The weather was, at last, sensational. So we had a weekend at the beach. William had his first 'swim'.
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It was a hot day and as the sun blazed its way through the afternoon I thought, mmm, mussels in white wine and garlic and maybe a touch of chile because there is no better meal to look forward to on a hot Saturday night especially when there is a fishmonger right down there on the main street with a chalkboard out the front with the hastily scrawled words fresh mussels.
The big pot went onto the stove just as the sun was dancing with the ti-tree, casting liquid gold mixed with long spindly shadows into the big west-facing kitchen window. Into the pot went three or four finely chopped garlic cloves, a cup or so of dry white wine and half a dozen chopped spring onions. Touch of chile if you like. I liked. I cleaned the mussels and tossed them into the wine as it came to the boil. I shook them around. I heard them opening. Crack, crack, crack.
I scooped them into large glass bowls and poured the fragrant liquor over them, being careful to scoop up plenty of the garlic and onion. Then I threw some chopped fresh parsley over them.
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This is sensual summer eating at its best: oysters as an appetiser, as natural as the sea and wearing nothing but a squirt of lemon juice. Then the mussels, plump and orange, with fresh, crusty bread to soak up the delicious briny juices and the garlic. Did I mention very cold beer? Well, I should have.
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Nine o'clock. The sun was almost gone. In a bowl in the middle of the table, the empty mussel shells were stacked up, carefully, like a game of pick-up sticks.
*
It was a hot day and as the sun blazed its way through the afternoon I thought, mmm, mussels in white wine and garlic and maybe a touch of chile because there is no better meal to look forward to on a hot Saturday night especially when there is a fishmonger right down there on the main street with a chalkboard out the front with the hastily scrawled words fresh mussels.
The big pot went onto the stove just as the sun was dancing with the ti-tree, casting liquid gold mixed with long spindly shadows into the big west-facing kitchen window. Into the pot went three or four finely chopped garlic cloves, a cup or so of dry white wine and half a dozen chopped spring onions. Touch of chile if you like. I liked. I cleaned the mussels and tossed them into the wine as it came to the boil. I shook them around. I heard them opening. Crack, crack, crack.
I scooped them into large glass bowls and poured the fragrant liquor over them, being careful to scoop up plenty of the garlic and onion. Then I threw some chopped fresh parsley over them.
*
This is sensual summer eating at its best: oysters as an appetiser, as natural as the sea and wearing nothing but a squirt of lemon juice. Then the mussels, plump and orange, with fresh, crusty bread to soak up the delicious briny juices and the garlic. Did I mention very cold beer? Well, I should have.
*
Nine o'clock. The sun was almost gone. In a bowl in the middle of the table, the empty mussel shells were stacked up, carefully, like a game of pick-up sticks.
Mmmm, you have just brought back delicious memories for me & now I think I will have to have some soon too!
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