Today Mr B had just one thing on his mind. Since you're asking, it was apple crumble.
As regular readers of the Daily Blog will know, I have been thoroughly
enjoying myself in the kitchen since I retired. I wouldn't describe myself as a Domestic Goddess, exactly, but Mr B is not complaining about the meals I am serving up. This is despite the fact that my meals do tend to hark back to the Good
Old Days when I was cooking for six and relying to a considerable extent on the cheap and the filling, rather than the expensive and exotic.
The back garden of the ground floor flat which
was our home for the first three years of our marriage had little to recommend it - with one glorious exception. Lording it above the scruffy, weed-infested plot was a magnificent apple tree of truly tremendous proportions. It was stout of girth,
strong of bough and branch, graceful in its foliage, and munificent in its fruitful generosity. I have never, before nor since, known an apple tree like it. Or loved one as much.
the course of the apple season, in those early years, we quite simply lived on apples. Steamed apples, baked apples, apple pies and crumbles, you name it and I cooked it - so long as apples were the main ingredient. No freezer did we own,
so what was on the tree had to be eaten. No yearning for rhubarb, pears, peaches, gooseberries or other fruit was countenanced - apples, after all, were free!
Mr B is clearly feeling
nostalgic for the old days, today, hence his request for apple crumble for pudding. But, wait, that is not all. He wants me to give him a cooking lesson - he wants me to show him how to make this, one of his all-time favourite dishes!
Oh, I can't wait! I will be like Matt Moran on Masterchef Australia, providing a Masterclass for the eager contestants. Mr B, like them, will hang on my every word. He will even (perhaps) make occasional notes
in a small note-book he will have thoughtfully brought with him into the Master Class Kitchen. He will watch my nimble fingers mixing the ingredients with open-eyed admiration. He may even applaud when I triumphantly open the oven to reveal my
prize crumble, cooked to perfection.
Except that we had not reckoned on the equivalent of an Exocet Missile, sent to blast to kingdom come the sweet promise of an enjoyable conjugal cook-in.
Could we find cooking apples in any of the local shops? No, we could not. Did we trail round every shop in the neighbourhood in our hopeless quest? Yes, we did. Did Mr B demand, crossly, that the Fruit & Veg Man in Tescos went "out back"
for a second time to make absolutely sure that no cooking apples were lurking out there, out of sight, doing what cooking apples do when nobody's looking. Well, what do you think?
SO disappointed. He'd set his heart on an apple crumble. Even my Sparkling Rocket Cakes (check out the recipe on the Cook Book page shortly!) couldn't quite appease him.
Maybe I should
plant an apple tree? How long would it take to grow to the size and magnificence of that tree in my first garden? Too long for Mr B and me, I fear.
How about a plum crumble, Mr B?