The salad bar

Almost all of the roof farm pots have been turned over to greens, now. A hold out pepper, a tenacious Mexican Heirloom tomato, and one ground cherry must be dealt with. Frankly, I dread shucking all the ground cherries. But I must, I must: ground cherry crumble, you see. The dessert, I mean. Not imminent collapse.

And two milk crates must be re-lined and filled with soil.

Currently, there are three pots of fava beans (for leaves, as I keep saying, but it bears repeating), two pots of peas (shoots), three pots of Swiss chard  one under siege by a zillion Nicotiana seedlings, two pots of kale, in staggered sowings, a trough of rather sad mesclun, a pot of lively red oak leaf lettuce, a pot of red mustard and a lot of volunteer trout lettuce. I think that's it. Oh, and two pots of nasturtiums, which have recuperated. They really do prefer the cooler months.

And! Parsnips. I planted parsnips.

Over and out.

Neighbors

I ventured to the opposite edge of the roof yesterday evening and looked down and up. I usually don't walk on that side as I don't want to disturb our nice next door neighbors, with whom we share a landing; feet on the roof sound loud in the apartment below. But they have told us that we are quiet as mice (very tall mice) and I am also bribing them with leaves from the rooftop salad bar. They have christened them Henry Street Leaves.

So, these are some neighboring spaces. Or The Lands of Squandered Opportunity. Starting with the exception, and the most respectable, up there, with the trees, and climbers growing over the black pergola, is Nora's elegant rooftop. It's Coco's rooftop, too. Coco would like me to say that. Coco is a pretty cat and goes up on a leash. I never see anyone on the roof beside them under all that wooden pergola. Unused.

Above. Two doors to our right and the north is the backyard of a rental townhouse (like ours). Great use of space. And I see a lot of knotweed on the other side of that fence.

And now, next door:

This, above, was yesterday. The land of striped mosquitoes.

Two generations of owners live in the building - the old man, Italian, on the ground floor, with his wife - their grown children on the parlor level. Don't think warm and cuddly. I used to greet him, the old man, and he would look straight at me and ignore me. For years. He once let me enter their building so I could reach our rooftop from theirs in a rainstorm - it was pouring and I was wet and locked out. I went back to thank him the next day with some home made jam and he shouted at me to go way. Interesting. He also used to stomp about on the rooftop next door and fling disused beer bottles that a tenant in their building left up there, onto our roof,  shattering them. I am not a fan. They stapled their roof hatch shut and so now their tenants can't get to the roof. Or out that way if there is a fire. And there are fires.

And this was the scene today! No pool.

Above these back lots, 'cos gardens they ain't, are the little balconies:

Below us, the ground floor apartment  of our building: 

One door south, to the left, is the backyard of Raccoon House. Thus named because of the raccoon that used (?) to live on the top floor, entering and leaving through the non existent top floor windows. The owner lives on the parlor floor. A lot of knotweed. I needn't travel far in spring for my shoots...So close, and yet so far.

Our neighbor two doors south. The white flowers are snakeroot. What killed Mrs Lincoln's cow. Allegedly. He is a naturalist* so perhaps they don't garden.

*Uh, I need to clarify, judging by some Facebook comments: by naturalist I mean not one who wanders starkers, but one versed in nature, who studies natural life: insects, plants, birds, and the like.

And Raccoon House's other property, under construction and stalled and deep in lawsuits, for years, an old coach house.

I am not sure what exactly I would do with a back lot.

But in a word: More.

Wildflowers for small spaces

Lady's slipper, Brooklyn Botanic Garden

At the wrong end of the year I am thinking about spring ephemerals and wildflowers.

Because my terrace's garden is so small I tend to favour plants that will deliver as much bang for the buck as possible, and beautiful spring flowers have a brief, brief season which is perfect for a layered shade garden where summer bloomers, slower to emerge, can take over,  but they are more of a challenge in pots.

Or are they? I do have violets, and perhaps I could think about some trout lilies next year. But why do I not have Dicentra eximia? Fringed bleeding heart? It keeps blooming.

Time to re-think.

NYC Wildlfower Week's May spring bonanza is always a good reminder of what we have growing in our own woods and fields, even here in New York City. Perhaps, by the time spring rolls round, I'll have my own native plants to show off.

(And, no, I don't think the lady's slipper will make the cut!)

What is made from pressed apples?

I declare cider season officially open. This is Crispin's The Saint. A bit of a crowd pleaser.

Hic.

And there is some tiramisu next door, at 66 Square Feet (the Food).

Dwarf kale and other impressionable young things

I sowed some of my leafy seeds this September on the fly, as it were - dashing up to the roof after my day's writing and grocery shopping and dashing down again to cook dinner and take pictures of...dinner.

While up there I hauled out dead tomatoes and chopped up branches and packed bags full of refuse and cultivated the soil and tossed in the kale and favas and peas in the falling dark. Which means that I don't have nice, neat pictures of when everything was sown, for reference.  I know that the kale had germinated by the 15th. Perhaps a couple of days earlier, then.

This is a stunning little vegetable. I thought so last year, too, which is why I ordered more seed from Botanical Interests. Comes up fast, and then keeps going. If you order some now, you still have plenty of time to plant it, in this hood.

I think this will be a good October for salads. The favas (fave, suppose) are growing very fast and the rainbow chard is lush. A slew of trout lettuce is coming up from seeds shed in summer from bolted plants and I am thinning my oak leaf lettuce daily (far left). The young dwarf kale are tender and delicious. In fact I have to be careful not to overwhelm all these young leaves with vinaigrette.

This is a good case for very exceptional olive oil. My bottle is about dry.

Anyone have a favourite?

Change

A rainy weekend brought cool, cool , cool weather and grateful roses. Yesterday I felt chilly for the first time.

The sky is crystal blue, now.

See?

Atlantic Antic

The Atlantic Antic, yesterday. Chez Moi, the new restaurant occupying La Mancha's old space cleverly reproduced the sardine and chorizo tradition. There was a rather high scale-to-sardine ratio, but they tried.

We should have quit while we were ahead.

Where are the first rate food trucks? I am curious. Why don't they show up here? All I can think is that the volume required is too high.

This was the happiest person at The Antic: Quincy.

We squeezed down one more block of this and then bailed down Smith Street.

Home, James.

And don't spare the poodles.