Nightscrumping

I have a friend who just last week knocked on the front door of a house to enquire about the apple tree in its front garden. It seemed that the entire crop was going to waste; the grass beneath the branches carried the low drone of an army of wasps scratching away deep inside warm, fermenting fruit. In an "I might as well" moment, my friend took a deep breath, knocked on the door and politely asked if he might procure a handful of apples off the tree. "You’re not having any - goodbye" was the sharp and somewhat resolute response - the door was pretty much slammed in his face.

I've spoken before about the garden-bound Pear tree that I pass on my walk to and from the station each day. I enjoy its youthful flourish of blossom each Spring; a confetti-like festoon that scatters tiny petals across the pavement each time the wind blows. I marvel at tiny green fruit droplets that appear on its branches, swelling slowly in the Summer sun as the season drifts into Autumn. I despair as one by one they tumble to the ground, quickly rendered a vinegary sludge by insects, mould and the heavy wheels of a family 4x4.

I freely admit to a bit of light scrumping when the opportunity presents itself. Nothing OTT - just enough to make dessert for the family, or to make the fruit bowl look a little less sorry for itself. So it was by the cover of darkness on Thursday night that I quickly confiscated half a dozen pears from the tree after getting home late from work. The lights of the house were out and the street was still - they tasted all the better for their shifty Moonlit acquisition.

Winter apple cache

Scrumping in the apple orchard

Discovery mustard potatoes

Serves 4

800g potatoes, cubed

1 thinly sliced red onion

2 Discovery apples, cored and cubed

4 tsp wholegrain mustard

Boil the potatoes under a watchful eye - until a sharp knife just about slips through a cube. While you drain the potatoes, have a glug of olive oil heating in a frying pan. Pop the potatoes into the pan; toss gently every few minutes, adding the onion and apples about 10 minutes in. Stir in mustard just before serving. Great with pork chops - not forgetting a glass of crisp cider.

Scrumping spoils

My scrumps

I ran into Old Man Mallet in the apple orchard yesterday. This was a cause for concern as a) my pockets were literally bulging with apples, b) he was carrying a twelve bore shotgun and c) it’s his orchard. As he glided down the footpath towards me I noticed a pair of squirrels hanging lifelessly from his left hand, an observation that did little to settle my unease.

Perhaps I shouldn’t feel guilty. Thousands of apples line the orchard floor; a muggy sweat of rotting fruit thickens the air with dust and vinegar. It’s an alarming amount of waste and a sad indicator of the decline affecting many English orchards; two thirds of which have disappeared in the last three decades.

Scrumping is by definition an act of criminal enterprise, the acquisition of another person’s property without consent. Theft. Robbery. Pilferage. Orchards aside, I’ve had my eye on an old pear tree that sits in the front garden of a house at the end of the road, branches flecked with russety-hued fruit. Surely too many for one household alone, this is becoming increasingly apparent as a mash of squidged fruit drifts up the driveway and across the lawn. Zero chance of confiscating a few pears off the tree though - not without stilts anyway.

This is the essence of conscientious scrumping - “a few”. Two years ago my parents experienced a sorry episode in which the plum tree on the farm was completely stripped of fruit overnight. Less scrumped, more harvested. As part of the bigger picture it’s not that important (at least it wasn’t a van load of tools), but when you’ve spent the summer looking forward to untold crumbles it’s far from ideal.

Is Scrumping a simple gesture of enthusiasm towards oft-wasted food or contemptible, premeditated plunder? I make it away from Mallet unscathed; he’s far more concerned about being late for a game of tennis at the Manor. Fruit looting has won the day, but I’m stuck with an image of him propelling dead squirrels across court with a beaten-about Slazenger. What a way to spend an evening.

Posted on bbcgoodfood.com 25th November 2009