Ones chum turned up. Lower half-clad in a bejewelled kaftan, top half looking like a badly camouflaged mercenary from jewel fest. ” Look at these! “
It went further >> The low, evening sun light dappled the diaphanous, twinkling shrubbery of her (copious) autumnal décolletage. A tray of gorgeous figs, big, fat, rose hips and drapes of elder berries all clutched to her ample bosom. She’s further clasping an armful gladioli in the style of Dame Edna and a bottle of ‘Pooh. ” Oh let’s make a fountain!” in her operatic style.
I recall the riotous laughter, the racket, the garb and uncanny cammo for a simple relaxed ‘at home.’ An undeniably fun evening. << and certainly not to be pooh-poohed during current vicarious times.
As there I stopped, it was a year ago when I started the figgy-jotting. What a year it’s been, how times have changed and refocused? Says she sounding like her own Grandma. The continuance here, however, being my procurement of some sumptuous, nee swoon worthy figs.
Shifting sands from stupendous Indian summers days. Today? It’s all ‘cardies, wumpers and woolies’! Mother Nature has flicked the switch to a dreich, soggy autumn blergh. The forecast beckoned a glimmer of sun hence a hastily arranged trip to the seaside was planned. Taking a couple of ‘bubble’ chums on what I lovingly described as a magical misery/mystery tour, whilst our late lunch left to throb away in the Aga and freezer respectively.
Autumn is my cue to get back to proper cooking, to dust off the pie dishes and casseroles. Nourishing, healthy, hearty food becomes the order of the day with plenty of fruits, roasted roots and low-and-slow-to-go casseroles. Thusly the fridge foraged for peppers, aubergines, leeks, onions, far too much garlic, tomatoes and the like all duly lobbed into a pot with jar ends of harissa, sun-dried tomatoes, just glugs and dollops of goodly things. Chunky, spicy, veggie soupy thing. Nailed. Since there was also far too much cream and buttermilk, some swiftly whizzed butter and a speedy batch of soda bread.
The remaining, about 3 cups, of double cream were speedily whipped. A couple of cups-ish of ricotta and similar of sweetened condensed milk were added to the mixer with (somewhere between) 1/2-1 cup of room temperature, runny, floral honey then lastly a very decent pinch of sea salt crystals to stave any cheek-puckering sweetness. All whipped seamlessly to perfection. Lobbed into three lidded take away containers that the kids regularly donate to me. Up cycling allegedly, but that’s invariably code for taking their ‘care package’ back home.
This is one of my simplest, easiest ice cream basics to make. The measurements aren’t overly critical and the texture and taste are divine.
Once home the washed figs were drizzled with maple syrup and Pedro Ximenez Sweet Sherry (maybe Marsala or just use honey) and were gifted a brief play date in a hot oven, their majestic fragrance and syrupiness bringing joy to the world.
The tender, luscious ice cream slid into glasses and slathered with warm figs and syrupy, boozy, maple goo. An edible flower, a sprinkling of ground pistachio to serve brought a wistful lull. Soft mummers of gratifying appreciation could then be heard together with tinkling chink of small glasses of Pedro Ximenez duly served and suitably supped.
The weather forecast had said 1% chance of rain hence we were all absolutely drenched, completely saturated by a succession of cloud bursts but to up-cycle that old 1939 Rhett quote ” Frankly my dears we didn’t give a damn.”
Toot toot x