You could say that the best thing about February is that it’s not January or more accurately.. that it’s over. February is harsh, bitter and goading, reeling us in with the odd balmy day and then hurling us back into a frozen abyss for being so foolish as to take the bait. But a corner has been turned and when the weather offers up a glimpse of spring, it would be foolish not to take advantage. With March there is hope and a feeling of renewal.
For those of us eager to open up those seed packets, now is the time to start sowing. By mid-March, the conditions should be just right for transplanting outdoors for cool weather crops. I’ve abandoned the idea of sowing in January - it offers no real advantage.. Plants catch up to the weather. And spring is the great equalizer.
Germination requires extra warmth, compared to what is needed by seedlings. Even in a greenhouse, night time temperatures can dip too low, keeping seeds in dormancy. They’re smart that way; they know when to wait. That’s why we have to trick them into thinking it’s warmer than it is, so I start all my seeds in trays in the warmth of the house. They don’t need light to germinate. Once they have germinated to very young seedlings, I prick them out to modular trays and take them to the polytunnels where they will get the light they need. A layer of fleece shields them from the cold—and from hungry birds on the lookout for an easy meal.
For warmth-loving crops like tomatoes, peppers, and aubergines, I rely on an electric heat mat to encourage germination. These tender plants demand extra attention - I bring them outside during the day and back in at night. It’s a bit of a pampering process, but worth it. I could go even further with grow lights, but space is limited, and I’d rather not live under the glare of artificial sunshine.
As the days lengthen and the sun makes more frequent appearances, life in the polytunnel kicks into gear. Spinach, salad leaves, watercress, and parsley are thriving, and are the main exports. Apart from the odd Savoy cabbage and the soon-to-be-ready purple sprouting broccoli, the beds may look sparse but they hold immense promise, each blanketed in a thick layer of compost, alive with the slow, steady work of worms. One small mercy of February: once a bed is clean and tidy, it stays that way—for now.
I’ve been collaborating with Jasmine, our brilliant hotel florist, to elevate our flower garden. Choosing the right varieties for vases and bouquets has been a journey of trial and error. In previous seasons, we grew an abundance of stunning annuals, but many had stems too delicate or too short for arrangements. This year, we’re shifting focus to perennials—achillea, delphiniums, and phlox—plants that will, hopefully, provide the lush, elegant displays the hotel deserves.
The heart of the garden, though, is the vegetables—and my main directive is to grow them for the chefs to create culinary delights, so what do I grow and who decides? I start with a long list of intriguing varieties, and the chefs help narrow it down to what they can use most effectively. The final lineup includes around 40 vegetables, 20 types of salad leaves, 10 fruits, and 20 different herbs. The challenge? Allocating space wisely—too little and we run short, too much and we’re overwhelmed.
I do have to restrain myself; I’m always tempted to grow rare and unusual varieties. But the reality is that the kitchen needs large quantities of familiar staples - new potatoes, seasonal cabbages, beets, beans, and salad leaves. Precision is impossible, but you get a sense of where the ‘Goldilocks zone’ lies. If we do end up with too much of a staple vegetable, our sister hotels are more than happy to take the surplus off our hands.
That said, I still like to throw in a few surprises to keep it interesting. This year, I’m growing white tenderstem broccoli and celtuce - a lettuce prized not for its leaves, but for its crisp, succulent stem.
But it’s not just about the chefs—the garden itself is for our most treasured guests to enjoy. Another thing I’m excited about growing this year is the ‘Queen Anne’s’ melon. A small melon, which although bland in flavour, apparently has the most exquisite scent used for carrying in pockets of Victorian women before the days of deodorants. I’ll be sure to point it out if you see me in the garden come summer. And, of course, I’ll find something delicious for you to taste, too.
My new recipe is up - TANDOORI CARROTS
Until next time…
Darren Stephens
Chef-Gardener, Homewood
