Late summer fruit, John Martyn, a flat cap and a great Sunday breakfast

Abundance: Sunday 18 August 2024

On the way to the sea this morning I found myself behind an elderly man, flat cap on, hands locked behind his back, the largest of hearing aids bending his ears towards the perpendicular. As I got within a few yards it became apparent that he was farting at length and at great leisure, without a hint of either restraint or effort; a sound not unlike the last of the bath water emanating from his own plughole.

He couldn’t have looked any more content with his lot as we exchanged hellos while I overtook.

Fennel flowers and seed

There’s always some twit wanting to tell you it’s autumn half way through June, but these last mid-August mornings and evenings really have carried just a hint of chill. It lasts no time at all - by the time Mr Windy caught me up a few minutes later while I wait for the hound to finish his business, his hat is in his hands, behind his back - but the chill is there nonetheless; wafers bookending the ice cream of the day.

Soon enough - maybe even in three weeks - thoughts will turn to the approaching cosiness and flames. And you know what, I’ll be ready. I was made for May and September - wired for Nick Drake and John Martyn¹, more Murder Ballads than Murder on the Dancefloor, a lover of the shoulders more than the body of summer - but even I’m not hurrying it along.

These cool top-and-tails to the day, the old man’s hat and his easy morning pleasure remind me to fully enjoy what’s here while it’s here; that now is for the best of the late summer fruit, yellow fennel flowers as some turn to lime green fennel seeds, the lemony zing of Buckler leaved sorrel seed and other bright flavours.

This morning, while the house slept, I plucked mirabelles from the young tree, chose the plumpest, ripest blackberries growing by the greenhouse, I grabbed handfuls of seed, flowers and leaves and made this rather special breakfast - a breakfast that somehow suits Sunday more than any other day.

Late summer fruit panzanella

Panzanella is an Italian joy based around stale bread, onions and tomatoes, usually in combination with basil, olive oil and vinegar. This sweet variation takes the spirit of that classic and turns it to the best of late summer’s fruit. The onions can do one, obvs.

It is hugely adaptable; swap in other stone fruit like peaches, or add strawberries or raspberries as you fancy. This makes more cinnamon sugar than you need, but keep it in a sealed tub for a grateful future you. I used lemon juice to add a little sour bite, but I have a feeling red wine vinegar would be superb too.

Depending on which fruit you use and its degree of ripeness, you may find you want to tweak the flavours, so keep a little extra handy. Fennel flower’s flavour varies with stage of development - the nearer to seed it is, the larger and more intense it becomes - so use half and leave the rest to hand for people to add if they wish. And if you have no fennel flowers, use fennel seed that’s been bashed a little in a mortar and pestle, starting with 1 tbsp and leave a little to hand in case people want to add more. Similarly, a little pinch pot of cinnamon sugar might be good for some.

Serves 4

10 mirabelles, halved and stoned
1 nectarine, stoned and cut into pieces
4 plums, stoned and quartered
16 blackberries
4 slices of brioche
ok olive oil
2 tbsp caster sugar
1 tbsp ground cinnamon
a dozen basil leaves, thinly sliced
4 fennel flower heads, torn into mini florets
good olive oil
80ml double cream
juice of 1 lemon
a good handful of sorrel seed, or use the grated zest of 1 lemon
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Over a medium heat, warm a good slick of the ok olive oil in a frying pan large enough to accommodate two slices of brioche. Lower the brioche in when the oil simmers and fry it for perhaps a minute: check often as the sweetness of the bread means it turns quickly. Turn each piece over when lightly golden and season with salt and pepper. When golden on each side, remove to cool and drain on kitchen paper, and repeat with the other two slices of brioche.

While the brioche fries, stir the cinnamon thoroughly into the sugar. Place the fruit into a large bowl and stir through the lemon juice.

Tear the brioche into pieces and sprinkle generously with perhaps a third of the cinnamon sugar, more if you have a sweet tooth.

Tumble the fruit and brioche together on a serving platter, drizzle with half the cream, shower with basil, the sorrel seed and half of the fennel flowers, zorro with good olive oil, season with salt and pepper and serve with excellent coffee, and the rest of the cream in a jug in case needed, ideally in the garden.

1. Especially when the latter sings this song he wrote about the former.