Chutney

 Chutney added spice to our lives when we were living in Chingford.  Our apple trees and damson trees produced superbly and in the small boxy kitchen of a 1980s maisonette I made jars for sale to our gardening customers.  Most of them expressed a preference for traditional apple and raisin.

It has been a decade since I tried chutney.  This year there was a search for clean jam jars as I have been chucking them into the recycling bin in a campaign against clutter.  I managed to find four and made a variation on plum chutney using wild greengage-like plums (removing the stones was a chore) and our own apples.  We had to wait three weeks before it matured, but it was worth the wait.  I had not lost the knack.  I enjoy the continuous stirring with the wooden spoon, waiting for the mixture to set and the moment when I perilously lift out the clean warm jars from the oven and start spooning it in.  The whole house is filled with the scent of fruits and vinegar.

The following batch was green tomato.  Again the hunt for jars, locating three and halving the recipe's quantity.  There was just enough because we have eaten or given away almost every tomato we have grown.

My next goal is apple butter.  The high winds have been bringing down windfalls from our stout Scotch Bridget and passers-by seem drawn to a tray of red Discovery rather than this good dual-purpose apple.  Perhaps the neighbourhood is blessed with Bramleys.  So, off to the shops for sugar and lemons, to boil and sieve and boil once more in an afternoon filled with fragrance.