The sweet end of summer

No posts in a while I know.  But it's been a challenging summer, with the move to Los Piedaos and the morph (ongoing) into Alpujarras Campo Woman.

There's this day in July, the light so bright it's heat, the crickets blaring like vuvuzelas. Not been sleeping well, nursing two wasp stings and doing bathroom battle with another Megarian Banded Centipede in the small hours. 

Lola Spaniel hasn't come back with us from our walk in the bush hours ago. (Ever seen 'Picnic at Hanging Rock'?) I know she's up on that barbed hillside with a broken leg, parched, vultures circling overhead.  Fred sets off on search-and-rescue. He comes back dogless so we mobilise Jorge Jeep and start over.  No sign of her.

A terse message from Jorge: 'Check gauges'. He's bleeding pink water. 'Coolant' says Fred. He takes off up the next trail on foot.  I call the insurer and they call the grua (tow-truck) in Padul and the grua driver calls me. He won't come up the track, wants us to get the car up to the main road right now.  He's barking arrangements into my ear, when there's a hearty ching! on the quaint old front-door bell. I run out with the phone still to my ear.  It's our guests for La Concha ('the honeymoon cottage').  I greet them cheerfully while shouting 'no cuelgas' (don't hang up!') to Grua Man and adjusting the outsize blue plastic icepack clamped to the sizzling wasp bite on my wrist.

Fred comes back. Lola's still lost.  We get the car up the track and wave it goodbye.  We pretend we're both looking forward to the white-dust walk back. On the way, one of our guests picks us up in his car.  We tell him about the day we're having, 'and worst of all, we've lost our little dog....'  Turns out his little girls dognapped Lola at lunchtime and have been playing dollies with her all afternoon...I decide I hate it here and start planning soft furnishings for my studio apartment in Lanjarón.

Ah summer. Then just when it seems you've never slept under anything but a sheet, figs start appearing at Carmen's Fruteria.  And their deep purple skins and garnet flesh remind you of red wine reductions, of clouds and cool weather to come, of chestnuts roasting in the town square and the woodstove glowing at home. 

And I'll be there, jeans tucked into boots and baggy wool sweater, loudly and happily complaining about the cold.

Thanks to Jamie Oliver and Fred for the fabulous fig tart - the adapted version has lemon zest, orange zest, wild lemon thyme and local orange blossom honey. The frangipane nut element is about half almonds, the rest walnuts.  Let us know if you want the recipe - it is the best I have ever tasted! 

Comments

[Lori Theriault]

Sounds like a plan yes, and hardly a day goes by that I'm not wondering "what can I do to get closer to my month in Spain w/Fred & Arpi?" ... fig tarts, that's the ticket!! I'm emailing you now for the recipe as our little fig tree is in danger of having all figs eaten as they ripen! xo

[Joanna Biddolph]

I'd love the fig tart recipe, too, please. I'm having supper with friends next weekend (4th Sept). They are hosting but I've offered to bring the pud. This sounds absolutely right. And I'm salivating, just on your intro!

Many thanks!

Jo

[Arpi Shively]

Dear Lori,

Ill send you the recipe - you make hundreds of fig tarts, sell them for exorbitant sums, then take a month off and come over. Sound like a plan?
x Arpi

[Lori Theriault]

I'd love that recipe. I'd love it even more if I could stand over your shoulder, in your kitchen, to help make a few! But I do know a fig tree soon to burst here, so I'll just have to settle for thinking you both while I give it a go (but one day...!)

[helen bell]

centipedes...i am never coming again. those are the kind of things that hide in your socks and burrow into your skin, only to appear from your ear hole six months later as a medium sized komodo dragon. yak.
Fred's tart look wonderful, much more proficient than my squished thing. i am embarrassed. and i now know why we always come to you for supper.

have fun Campo Gal
x