Well my friends, the nights are drawing in and the mornings are chillier; summer has its back turned and is on its way home. As a final farewell I made a summery crumble tonight with one of the last punnets of strawberries we'll see for a while.
I've never made a crumble with strawberries before and I was very pleasantly surprised by how lovely it was. I added a punnet of blueberries and raspberries, along with some white chocolate for something a little different. It was very sweet - well I did put in a whole bar of white chocolate - but it was most certainly good. The berries melded together wonderfully as they cooked and the whole thing bubbled over with juices. The chocolate would perhaps have been better put in with the topping rather than the fruit, as it disappeared into it as it melted, but it did thicken and sweeten the juices.
I guess that's it now; summer really is over for another year. It was a rocky one - we had our ups and our downs - but still, it was good, and I have my memories.
Scott over at Real Epicurean is hosting this month's 'In the Bag', the montly food blogging event where you create inspirational dishes using the seasonal ingredients we put in the bag. And what better ingredients for September than fruits and nuts, which are in abundance? You can choose any combination for any dish and once you've created it you just need to head over to Scott's to enter.
I’m sitting here at the desk in my study looking out of the open window that overlooks the garden. It’s a beautiful morning and the trees in the gardens beyond ours are bathing in diluted sunshine. Every now and then they’re disturbed by the breeze blowing through them, like children running past dozing grandparents, and they shoo it away with their rustling. They’re starting to yellow at the edges but for now they’re more green than gold, as the weather this weekend is more late summer than autumn. But still, the telltale signs of are there, the most notable, aside from the turning of the leaves, being the early morning and late evening drop in the temperature.
Last night’s dinner was most definitely an autumnal one. It was the kind of warming, comforting meal that makes you welcome the change in season and the darker, longer nights with open arms. I slowly roasted a slab of pork belly in chicken stock and water with some root vegetables thrown in to flavour the pork and the liquid. To accompany it I steamed some Savoy cabbage and made buttery mashed potato to soak up the juices from the pan. It was late when we ate and the warm glow from the lamps that permeated the room, the dogs sleeping soundly in their beds, and the simple, honest food made me curl my toes with unadulterated pleasure. In that moment there were no worries and no cares; everything was right with the world.
There’s a fine line between pleasure and addiction. So fine in fact that you often don’t know you’ve crossed it until it’s too late. And this evening I’ve realised I’m so far over the line that I can't see it anymore. It’s time to confess.
It all started one sunny lunchtime a month or so ago when I went to Marks and Spencer for some lunch. As I stood in line waiting to pay for the virtuous salad I’d chosen I saw something out of the corner of my eye that made me want to look a little closer. It was right there in the stands those evil supermarket managers put close to the checkouts in order to tempt you as you wait to pay. I took in the pink, plastic packet and ran my eyes over the word on it. As soon as I took it in I look away again quickly, guiltily. Marshmallows. Marsh. Mallow. What a delicious word. The queue moved on and I moved closer; my eyes darting back and forth to them. My mind worked quickly. Marshmallows. Full of sugar. A thing of childhood. Not for adults. I couldn’t. The line moved on again and I was close enough to reach them. I thought of their soft, airy textures. I thought of their sugar content. I thought of their pink and white fluffiness and their sweet taste. The queue moved again and I passed them. I had to make a decision. If I delayed they’d be out of my reach; which of course would be a good thing. Yes, a very good thing. OK, so my mind was made up then: I wouldn’t buy them. The queue was about to move on again. And in that moment I panicked and quickly snatched a packet.
So there I stood, salad and marshmallows in hand, wondering guiltily if anyone had seen. I wondered what the cashier would think. But it was ok, I told myself, I’d take them back to the office and share them with my colleagues. Yes, they would eat most of them, I would have done a good deed and I would have nothing to feel guilty about. After all, one or two little marshmallows could do no harm...could they?
But as it happened my colleagues didn’t eat that many of them; they clearly had more self restraint than me. At the end of the day I was left with a good half a packet. Well, I just had to fold it over and take them home with me, didn’t I? I mean, I couldn’t just leave them there going sticky. They could be a hazard. They could….attract mice! Yes, they could attract mice. It was my duty to take them home. And so it was that I sat on the train home and ate half a packet of marshmallows. My God, I’d forgotten just how good they are.
Of course now I can’t pass the marshmallows in Marks and Spencer without picking a packet up (and of course they’re always near the tills so I always pass them and I always pick a packet up). OK, so I know what you’re thinking: just boycott M&S and their underhand 'in your face' marshmallow tactics. Well it’s not that simple because they’re EVERYWHERE. Well ok, not everywhere exactly, but certainly in every sweet shop I just happen to find myself in (just happen to, you understand; it’s really not intentional). Not only that but I’ve seen James Martin making them on UKTV Food and, let me tell you, watching the very lovely James Martin make marshmallows is enough to make any girl’s heart beat fast enough to make her faint. Oh. My. God. He pours the thick, liquid marshmallow mixture into a baking tray heavily lined with a snowdrift of icing sugar and I start to shake and crave my next hit.
So you see there’s nothing to be done; I can’t be saved now. I’m far too gone down this sinful road of sugar. All I can hope now is that I can save you all from the same fate. Run, run, as fast as you can, away from branches of Marks & Spencer and away from the sweetshops. And if you do ever come across an innocent looking pink or white marshmallow don’t even think about it. Because it only takes one squidgy, sugary, melting mouthful to have you hooked.
If you need anymore convincing of the dangers let me show you what haunts a marshmallow addict's dreams:
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