This is how Sundays should be. The furthest from the house I have ventured is the blackcurrant bushes, harvesting individual berries. I have made bread, washed up, written my November Home Farmer article and otherwise been entirely idle. Sometimes I need a day like this. Writing the article, though, was akin to medieval essay writing. The words trickled from my fingers and each sentence required thought. But unlike my MA essays, I struggled to get enough words, rather than agonising over which words to leave out.
The elderberry wine, which - incidentally - is a fine batch, was chosen to go with leg of lamb. We have not had a Sunday roast for an age, and today's October-like weather required a large slab of meat. Our first beans were harvested too - allowing us one and a half beans each.
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Strawberry - Bottle 1, 16th July 2011
I can understand why this flavour always does well at my wine parties. It is both fruity and dry, and unmistakably strawberry.
This bottle was opened after a late afternoon session of bassoon quartets. I warned next door that they would be subjected to loud and comical sounds for nearly two hours (in fact it was more) but Lily e-mailed back to say she was looking forward to it.
We had a splendid time, playing pieces inappropriately arranged for four bassoons. Everything from Mozart to Mancini. Claire mostly remained in the kitchen cooking a wonderful meal for afters, and described our efforts as mass farting at a wasp convention. But in an entirely loving way.
This bottle was opened after a late afternoon session of bassoon quartets. I warned next door that they would be subjected to loud and comical sounds for nearly two hours (in fact it was more) but Lily e-mailed back to say she was looking forward to it.
We had a splendid time, playing pieces inappropriately arranged for four bassoons. Everything from Mozart to Mancini. Claire mostly remained in the kitchen cooking a wonderful meal for afters, and described our efforts as mass farting at a wasp convention. But in an entirely loving way.
Rhubarb - Bottle A1, 15th July 2011
Hurrah. Torchwood is back. I have spent either all week or two years looking forward to its return. The last series was so perfect and had such a dark ending that part of me thinks they should have stopped there. But the rest of me is greedy for more and I am delighted to see it back on our screens. Tonight's episode was, admittedly, silly - but the set up that no-one can die is promising and I will definitely stick with it. None of which, of course, has anything to do with Rhubarb Wine - which I finished whilst watching Torchwood, and started whilst lying, bedraggled, in bed. In between, we had a 'Bring Round' curry and I'm pleased to report that feeling vaguely ill has not killed my appetite for food. Or wine.
Friday, 15 July 2011
Elderflower - Bottle B2, 14th-15th July 2011
I think my unrelenting busy-ness is starting to wear me down. On Wednesday evening, halfway through a WYSO rehearsal, I discovered a headache - though slept it off. Then on Thursday - coming home from what proved not to be my last day working for the Police - I recognised that I needed to spend the evening in bed feeling sorry for myself. Claire's Hot & Sour Soup, together with many glasses from this bottle perked me up somewhat. As did the first courgette from our garden. Also lying in a hot bath chatting amiably with my wife. But none of it stopped me feeling generally washed out and planning to take things more gently until we go to Rydal.
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| The first courgette and lots of chard |
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Blackberry - Bottle D3, 10th & 11th July 2011
Sunday was a day of rest. This, of course, depends on one's definitions. But it was full of dull yet comfortable domestic chores. Washing up, bathing, supermarket shopping, making wine and harvesting soft fruit from the garden all figured and it was glorious not having to rush anywhere, play anything or be sociable. Which makes me sound like a grumpy old man - though the cap fits.
We did not finish the bottle until Monday, but Sunday's portion was drunk to home-made pitta bread and our first tiny potato crop from the garden. Purple-skinned, sweet and delicious.
We did not finish the bottle until Monday, but Sunday's portion was drunk to home-made pitta bread and our first tiny potato crop from the garden. Purple-skinned, sweet and delicious.
Monday, 11 July 2011
Strawberry Wine - The Making Of ...
Yet again, I struck lucky with the weather for my annual strawberry picking. Sunday, 3rd July has been virtually cloudless and hot. Accordingly, I covered all exposed bits with Factor 40, donned my Hat and set off.
The first surprise of the day was that there was a sign at the entrance setting out fees for picking. Not the cost of the fruit, but a price for proceeding past the notice. I was ready to get indignant. The fruit is expensive enough as it is - I could get it cheaper at the market, but picking my own reaches out to my inner hunter-gatherer. And I have been coming here for years. However, the woman at the desk read my face and waved me through, explaining that it was to stop coach parties who arrived, ate, and left again.
The second surprise was how thin on the ground (literally) the strawberries were. Unlike previous years' egg-sized fruit, the strawberries were small, sparse and mostly either over or under-ripe. I suspect that this is partly down to over-picking, but also the exceptionally dry spring may be a partial explanation. It took an age to pick all I needed - I wanted an extra 2 lbs for a future 'Crab Apple and Strawberry' but came away with 5 lbs 9 oz.
Once home I weighed 4 lbs of fruit, pulling off the greenery as I went and chopping out the mankiest bits, whilst listening to 'The Admirable Creighton' (Crichton?) on Radio 4. Once in the bucket I mashed the strawberries, poured over 4 pints of boiling water and added 3 lbs of sugar.
On Monday evening, after a barbeque in Guiseley with the Airedale Symphony Orchestra, I strained the liquid into a demijohn, keeping back the pulp. As dictated by the recipe I mixed this with two pints of tap water and let it stand whilst I washed, rinsed and resterilised the bucket. I then strained it again into the bucket, sloshed another half pint of water round the pan that had held the pulp, and then poured the contents of the demijohn in. I added yeast and a teaspoon each of nutrient and pectolase, but I have not yet added any tannin as I have run out. By tragic coincindence, I have also run out of tea.
I put the wine into its demijohn on Sunday, 10th July, which is two or three days later than I would normally have done this. But the last week has been manic and I have been out every night. There was a pint too much liquid (I added a mug of cold tea on Wednesday morning). and the taste I got at this stage was insipid. Which is disappointing.
The first surprise of the day was that there was a sign at the entrance setting out fees for picking. Not the cost of the fruit, but a price for proceeding past the notice. I was ready to get indignant. The fruit is expensive enough as it is - I could get it cheaper at the market, but picking my own reaches out to my inner hunter-gatherer. And I have been coming here for years. However, the woman at the desk read my face and waved me through, explaining that it was to stop coach parties who arrived, ate, and left again.
The second surprise was how thin on the ground (literally) the strawberries were. Unlike previous years' egg-sized fruit, the strawberries were small, sparse and mostly either over or under-ripe. I suspect that this is partly down to over-picking, but also the exceptionally dry spring may be a partial explanation. It took an age to pick all I needed - I wanted an extra 2 lbs for a future 'Crab Apple and Strawberry' but came away with 5 lbs 9 oz.
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| Some slightly out of focus strawberries |
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| Some rather more in focus strawberries |
I put the wine into its demijohn on Sunday, 10th July, which is two or three days later than I would normally have done this. But the last week has been manic and I have been out every night. There was a pint too much liquid (I added a mug of cold tea on Wednesday morning). and the taste I got at this stage was insipid. Which is disappointing.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Rose Petal Wine - The Making Of ...
This is a wine I have not made before and is one that I have been planning since June last year. Mom has a purple-pink rose in her garden that has a heavenly scent, and which immediately suggested ‘wine experiment’ to me. I have heard encouraging things about rose petal wine from other people, so thought I would try it for myself. Therefore, since late May I have been clipping roses from our garden that were just starting to look past their best.
We have three roses - two whites, which we ordered from vouchers given to us by Betty Rumsby as a wedding present, and a red that was here when we arrived. All are heavily scented. And Mom has been on strict instructions to freeze her roses as they started to fade.
Until today, 3rd July, I have been concerned about how effective freezing rose petals would be. Each time I have opened the bag containing frozen petals there has been an odd smell. Not entirely unpleasant, but certainly not rose-like. The bag was starting to take up more room in our (far too small) freezer than it merited, so I think Claire was pleased that I began this wine today.
C J J Berry’s recipe calls for four pints of rose petals, but in fact I got four and a half. The quantity was evenly shared between flowers from our garden and those from my mother’s. And there were three or four different types of rose from Mom’s garden, including one that was pink and white candy-striped.
I put the petals in the bucket along with 2 ½ lbs sugar, juice from one lemon and a litre of white grape and peach juice drink. I poured over six pints of boiling water and I am now more hopeful than I was before. Whilst freezing white petals has sent them brown, the scent from the bucket is promising.
I added the yeast and a teaspoon of nutrient on Monday morning, 4th July.
The flowers, having turned near grey, were sieved out on Sunday 10th July. But the liquid in the demijohn is an attractive orangey-pink. I had to add less than half a pint of tap water and I have wrapped the demijohn in silver foil because I do not know how stable the colour will be. It all smells delightful, and I am possibly more excited that I should be about this wine.
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