The Festival of Holi — a Hindu celebration of the beginning of spring, of love, and of colour, riotous colour, people throwing colour with spices, pigments, coloured waters, all over each other in frolicsome revelry. I’ve only read about this, but it’s a source of fantasy, one day before I die to be somewhere in India during this time, to witness, no, to be part of it all. The experience of colour is one of my greatest joys. And vintage cookbooks!
“Je via sano!” — apparently that’s Esperanto for “To your health!” Here’s my daughter holding the elixir of groovy, raw, detoxing, alkalising, mineralising, energising health juiced from the rampant growth in our alternately sunny and rainy spring garden.
I had impulsively thrown some marrowfat peas on one of our raised beds, and they grew so fast they were hiding our beloved chives and strawberries from the sun. I hadn’t had a proper plan. So I pulled them all up, and there was quite a lot of pea growth, each one maybe somewhere in between what you might imagine as a Pea Shoot and a Pea Green. I threw my shoe in there to show you the bulk.
The texture was a little stringy and chewy, even once pureed in a pesto with almonds and olive oil. Not quite nice enough. I’d been then inclined just to sautee some in garlic and olive oil, but there were so many to clean and pick through. And a feeling of laziness overtook me. How it came to me to pull out the juicer my husband bought at a carboot sale, I can’t recall.
Kitchen Counter Culture 