Herbs and Edibles

Once eaten, you'll never want to be without the humble garlic chive. It has a sweeter, more subtle taste than the rather oniony common chive, and allium tuberosum has one other facet that sets it apart in the herb garden: and that is, it flowers with pretty white stars in profusion during early autumn, when many other garden plants have finished flowering, offering a much-need source of nectar, particularly for honey bees and hover flies. I have watched with awe as literally countless insects take advantage of the delights of my garlic chive hedge, which creates a pretty boundary on the northern side of my herb garden (an idea borrowed from RHS Rosemoor, where I first saw this plant used as a hedge). The hedge is buzzing with life thanks to this beautiful little plant, whose blooms can match any showy allium in the flower border, whilst also offering delicious leaves for salads and soups. Unlike the tubular leaves of common chives, allium tuberosum has strap-like leaves that can reach a centimetre in width, and which can be picked liberally throughout the year, as it doesn't really die back, at least not for very long. With a bit of picking over and tidying up, and if there's little frost, allium tuberosum can be harvested even in the depths of winter. I know that wild garlic is all the rage – and rightly so – but in my estimation, garlic chives taste equally good and have a longer growing season.

I adore the zig-zag architecture of bronze fennel stems which in my humble opinion make it a 'must have' for any garden – and this is to say nothing of the feathery leaves, the incredible smell, the pretty acid-yellow flowers, the multitude of insects it attracts and the deliciousness of its seeds. It's surely one of the best plants we can grow. We leave its stems standing all winter long, so we can admire their form, and to offer an overwintering spot for beneficial insects. Its cut stems at any time of the year add a wonderfully archetectural element to flower arrangements. Brozne fennel forms a deep-rooted clump in no time, so an eye needs to be kept upon it because three or four years later, you may need help to remove it. We have allowed our bronze fennel clumps to get big and majestic and are thrilled at how it self-seeds all over the garden. Seedlings can be dug up where they are not wanted, but if you remove them from their chosen spot, they will sulk for a while. In our biggest clump of fennel, other plants such as Japanese anemone and crocosmia have seeded amongst it, creating an ecosystem in its own right, and as is Nature's wont, the flowers and foliage complement one another perfectly. Bronze fennel has a real presence and stature in the garden and I wouldn't want to be without it. I always bid it good morning as I walk past to the potting shed.

Hang on a minute! Why are Day Lilies listed in the 'Herbs & Edibles' section, you may ask? Well, because the flower buds and also the opened flowers are edible. Somewhat like courgette flowers, they can be dipped in a tempura batter and fried until crisp, or simply sauted in a little butter until tender. In some of my foraging books, it says the tubers of hemerocallis fulva can also be eaten, one author going so far as to claim that they are the tastiest of tubers  – but have you seen day lily tubers? They're slimmer than a pencil so it would take forever to harvest enough for lunch! Day lilies are handsome and robust clump forming perennials, and once established, you'll have them in your garden for life, so ensure that you plant them somewhere they can spread out and do their magnificent thing. An awkward corner with stony soil, a semi-shaded nook beside a hedge... they'll pretty much grow anywhere and can be trusted to perform even after frost, flooding and drought. They're a 'good doer'. Our day lily patch is encroaching on our orchard, it's doing so well, and so the plants I sell are what we have dug up and grown on. They don't really like being in a pot. I'd always plant them in the ground if possible. Each flower only lasts for a day, hence the name, but so may buds form that this hardly matters and they bloom for months on end.

Lemon balm has naturalised throughout the UK, so if you haven't already got this in your garden, then you're unlucky, especially as it is such a lovely herb. Its first young leaves of spring are so vibrant and shiny that they catch my eye in the garden, telling me that the soil is warming and the days are lengthening. These are the best tasting leaves, young and fresh, fabulous brewed into a tea, which is renowned for calming those of a nervous disposition, or bringing about a peaceful night's sleep. In fact, is there anything you can't do with lemon balm? Strew it in your bathwater, make it into pesto, dry it for pot pourri, make it into an insect repellent spray... Best of all, a herbalist once told me that together with its sister, chamomile, a tissane brewed from their leaves and flowers gives one a window into the soul of the world. Well, that's got to be worth a try! In the garden, it is a glorious plant, though it can become quite invasive. I like to dig out the bigger, older plants, leaving the youngsters to grow on and thrive. They can tolerate any conditions from full sun, to coastal winds and hard frost, and their flowers, though insignificant are beloved by pollinators. To brush past lemon balm as I walk through the flower beds on a warm summer's evening is about as good as it gets in the garden, because the scent is so heavenly, and to me, only just surpassed by eau-de-cologne mint. 

On bended knee I adore this plant. I like to bury my face in its leafy arbour, caress its leaves just a little and drink in its incredible, spicy, aromatic loveliness. If you haven't smelt oregano growing in the hot summer sun, then get yourself some if only for that purpose. It is sublime. The bees and insects love it too, and are drawn to it in clouds of buzzing adoration. Oregano tastes as good as it smells, especially in soups and stews where the cooking process mellows its zing; use sparingly raw in salads as it can be a little overpowering. It is an easy herb to grow, forming large mats of pretty ground cover, but is a prolific self-seeder and hardy too, and can outcompete even Jerusalem artichokes, so keep it at bay if it escapes from your herb patch, or you will find it everywhere – unless like me, you love it so much that you don't care where it fetches up. Tolerant of almost any soil type or aspect, oregano really is a 'good doer' and even looks lovely in flower arrangements for a day or two at least, as the flower stems can grow tall. I wouldn't be without this plant in my garden. The white flowered version is beautiful too.

I have no idea what variety these strawberries are as their heritage is lost in the mists of time. These are runners of runners of runners, adapted to thrive in a windy coastal environment. The fruit tastes superb, picked warm and succulent from the plant. If your own strawberries are not fruiting as they once did, then its wise to replace with new plants, which can be grown from your own runners, or bought new. These plants should fruit in their first year, though will do so more prolifically in the following three or four years. Thereafter yields will diminish. Strawberries are easy to grow and can tolerate most conditions. I water them in hot weather, but noticed that in a year where other commitments meant the garden was neglected somewhat and the plants did not get mollycoddled, they all fared better – including the strawberries which fruited happily even though the soil was parched. Perhaps overwatering also entices the slugs which often get to the fruit before you do? I like to bed them down with a layer of straw to keep the berries off the soil, and away from slugs, and I think they're worth growing for their leaves and flowers alone, which are beautiful.