From seed to flavour – my month in the kitchen garden, told in six plates

When you plant a seed, flavour isn’t the first thing on your mind. You wonder if it will sprout. If it’ll survive the heat. If you’ll remember to water it in time. And yet, it’s that very seed that, in June — the kitchen garden month — slowly turns into scent, colour, and eventually: food.

My June came without recipes. Without shopping lists. Without plans, even. Just a garden, a knife, and the same question each day: what does the day have to offer?

The first day I could harvest something felt almost symbolic. Basil, a lone tomato, some oregano, a garlic bulb still dusted with soil. Just enough for a plate of pasta, nothing more. But I ate it as if I’d achieved something. Because I had.

Zucchini flowers, gazpacho, and sunshine on a plate

Days later, I picked zucchini flowers. They appeared out of nowhere — delicate, yellow, and beautiful. I stuffed them with soft goat cheese and mint from a pot by the door, then gently fried them in oil. Outside, in the shade, with a glass of wine. It was a lunch that left me speechless — and that doesn’t happen often.

At the peak of this kitchen garden month, I didn’t pour sauce into a pan — I poured tomatoes into a blender. Gazpacho: cold and spicy, with basil and a pinch of salt. I let it chill for hours and ate it slowly. Every spoonful was cooling — not just from the heat, but from thinking.

Not everything was so considered. Sometimes there was just bread, tomatoes, and olive oil. I’d rub a clove of garlic over the bread, crush the tomato onto it, and pour the oil generously. Eating with my hands, oil down to my wrist, sunshine on the plate.

Got everything out of it

And honestly? My grocery spending nearly halved this month. Not because I was trying to save money, but because I didn’t need anything. The garden gave what it had — and that turned out to be enough. No fancy supermarket rituals, no six kinds of vegetables in plastic bags. Just looking at what grows, and eating that. The best savings are the ones that happen naturally.

And then there were those days when I had more than I could use. An oversized courgette, too much rocket, too much aroma. That’s when it became a salad without etiquette — everything on it, everything in it, everything now. Flavour as abundance. In the best possible way.

The month ended without fanfare. Roasted vegetables, some leftover sauce, basil that was past its prime. A plate full of gentle flavours, a touch of melancholy, and yet: enough. Not as in “I’m done,” but as in “I got everything out of it.”

Not a success story

My kitchen garden month wasn’t a success story. It was a collection of moments. Of damp soil, crooked growth, unexpectedly intense fragrance, and the occasional snail in my salad. But above all: flavour. Not because it was perfect, but because it was mine.

And now it’s almost July. The sun is higher, the plants are wilder, the harvest more abundant. But that first month — with its trial and error, its tasting and cooking without expectation — that one stays with me.

This story marks the closing of our June special: The Month of the Kitchen Garden.