There are occasions when only words will tell the story, not necessarily momentous occasions, although with the passing years I treat the moment of waking each day as increasingly momentous, but simple daily events that move me. Eating a very good supper last night fell into that category. Peace, warmth and tranquillity are the finest seasoning. Fine as they are, they need to be balanced with the same care as the fieriest chillies, the saltiest anchovies and the most pungent garlic or they overwhelm each other. A good balance of all three makes a very good aperitif which we both enjoyed.
Supper was based round a piece of cheese: burrata. It is said that this cheese is past its best after 48 hours, and this cheese was a good few hours past that date owing to geography. “OK, look, it needs to be said: it is highly likely that burrata is earth’s best cheese..” Not my words, but it sets the scene and saves me using too many superlatives. It’s the pure, unadulterated deliciousness of the thing that has made me a lifelong lover of burrata. A salad of tomatoes seasoned with sea salt and olive oil: slices of burrata: some leaves of rocket from the garden: some perfect, marble sized grenaille potatoes with a knob of butter and a couple of leaves of fresh mint. That’s it. With it we drunk several very good glasses of water.
Pudding was a mess of fresh apricots, skinned and boiled in their own syrup for about ten minutes and then cooled in the fridge. Creme fraiche was swirled through the apricots which were accompanied by a small slice of a light sponge, filled with apricot jam and thick, fresh cream.
We had more peace, warmth and tranquillity as a digestif.