Scary stories from a lovely place
I just planted the last of my snow pea seeds. We’ve been eating giant snow peas sporadically for the last few weeks or so. The crop, so far, hasn’t been particularly abundant even though my few plants have far outgrown the fence they are climbing up. The vines are soft and green, the flowers purple and mauve, and the snow peas big and delicious.
When I was young there was a bit of an aura of splendour surrounding the humble snow pea. Even the ‘snow’ in it’s name lends itself to a description of delicate and special. They were good to snack on, but necessary and pricey ingredients for a stir fry or salad. I think that’s part of my desire to grow them on mass. I want to just grab a handful and eat them all before my mum notices. And perhaps the reason we’ve only been able to eat them sporadically as a part of dinner is because most of them are consumed before they make it into the house.
They have snow peas in Ireland, but they’re called ‘mange tout’, which is French for something or other. But in South Africa ‘mange tout’ were more like big, hairy broad beans, which is not like the precious snow pea at all! So Stephen doesn’t really see what all the fuss is with snow peas. Though, he does enjoy the ones that have sprung from our soil, if I am able to spare him any.
Thanks to the genius of succession planting we should be able to snack on these babies all the way through to spring.