I was weeding the vegie patch this afternoon and found a tamarillo fruit lying on the ground underneath a tree. I had wondered about this tree since we moved into the house several months ago. I asked the neighbours what it was ... they didn't know ... it's kinda hard to search online for an unnamed tree with big leaves ... and we don't have a nursery in the Halfwits.
So I let it grow and waited. Until today when I found the tamarillo. I recognised the fruit thanks to my past in Kenya and immediately googled "tamarillo tree" images. Thanks to http://hinterlander.typepad.com I discovered my unknown tree was indeed a tamarillo. Shame the one and only fruit had to drop to the ground and get half eaten before I worked it out but hey ... next time we will know what to do.
My Kenya Settlers Cookery Book, courtesy of Marie Whaite of Sigalagala in Nyanza Province aka 1954, will give me the details.
Long time since I thought of Marie ... for me at six years old, she was a very important lady, wife of my Dad's boss, full of amazing knowledge and the only person who would take me for long walks through the countryside. She knew everybody, from Chief Jeremiah and his sixty-five wives to the latest baby to be borne. I met them all. When she was gone - retired to the Cotswalds with husband George - I continued to take these walks alone, much to the horror of my mother. Every school holiday, my first day was taken up with rushing around the bundu, finding out who had died, who had a new baby/calf/goat and other delights.
Long time since I thought of Marie ... for me at six years old, she was a very important lady, wife of my Dad's boss, full of amazing knowledge and the only person who would take me for long walks through the countryside. She knew everybody, from Chief Jeremiah and his sixty-five wives to the latest baby to be borne. I met them all. When she was gone - retired to the Cotswalds with husband George - I continued to take these walks alone, much to the horror of my mother. Every school holiday, my first day was taken up with rushing around the bundu, finding out who had died, who had a new baby/calf/goat and other delights.
I often took our dog Roy, a wire-haired terrier. Too often perhaps, for in later years I noticed a lot of the local dogs had a strange resemblance ... he too enjoyed socialising.
Marie gave the recipe book to my mother before departing for England. Mum passed it on to me. Not that I cook ... but I love old books.
No comments:
Post a Comment