Post G24-028: How’d that ginger turn out?

 

Quite well, starting with candied (crystallized) ginger, shown above.

After a rough start, growing ginger in Virginia turned out to be an outstanding success.

The big plus of growing ginger in this climate (USDA zone 7) is that the growing season is way too short to produce mature ginger root.  So what I got was seven pounds of immature (baby) ginger.  And, as it turns out, immature ginger is a lot nicer to cook with than mature ginger.

My inability to produce mature ginger root is a feature, not a bug.


Ginger,  being a tropical plant, never saw it coming.

The picture above is a week or two after first killing frost.

My ginger stayed lovely and green, right up to the night that it froze solid.  I can only assume that, as a tropical plant, it had no idea what was about to happen.

In any case, for a growing season that effectively started in June, I got three nice surprises:

  1. Aside from watering, it pretty much took care of itself.
  2. I got about a pound of ginger per square foot of container.
  3. It’s all immature or “baby” ginger.

The unexpected plus is that immature ginger root (shown below) is much nicer to use than mature ginger root.

 


Hassle-free fresh ginger tea?

Immature ginger — shown cleaned and bagged, above, and cut into chunks just above — lacks the tough skin and woody fibers of mature ginger.  (Note I did not say “fibers”, I said “woody fibers”.)  This makes it much nicer to use than mature ginger.   Among other things, it’s easy to slice (using the slicer portion of a garlic press), and cooked thin slices of whole root are pleasantly edible.

On the downside, some say immature ginger isn’t as strong-tasting as mature ginger root.  But ours is plenty peppery enough for us.  Others say that, lacking a tough skin, immature ginger has to be used fresh or preserved.  That drawback, I buy into.  After cleaning, the roots are nearly skinless.  They surely don’t look tough, the way mature ginger root looks.

Aside from ginger syrup (which yields crystallized (candied) ginger slices as a byproduct), my wife’s preferred bulk preservation method is to create ice cubes of frozen ginger puree. 

The sequence below shows chunks of (cleaned) immature ginger being turned into frozen ginger puree.

First, chunk (as above), then chop in a food processor.  After cutting the immature ginger roots into chunks the size of grapes, run those ginger chunks through a small food processor.  Pulse/scrape as needed until you get them to the consistency of a chopped-up paste.  Like so:

Then purée Add just enough water to let that mix circulate and turn into a smooth purée as the food processor runs.  If you were adding a small amount of citric acid as a preservative, you’d add it while puréeing.)  Let it run.  From chopped to puréed might be five minutes of food-processor running time.

Freeze as you would ice cubes.  Pour/spatula the puréed immature ginger root into a silicone ice cube tray.  (Silicone makes it easier to release when frozen.)

Store the frozen cubes in the container of your choice.

One cube yields one cup of ginger tea (with the addition of a cup of hot water and the sweetener of your choice.)  As if made from the fresh root.  Insoluble plant matter in the cube becomes dregs in the bottom of the cup.


Ginger syrup and crystalized ginger

To our surprise, ginger syrup and candied ginger are two products of the same process.  You boil thinly-sliced ginger root in water for half-an-hour.  Toss most of that liquid.  Add sugar.  Boil for another half-an-hour.  Pour off and save the liquid to be ginger-infused simple syrup.  Dust the ginger slices with table sugar, and leave them to dry.

The results, when dry, are candied ginger.

It’s candy, but you don’t pop these like Tic-Tacs.  Ginger root is peppery — the “gingerols” in ginger are analogs to the capsaicins in hot peppers.  This “candy” is not for the faint-of-heart.  And you’d best like the taste of ginger, because it’ll be with you for a while after you eat one.


A few comments on growing and harvesting ginger in USDA zone 7.

My prior post has most of the technical details on growing ginger in USDA zone 7.

Post G24-010: Growing ginger in Virginia? This needs a rethink.

Ginger is a tropical plant. 

My garden soil (in USDA zone 7) never gets warm enough to make ginger happy.  I have to grow it in some sort of container, so that the soil will get to the roughly 90F that ginger prefers.  This, in turn, meant hooking up some irrigation on a timer, because otherwise I’d forget to water those containers.  So there’s a fair bit of prep required to get this up and running.

This year, I followed the standard advice and started ginger inside.  The idea being that you need to start it 10 months before first frost, if you want any hope of harvesting mature ginger root.  But starting it early was a waste of time, because normal wintertime room temperature is too cold for ginger to grow.  So, unless you want to keep heating your ginger the entire time you’re growing it, all it does is sit around and wait for warmer weather.

Now that I know I actually prefer immature ginger root, next year I’m just going to plant it outside, in planters, around the first of June (Zone 7).  Knowing full well that I can’t get mature ginger that way.

At the other end of the season, my ginger seemed to stop growing entirely by mid-September here in Zone 7.  It didn’t die.  It just didn’t grow.  Again, now that I know I won’t get mature ginger root, I could dig it up any time time from early September onward.

The upshot is that in Zone 7, if you grow it in containers outdoors, you have more-or-less three months in which ginger will grow.  Any spring-like or fall-like temperatures seems to send it into hibernation.  To be a fair, it is a tropical plant. It’s my bad for planting it an inappropriate climate.  But the good news is that this seems to be plenty of time to produce a crop of immature ginger.  Which, as I noted above, just seem to beat the pants off of mature ginger root, from an ease-of-culinary-use standpoint.

Nothing bothers ginger, here in Virginia.  I had zero insect, animal, or disease damage on this little crop of ginger.

This is tough to clean!  If I had this to do over, I’d pick a different growing medium that wouldn’t stick together so well.  In the end, a) the ginger was firmly rooted in the potting soil I used, and b) every “elbow” of the ginger root (where two lobes grew close together) trapped dirt.  I had to break the ginger up fully into pieces, so that I could scrub out all the trapped dirt.

The upshot of all that is that the digging-and-cleaning step was tedious.  I don’t know how they get commercial ginger roots so clean, but I suspect it involves some sort of power sprayer.  Next year, I  think I’m going to try spraying it down, outside, using the garden hose.


Conclusion.

This year, I took the standard advice for growing ginger in a non-tropical climate, and sprouted it around February 1.

This turned out to be a near-total waste of time, because ginger won’t grow unless it’s kept really warm.  Specifically, warmer than I keep the inside of my house, in the winter.

As a result of their stubborn non-growth, I transplanted my pitiful ginger sprouts to containers, outside, in June. After they’d been more-or-less in suspended animation since they sprouted in February.

And that worked spectacularly well.  Assuming you want immature ginger root.  Which I now know that I do.

Without the thick skin and woody fibers of the mature root, immature ginger is just a whole lot easier to cook with.  Instead of having to peel it and grate it, you just wash it and slice it.  It’s soft enough and non-fibrous enough to go through the “slicer” section of a garlic press.

I’ve never grown ginger before, but a pound per square foot of container is an adequate yield from my standpoint.  That’s as good a yield as any root crops I grow in my back yard.  With the added bonus that the ginger plants are decorative, and that nothing in this region bothers it.  No bugs, no deer damage, no fungi or other plant diseases.

It’s a pain to have to grow it in containers.  But I consider that mandatory, as the soil in this region never reaches the 90F and up that ginger likes.

I’ll be growing this again next year.

Post G24-010: Growing ginger in Virginia? This needs a rethink.

 

Update 12/24/2024:  This turned out remarkably well.  From the three boxes below (about 7 square feet total) I got about 7 pounds of usable ginger root. 

But it’s not mature ginger.  This may be what’s sold in grocery stores as “baby ginger”.  No tough skin.  No tough fibers.  Few fibers, period.  And yet, peppery enough for me.

The only downside is that the roots don’t keep, as mature ginger roots will, so they have to be processed in some way.  

See Post G24-028 for the harvest-and-use portion of this year’s ginger crop.

Post G24-028: How’d that ginger turn out?

Update 6/25/2024:

The standard advice for growing ginger runs something like this:  Ginger is a tropical plant with a ten-month growing season in its native climate.  Therefore, if you are in a temperate, non-tropical climate, you should start your ginger plants ten months before your expected first fall frost. 

Which, in my climate (Virginia, USDA zone 7) means starting ginger in … January?  And then growing your ginger as a house plant for some months, until it can survive outside?

Yep, that’s the standard advice.  I did that, as shown below.  And I think that’s bad advice. Continue reading Post G24-010: Growing ginger in Virginia? This needs a rethink.

Post G24-005: Is it March already?

 

This is one of those old-guy, life-is-like-a-roll-of-toilet-paper posts.  About gardening, yet.

If you actually have things to do, just move along, there’s nothing here for you.

Today’s topics are ginger, spinach, tomatoes, and garlic.

 


1:  Ginger.  If you enjoy watching paint dry …

… you’ll love sprouting ginger.

I decided on a whim to try growing ginger this year.  Apparently, it can be done in Zone 7, you just have to start them in the winter and grow them as housplants until mid-summer.

On the plus side, yes, you can sprout grocery-store ginger root.  There’s mine, above.

On the down side, I planted this particular piece of root just shy of one month ago.

On the other plus side, the internet correctly warned me that this was a slow and piecemeal process.

This is interestingly unlike anything else I’ve ever grown.   Usually, you plant a bunch of fill-in-the-blank, and then, however long it takes them to sprout, you get a bunch of sprouted fill-in-the-blank.   All at the same time.  Not so with ginger.  Each piece of root proceeds according to its own timetable.

On the other down side, this means I have to run an electrical heat mat for months.  I’m only running this at six watts, by using a lamp dimmer in the circuit.  But it runs all the time, so that by the time these are done sprouting (say, three months total?), that’ll be about 13 KWH, or enough electricity to drive may be 65 miles.  That’s rounding error, in the grand scheme of things, I guess.  But I’d rather avoid it if I could.

In hindsight, I ought to have started these around New Year’s Day.  Or not at all.  But now that something has sprouted, I’m going to keep going.


2: Spinach.  What, I’m already late?

Source:  Clipart library.com

Yes, I yam.

My wife is particularly fond of fresh spinach.  But I’ve never had the least luck growing it.

Maybe that’s because I didn’t know what I was doing.  So this year, I actually read the directions.

Turns out, spinach seeds like being in the cold, wet ground.  Far more than I would have guessed.  You should sow spinach seeds four to eight weeks before your expected last frost of the spring.

Or, in my case, the eight week limit was a couple of weeks ago.  So today I planted a few short rows of spinach.  I’m sure this is vastly earlier than I have ever planted spinach in the past.  Maybe I’ll actually get a decent yield this year.


3:  Tomatoes.  No way that it’s time to start tomatoes now.  Is it?

Yep, sure is.  In Zone 7, it’s time to start short-season (a.k.a. cold-tolerant) tomatoes, indoors, if you grow them.  Varieties like 4th of July or Early Girl, and more exotic ones that promise to produce tomatoes in a hurry.

After trying out various approaches to growing tomatoes, I’ve now settled down to growing some short-season (cold-tolerant) ones, and some regular-season ones.  (I’ve given up on heat-tolerant or late-season tomatoes, because all of those that I have grown have tasted just like bland grocery-store tomatoes.)

Cold-tolerant or short-season tomatoes can go out in the garden as soon as all danger of frost is past.  They can tolerate the cool nights that we’re still having in early spring.  By contrast, regular-season tomatoes have to wait another month or so, beyond that, until the nights have warmed up.

Anyway, in my area, we’re now about six weeks before our nominal last frost date of April 22.  So it’s time to get my early-season tomato plants started, indoors.  A week or so to germinate, five weeks or so to grow, then out into the garden they will go.

I was more than happy with the short-season (cold-tolerant) tomatoes I planted the past couple of years, so this is just a re-run.  I just set up six starts each of:

  • Burpee’s 4th of July.
  • Glacier
  • Moskovitch.
  • Quedlinburger Furhe Libe

Transplanted into the garden on or about my last frost date (April 22), I find that the 4th of July is true to its name, and has consistently given me its first tomato on that date, plus or minus a week.  Glacier and Moskovitch come in a few days later.  But for a truly early tomato, Quedlinburger Furhe Libe takes the prize in my garden, consistently beating 4th of July by a week or so.

These all yield decent-tasting golf-ball-sized tomatoes.  They keep on yielding through the summer.  And the deer leave them alone, at least once the plants have a bit of size on them.  What’s not to like?

It’s hard to think about the 4th of July right now, when we’re still having freezing nights.  But there’s a solid and logical chain between starting those seeds today and eating tomatoes out of the garden in early summer.

Sometimes I wish the rest of my life had been that linear.


4:  Garlic:  The hazards of planning for failure.

And then there’s the garlic I planted last fall.

I’ve tried growing garlic in prior years.  I’ve never gotten much yield.  But then again, I never did it right.

Among the things I didn’t know were that you really shouldn’t use grocery-store garlic for planting.  That’s for two reasons.  First, it’s all “soft-neck” garlic, which is both bland and does not grow well in the hot and humid Virginia climate.  (Though it does keep well, which is why you find it in the industrial food chain.)  Instead, I want to grow hard-neck garlic, which I can’t get in the stores here, and has to be bought from a supplier of some sort.  Second, “culinary grade” garlic is the puny stuff.  They reserve the biggest heads, with the biggest cloves, to be “seed grade” garlic.  And it is well-documented that if you plant bigger cloves, you’ll harvest bigger heads of garlic.  Which is precisely why they save the big stuff for use as seed.

The final thing I didn’t know is that garlic may benefit from the addition of a modest amount of sulfur to your soil.  That’s covered in Post G23-067.

Last fall, I decided to do it correctly.  Just for a change.

I bought three varieties of seed-grade hard-neck garlic from Snickers Run Farm, a Northern Virginia garlic farm.  Their product was, by a longshot, the burliest heads of true garlic I’ve ever seen. (N.B, elephant garlic is not actually garlic.)  I added a modest amount of a sulfur-containing fertilizer (Espoma Holly Tone) to the soil, along with compost and mulch.  And I planted in the late fall, when it was already pretty cold, though in hindsight, I probably should have planted later.

By-the-book, start to finish.

Based on prior experience, I didn’t expect much. I figured half of them would survive. So … rational or not, I planted quite a lot of it.  (Plus, I had to buy quite a bit of seed garlic to justify the shipping cost, which didn’t exactly help temper my decision-making.)

I looked that bed over today, and my only thought was, what on earth was I thinking.  Because, as of today, I have a 32-square-foot bed chock-a-block with garlic plants that seem very happy to be here.

Based on various estimates of typical yield, this should give me somewhere around 8 pounds of garlic, if it all comes to fruition.  That, where the recommended planting is about one pound, per adult, per year.

Luckily, garlic goes great with tomatoes.  And, I suspect, will go with pretty much everything I’m going to cook from June onwards, this year.