This is one (well, six) of the nice things about moving out of the city. At my husband’s workshop, one of his regular customers is a local farmer, who tips in eggs:
The eggs always appear mysteriously, as the day dawns: my husband turns up for work in the morning, and there they are outside the door, waiting to be cracked and gobbled. I like it when the eggs appear: they are good, tasty free range eggs. And they keep our supermarket bills down.
The nice farmer isn’t the only one who tips in food. Another customer brings root vegetables. Now we have three large turnips in the fridge and I don’t know what to do with them! I’m tempted to try turnip french fries, if only to see if they taste better than they sound.
We are also the proud owners of one ginormous marrow. I have been eyeing the marrow with suspicion, as I haven’t yet eaten a marrow dish that hasn’t been on the… well, soggy side. I’m thinking about turning it into marrow rum. Who knows how this will taste, but the recipe sounds like fun: you begin by scooping out the pith and seeds, and filling the hollow with demerara sugar and a little yeast, before taping the marrow shut again. You have to leave it in the airing cupboard for a year though. Hmm, decisions!