. As dusk falls and he, along with most of the other vegetables (the leeks are particularly poor sleepers), dozes off for the night, he dreams of future meetings where his own particular strength and flavour is valued for what it is.

NB: I know I’ve mixed up my seasonal veg a bit; please forgive me.