I don’t know why I’m continually surprised that southern Germany is so lush and green. There are endless fields of grass and pasturage and every village and town sports buildings layered with flower boxes in storied rows, filled to overflowing with geraniums and petunias. John and Simone have a garden now, for the first time, and it’s their passion and delight. They’ve built a raised bed rock-wall herb garden and filled a large patch with vegetables and a second one with flowers for cutting so that Simone can have fresh flowers in the house cycling constantly through the summer season.
There were several thunderstorms while we were there and though I don’t think it rains as much as it does here in Sweden, there was often a just-washed brightness to the earth and sky. Simone had planted nasturtiums which had traveled all over the garden, and which she used in salad as well as little purple flowers whose name I don’t know. We had fresh veggies and huge bowls of greens that accompanied every meal. When I started eating more salad last year, John introduced me to kohlrabi, not knowing he was creating a monster, as I eat it all the time now. It’s such an incredibly versatile veggie and adds a delicious zingy taste to everything I put it with, whether it’s crispy and raw in a salad or sautéed with snap peas and potatoes and salmon.
I’ve written about my love for kohlrabi before, actually, back when I first discovered them. Kohlrabi are created cultivars of the cabbage plant (the name is from the German for “cabbage-turnip”) and taste much like crisp young broccoli stems.
Most of the kohlrabis that you can buy in the supermarkets, and the ones in John and Simone’s garden, are about the size of your fist, or two fists together (which is about the size of your stomach, I read once). This one is from Simone’s parent’s garden and was nearly the size of Karin’s head: we know, we measured.
Teetering, Tottering, Totally Tubular Birthday Wishes to Russell!