On The Road

A family vacation photograph taken on the road in the mid-1940s showing my husband's grandmother Ruth, wearing a white dress and holding onto one of her little girls

Photo: Chronica Domus

The time has arrived for a family summer break which means that I'll be away from my scribblings until early August.  I hope to be rejuvenated and rested upon my return, and ready to post some stories I've been working on lately.

I hope that you too are finding the time to put your feet up and enjoy the delights of summer.

Toodlepip for now!

A Clay Pot Story

Examples of my clay flower pots, very probably made with clay excavated when building London's Piccadilly tube line

Photo: Chronica Domus

Last month, I found myself on the other side of the telephone from Guy Wolff, the very jolly and talented potter behind Guy Wolff Pottery, a small family run business in Connecticut that focuses on making clay flower pots inspired by 18th and 19th century designs.  While placing an order for one of the very beautiful Peale pots, Mr. Wolff regaled me with some interesting tales about his family background and how he became a potter, an art form and skill I've greatly admired since applying my not-so-steady hand to it during my years of school pottery lessons.  We quickly moved onto the subject of where I was born; obviously, he could guess I was English from my accent.  When I told him I was born and bred in London, he asked if I had seen the short video clip produced in the early 1950s by British Pathé, the media organization behind cinema newsreels that were screened through the second world war informing the general populous of current world news events.  I had neither seen nor heard of the clip but was interested in viewing it with alacrity. So, upon concluding my telephone call with Mr. Wolff, off I went in search of what it was that had so intrigued the famous potter.

The rough interior of my old flower pot exhibiting all the hallmarks of being hand thrown

Photo: Chronica Domus

The video, which can be found here, and runs for just over a minute and a half, delighted me on several counts. Firstly, it tells a story of how the dense sticky London clay was discovered during the excavation work performed in preparation for constructing the Piccadilly underground line, which runs right by, and possibly under my childhood home. The Piccadilly line is a route I know intimately from having ridden it countless times during my lifetime. The clay was used to produce an estimated seven million flower pots per year, to be sold to Londoners and plant enthusiasts, all fired in a kiln that had been in continual use since 1860 and located on White Heart Lane.

 Two of my smallest pots, known as Tom Thumb size, hold succulents and stand less than three inches in height

Photo: Chronica Domus

It pleased me no end to view and learn a little of the history regarding my old stomping ground.  To add to my delight, I concluded that by statistical probability and geographical location, I likely own several of these little clay pots. Had you asked me where these pots were made prior to my watching the video, I would not have had a clue, but now I am almost certain as to their local origin.

A potter's smeared fingerprint, immortalized in clay

Photo: Chronica Domus

There are two styles of flower pot shown in the video clip.  The first, located on the majority of the drying racks, has a simple beaded edge running around the rim.  The style shown on the bottom shelf is of a plain tapered shape, just like the ones I own. All of my pots were picked up in a small antiques shop just off the Portobello Road, London's world-famous antiques market, almost twenty years ago. I recall them costing no more than a few pounds each.  The shop contained a beguiling selection of antique and vintage garden implements and there were many, many of these horticultural pots, nested one within the other in short rows, and held in wooden shallow seed crates, all for sale.  I would have purchased several more were it not for the practicalities and considerations of packing them up safely for the transatlantic journey to their new home.

A gathering of my antique clay flower pots 

Photo: Chronica Domus

I love the simple shape of these vessels and the fact that they are so distinguishable from today's mass produced, machine made clay pots with their flawless smooth appearance and perfectly uniform lines.  No, my little clay pots are lopsided and charmingly rustic in their appearance.  Some are so thin towards the rim that they've crumbled away over the years since they were expertly and quickly thrown on the potter's wheel.  With careful examination, one can even see the potter's fingerprints embedded within the clay for future gardeners to discover.

If you are interested in learning more about the history of London's old potteries, I encourage you to visit this page for a fascinating look into the story of a long-lost industry.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

A Plum Bonanza

An overly filled trug of juicy Santa Rosa plums resting in the crook of a neighboring pear tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

Back in March, I published a post highlighting the variety of white blooms in my garden. At the time our Santa Rosa plum tree was full of blossom and I was excited at the prospect of savoring the juicy fruits that were to come later in the year.

 Plum blossoms as photographed earlier this year

Photo: Chronica Domus

I had no idea that this would be one of those flush years which had every branch laden with fruit.  In fact, by the time the first succulent plums were ready to be picked and devoured, the branches would be positively groaning, having been dragged to the ground begging to be relieved of their heavy load.

I was happy to oblige my dear old tree and so on June 11, I began to pick as much of the ripened fruit as I could gather within arms reach.  As you will have noticed from viewing the leading photograph in this posting, it was a bonanza to be reckoned with.  What I've managed to pick thus far is not even close to the lion's share of the harvest. Basket loads of plums still remain on our lone tree.  Some are much higher up and require a ladder to reach, others have yet to ripen.  To say I was euphoric at this exceptional bounty is an understatement.  My daughter, I think, is the most excited for she has not stopped guzzling down the fruits, despite my protestations of a ruined appetite for a dinner that surely will go untouched.  

Unripened plums in shades of rosy pink, apricot and chartreuse covered in their wax bloom

Photo: Chronica Domus

Introduced in 1906 by Luther Burbank, a prolific American botanist and agricultural scientist, the Los Angeles Times wrote of Prunus salicina "Santa Rosa" that it is "the gold standard of farmers' market plum flavor".  If you are as fortunate as I to taste these delicious fruits, you too will agree they are indeed a winner. I have yet to stumble across a plum to equal the sweetness and juiciness of these little gems, which is probably the reason I have practically given up on eating the dry mealy rock-hard plums available for sale at most supermarkets in our area.  Believe it or not, even with their known superior flavor, Santa Rosa plums are not a commercial favorite with growers.  The variety's susceptibility to disease may have something to do with this sad reality. Where you will find these fruits for sale is at the numerous farmers' markets during stone fruit season, which is in full swing during the months of June and July in the Bay Area.

The plums are deepening in color as they mature

Photo: Chronica Domus

This branch holds three plums in various stages of ripening

Photo: Chronica Domus

As the fruits develop on the branch, they are covered by a natural white coating called a wax bloom, which makes their ripening hues appear muted when compared to their final jewel-like color.  I particularly enjoy viewing the spectrum of colors to be found on any given branch. Beautiful shades of vivid chartreuse, apricot, rosy pink, salmon, and the deepest claret red can be spied co-mingling and dangling temptingly like precious stones. Surely, Monet and the great painters of the world would be moved by such a painterly palette put forth by Mother Nature.

A rainbow of plums beginning to weigh down the boughs of our tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

A week later, the plums are ready to be picked as boughs are dragged to the ground

Photo: Chronica Domus

Batches of plums have been dispatched to good friends and neighbors, which is all part of the excitement of growing our fruit.  I have filled compotes and bowls and placed them in the dining room and in the kitchen. The house is filled with their pleasing fragrance which one cannot fail but notice upon entering and being greeted by the heady fruity fragrance. It is just heavenly!

Wiped of their wax bloom and ripened to the deepest shade of ruby claret

Photo: Chronica Domus

A cross section of a juicy Santa Rosa plum showing its deep claret color

Photo: Chronica Domus

Not only do we eat our plums, we like to bake with them too.  A simple rustic plum pie is a tasty and practical way of using the over-ripe plums that have sat around in bowls and have continued to ripen. I've already made two this week.

Our rustic plum pie ready for the oven

Photo: Chronica Domus

Our hungry lunch or dinner guests always appreciate a home-made pie, especially during plum season. We serve our pie warm with vanilla ice cream, my American husband's preferred method of eating it, or at room temperature with decadent whipped double cream.  My daughter prefers to pour cream all over her pie until it pools around it, which is a very British way of approaching things.  Nature versus nurture I think.  Won't you join us for a slice?

Please do help yourself to plum pie and cream

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you enjoy eating or cooking with plums when in season, or do you have another favorite stone fruit you look forward to eating when at its seasonal peak?