Hello, I’m Sophie. I write about gardening/food/everything else.
I grew up in Devon with goats and their hairy yoghurt in a small place called Ottery St. Mary. I originally trained as an actor, and now teach, and I’ve done this in some surprising places: LA for some years, and most recently Spain, so this will make sense of why some of my writing is from those parts.
I learnt to cook in Venice where I worked for a count and countess, who let me do things in their ancient kitchen, and who taught me how to love liver (slivers) and to only eat ice cream in the street.
I have had an allotment (Plot 10) for six years, which has turned me into someone with permanently filthy hands and an obsession with early mornings. I have become a gardener.
I have also outgrown the recipe element of the blog; the recipes are still there and I believe I have written enough about cake. I love growing things, and there are many people out there like me. I love the allotment as a place to be to sort out my thoughts, run away from them, and create some kind of order where none exists. It is very good at making me disciplined. There is something quite useful about having someone in authority with a clipboard looming down on you if the paths aren’t suitably maintained, despite my fantasies about running naked through the weeds.
Thank you very much for reading me.
Digging by Edward Thomas
Today I think
Only with scents, – scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke’s smell, too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.
It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.
All photos my own unless otherwise stated. To contact me, please email email@example.com