The One Who Grows, the One Who Cooks

Today, I went into the garden and picked some shiso leaves.

I also took one of the garlic bulbs that had been harvested and left to dry.

I made peperoncino pasta with pork.

The shiso and garlic were both homegrown.

But I did not grow them.

My father-in-law did.

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My father-in-law prepares the soil, plants the seedlings, and waters them.

I am hardly involved in any of it.

Before I know it, something is growing in the garden.

So although I live surrounded by homegrown vegetables, I sometimes feel like an outsider.

I did not grow them myself.

But the moment they enter the kitchen, things change.

I am the one who cooks.

My father-in-law grows them.

I work out how to use them.

When I am away, my wife does.

That is how we divide the work.

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There is something peaceful about the phrase “homegrown vegetables.”

You imagine stepping into the garden, picking only what you need, and cooking it while it is fresh.

The reality is a little different.

Vegetables do not grow according to our meal plans.

When they are ready, a great deal of the same thing arrives at once.

My father-in-law is the one who grows them, so he does not seem to think much about what happens after the harvest.

Once they have grown successfully, his part is done.

What comes next belongs to whoever cooks.

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Some time ago, we had a large crop of onions planted by my father-in-law.

There were too many for us to finish, so we shared them with various people.

Eventually, we managed to use them all.

Just as the onions were gone, large eggplants began to appear.

Now the cucumbers are coming one after another.

I ate one this morning.

There are still several in the refrigerator.

More are waiting in the garden.

We pickle them.

Eat them with miso.

Put them in salads.

Still, they do not seem to disappear.

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The shiso keeps growing throughout the summer.

But the insects know this too.

If we are not careful, the leaves soon become full of holes.

The insects get to them before we do.

Even finding leaves they have not eaten takes some effort.

Today, I found a few good ones, picked them, sliced them finely, and scattered them over the pasta.

The dried garlic still had plenty of fragrance.

My father-in-law grew it.

I cooked it.

The three of us ate it together.

Come to think of it, it is a curious kind of collaboration.

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Seasonal vegetables.

Living with the land.

Living with the seasons.

They all sound pleasant.

But for someone accustomed to city life, the reality is not always convenient.

There are insects.

The weeds keep growing.

A large amount of the same vegetable arrives all at once.

Instead of choosing what we want to eat, we have to think about how to use what is here.

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Still, when I am surrounded by homegrown vegetables, I can feel the seasons more clearly.

The season in the garden enters our family table.

When it comes to growing things, I am still something of an outsider.

But through cooking, I have begun to enter that circle.

Today’s peperoncino carried a little of this land’s summer, grown by my father-in-law.