I opened the curtains to find the view veiled in a light mist and apples scattered across the grass like an abandoned game of bowls. Keats's autumn had arrived. All that mild stillness, that intangible certainty that summer had slipped away and winter should be anticipated hung in the air. I knew that it was time to check the larder for ingredients, the pantry cupboard for empty jars and to head out into the garden with tubs to gather up the windfalls. Time to make not cider (sorry Keats,) but chutney!
My current favourite recipe I call:
Apple and Mustard Seed Chutney
- 500g Apples, peeled cored and diced
- 2 cups vinegar - preferably cider or white wine vinegar
- 250g onions peeled and finely chopped
- 2 and a half cups Demerara sugar
- 4 cloves garlic crushed
- 50g salt
- half a cup of ground almonds
- 250g sultanas roughly chopped
- 6 tablespoons of yellow mustard seeds
- 2 teaspoons of cumin seed
- 3 teaspoons chilli powder (or to taste)
- 1 'thumb' fresh root ginger finely grated
I first made this recipe with my mother from a recipe in SA Life magazine. Being an Australian recipe it refers to cup measures. This is equivalent to 8 fluid ounces or just under 250 ml but many measuring jugs have the cup measures on them. Every time I make a recipe like this it 'evolves' - this is the current version.
In the magazine this recipe had the title Indian Apple Chutney. It is such a good accompaniment to mature cheddar and crisply crusted bread. As this completes the classic trio on which that staple of English pub menu lunches, the Ploughman's Lunch is based, I think of it as very English, particularly as the key ingredients are apples and sultanas.
I will have a variety of apples to use - the original recipe used Granny Smiths - and I find that using some that mush during cooking and some that hold their shape make for a good texture.
And what about chapels? Keats wrote his Ode to Autumn in Winchester inspired by a walk across the water meadows to the chapel of St Cross. I have enjoyed this walk at this time of year several times. No evidence of threshing floors, cider presses or even beehives any more but a lovely level stroll along the waterside, accompanied by gliding swans feigning indifference until it seems you might produce a crust or two of bread. And there is always the prospect of the Wayfarers' Dole at the end of the walk or something more sustaining from the tearoom to help you make your way back.
Your husband is a very lucky man!
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