More free food

November - sweet season of hazy bonfires, russety colours and . . . unpicked fruit.
In this part of the country we are lucky enough to be blessed with the king of fruit, or perhaps, goddess of fruit - the most beautiful, exotic, health-giving, and largely ignored, pomegranate (grenade). Our main tree gives enough to make jam, juice, syrup, salads etc, but we often forage for other overlooked fruits as it seems criminal to waste them.
Oddly, people will buy them from shops(?) - as well as other seasonal 'up for grabs' such as figs, walnuts and cherries; not enough time? too fiddly? I don't know but it seems a crucial part of the passing year however stressed or busy we might be, as much as blackberrying in the UK - also seemingly, largely forgotten when I was back there in the early autumn. Step backwards a little? bit less watching TV about people baking big wobbly cakes, or bitching over other peoples' table decor/dinners and a bit more time out in the wilds collecting the real stuff?

Life chapters

The last trip back to the UK was very different to the last thirty or so I've made in the last five years to see my mother in her nursing home.
Now it's a different home - modern, town-based with different benefits: familiar shops, tea rooms, Oxfam and a river walk as oppose to a rambling, Lutyens-style house surrounded by towering beeches and oaks; mossy lanes and . . . well, that was the problem, there really was only one mossy lane walk and we did it (with wheelchair) about 7,000 times (or so). The home is a lovely place, and she had a lovely room, but once you were there - you were there, often staring out at the rain and discussing where socks go to to after being introduced into one of the home's cavernous washing machines.
When I had visited Mum in the new place, I felt the need to go back and say hello, and thanks, to all the staff I had got to know over the years in the old home, after all I probably spent about three months of my life there - one of those sums I occasionally muse over - how many weeks or months of life are spent queuing in a post office, or how many days actually imbibing tea . . .
Having no hire car (another advantage of the new place - get-atable on P. Transport) I decided to bus as far as possible and then walk the few miles that are only reachable by car, or horse.
Oh . . . this should always be done! Like any route that is hyper-familiar - to get out of the car and do it on foot is to observe the previously un-observed details of that path taken so many times and never really considered; especially a route so layered with emotion - sadness, guilt, relief or happiness depending on the particular visit . . .

                                          
                                       
                         

                         

                                              

                                              Acer planted at the old home for Mum's birthday

Free food

I've often noticed these graceful trees down on the South coast, but never observed, or perhaps have never been there when it was their fruiting time - mid-november. The small pink and red berries, I discovered after some Googling, are 'Peruvian peppers corns' not actually pepper, and more closely related to cashews.




The taste is peppery (really . . . duh) a little spicy, sweet and bitter. We added them to currys and salads, etc and the taste is quite unlike anything else - in a good way.
Once picked they can be laid out on trays for a few days to dry and then stored in jars/added to other pepper varieties.
Only snag - if you are allergic to some nuts - tree-nuts like cashews, probably not worth the risk of a trip to 'urgencies'/ER. However I've tried them out on quite a few family members and friends - no complications as yet . . .

                               

happy willy graffiti

Every time I visit our favourite seaside village of Cerbère I see more of this artwork - this one I reckon is the best, semi-hidden behind a municipally-trimmed bush, and seemingly ignored, (possibly revered?) by the the town's 'mairie' and the Cerbèrians (inhabitants of Cerbère).

Goodbye Mr Cohen

                                        



 

Following on from last post . . .

What a terrible shame it wasn't something good

Just an average day in 1782