Wednesday, March 25, 2009
How do you blog about a smell? How can you do justice to a spicy, gutsy, textural, all-pervading, it's-going-to-be-in-our-clothes-for-a-week sort of stench? Luckily, it's a glorious perfume and it's one that marks the passing of another year. This is the season that Mr Myrtleandeunice makes chutney. It's a fruity, zingy concoction, so irritatingly without recipe, let alone rhyme or reason and with only one constant: tomatoes. Tenacious, creeping, wild tomato vines are our inheritance from the previous owner of our house. That and the slightly concerning 'something', wrapped in black plastic, that I came across once, when digging in the garden.* Nope, tomatoes are just fine by me. Strangely, (think no rhyme, no reason here), these two escaped the pot:
I tried to come over all helpful and dug out a lovely French preserving jar. But Mr starts these things with a very clear gameplan in mind and apparently a preserving jar would be the very last thing he would want for containing homemade chutney.**
It seems this year's crop was greatly affected by the blistering heat of our summer and some truly crafty birdlife. There isn't quite as much chutney to go around as in previous years...
...and apparently I am on rations.
* I am able to confirm that the wrapped in black pastic 'something' is not a we're-so-rich-we-need-never-work-again sort of inheritance.
** Not that I have the slightest inkling about preserving anything. Yet.
PS. Grandad Myrtleandeunice, who initially introduced Mr Myrtleandeunice to the joys of this annual culinary creation, swears that this is the original recipe, and therefore a sound base for a startlingly good chutney experience. Mr Myrtleandeunice concurs, claiming "It sounds about right".