It is now the beginning of November (and I should know, having just hefted a s*dding great Halloween pumpkin, complete with candle stubs, into a wheelie-bin) so where’s the frost?
Not that I’m complaining. Or am I? I am still, amazingly, picking raspberries. At the end of a dry August, the bushes were producing sad little nodular objects which I assumed where their autumnal death throws. Then the drought broke, and we have been back to big plump luscious summer fruits ever since. Except, of course, that it isn’t summer.
The tomatoes, too, are still ripening in my ancient, unheated greenhouse. In fact, I almost thought I might finally get an aubergine this year, but that was obviously going too far. Yet again the fine, fleshy, promising-looking mauve flowers were followed by – nothing.
So if I’m complaining, It’s about the suspense, and the agonising question – what about sloes then?
The rule with sloes, the only rule really, is not to pick until after the first frosts. They confuse you by looking like damsons, only smaller; so you feel that once they’ve been sitting around blooming black and enticing for a bit, you ought to harvest them. But you must
hold out.
What is a ripe sloe? Difficult to tell, as sloes, ripe or not, don’t make for good eating. Bite into one, and you can feel the enamel being ripped from your teeth as your cheeks suck inward. There ought to be a clever medical use for something this viciously acerbic, like leeches and those vacuum things in dentists, but I don’t know of one. There’s only one thing they’re good for – Sloe Gin.
And then again, should you make sloe gin at all?
The maxim ‘Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should’ applies not only to macramé and decoupage. Should you dilute perfectly good gin with inedible sloes? Because the fact is, you’re not actually doing anything worthwhile here, like manufacturing alcohol; you’re just tarting up existing spirit.
Not that I’m complaining. Or am I? I am still, amazingly, picking raspberries. At the end of a dry August, the bushes were producing sad little nodular objects which I assumed where their autumnal death throws. Then the drought broke, and we have been back to big plump luscious summer fruits ever since. Except, of course, that it isn’t summer.
The tomatoes, too, are still ripening in my ancient, unheated greenhouse. In fact, I almost thought I might finally get an aubergine this year, but that was obviously going too far. Yet again the fine, fleshy, promising-looking mauve flowers were followed by – nothing.
So if I’m complaining, It’s about the suspense, and the agonising question – what about sloes then?
The rule with sloes, the only rule really, is not to pick until after the first frosts. They confuse you by looking like damsons, only smaller; so you feel that once they’ve been sitting around blooming black and enticing for a bit, you ought to harvest them. But you must
hold out.What is a ripe sloe? Difficult to tell, as sloes, ripe or not, don’t make for good eating. Bite into one, and you can feel the enamel being ripped from your teeth as your cheeks suck inward. There ought to be a clever medical use for something this viciously acerbic, like leeches and those vacuum things in dentists, but I don’t know of one. There’s only one thing they’re good for – Sloe Gin.
And then again, should you make sloe gin at all?
The maxim ‘Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should’ applies not only to macramé and decoupage. Should you dilute perfectly good gin with inedible sloes? Because the fact is, you’re not actually doing anything worthwhile here, like manufacturing alcohol; you’re just tarting up existing spirit.
Oh, but it looks so lovely. Those warm rich ruby depths are what rural winters should be all about – glowing log fires, snug, toasty armchairs, cosy corners and a comforting glass or two of something strong, dark and almondy.
Remember, you don’t have to waste the Bombay Sapphire; any old gin will gain in nobility from a few months cosseted in a Kilner jar with equal quantities sugar and fully-ripened, frost-split sloes.
Which is where we came in….
Remember, you don’t have to waste the Bombay Sapphire; any old gin will gain in nobility from a few months cosseted in a Kilner jar with equal quantities sugar and fully-ripened, frost-split sloes.
Which is where we came in….
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