It's sloe time!
As you'll probably be aware if you're a regular reader of the Scribbles, Mr Squidge and I like to make wine. We also make flavoured gin - rhubarb, blackcurrant (my least favourite) and sloe.
Now my first introduction to sloe gin was at father-in-law's house when Mr Squidge and I had been going out for a while. It only ever got served at Christmas (alongside exploding mince pies - I'll tell you that story another time!) so I've always thought of it as a festive drink.
A few years ago, Mr Squidge found some lovely sloes in the hedge when we went for a family bike ride, and he expressed a burning desire to make sloe gin because his dad had moved away and access to sloe gin was limited to visits to Yorkshire at Christmas. So we did - make some, I mean. And it was absolutely gorgeous.
Nearly every year since, we've made at least a litre of the stuff. We have our favourite sloe-picking place (not going to tell you anything other than Quorn, or you'll all be there, stripping the hedge!) as well as a few spots in the field where Bob, our windmill, stands. Although windmill sloes aren't a patch on Quorn sloes...
Anyway, Mr Squidge went on a bike ride the other day and spotted that our favourite sloe hedge had recently been cut back by the farmer. Disaster! There were tons of sloes on the ground, going to waste...
Closer inspection revealed that there were still sloes there - but really high up.
So guess what we did today? Walked across the fields, armed with an aged window pole and a couple of ice cream tubs, to try to pick those high sloes. It was gorgeously sunny and sure enough, we found the sloes hanging like grapes, but too high for me to reach. Even a bit too high for Mr Squidge (who is 6'3" and long-armed!)
Nevertheless, we got almost two tubs full of fruit and set off home.
(Incidentally, I seem to remember last year that a gin company was offering people the opportunity to be given some sloe gin if they picked sloes for the company. The trade off was ridiculous - a teeny tiny bottle in exchange for pounds of sloes. When it's so easy to make yourself, why would you take the sloes to anyone else?)
We felt really awful for a chap we met on the way back. He was after sloes too - had only found a few and they were no bigger than blackberries. I took the lid off the tub to show him ours and his face fell. I mean, it's not a competition as to who gets the biggest sloes, but ours were definitely superior!
We felt so sorry for him, we told him where we'd picked ours. I'm hoping he managed to reach a few; he wasn't much taller than me!
Back home now and the sloes have been washed and pricked and dropped into a plastic cocktail dispenser.
Now my first introduction to sloe gin was at father-in-law's house when Mr Squidge and I had been going out for a while. It only ever got served at Christmas (alongside exploding mince pies - I'll tell you that story another time!) so I've always thought of it as a festive drink.
A few years ago, Mr Squidge found some lovely sloes in the hedge when we went for a family bike ride, and he expressed a burning desire to make sloe gin because his dad had moved away and access to sloe gin was limited to visits to Yorkshire at Christmas. So we did - make some, I mean. And it was absolutely gorgeous.
Nearly every year since, we've made at least a litre of the stuff. We have our favourite sloe-picking place (not going to tell you anything other than Quorn, or you'll all be there, stripping the hedge!) as well as a few spots in the field where Bob, our windmill, stands. Although windmill sloes aren't a patch on Quorn sloes...
Anyway, Mr Squidge went on a bike ride the other day and spotted that our favourite sloe hedge had recently been cut back by the farmer. Disaster! There were tons of sloes on the ground, going to waste...
Closer inspection revealed that there were still sloes there - but really high up.
So guess what we did today? Walked across the fields, armed with an aged window pole and a couple of ice cream tubs, to try to pick those high sloes. It was gorgeously sunny and sure enough, we found the sloes hanging like grapes, but too high for me to reach. Even a bit too high for Mr Squidge (who is 6'3" and long-armed!)
Nevertheless, we got almost two tubs full of fruit and set off home.
(Incidentally, I seem to remember last year that a gin company was offering people the opportunity to be given some sloe gin if they picked sloes for the company. The trade off was ridiculous - a teeny tiny bottle in exchange for pounds of sloes. When it's so easy to make yourself, why would you take the sloes to anyone else?)
We felt really awful for a chap we met on the way back. He was after sloes too - had only found a few and they were no bigger than blackberries. I took the lid off the tub to show him ours and his face fell. I mean, it's not a competition as to who gets the biggest sloes, but ours were definitely superior!
 |
Now these sloes are humungous - some of them bigger
than a 20 pence piece. Almost gobstoppers.
|
We felt so sorry for him, we told him where we'd picked ours. I'm hoping he managed to reach a few; he wasn't much taller than me!
Back home now and the sloes have been washed and pricked and dropped into a plastic cocktail dispenser.
T
Two litres of gin and 500g of golden caster sugar later, we're on...
Now all I have to do is find somewhere to put it for the next few weeks where it won't be in the way but I remember to give it a daily swirl... Roll on, Christmas!