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This time of year, the berries start to ripen and the lavender blooms. The combination is heavenly. 
LAVENDER SUGAR
You'll need a spice grinder or an old coffee grinder that you've cleaned well enough to remove the smell of coffee.
1 t Lavender, dried (Some is called "culinary" - just make sure it is chemical-free.)
3 t Sugar, granulated.
Put both into the grinder and whiz around in 20-second bursts (so it doesn't get to hot and melt the sugar) until all that's left is a fine powder. Taste. If too lavendery, add more sugar and whiz some more. Or just mix with granulated sugar. Sprinkle on anything.
Have you ever been walking down the street and suddenly been bowled over by an irresistible smell, one that absolutely, positively requires you to find the source? Common examples are butter, bacon, barbeque, coffee, bread, curry - you know, smells that just grab you by the nose and pull (rather than those opposite kinds that push you away and make you feel ill...)
Well, the small and oft-overlooked country of Belgium is famous for a few foods but the one that carries the name and flag far and wide is the waffle. Now "Belgian Waffles" in an american diner are not terribly Belgian, and certainly not the kind that you can buy on the streets of Brussels and munch as you walk along. These are called Gaufres de Liège, are ragged-edged, dense and chewy, and have a slightly crispy, caramelized sugar crust that comes from the particular kind of sugar crystals which must be used in the batter (or else it's not the real thing, of course.)
In Brussels, the widely-regarded best gaufres can be found in little yellow vans parked at random places around the city. Despite the fact that, a) I did not know this to be the source of the quintessential gaufre, nor b) did I (or anyone) know where such a fount of waffly gastronomic pleasure might be found on a particular day, find one I did - entirely by nose. I had just finished touring the European Parliament building (which is large) and was hungry. All of a sudden I was practically knocked flat by a wave of caramel, yeast, butter, and chocolate. Dazed and stumbling I looked around, but didn't see anything that might be emitting such an intoxicating cloud. I kept walking - one block, two blocks - towards a square, and then I saw it. Like the sun peeking over the horizon in the morning, bright yellow and with the huge word "Gaufres! " emblazoned on the side. I almost couldn't make it to the window, such was the glorious aroma. But make it I did, accepted my freshly made gaufre with chocolate sauce, and then proceeded to eat with messy abandon, all the while making slightly obscene noises and grinning like an idiot. I didn't notice until days later that I had chocolate sauce on my pants.
Gin has never been much to my liking. In fact, for the longest time, when asked what I do not like to drink, I would instantly and firmly respond, "Gin! *shudder*" I have tested this conviction time and agin, especially in light of the fact that my grandmother was a great fan of the gin martini - by my reasoning, if someone so wonderful liked it so much, how is it possible that I detest it so? But alas, my palate has remained obstinately opposed to accepting as enjoyable the unique flavor of gin.
There are likely many who will recoil in horror at my assertion that I have never tasted a Gin and Tonic. (In fact, if there has been one drink I have historically detested more than gin it has most certainly been, and likely will forever be, tonic. Yuck. Though this also has a longer explanation...) I have never drunk a gin martini. Rarely have I enjoyed a cocktail that contained gin. It is one of the admitted failings of my tastebuds and their associated neural circuitry that seems to be set in stone. Or was, until I went to England and tasted a gin that has recalibrated my understanding of the drink.
Image source here.
Webb deVlam is the design firm consulted for the recent Plymouth brand update.
Part of the problem with developing a taste for gin is that most gin that is widely available adheres very strongly to the "London Dry Gin" style of the drink. A quick look at Wikipedia will give a basic understanding of the requirements for something to be called "gin." In short, a spirit in which the dominant flavour and aroma is that of the juniper berry. There are other technical requirements about alcohol content and permitted basic ingredients, but I'll let you read up on the minutae yourselves rather than transcribe them here. There is also a storied history of the evolution of modern gin from the Dutch drink "genever," a drink that is being revived in the current old-school cocktail craze. But that history, too, you may read on your own.
Important here is that not all gin is created equal, a fact for which I am grateful.
Gin has a very complex flavour. The very different vodka is simply the basic spirit distilled from a fermented mash of starch- or sugar-bearing plant matter (I'll let you argue about what must be used to make "Real Vodka".) The flavour of vodka comes from the very slight impurities carried through the distillation and also the water used to create the mash and to dilute the distilled alcohol to the correct strength. Gin, by contrast, starts with a base alcohol that is distilled to the point that it is almost 100% alcohol and has no flavour whatsoever. The only reason to drink that stuff would be to cauterize your epiglottis, disinfect your stomach, and cause instant and catastrophic drunkenness. To this liquid gin-makers add things like juniper berries, coriander and cardamom, lemon and orange peel, pepper, rosemary, etcetera. After steeping the flavourings for a while, the mixture is filtered and distilled again, this time so that only the volatile flavours that taste good will remain in the final spirit. Then the spirit is diluted with water down to regular strength, bottled, and sold. So what you taste when you drink gin is really the mixture of added flavourings and the technique of the distiller and there is infinite variation in both. 
The London Dry style of gin is a very astringent one. (Astringency can be described as the feeling of dryness in the mouth and throat.) The flavour and "texture" of juniper can range from lightly tart and refreshing all the way to parching. And there are other spices, too, that add to the quality and quantity of the astringency. London Dry gins tend to live at the parching end of the spectrum, hence the description as "dry." Beefeater, Gordons, Bombay Sapphire, and Tanqueray are good examples of the style, if you're curious. And since these are basically the most common brands I was surprised when I tasted Plymouth gin and encountered a totally different animal.
Image source here.
The Plymouth distillery, which actually is and forever will be in Plymouth, England, makes a big deal of many aspects of their history - being the original Navy gin, having the terroir of the building and town and water that they use, etcetera. And while most of that is interesting to a point, most important is that they make a gin that still tastes like gin but which warmed my throat and pleased my palate and did not make me pull a hideous and awkward face while trying to force it down. Instead, I could appreciate the flavours rolling around in my mouth - not fighting each other and my tongue, as the dry gins seem to do, but dancing and blooming and then settling to a warm, yet refreshing finish.
Gins, especially smaller-market, craft-distilled gins, are becoming increasingly popular, so I expect to be surprised again, but Plymouth is an old-school, traditional gin. I am happy to have it as a reference point, both for future tasting and for the quality of taste I can try to coax out of cocktail recipes I make up that involve gin. I have been served a few surprising gin cocktails that have further broadened my horizon and look forward to more, though I may never like Gin and Tonic and it may be a while before I can really enjoy a gin martini or two like my grandmother would.
Don't forget the olives!
To you, Grandma.
Apparently I have a food allergy. This is tragic. I am used to being able to try most any food without being afraid that it would kill me, only that it might, at worst, cause me to pull a funny face and shudder in disgust before I spit it out. Now I am trying to avoid being afraid of fruits I do not know. If you think this reaction is a bit extreme, here's the story:
I arrived in Israel at about lunchtime after flying all night and eating what politely can only be called "food-like semi-nourishment" along the way. I was to stay with a family friend named Ian who generously prepared a delicious Israeli-style salad (cucumber, tomato, olive oil, salt, and feta, though the presence of feta supposedly means it is called a "Greek salad") for lunch. After lunch, we spoke for a while about family, etcetera, and then were to go walk the resident dog. Just before going out, I was presented with a fruit that looked like an apricot. It had been washed, peeled and seeded so the only thing I ate was the flesh. On the upside, it was delicious - like a firm but sweet apricot that had been drizzled with lime juice.
On the downside: I left the house and walked across the street and my ears started itching. I got to the end of the block and felt like I'd just swigged some bad vinegar. I walked another fifty feet and I was coughing and it hurt to swallow. And I had to work very hard to stay calm enough to breathe. I walked quickly back to the house, grabbed a bottle of water, and took two Benadryl and an Allegra (my other antihistamine) though, in retrospect, I should have taken more Benadryl. At this point I was trying not to panic and not to pass out from panic. I could breathe if I did so slowly and deliberately, but I couldn't swallow. My tongue started feeling funny so I looked at it in a mirror. It was covered with little blisters. Ian had returned just after me and I said something along the lines of "If I'm not feeling better within five minutes I think I should go to the hospital." The poor man was understandably mortified. Five minutes later we got in the car.
We got to the emergency room and I tried to communicate to the receptionist that I was having an allergic reaction and having trouble breathing. I must have succeeded because within the next 5 minutes I had been taken in, sat down in a chair, my veins plumbed for an IV, blood drawn, two nurses and a doctor consulted, IV fluids hooked up and some serious steroids pushed into my bloodstream. And then I sat there with Ian for several hours under observation to make sure the drugs worked and I didn't die. Coming down from panic plus IV steroids plus ridiculous jet-lag made me very loopy and sleepy for the next few hours even though I tried to stay awake and conversant with Ian. I do remember several moments where I was in the middle of a sentence and then the sentence just carried on into a very bizarre dream for the next indeterminate length of time. And then I'd wake up and not realize I'd been asleep.
Eventually, an E-N-T specialist came to inspect me. An older man, built like a troll, with magnifying-glass eyes, he grabbed my tongue with a gauze pad and peered down my throat and then said yes, I'd had a reaction to something, and yes, I'd be fine, and yes, I could leave. Amazingly, for the pleasure of much time and care in the Israeli emergency room, the total bill came to $250. I was very pleased not to have to die of shock at the bill after being saved in the ER, like would be typical in the US.
But the most bizarre thing about the whole episode was that none of the doctors, nurses, specialists, receptionists, or even anyone else I met over the entire course of my trip had ever heard of someone being allergic to the fruit known in Hebrew as "shessek" and in English as "loquat." Lucky me. Here's the offender:
Of course there's always the possibility that I was allergic to something microscopic on the fruit or in the water or in the air or anywhere. But the reaction was consistent with a food allergy, especially the way that all of the surfaces in my mouth reacted where they had touched the fruit. I'll go get allergy tests to confirm that it was the fruit so long as they can find essence of loquat with which to test me... So now I'm supposed to carry an emergency epinephrine shot, just in case.
Ah, food, the things I do for you.
p.s. If you're not allergic to them, loquats are delicious. Well, they're delicious even if you are allergic to them, but death rather takes some of the pleasure away, I think. I prefer to live to eat another day!
