What caught my eye, as I walked back into Léran this morning after a short amble into the countryside, were what looked like blue eggs in a dry ditch by the side of the road. When I say "blue", I mean only a couple of shades away from the blue of a Gauloises cigarette packet. Turns out they were windfall plums so fatly ripe and juicy that their weight had detached them from the tree.
I always carry a plastic bag with me for finds, so I was able to bring home half a dozen. Two nights ago, on our way to the café for a Sunday evening glass of wine, I noticed the walnut tree in the presbytery garden is laden, and a few had fallen into the street. Little ones, not as long as the first joint of my thumb.
So, simmering on the stove right now is a small pan of chopped plums and walnuts. I'm thinking of spooning it over our breakfast yogurt or on top of vanilla ice cream.
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