Cranberry, port and beetroot sorbet

Phwoare (expletive) (expletive) Lady, you know how to live! Can I be a (expletive) house plant in your house?

Thinks, “I feel you may be extremely well qualified?”

“Fancy (expletive), I just mean just (expletive) fancy…. well you take the (expletive) biscuit. Does it make ‘um grow and better”. Answering his own question rhetorically he said “I suppose it must or you wouldn’t bovva. Bit of a waste to my mind but good on ya. They do look (expletive) lovely.”

“Oh, I’m pleased you noticed, it is always gratifying to know” said I. Failing dismally not to sound like a mis-minded dowager and neither wishing to appear utterly clueless.

Duly permissioned, I look up, down in every which way. Then reassuringly realise that he really is talking to me, whilst in the process of making a festive delivery. The festive delivery, it transpired was some sort of printer cartridge, that I renamed a sprinter cartridge after it landed on the foot of the Tea Boy and deployed its ‘permanent’ magma seamlessly over his office carpet. I digress by way of a change.

“Well, this is dandy? I am so pleased that your pleased” in desperation of undoing the dowager-veribage. Still not realising what had inspired his robust diatribe.

It then dawned (clang), and the proverbial and somewhat imaginary penny dropped,(rather than spent eh?).

I heard myself, in continuance of the tone similar to that of my late Mother or Downton-esque Dame, saying.”Oh this old thing?” as if I’ve just flung on my most pretentious garb, having taken days to choose the outfit.

“Oh this old thing, it’s only water.” said my vacuous self.

“Yeah, yeah I know yeah that’s what they all say Lady” quote he, with an all-knowing nod and churlish smile.

The stronger my denial, the more ridiculous I sound and the more quasi-patronising he became. Cheerily yet obviously less convinced and committed he became until a whiff of frustration hit me. (Just a mere whiff you understand) This whole ordeal lasting no more than 2 minutes thus far. So rather than rise like a phoenix from the front door step I hear myself say. “Would you care to taste?” Then after a little humming and haring, he nods.

“Oh go on then, just a swig out the bottle if it’s not too fizzy? …. it is Christmas after all.” Is that delivery driver code for December?

“Quite so” my nodding retort.

He up-ended the magnum and took a very decent swig, his eyes slightly bulged as he said “Ahh, I can see why you’re using it up. It’s gone a bit flat eh?

“That’s likely to be the orchid food?” say I complete with plastic smile.

“Oh right, yeah I guess so”. “Well, cheers for that, nice to meet you Lady. H C , I’ll never forget you?” He said, then bid a fond farewell and whizzed away, where upon I notice a small foot ball on his dashboard with W I L S O N written on it in black felt tip pen.

As I whispered under my breath “.. and neither me you. “Aitch See (expletive) H C!” It didn’t dawn on him that I just use the bottle? Sure it was once filled with champagne. We drank the (expletive) contents in the (expletive) 80’s and it remains (expletive) perfect for watering the (expletive) house plants and has been in service ever since. H (expletive) C! Tosh! Note to self: Must call a halt to this mind shouting business too.

I return to the kitchen whereupon my “super special” and “almost feels like it will do you good sorbet” is in the ice cream machine whirring away and like me, about to blow a gasket.

The contents and notably unnecessary use of the ice cream machine follow

The remainder of the said crown jewels, in combination with some festive port and for some reason only know to the back of my brain cell. I thought to combine them with beetroot. Not the acidic plastic coated globes of acrid ‘eat it – it will do you good stuff’ but fresh and simply microwaved in its own skin, which it readily sheds when rubbed away, use rubber gloves unless you prefer cerise hands.

Very roughly the measurements are equal by volume, then lobbed into the food processor, whizzed to a texture of your desire, poured though a sieve and then processed in an ice cream machine or frozen to a sorbet using the tried and tested, scratch and scrape method. The remaining pulp can be seasoned to taste and mixed with cream cheese delicious as a canapé?

It’s a real win! Absolutely lovely texture and flavour – and definitely a tad different yet familiar flavours? Since I’m throwing a supper party for nine festively beleaguered chums who are turning up on Sunday evening, I shall dress it with some jollification. It’s a perfect palette cleaner and I urge you to give a try? The Tea Boy liked it topped with (expletive) vodka!