September 30, 2008

8:21 p.m.

Spelt Right

It's a problem catching up after all these days, events, villages, gigs, people. I have a hard time separating them from one another after just two or three days. I can say off the bat that we did have our clotted cream tea yesterday, in a little coastal village called Clovelly. You get into the village by walking down a steep, cobbled street. There are no cars there; everything that has to be brought in is carried by sledge or donkey. There's a 14th century quay, some touristy shops and tea houses, and a gorgeous, blue-green ocean view.

We went on a coastal path walk first, and by the time we descended the steep (also cobbled) steps into the village and turned the corner, we were ready for that sign that met us announcing various versions of the cream tea. We actually thought two scones would be too much, so we each got the tea with one scone and a salmon and cucumber sandwich (ooh, healthy!). Note that this meal broke every rule on my dietary regime except the one about not eating fruit with anything else. There was no fruit involved. However, it did mix proteins, contain a lot of wheat, mix grain with protein, and include plenty of dairy and sugar. Oh. Okay, the strawberry jam had fruit in it, so yes, every single rule was broken.

I took extra enzymes.

It was goddang heavenly, and we were all miffed that we hadn't opted for the two-scone tea and skipped the salmon sandwich, which was not the smoked salmon that we have on bagels, but a kind of canned salmon with some mayo, not that interesting.

Clotted cream is something between cream and butter. The creamy milk is not cooked but heated, until a crust of cream rises to the top and is skimmed off. This is repeated until all the cream is out. It's light yellow, possibly a little lumpy around the edges, and somewhat nondescript all by itself. But add the scone and the jam, and you have a combination that would make any traitor talk.

You take the warm scone and cut it in half, and then apply half your jam to its steamy surface. Then you smear half the clotted cream (or, no, use just under half the first time, so you can really lather it on the next half) over it and slowly, slowly, bite in.

There is little resistance. The scone is light as a cloud, light as angel song, and the unsweetened clotted cream mixes with the jam into a heavenly, semi-warm and semi-cool matrix of pure pleasure. Pure. You stop your teeth partway through and just think about biting into it, and it comes apart.

You chew like you've never eaten in your life. You try to hold back because it will be gone too fast. You gulp like a drowning woman, feeling its sweet softness all the way down your gullet, and you suck all the bits out of your teeth to make sure nothing is wasted.

Then you do it again and again until it's gone.

You look at the sea, drunk, knowing how the cat feels when it's in ecstasy.

This is why I still said it was worth it when, late last night, a bit of indigestion and bloating came on to visit me til morning. We were going to go for that second scone today but we all changed our minds. C&C were kind of hacky and phlegmy today, as they don't do dairy well either. I'm still not entirely right from it, yet I am unburdened by regret. At the moment I am stuffed from a magnificent dinner of local leg of lamb stuck with garlic and rosemary (what carnivores we've become here), roasted potatoes and parsnips, steamed broccoli and beans, and homemade mint quince jelly from Milton Combe. I am dutifully waiting a piece before having the roasted peaches. It's been a nice two days here at Carol's Scottish friend's house in North Devon. We move along tomorrow.

Meanwhile I looked online and found a couple of recipes for Spelt scones. Heh heh.