Welcome to March
I consider myself very lucky to have a grandad (grampy) who is seriously good at gardening. Not only is his front garden a thing of beauty – right about now his beds will be bursting with fragrant hyacinths, proud daffodils and a rainbow of tulips – but his back garden was a rich source of youthful forages. Years of podding (and nicking) sweet peas sat with my nan on the step, inhaling that vine smell that only comes from a warm greenhouse bursting with tomatoes, and snaffling sour-as-you-like raspberries straight from the bush. That’s what glorious and greedy childhoods are made of. March was the first month of the year when – cold-store carrots, onions and garlic aside – I’d begin to get excited again. One of my favourite veg that…