I’ve always associated Branston with Branston Pickle though I have absolutely no evidence to suggests that there is a real link between the two. Maybe there is a small shed at the bottom of someone’s garden that opens into an enormous Tardis like pickle making factory. Don’t knock it. Could be true.
I’ve always been a fan of Branston pickle although since I discovered Delia Smiths Spicy Plum Chutney recipe we hardly ever buy the commercial product. It’s a fact that you discover over the years that whilst something shop bought might taste good it is rarely as good as the stuff you can make yourself at home. With the Davies’ this applies to pasta and even recently, yoghurt which when made at home are vastly superior to anything you can buy.
The chutney was our first discovery along these lines. Having made my first batch I tasted it and it was pretty yucky. I then left if for a few months and wow! Fantastic. Pasta had the same result. We bought a pasta making machine. It didn’t make the dough but it rolled it out like a mangle and then had fittings that shaped the sheets into tagliatelli, angel hair etc. Serious result.
Only this week my wife Anne made her first yoghurt. Sounds very alternative doesn’t it? The resultant yoghurt is great though. Tastes a lot more natural than anything you get in the shops. When you think of it all there is is milk and a bit of fruit chucked in. No sugar, stabilisers, thickeners, preservatives etc. I added some freshly picked raspberries from the garden and hey presto I had a healthy breakfast.
I digress. I only have two memories of Branston, neither of which are particularly clear. I once went to a wedding reception at Branston Hall Hotel. The very nature of these evenings are that you remember very little about them. I think a good time must have been had. Not been back since.
The other time was during the 1980s when Lincoln Rugby Club had its players dinner there one year. My only recollection of that night was remembering seeing someone had fallen asleep in one of the toilet cubicles. Not something you want to do at a rugby club dinner. I suspect he would have been woken up by water being chucked over the top.
I’m also pretty sure that they grow spuds in the area – only because I’ve seen lorries with Branston Potatoes written on the side.
So that’s it. Branston, a place you pass through on the way to Blankney Golf Club.