Bad house names, Talk Talk, It's A Knockout and a fabulous frangipane crumble tart

Abundance: Sunday 13 July 2025

It is hot. To the point where everyone is pretending to be happy it’s so unrelentingly hot. To the point of not wanting to be the first person to say ‘gimme a day of rain, just for a change’; to the point of not wanting to say ‘gimme a day of rain ffs, to let some pressure out of the air ’. It’s change-t-shirts-half-way-through-the-day hot. It’s strangers-on-the-early-dog-walk-greeting-you-with-a-‘Hot enough for you? Not that I’m complaining’-hot.

Never mind the weather for a moment though.

I’m over the moon to share this with you: the first copy on Abundance, the book I wrote here in weekly instalments, that without your company and involvement would not have come into being. I wanted to share a look at it with you here, first¹.

No matter how many times it has happened before, the first time you hold a copy of your new book in your hands is, like the harmonica wailing in on The Rainbow², an experience that never dilutes.

There is some part of it that seems like it’s always existed, that like a detectorist pulling an ancient coin into the light for the first time in centuries, it is not that it wasn’t there, it’s just being seen when before it was not.

I saw my publisher recently and I said I think it might be my best book - which you always aim for but luck, timing and more are as much of what decides that as what you can control - and she looked me very excitedly in the eye and said ‘There’s no ‘might’ about it.’

From nothing more than a spark, awaking with a clear idea of the next book I had to write and getting on with it, it has become an actual object. It is - like radio, love, and the flight of swifts - a mystery that seems impossible, yet there it is.

I am so excited about it getting out into the world in less than 7 weeks. I’ll be running around the country talking, pouring cocktails, being interviewed and signing books and I hope to see you somewhere, sometime before Christmas. I’ll put the dates here when I have them all³ and I would love it if it gave us an opportunity to meet along the way.

If you felt moved to preorder it, let me say that pre-orders are HUGELY beneficial to the author - it can stir interest in both independent and chain bookshops, which means more people see it, more people buy it, and I get to carry on writing more books, which given my deep unsuitability to other jobs would be very gratefully appreciated⁴.

This has - understandably - provided most of the magic this week, which is quite something considering the garden is doing so well for fruit.

The plumcot and its owner are groaning. The plumcot because the burden of its fruit outweighs its ability to carry it, and its owner from a combination of a twisted ankle courtesy of the local authority’s inability to upkeep the pavement of Bermondsey Street above It’s A Knockout levels of jeopardy, and a snowstorm of competing deadlines.

It is the plumcot that should be the recipient of your sympathy. A spring into summer largely without rain and sunshine in inversely proportionate ubiquity to last year’s grey summer mean it is laden. I am happy; the tree is not.

As you might imagine, plumcots (aka pluots) declare their split heritage as directly as a house named Andrewendy; they have a sister, the aprium, where the hybrid of plum to apricot leans a little stronger to the latter.

A plumcot is a luscious thing. It has all of the soft surrender of a perfectly ripe plum, with the depth and richness of a tree-ripe apricot. There’s a hint of almond and pear drops about them too. While now is not the best time to buy a tree⁵, it is most certainly the time to pick and eat them. Thankfully, they ripen in instalments across its branches, so there’s no necessity to spend a weekend making a skipful of jam.

It has been a week of a dozen today, a couple of dozen tomorrow; of breakfasts with yoghurt; of handfuls sat by the branches eating them the moment they are picked; and of testing a tart recipe that is that rarest of things: a first time bullseye that’s also a favourite I’ll be making for years. If you are without a source of plumcots, make the tart below with plums or the excellent apricots around at the moment.

Plumcots are partially self fertile - you’ll get some fruit without a partner for it - but if you have another plumcot or plum nearly, chances are your harvest will be even larger.

Be careful what you wish for. I mentioned the plumcot being unhappy: during a windy day last week, one of the main branches snapped down its length thanks to this year’s heavy crop. I’ve seen this before in a pecan many years ago: I found a roll of gaffer tape in the tractor then, tightly applied a few lengths around the bottom of the split, and I did the same here: it allows me to pick the fruit as it ripens ahead of pruning the branch off below the tape - like all prunus, it’s best to do this in sunny, warm times to minimise the potential for disease.

Growing at its feet, a rose scented geranium: they say - and so often it’s true - that what grows together goes together, and I have a feeling a few leaves thrown into a gently popping pan of plumcots over a low heat will make a wonderful rose flavoured plumcot compote. Let’s see.

Plumcot frangipane crumble tart

This is wonderful with the sour cream pastry recipe from my book Sour, brightened with fennel seeds, and for the gluten free do try Becky Excell’s excellent shortcrust pastry and substitute the Digestives for a gluten free alternative. And yes, of course shop-bought pastry is absolutely fine if you can’t be arsed to make your own - but do take the trouble to sprinkle over the fennel seeds before adding the frangipane, as its bright aniseed is perfect here.

This might be less frangipane than you might find in many frangipane tart recipes, but it gives the plumcots chance to shine and the crumble to do its crunchy work.

By all means use plain Digestives, but the ginger in Doves Farm ginger Digestives works extremely well here.

Serves 8

For the pastry
200g cold butter, diced, plus 25g
250g plain flour, plus a little for rolling
1 tbsp sugar
2 tsp fennel seeds
120g sour cream

500g plumcots (or other stone fruit), halved and stoned
100g caster sugar
100g ground almonds
100g butter, diced
1 egg
100g ginger Digestives, reduced to a coarse rubble in the food processor

To make the pastry, place the cold butter, flour and sugar in a food processor and pulse a few times until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs⁶.

Add the sour cream and fennel seed and pulse until the dough starts to come together, stopping just before it forms a ball. If it is still crumbly and does not bind add a little cold water.

Form the dough into a flat disc, wrap in baking paper and chill for 30 minutes.

Roll the pastry on a surface dusted with flour to about 3mm thick. Line the 25cm tart tin, leaving about 5mm over the edge of the tin, then allow it to rest for 20 minutes in the fridge.

Preheat the oven to 190°C fan.

In a food processor, swizz the caster sugar, ground almonds and butter together until well combined. Add the egg and swizz to incorporate and bring it together.

Cover the base of the pastry with a circle of baking parchment and fill with baking beans, then bake for 5 minutes. Remove the baking beans and parchment and return the tart case to the oven for 5 minutes until lightly golden and dry to the touch. Trim the edge of the pastry (I use a bread knife, cutting horizontally, for this) to make it neat, or leave it rough and ready if you prefer.

Spoon the frangipane mix into the pastry case and spread until even. Arrange the plumcot halves in the frangipane. Sprinkle with the ginger Digestive crumble.

Bake for about 20-25 minutes until golden. Remove from the oven, and allow the tart to exhale for a few minutes before tucking in and serving with whichever form of dairy makes you happy.

1. The faint sound in the background on the film is the cricket on the radio - Jofra Archer just having taken a wicket

2. Mark Feltham, a famous blues harmonica player, turning his brilliance to such effect it sounds like the sister of Mark Hollis’ voice

3. Two are already up online - an evening with Honey and Co in September, and I’ll be at Rutland Nursery in October too. I hope to see you there

4. The horrendous place that delivers quickly but underpays tax has it with 25% or so off at the moment, as does Hive online.

5. The nursery will have them ready to send in autumn, and you can order one ahead if you fancy. Paid subscribers in the UK get 25% off plants and seeds - more info about how to claim that here

6. By all means, rub the ingredients together in a bowl using your fingertips instead, if you prefer