Summer fruit

I’m in hiding. Hiding from six kilograms of apricots waiting for me in the fridge. Is that the story of my summer? Gluts. Lovely, lovely gluts.

I could lie and tell you I harvested them from my tree. But no. Not a single one on my lovely Bergeron apricot this year.

So these are from the elderly farmer man Roumezou…. I think I said that last month as well. Sorry about that! I am such a fan of the apricot I have to resort to buying them at the market. And I can’t help writing down the poetic name of his farm.

I’ll make them into apricot sorbet. Soon. Promise. And cakes. Lots and lots of little chocolate and apricot cakes.

They freeze brilliantly.

If you look in the recipe section of this website (August – Sorbets) you will see the method.  Poached fruit always tastes better than fruit that is ripe and just blended with the syrup. Good thing I have a glut then. And a teensy bit of room left in the deep freezer for the end result.

And while we are on summer fruit: The one thing that makes me impatient at this time of summer is the mighty fig.

I am a Fig Pig. I adore them.  I posted these pictures on facebook last week and was bombarded with clever (and sometimes complicated) recipes from my mates.

But I had to admit that my favourite serving suggestion for the fig is to stand beside the tree and scoff and scoff and scoff some more.

Fig bliss.

It feels like only a few years ago that I stuck a small fig stick in the ground here next to the potager wall. I have to prop some the branches up off the ground so the hedgehog doesn’t get the lot. She gets plenty!

I’m blaming the latest wildlife arrival in the garden. Some creature is taking pieces out of the fruit that lies too close to the ground. There are still plenty to share, but I’m the pack leader when it comes to this fruit.

I pruned and trained it properly this spring. And it is yielding plenty of promise. So far I have eaten two. Well, three if you count the not quite ripe one that was a mistake.

But from now on, it will be a daily stalk to my figs.

I now have three trees. This one in the potager is Brown Turkey, so it turns purple. But the Dry Garden ones stay green and then just go soft and mushy and I have to race to eat them before the hornets and wasps beat me to them.

And let me introduce you to the latest little fig. A cutting from the Potager one against the wall. This one is at the far end of the Dry Garden.

A cutting is a bit rich. I accidentally snapped a lower branch when I was tying up the fig two years ago. And found myself with a sorry-looking fig stick in my hands. Solution? Shove it back in the ground. And hope it re-roots.