This week has been an eventful one. My first raw oyster at the Falmouth Oyster Festival, I admit that I should have ‘experienced’ one before now…but I’d always been a bit squeamish at the thought of swallowing anything raw, and lacking in enough hedonistic attitude to just give it a go. HOWEVER, now that I’m thoroughly knackered, 40-ish, mum with kids, I’m prepared to give anything a go that promises a boost of energy, possibly.
I didn’t experience much, except too much salty-seawater: a bit like swimming into waves and getting an unwelcome mouthful of the briny. If I’m going to do this again it will be only at the persuasion of a chilled glass of Camel Valley. I think I could understand the champagne and oyster bar concept then quite easily.
I’ve also been to see the holy temple that is the Rodda’s creamery this week. Sadly I was not let into the secret of how they make their clotted cream, but I did come home with a goody bag of samples to try. Put a pot of Rodda’s clotted cream in the fridge and then I’m obliged to make a dessert. Delicious, for sure, with my apple crumble, but frankly, I love the stuff so much that I can just as happily eat it straight from the pot with a spoon. Some women’s guilt pleasure might be to help themselves to a pot of Haggen Daaz in the middle of the night, but mine is surreptitiously helping myself to the tub of clotted cream in the fridge.
Roddas also produce their own milk – a by-product of all that cream, and a hand-churned, hand-patted butter (I’m yet to try). However, their most delicious surprise, by a mile, is their exquisitely creamy Crème Fraiche. I get excited just thinking about it. I’ve served it with baked potatoes, added it to pasta sauce and curry, but honestly, I’d be happy to east it neat. It tastes refreshing, silky smooth in texture and simply delicious.
Tonight, I’ve been experiencing a nostalgic flashback to my teens. Cider was my first introduction to alcohol and it was slightly ruined for me after too many beach-party hangovers. However, I‘ve just spent a good evening savouring a really chilled bottle of Cornish Rattler Cyder.
It sells itself as tasting good on the beach, with the sand between your toes, of a warm summer’s evening, but it doesn’t need to be. It tasted good. Proper appley, a genuine drink with a little sweetness of the apples about it, but dry enough to taste good with my curried pork supper. I’m wholly in favour of having another one of these.