Sunday 16th September 2018, 2.10pm (day 2,579)
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.
Off school thanks to the continuing dreadful weather, Joe recreates his cancelled Food Tech class for our dinner tonight. Clare helps by holding the pan but otherwise the meal was his.
I like this pic: I like the various minuscule little details about our kitchen that you guys normally never see. The penguin calendar. The levitating compost bin. The mysterious letter ‘S’.
Among the subjects Joe is taking at school these days is cookery (aka ‘food technology’ or some other such euphemism). Every Thursday we are becoming used to him bringing home food that has always been more than just palatable. This ginger cake was lit with a candle as a proxy celebration for my Dad’s birthday (happy birthday Dad….). And very tasty it was.
My 2017-18 football season opened at Salford City FC and a pre-season warm-up game against local rivals FC United of Manchester. The hosts won 2-1. You can read what I thought about the game, and see photographs of the day taken by someone much better at that kind of thing than me, if you purchase the next issue of When Saturday Comes (advt.). Salford City have big plans but their stadium, for all its recent renovations, is still pleasingly non-league in many ways. I like this catering van, its garish and gratuitously sexist decoration, and the worshipful posture of the customer.
There’s a very well known photograph of a pepper by Edward Weston — here it is — but he was a guy who had the time and commitment to spend days photographing this one thing and invest it with mystical qualities. I was just making soup. This is why I’ll never be a pro photographer. But I still like peppers as objects, the way they’re not as soft as they initially look they might be (like tomatoes) and inside they have these weird landscapes of seed and flesh. And the soup was nice too.