Originally Mrs Butler’s recipe, Ruth experimented with added flavours after falling in love with some of Phyrne’s Turkish Delight. A sweet and delicate jam that compliments croissants, scones, and plain bread. This recipe makes approximately 1 litre.
1 kg of strawberries 1 kg of sugar 60 ml of lemon juice 60 ml of rosewater
Wash and dry your strawberries before hulling them. If you prefer chunky jam, half and quarter the berries, but if you prefer smoother jam mash the berries with a potato masher. Place berries, lemon juice and sugar in a large saucepan. Stir mixture and then cover and leave for at least 2 hours or overnight. This allows the sugar and lemon juice to draw the pectin from the berries and makes a nice cohesive jam. After allowing the mixture to steep, place saucepan over a low heat and slowly dissolve the sugar. Make sure to stir the mixture to prevent any sticking or burning. Now add the rosewater and bring mixture to a rolling boil for 10-20 minutes until jam is set*. Skim the scum carefully off the top and throw away. Allow jam to sit for about 10 minutes so the fruit can settle otherwise the berries will float in your jars. Pour into sterilised** jars, seal and allow to cool. This jam can be stored in a cool dark place for up to two years.
* To test whether your jam has set, place a small plate in your fridge as you begin cooking the jam. When you think it might be ready take the plate out and drop a small amount of jam on the plate. Wait a moment then push your finger against one edge of the jam drop. If the drop crinkles as you push it, the jam is set.
** It’s extremely easy to sterilise jars, just wash them in the dishwasher or in the sink then place them on trays in an oven set to approximately 100c (fan forced) and wait about 10 minutes. The jars will be sterilised after this
Friendo, friend, buddy, got anything for midas!gta!gav? I need it like I need air-Bdoesshiphaus
Maaaaaan after seeing your writing i feel like you were asking for the emotionless killer, humanity extinguished by grief, fahchaus kind of Midas-persona but i gotta tell you i read this and still think of Midas!Gavin as Gavin with turn-shit-to-gold powers so i’m very sorry but that’s what you got:
Gavin has been wearing
gloves from the moment Geoff first met him. It’s weird, and Geoff
never believed the claims that he was always cold, but the way the
kid cringes away from physical contact stopped Geoff from pressing.
He figures Gavin has issues with touching people, or is excessively
careful about fingerprints, or has some weird skin condition, and
eventually just stops thinking about it.
As the FAHC grows each
member goes through the same confusion-interest-acceptance cycle, and
the closest Gavin gets to explaining himself is the one time he
angrily pulls off his gloves and flails perfectly normal looking
hands around for a moment after Michael spent all afternoon loudly
theorising about how gross they must be. He storms off to his room,
slamming the door, and by the time anyone notices the new golden
handle on Gavin’s door weeks have passed and they all assume it’s
just another addition to his ridiculous collection.
A collection that has
only grown over time, Gavin’s apparent obsession with gold reaching
everything from his jewellery to his sunglasses to the ridiculous
finishings on his weapons and vehicles. It’s no real surprise when
Gavin gains the moniker of Golden Boy, but it still seems to amuse
him to no end.
They’ve been running
Los Santos together for almost two years when the truth finally comes
out, Gavin coming up behind some thug who had cornered Michael and
Ryan, grabbing the back of his neck with a bare hand before the man
could react. The change is almost instantaneous, gold rushing out
from Gavin’s fingertips so quickly the man can’t even lower his gun
before he is completely engulfed.
There’s a beat of
silence, Michael and Ryan wide eyed and shellshocked, Gavin curling
into himself as he struggled to get his glove back on, the man a
cold, gold statue between them, and then their ride turns up, Jack
hollering out the window as sirens blare in the distance. Ryan snaps
out of it first, yelling at Michael to get Gavin in the fucking van
as he rushes forward to grab the golden man and lug it with him.
The trip back the the
penthouse is uncomfortable to say the least. Michael recounts the
event at top speed, top volume, all flailing hands and incredulous
swearing. Ryan’s dumped his mask and spends the trip going back and
forth between examining the man and squinting curiously at Gavin,
only jumping into Michael’s story when the other’s try to shut him
down, and Gavin.. Gavin shoved himself into the back corner of the
van, hands once again covered and shoved under his arms, glaring down
at his own knees, refusing to answer anyone’s questions.
When they make it home
Ryan thinks they’ll wait till they’re safely upstairs before they
talk things through. This is the FAHC though; they have it out right
there in the garage, loud and annoyed but mostly just really fucking
confused – of all the possible reasons for Gavin’s gloves they
weren’t expecting that.
Between Geoff, Michael and eventually Gavin there is a lot of
shouting, with Jack and Ryan torn between mediating and wanting their
own questions answered, and Jeremy and Ray standing to the side,
poking at the statue.
Gavin swings between
defensive anger and senseless panic, terrified of what they’ll do now
that they all know his secret, know that he’s dangerous,
that he’d have to be worth a fortune to the right person. Which,
honestly, just kicks off the shouting again because what a stupid
idea. What a goddamn moron. As if Gavin wasn’t already dangerous, as
if they weren’t all dangerous. As if they’d let anything under the
sun take him from them let alone give him away.
So eventually Gavin
settles down, tells them he’s always been like this, that he’s got
some control over the power, that it requires some intention so he
can actually hold something bare handed without changing it but it
takes more concentration than he’s prepared to spend every moment of
every day. He tells them that this wasn’t the first human he’s
changed, not even the first he’s changed on purpose. That they don’t
ever change back. Its a serious moment, quiet, Gavin clearly waiting
for their judgement, most of the crew trying to work out how to
explain that this is no different from every other way they kill,
then Ray asks if Gavin’s ever changed a turd and as Gavin splutters
in horror the moment passes.
the statue into the elevator is no easy task, the man’s arms
stretched forward as he aimed his gun, one leg back to brace himself,
jacket flared from the wind; it’s quite the action pose, and the lads
drag reluctant laughter out of Gavin as they do their best to mimic
it on the way up to the penthouse.
What follows is a pretty fierce discussion about
what exactly they should do with the statue. No one feels bad for the
guy, they’d have happily shot him dead if they’d had the chance, but
still the idea of melting him down seems a step too far. Ryan was
pretty keen to chop him up and see if the change went all he way
through but in the end Geoff decides that they’ll stick him in the
lobby like a garish art piece. Because nothing says welcome to our
home like a life-sized gun wielding man made out of solid gold. Ray
want’s to call him Percival, Michael argues that he can’t have almost
lost his life to someone called Percival, Gavin
suggests Squidge Dinglebutt and in the end they somehow settle on
Now that he doesn’t have to explain away their
origin Gavin changes even more of his things, truly embodying his
image as the Golden Boy, and the FAHC never have another problem
scrounging up funds. Gavin still wears his gloves, and outside of the
occasional joke mid-heist they’re all pretty good at keeping his
power a secret, but if the occasional rumour regarding unbelievable
feats and the Fake’s collection of impossibly realistic golden
statues arises, well, George can always use more friends.
Childhood story time: one day my brother pulled the head of one of my Barbies and instead of getting mad, she became Murder Victim Barbie. I’d jam her head back on, have her walk around and do all kinds of crazy shit that would inevitably get her killed and my favorite Barbie, who was a PI (my parents got me a Barbie secretary desk for Eid which DISPLEASED ME so it became her private eye office), would investigate her numerous murders.
My favorite setup was when murder Barbie slept with a married Ken so the jealous wife decapitated ha and left her head in their fridge to warn her husband about fucking around on her/frame the cheating bastard