Wetted fruit

Day 28: smidgins of joy

Mid-morning grapes pile on the joy.

Well into adulthood, I thought the past tense and past participle of wet was wet. I am still incredulous that it is, in fact, wetted. That sounds like something a three-year-old would say. Here, I am just playing, and using “wetted fruit” as being the opposite of dried fruit.

If the current dry, hot weather continues, and it will, then I can make raisins for the second year in a row. Today I ate the first bunch from various vines I retrained two years ago. I can see that they are all going to ripen at the same time. I suppose this is what makes vintners happy.

I see that a prominent wine writer in Portugal has written a fabulous article on gin. I have a mind to translate it just for the sheer joy of it. Yes, I know, real work has to happen first, more’s the pity in this case.

My knowledge of gin is primarily empirical, ditto verandahs and African sunsets on many occasions. Back then, there was real quinine in the tonic water accompanying the gin, poured over lots of ice and a slice of lemon.

We used to say that a good gin and tonic or two kept the mosquitoes away, but that’s not really true; it keeps the malaria away. That was my reason for drinking so much of it so often.

The Portuguese method of serving gin in a glass akin to a goldfish bowl, packed with ice, is truly genius. I try to have at least one each summer; a minor goal I have not yet accomplished this year yet. I could have done with one today, it was so darn hot.

But I had fresh, wetted grapes instead. Wetted, since I ran them through water, which I splashed on my toes for good measure before returning to my office. I ate smidgins of joy while editing a bibliography which seemed quite devoid of such stuff.

©2019 Allison Wright

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