Cockles, whelks, winkles and the like seem to have a bad old rep next to the scallop, oyster and other such illustrious shelly company. It’s a cultural mileu I can’t get my head around, and am all up for bucking.
In my mind cockling can be found in the phrase dictionary under ‘the most simple of pleasures,’ as these guys are not only a wild blast to find but truly, and simply, tasty.
From down here in my corner of Dorset May Day is even more than the glorious posies on the door tradition (head to Little Green Shed to learn more about that) as from today we can officially cockle for our supper from the low tides of Poole Harbour.
There was a tree brimming with lemons in our garden.
With mugs of the hand plucked fruit, hot water and local honey beginning our mornings, quite obviously if lemons are in easy supply, a strong and steady contingent of gin and tonics followed.
We sure made the most of that sweet old fruit tree.
I’m on a little holiday at the mo and it’s got me reminiscing on the last adventure of it’s sort had this time last year in Mozambique. After a bell on the blower from an old friend on a Monday afternoon inviting me to his patch in Mozam, I took a flight after work on the Wednesday… the definition of a whirlwind.