I love knowing where my food comes from. Some wag will say, that one always knows because, well, it's from the selected retailer. When it comes to the potatoes and coriander, that may be so. But not for the rest. While neither the butternut, nor the tomatoes (bar one, poor, pecked-at fruit) came from the garden, we do know.
Cecil delivered the tomatoes (expect the 2022 edition of the tomato diaries). The butternut, I have mentioned before, comes from the farm on the other side of the road from Red Earth Farm which supplies us with free range chicken.
All the greenery is from our garden. No lettuce because either the Guineafowl family ate them, or they bolted in the heat. The tomatoes, dressed in apple cider vinegar and olive oil, sat on basil and the roasted butternut, drizzled with balsamic vinegar, lay on a bed of rocket and dandelion.
Oh, our friend and market pal, SY, makes the yoghurt on the potato, with the chopped dhanya.
In summary: Sunday supper was a different take on the traditional roast and two vegetables. With the satisfaction of knowing most of the journey that its different components took to reach our plates.
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:
@artywink
@hive.blog and Canva.