I’m not sure how long these plums had been in the fridge, because I’d forgotten all about them, and only remembered yesterday when R told me that he needed to move them to make way for other things, and asked if I wanted him to compost them. Honestly, I think if they’d stayed in there much longer, they’d have become so bored that they’d probably have pushed the door open, jumped out, and marched to the compost heap under their own steam. It’s fairly obvious from this photo that they’re a little post-prime – but then, aren’t we all? So, in solidarity, we’ll describe them as “mature” and “interesting” if you please, rather than “wrinkled”, “sagging”, or “on their way out”.
Having photographed them against a variety of complementarily grungy backgrounds, I’ve chosen this image because of the toning…. tones. I then made a clafoutis with them, using this James Martin recipe. It was delicious, and won me quite a few Housewife Points because R had never had a clafoutis before, and wasn’t anticipating being presented with one today.
A double win (or triple, if you count the photo), courtesy of some forgotten fruit.