Big tomatoes (not the usual small Picolino variety), an organic cucumber, lambs lettuce and ripe avocados, all made their way into my shopping basket yesterday. This hasn’t happened for some time, not for months.
I think my salad buying falls in line with the ending and beginning of British Summer Time, much like my sleep clock which adjusts itself about 4 weeks before the actual clocks change. I’m now awake at 6.10am precisely, without fail, as my body anticipates the hour forward at the end of March. Many of you may be early risers and think nothing of being up and about by 6am. I’m not a lark. As a I get older my body wants to fall in rhythm with the natural world which means that in the darkest and shortest days I’m not awake before 8am. Fortunately, I now have a life style that permits this luxury. In days gone by when I had to be up at 6am to get my son ready for the childminder for an 8am drop off or, even worse, the school bus at 7.20am, followed by my own commute to work, I was constantly knackered (and so was he). The lighter mornings made this easier to tolerate but I’ve always preferred a more languid start to the day.
It was only yesterday as I unpacked my shopping and admired the plump, lush red of the tomatoes that I made the connection between salad and my own seasonal clock. Me and salad during cold days don’t go well together. It simply doesn’t feel right! Winter is a time for robust vegetables. I do love a cauliflower! While mashed carrot and swede simply don’t compute on a hot summer’s day. Gravy? Nah, not in the warm months. It makes me wonder why there is that lemming like rush to start a diet on 1 January? It’s simply the wrong time of year to be eating lettuce (unless you’re in the southern hemisphere). Little wonder people give up by the end of the month (more likely in the first week). I need and want warm food on a cold day.
In the days before we imported so much produce and had access to ‘out of season’ delights we ate in accordance with the seasonal crops. The ability to buy strawberries in the midst of winter still feels wrong to me. Yesterday I bought raspberries, thanks to imports from Morocco. A small pleasure, as long as they have some flavour. I’m yet to find out.
My dad was an avid gardener. I have memories of his vegetable garden. My sister, being a true Taurean, loves to get her hands in the earth and grow veg. You can’t beat the flavour of freshly dug new potatoes.
It’s those rosy red tomatoes that hold some magic for me. The best, of course, are home grown in a greenhouse (or the warm Mediterranean countries). My great grandfather had a greenhouse, as did my son’s grandad. We both delight in our respective memories of walking through the garden to the glass grotto of warmth that held the scent of soil and tomatoes, plucking a fruit the size of a small hand, the size of an apple, yet far more juicy. Granddads and tomatoes are made in heaven.
Perhaps my impulse purchase was influenced by the sunny days we’ve had this week, one in which I felt content and ok in my world. Happy! I’ve found the last six months to be tough. Apart from the occasional day, I am convinced we’ve had rain since October. I know this to be true because that’s when I went to stay with a friend while I was between houses and that’s when the rain began. Apparently February has been the wettest month on record for the UK. Never ending grey, grey days. I toy with the notion of joining the digital nomad club and spending next January and February in southern Spain, or Tenerife. Mum used to own a timeshare in Los Cristianos. Her week was the first week in March which provided a welcome respite in the sun. I think I need something earlier in the year. March is such a turning point for me and my seasonal affective depression because the days are getting noticeably longer as we head towards the spring equinox, plus there is the anticipation of the clocks going forward which always happens on the last Sunday in March.
Another reason for the salad items may have been an unconscious urge to prepare myself for the coming weekend, anticipatory starvation, as I’m going on a Food Addiction metabolic health retreat. I’ve been feeling desperate about my weight and my ballooning body. I’ve been feeling the need for a sugar detox in a controlled environment. This is my version of rehab. I know I can’t do this on my own and I know yet another diet is not the answer. This is not a weight loss retreat and neither is it advertised as a detox. I’ve noticed that lots of health spas charge you an absolute fortune to live off juices and soups, where the expense goes up in direct proportion to the reduction in food - LOL. In my world a juice does not count as food, it’s a glass full of fructose ie sugar. This retreat is time away that is about addiction, where sugar is described as a psycho-active drug. I get it, I really do, ever since I read When Food is Love by Geneen Roth in 2005, I’ve known. I suspect I will share more about my experience next week. Meanwhile I’ve looked at the timetable and can see that they are using intermittent fasting so there is no breakfast but brunch is served late morning and then there is supper before 6pm. I’m ok with the schedule as long as we are served proper portion sizes. Perhaps I should take a supply of tomatoes with me? I’m aware of the temptation to smuggle in chocolate but that is self-defeating. I do wonder why it is that I never need chocolate when I’m on holiday? Definitely about sunshine and warmth. Chocolate in a hot country never tastes the same. Local tomatoes grown in a hot country are exquisite. Perhaps I need to emigrate?
You can find out more about the food retreat here
You can read more about my relationship with food in this earlier post.
I´m sure the retreat will be a success! Lovely description of inner anticipation of the new season. Reading your post, I was thinking how different it is to live in a country with sunshine all year round. Of course we have rainy days but it never lasts long. However, if you look at statistics, that doesn´t make us necessarily happier as we have one of the highest suicide rates of the world. We are 11th, UK is 45th. And we basically still eat seasonal crops most of which we produce (like Mediterranean countries). So it´s not the food, not the climate, so what is it? I guess it´s the culture. In addition, starting a diet on January 1st, is perfect timing down here!!! A bit of humour, and good luck with your retreat!
Hope this goes really well for you. I have been revising our diets since Trevor was diagnosed with high cholesterol.