After a long couple of weeks spent preparing our little Wellfleet dacha for the first of the summer’s round of tenants (there’s always an awful lot to do after a year’s benign neglect), the lovely Nina and I got back to Gotham late tonight to find that the huge mulberry tree in our backyard had tipped over, and is now leaning against the house. The matter is complicated by the fact that, this being an attached row-house, our tiny yard is not accessible from the street.
This will be “interesting”, I fear.
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I hear chainsaws.
It is a matter of how large a piece you can drag through the house.
I wasn’t gonna comment but … Bill, in the Ozarks that’d qualify as a LOL.
(Looking at the brewspew, “that’d” shouldn’t be taken a contraction for ‘that would’ rather, ‘that did.’)
Bill, we find out tomorrow.
If you can manage it Malcolm (you’ll likely need to slip it out of the city kinda like 16oz soda-pops) cured mulberry wood wafts an “almost” incensey candle-like mood to a living room.
Best “chunked” for smoking fish on a grill mulberry wood, but that being sorta like moonshinerish you’d likely substitute balsamic vinegar. Your NY Chef’s I’m betting, don’t know the difference.
But. Mulberries are tomatoes except they grow on trees. Plainly not nuts as “most NYC-kers” might/likely assign to plain-ol’ Hillbillys’d recognize – Mulberrywood Roasted (smoked) Venison is, down here – an edible art-form.
Stack that Mulberry wood Malcolm separate. So many NY Chefs tout “fruitwood” (apple, cherry, peach) as the oh, I dunno, “proper”…