The real straw-berry
|May 26, 2015|
I spent thirty years of my life in a part of the world dedicated to the strawberry: Watsonville, home of Driscoll berries. However, it was not until I came to England that I met the true berry, the English berry, pale and acidic and short-lived. When you buy a packet of them here, the label says not only the specific variety, but where it was grown. And sometimes, the berries reveal that, despite the plastic punnet and the sealed film lid, they have still been grown on the traditional straw:
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I love the big, sweet Driscoll’s. These are little, very pretty, but I don’t think I’d like acidic.
Best tasted with a dollop of real Cornish clotted cream……
I discovered them in the markets (what we would call farmer’s markets) in York. Compared to the real strawberries, modern American strawberries are huge, mealy, sour, and not even the right color except for the very edges of the fruit. English strawberries are small, sweet, tasty, and pink all the way through.
My experience with strawberries has been with the “real” kind…there are pick-your-own strawberry fields just 2 k up the road from our place here in the Wisconsin countryside. We have a ringside (or roadside) seat to the intense work and preparation that goes into bringing this beautiful crop into fruition. And when that day comes (usually by mid-June), cars line up and generations gather with buckets and cardboard flats to harvest the fruity jewels for jams, jellies, pies, and fruitcakes. I love to listen to the chatter of grandmothers, mothers, and children (and sometimes a willing dad) explain on how big, and how beautiful, and how tasty. My husband and I glut ourselves on strawberry shortcake for breakfast for a week…and then the season is over.
I have had wild strawberries, just tiny nuggets of acidity. Super tasty, best I have ever had.