My beard grows down to my toes,
I never wears no clothes,
I wraps my hair,
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.
– ‘My Beard’, Shel Silverstein. (source)
When I saw their Saturday morning spread on Twitter, I had to go to The Fields Beneath right away. Even though much of London whinges each time it gets a little dusting of snow, life obviously goes on–many of the baked goodies had been snaffled up by the time we got there at some time past noon. We took the last custard doughnut and one filled with rhubarb and rose jam, an apt combination for the British winter. The doughnuts are quite something: if I recall correctly they are delivered unfilled to the shop, whereupon the doughnuts are stuffed with either home-made custard or preserves from The London Borough of Jam. When we came here before Christmas we had plum and thyme jam doughnuts, which were exceptional–just the right amount of sweet fruit and tang in the filling, while the doughnut itself was light and tender, satisfying in a way that only perfectly fried and properly risen yeasted doughs can manage.
As we were paying up, Gavin mentioned that Shel Silverstein wrote the song that was currently playing. I had no idea that Silverstein also did songs, only charming poems like the one that began this post. It pleased me to know this. What pleased me further was that Gavin then offered us a slice of chocolate cake to take home. The cake was meant to have sold out the day before but was still perfect, if a little dry, he told us. He doesn’t want to waste anything. I don’t like waste, either, but what I do like is chocolate cake, so why would I ever say no to a suggestion like that?
You know when you look at old photos and feel nostalgia? I feel the same thing, but for food. Especially doughnuts. All doughnuts, all the time. If not doughnut, then cake. Yes.
The Furious Pear Pie 
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