My son went to visit a school friend on Friday night to watch the opening ceremonies of the Soccer World Cup beamed live from South Africa. As I was falling asleep, my mind conjured a strange flow of consciousness.
Thoughts of Africa led to memories of a childhood friend called Richard. When I was about seven, and attending Whitebridge Primary School in Essex, I used to frequent his old, rambling mansion in Palmerston Road. My friend had grown up in Rhodesia, and I recall gazing with awe at his Swahili editions of TinTin.
But most of all I remember being invited to dinner and tasting the warm, sticky, fragrant cherry pie that their live-in maid used to bake. I can still remember the mouth-feel and taste-explosion of slightly crumbly, sugar-glazed lattice-pastry atop plump, sweet cherries, bathed in a puddle of fresh English cream.
These memories are recorded on endless-loop, though we are talking circa 1959. Does it surprise you that most of my earliest memories are food-related? I didn’t think so.
But hold on; don’t get your hopes up. There’s only a couple of lines left of this posting, so you can see that I’m not about to share a recipe. I actually don’t have one. And that’s the gist of this blog.
Does anyone have a tested and true recipe for cherry pie? If you do, I’d be most appreciative. Oh, and I guess all you salivating readers would be too.
Posted by Kurma on 13/6/10; 6:03:24 AM