FRUIT and VEG
I When it comes to writing fiction, I enjoy experimenting with different genres. Here are two linked stories that I hope you'll find amusing.
In a Stew
Tallulah, like most turnips, is a rather sensitive soul. Root vegetables in general have an unfair reputation as being somewhat hard, knobbly, and unfeeling but in reality their main aim is to fulfil. Sure an addition of pepper, coriander or similar can spice things up somewhat but they like nothing better than to bring a smile by adding a bit of colour to a roast or warming a person’s day as part of a comforting soup. Tallulah’s particular distress today, which she is sharing in a trembling voice, is caused by the jokes made at her and her sisters’ expense following the ‘cherish turnips, forget tomatoes’ comments made by the Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. To be fair Tanya tomato and family aren’t that chuffed either. Not only do they constantly have to deal with the ‘but you’re a fruit really’ comments from those who really should know better (excluding of course Casper cucumber (who has the same problem himself, although a little less often) and Lola lettuce, who they know truly value any tomatoes’ contribution to a dish) but now this. ‘Forget tomatoes’ indeed! Whether the current UK shortage is down to the weather or Brexit or both, it’s certainly upsetting enough to give anyone with a heart the pip. Surely this, Tanya demands, should be the focus of concern today?
Chairing his first local Allotment Dwellers meeting, Oliver onion is beginning to sweat a little. Why oh why did this controversy have to happen at the beginning of his watch? As if taking over from Alicia avocado with her on trend popularity, her air of exoticism and her greenhouse superiority, hasn't been bad enough.
‘Order, order, meeting to order’, Oliver cries, but to no avail as tensions rise and the roots and salads thrown insults, and even a few poor peas, at each other.
Desperately Oliver looks around for help. The cabbages, caulis and sprouts are no use given their rather sad ostracization due to the faint farty smell that always lingers over them. The beans and sweetcorns aren’t going to be any help either; too busy discussing amongst themselves their personal preference of meat and fish accompaniments or not. And as for the courgettes. They really don’t know what all the fuss is about given that they’re themselves forever having to cope with the ‘but when is a courgette not a courgette?’ / ‘When it’s a marrow’, jibe.
Then just when he’s thinking that multiple layers or not he’s really not up to the job a saviour comes to Oliver’s rescue. Having followed the debate (or rather the unruly ratatouille of a meeting) thus far with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation Petunia potato decides it’s time to do her usual and brings some order to proceedings. Respected for her versatility and her ability to complete so many dishes and please so many palates the other allotment dwellers always listen when she speaks. Having cleared her throat - that’s all it takes for silence (after Roland radish nudges and shushes Cecily celeriac that is) - she begins.
‘Now come on everyone, show some solidarity. For after all we’re all in this together. We each bring something to the table, to the plate, to the bowl. We’re all somebody’s favourite individually (well maybe not the parsnips, sorry guys) and in our various groups we make delicious combinations. Let’s not spoil what we offer – our ability to inspire cooks and delight eaters the world over – by falling out amongst ourselves.’
At this, barring a bit of grumbling, peace is restored, for now at least. Giving up any hope of getting through the original agenda (which included important issues such as the (over) use of cloches and tunnels and the space needed for kale and rhubarb planting) Oliver brings the meeting to an end. As dusk falls and he, along with most of the other vegetables (the leeks are particularly poor sleepers), dozes off for the night, he dreams of future meetings where his own particular strength and flavour is valued for what it is.
***
Fruit Basket
It’s Oliver onion’s second allotment meeting as chair and already it’s proving to be as sticky as the last one. This evening’s bone of contention (and they’re only just got through the Minutes and Item’s Arising) is the new greenhouse which has well and truly upset the applecart in terms of the previous good relationship between the veggies and the fruit. The tomatoes expected full occupation of the rather grand structure, but the fruits, especially the peaches and the melons, have other ideas. Yes, yes, I appreciate that everyone knows that technically tomatoes are fruit too but they self-identify as vegetables which must of course be respected.
Anyway, back to the argument.
‘Bloomin self-entitled tomatoes’, mumbles Osaf orange, ‘always acting as if life is a bowl of cherries just for them’.
‘Yeah, but full of pips for the rest of us’, adds Aaron a little more loudly. Aaron isn’t a bad apple by any means, but he likes a bit of stir.
‘What a lemon’, whispers Sasha strawberry to her friend Ruby red current and the cherry tree in the corner of the allotment shakes so much that those sitting underneath are showered with pink blossom.
Oliver is sweating again, all his layers feeling uncomfortably damp, as the oranges, apples and pears side with the peaches and melons (the berries being much less partisan), and the tomatoes, feeling increasingly isolated, grow angrier and angrier. If they get any redder additives will be suspected and the usual route to salad, sauce and soup will be completely off the table.
‘Come on guys’, he tries ‘there must be a way out of this, surely?’
But nobody is listening to him. Looking around desperately for some help Oliver catches one of the eyes of Patrick potato who he was up against for the job of allotment chair. They’ll both be in hot water soon enough without all this hassle and Oliver feels sure that on reflection Patrick holds no sour grapes and is more than happy to have lost the vote. A plum assignment IT IS NOT. Patrick’s mother Petunia, a wise and well respected root, has left for pastures, well more accurately palates, new but Patrick is a chip of the old block and he tries hard to come to Oliver’s rescue.
So full are they of indignation though, the fruits and the tomatoes don’t give a fig. ‘Bananas, absolutely bananas, the lot of them’, thinks Patrick, giving up.
Seeing the need for action and pulling himself up to his full height Ronnie rhubarb clears his throat, takes a deep breath and whistles loudly.
‘Right, just stop it, stop it now’, says Ronnie commandingly. Rhubarb are generally a shy lot, hiding most of the time, as they do, under their leaves, so this intervention shocks everyone into silence. ‘Enough’, Ronnie continues. ‘Last month it was the toms and the turnips and now it’s the toms and the fruit.’ ‘Yes, yes I know’, he says in exasperation as, one particularly pedantic beetroot opens their mouth to correct the tomato classification.
Clearing his throat Ronnie tries again. ‘There must be a solution going forward’, he begins, ‘so why don’t we form a few breakout groups, discuss the options and bring our ideas back to the bedding patch’. Ronnie had known the copy of ‘How to Speak Management’ that the human allotment worker had left in the shed would come in handy sooner or later. And for a while Ronnie’s suggestion seems to work with small clusters of fruit and veg chatting, mostly, amicably. The discussion is largely about other things, such as growing hopes for the season and the merits of organic fertilizer, rather than who should have the rights to the greenhouse, but still, at least things seem a bit less fraught now.
A few minutes on and Sasha, clearly the nominated spokesberry for her group, speaks out. ‘The thing is…’, and although her voice is quiet everyone stops to listen, so luscious looking a fruit is Sasha (only a dollop of cream could make her more beautiful). ‘The thing is, couldn’t the peaches, the melons and the tomatoes just share the greenhouse?’ Seeing a few nods and encouraging smiles she continues; ‘there’s actually quite a bit of space and wouldn’t the cocktail of colour be glorious if there was joint occupation.’
Monica melon and Peggy peach smile at each other. ‘That’s sweet Sasha’, says Monica, ‘and so simple and sensible an idea, thank you.’
Looking towards the tomatoes Oliver sees that Tallulah, Tarquin and the rest look happy enough too. Sighing with relief he moves on at last to the second main agenda item bracing himself for another lively discussion, this time about the status of the low hanging fruit.
***
NB: I know I’ve mixed the seasons/seasonal produce in both of these stories. Please forgive me.
