Ever since the publication of A Homemade Life in the spring of 2009, purveyors of the shrivelly, sticky stuff have doubtless been scratching their heads at the spike in sales. It's taken me until now to a) read the book, and b) get on board the prune bandwagon. For those of you who, like me, arrive late to the party more often than you care to admit, I'll give you the Cliff's notes: Molly's memoir is a perfect read. It works whether you're looking for something to visit now and again on your morning commute or devour in its entirety on a dark, rainy night. I can say with all honesty that I'd love to make every single recipe she shares in A Homemade Life.
As for the plummy old pals, DH isn't buying the hype. He half-gagged, half-snickered when he saw the giant bag of them perched atop the fridge (though if he read the book, I feel certain he too would end up romanced by her anecdote on prunes and her father). Sparing myself further age or bowel related wisecracks, I waited until DH left for his latest bout of work travel to cook up a batch of these infamous stewed prunes.
Let me tell you. He's missing out. As citrus and cinnamon simmered those little old ladies into punchy pillows of syrup, I felt myself welcoming this Seattle fall, regardless of any bone-chilling rain or endless variations on gray. The prunes were good warm, but even better after holing up in the fridge overnight. Cliché, schmeeshay. Better late than never.
1 comment:
The stewed prunes were good, I admit. So good I've had them for breakfast for the past 2 days in a row.
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