Smallholder and chef Julius Roberts celebrates the beauty and bounty of the season on his Dorset farm, and offers three deliciously warming recipes from his new cookbook The Farm Table
Photos: Elena Heatherwick
Autumn, much like spring, is a season of stark transition. If you were to jump from the beginning to the end, the change would be vast, but it’s a season that begins almost imperceptibly and much of autumn is a time of harvest and plenty, as we make the most of tomatoes, courgettes and fresh herbs before the leaner days of winter return.
Hedges swell with dark fruit and purple fingers gather blackberries by the basket for pies and crumbles. The warm autumn rains have the dry summer grasses growing again and my sheep fatten in the fields as their fleeces begin to thicken ahead of winter. Our neighbour brings his cows down through our higher meadows to pull at the long pasture and spread the wildflower seeds. Sitting among them, I love their peaceful presence; they watch me curiously with doleful eyes and sweet grassy breath.
Towards the end of autumn, fierce storms begin to batter the farm, tearing the burnished leaves from the trees and flooding the veg patch. We light our first fires of the year and the house smells of warm smoke once again. The tomatoes and courgettes are still going but the food has changed from light and colourful, to slow and comforting against the cold.
THE DAYS CLOSE IN
October shivers into November with iron skies and sharp winds. The grass begins to slow and my breath fogs, marking time to start putting hay out for the animals once again. Apples fall to the ground in droves and so begins the first cider pressing of the year. With our neighbours, we gather them in old compost bags and crush them in old tractor-powered machines to be layered with straw and slowly pressed by great oak beams in yeasty barns.
Finally the dark closes in, and nature is laid bare once more. The daily routine of hay and feed commences again and nourishing pots of broth bubble on the stove. We are back to winter, a time of slowing down and taking stock, waiting until the cycle repeats and thrusts us back into the chaos of spring.
BEETROOT SOUP AND THREE TOPPINGS
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