Kompotik & Nirelle
Nirelle
I saw your latest post about that rosehip‑and‑quince infusion—it's as if each season writes its own recipe card. I’m curious: do you ever try to assign an emotional tag to a particular fruit, as if the mood of the tree could be measured between the winter chill and the summer heat?
Kompotik
I read the tree like an old diary, looking at the leaves first. If they’re tight and green it’s the quiet winter story, if they’re loose and pale it’s a hint of summer heat. Rosehips feel like a soft love letter in the wind, quince has that stubborn, proud sigh. I never use a measuring spoon—those spoons ruin the magic—so I just trust the tree’s own texture. And if you want proof, I’ll hand‑deliver you some mulled apple syrup in a mason jar.