This year will be remembered for many important news events – the snow, Gareth Southgate’s waistcoat, that massive puddle outside Hammersmith tube station – but for me, it will always be the year of the fruit.
The heatwave may feel like a freakish dream, but its legacy lingers on in the bumper harvest of free food in our hedgerows and urban scrublands: damsons, sloes and, above all, blackberries, still going strong in London after six solid weeks of picking. (The same heatwave ripened the commercial crop a month early, which is why they have now been replaced by fruit from central America in many supermarkets, even as the edges of their carparks burst with wild berries.)
The problem with ripe blackberries, however, is that they are best eaten fresh off the bush – they don’t hang around long, and apparently there are only so many crumbles that some people can eat. You can freeze your haul, of course – spread them out on a tray so they don’t clump together before decanting into a bag once solid – but as yet they haven’t made it that far in my kitchen. There are just so many other treats to tick off first.
The most versatile solution to a rapidly disintegrating glut is a quick compote: put the fruit in a pan with 25g sugar (or honey) per 250g, plus 100ml water and simmer until soft. Then mix in more sugar and lemon juice to taste. It is great for swirling through yoghurt or whipped cream to make a fool, stirring into an ice-cream base or pouring over porridge or breakfast pancakes. (For an even simpler breakfast, add blackberries to bircher mueslialong with milky cobnuts and the usual grated apple: autumn in a bowl.)
Stick a handful in the roasting tin when cooking seasonal game such as pheasant, venison or partridge for a deliciously fruity gravy, or make an inkydressing for salads by mashing up a handful and adding to a balsamic vinaigrette with a splash of walnut oil – particularly good with creamy goat’s cheeses, cured meats and duck.
For more read the full of article at The Guardian
