So many blackberries. So little freezer space. This clump dangles tantalisingly off the wall at the end of Victoria Road, ten feet up; no one can pick them. But then again so much of this free bounty remains unharvested at the end of a summer; and so in November, the shops feel it’s OK to sell the imports from Guatemala. What a waste…
Wilfully ignoring the political developments of the day — let’s photograph some food instead. Two days after being picked, these blueberries have darkened to become indistinguishable, colour-wise, from the blackberries tossed in the bowl with them. Add some sugar and cream, and eat to forget.
Regardless of anything else that has ever happened on any of my trips to the Middle East — I have never come away complaining about the food in any way. In my opinion — the nicest cuisine in the world…
As this blog extends ever onward — day 2,700 today — and I remain committed to not repeating myself, the semi-mythical, but still plausible, Day When There Will Be Nothing To Photograph draws ever closer. And when that Day arrives, it’ll be one like today — spent entirely in the house marking, with only greyness outside so not even the full-quality house view to distract.
It did cross my mind though, as I made lunch, that, “Hmmm: I have never before tried photographing the gas element on the grill as it is working”. So here you are. As well as my typically elaborate cheese-on-toast arrangement.
But that’s it. I’ve now done the grill. What will happen next time there is a day like this? It could be as early as Thursday…
Sometimes I have to work on Sundays, though always at home. Today, a sudden desire for soft-boiled eggs was one unexpected consequence.
Joe is the person who has appeared on this blog the most often, but the last time was three months ago, in Guernsey, so let’s have him return with an action shot from one of his rehearsals for his upcoming Food Technology exam (or whatever it is they call it these days). The egg whites are whipped up successfully to the soft peak stage, and the chocolate (72% cocoa solid…) is about to go into be melted. And it all turned out very well.
Having eulogised the plums and blackberries already this year — and for good reason — let us also add the glorious amount, and richness, of 2018’s apples as well — not to mention a second good crop of rhubarb. In this aspect, no one can complain about the year.
Don’t worry, I have not become Scarface. Not yet, anyway. But I was making blackberry jam this afternoon, and quite successfully too as it turned out.
Plums. We are drowning in them. Possibly not as many as the all-time Bumper Plum Year that was 2015, but after a final harvest this morning, the now-empty tree has given up at least 30 lbs this year (14 kg). Want plums? We have them.
You want plums? Trust me, we have some. But seeing as we don’t have a transglobal shipping service to hand, our ability to export this year’s handsome plum crop is limited to putting them in plastic bags and giving them away for free down at the pub, or cooking them up into what preserves we can. Hence, plum ketchup. If you want the recipe it’s towards the end of Delia Smith’s Complete Cookery Course and I followed it religiously, as one should always do with Delia’s guidance.
