We love chilies and its difficult to buy them in this part of France because they don't like them. They say "Ça Pique" and they grimace and shudder.  So we grow our own in the polytunnel. One year we had a poor crop and I was forced to resort to Thierry who sells olives and preserved lemons and pickled lupin seeds and tapenade on Arras market. He also sells pickled green chili peppers from time to time, which from past experience have been underwhelming

I asked him if he had any hot ones. Grinning round at his other customers he said kindly "Are they for your husband". Nice to know that misogyny had found a home and was alive and kicking.

"They are for me" I said in a superior tone and he handed me one to try. I am used to chilies, I even have them on cheese on toast, but something in his face made me proceed with caution. I smiled, bit a chunk off the end and held my breath while I chewed. I am a singer and boy can I hold my breath.  This one was a bitch and as soon as I bit into it I knew, and he knew and he looked deeply into my eyes and smiled the smile of A WINNER. I felt a cough in the back of my throat and still smiling pleasantly, forced it back because one cough would lead to a spasm of coughs and watering eyes and misogyny would win and I wasn't having any of that.

All around us his many interested customers now had no intentions of leaving.

Breathe out slowly through nostrils. Breathe in slowly through nostrils. I bit off another chunk, all common sense gone. The cough was screaming for attention, eyes demanding to be able to water. Only bloody-mindedness and pride kept me upright instead of bent double, coughing like a bronchitic hag. I chewed the chew of A WINNER and he gave in.

"She hasn't even gone red" he said admiringly to the crowd

And they all said "Oh La La".

"I'll take 10" I said and clamped my mouth shut on cough and tears and breath.

Back in the safety of my stall I threw 70cts at Chrystelle opposite for a pot of natural yoghurt and upended it into my mouth to make the pain go away.

In 2017 we had a glut so I pickled tons and froze tons. This year I needed the space in the freezer and so had 2 kilos of assorted frozen Jalapeno, Cayenne and Basque chilies and a jar of evil, unidentified ones we call yellow bastards which are so far off the Richter scale of hotness that the bag is marked "ONLY USE ONE" and to process them I was considering buying one of those cabinets that has long rubber gloves fitted so you can play with nuclear waste unharmed.

"Chili Sauce" I said, "I'll make chili sauce".

"How?" said Dave'

"No Idea" I replied "but it'll involve rubber gloves."

This was for us, not my customers, so please don't try this at home.

I chopped the chilies. Fished about in the cupboards and unearthed a bag of sun-dried tomatoes. Yes they can go in. Bag of sad-looking hard, shriveled , ready-to-eat dried figs? "Yep you too" I said warming to the task.

Onions, garlic  . . . . yes, yes and oh lots of garlic, 2 litres of Davey's home-made cider vinegar and sugar.

Simmered it for 20 minutes and didn't like the taste. Figs. I hate figs. That's why they were hiding in the cupboard in the first place.

Why did I put figs in it? I thought they'd just add a bit of sweetness. I fished out every piece I could find and added couple of cupfuls of chopped dried dates, more sugar and just for the hell of it, about half a cup of lemon juice . . . . getting there . . . but . . .  . .

Found some tamarind in the drawer. No idea where or why I bought it. Opened the packet. tasted it. Sort of hard brown sour stuff.

Chucked that in. Added more dates and more sugar. Not hot enough. Added 1 yellow bastard. Nope.  Added two. Nope. Tipped whole jar in. 

Oh man that's better  ...... Aaaaagh. May have gone too far. Was unable to feel the top of my head.

I simmered it down until it was an unappetising brown slurry which I put through the blender and then sieved as some of the seeds had survived the blend.

Oh. It is utterly divine and everyone who tastes is says

"You should sell this its wonderful".

"Well" I say "If I could remember the recipe, I would".

I do have 20 large jars of it,  so when we start to run out I can have another go so lomg as I can remember where I put the

tamarind.