Decorators in a doorway take a lunch time break.
Hedge cutting time again. Someone is coming to help. But there is one corner of the garden where we sit with tables and flowerpots, where for comfort and peace of mind, I always cut the hedge first. Today, with the hand shears, I clip the seven foot monster and restore a sense of order where it matters most. Help does not materialise today, but I sit in the nest, minus the sense of frustration with which I started the day.
Under the hedge where most of the herbs grow as, I sit down with a cup of tea, I spot some chervil in a pot which I recently planted but have forgotten about. I think of omelette aux fines herbes. I suspect that in France the fine herbes would as a rule include chervil, whereas in England its delicate flavour ( imparting a hint of lickerish) is less well known.
1 comment:
I think I can say I've never really had an omelette aux fines herbes, here or anywhere else! However, Larousse Gastronomique and sundry others confirm it should indeed contain chervil, and the herb isn't difficult to obtain by the bunch here. It always makes me think of a Hopkins poem,which mentions 'fretty chervil', it turns out to be that one that starts 'Thou art indeed just, Lord', which asks 'why do sinners' ways prosper?', which seems a good enough question...
I might try to grow some next year; though they say it's hard to germinate. I have stacks of fresh coriander just now.
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