I stood in the kitchen last night and chatted to Betty as she readied herself to produce what looks to become a zany quantity of homemade gooseberry jam. The many pounds of fruit required for this operation came from the vines/bushes/plants at old Davey’s house, further down the lane. Davey is the same kindly gent who supplied us with the delicious rhubarb for our pie the other week. We like Davey.
I can’t recall ever having seen a gooseberry before I arrived in Scotland. I think that if I had encountered it ‘in the wild’ I never would have thought you could eat it. To me, a gooseberry looks like a cross between an eyeball and a hairy green grape. Something you’d throw at someone you didn’t like much, not necessarily something you’d choose to eat.
Needless to say, I was not inclined to sample one last night. And it’s weird, because normally I’m quite courageous with my diet. In truth, I think it’s the fact that the berries were green that turned me off. Did that mean they were unripe? I didn’t think to ask Betty at the time. Maybe you make gooseberry jam with unripe berries, I don’t know. Maybe gooseberries go green when they ripen - oh there are so many things I clearly have to learn.
In any case, I didn’t try a berry last night while supervising Jam Production Stage One. Instead I left that to Armand, who crept into the kitchen like the wee sneak he is, and slyly gobbled some of the berries we’d so carefully measured into ice-cream containers. After some yelling and exasperated fist-shaking at the sky, all much to Armand’s amusement of course, we re-measured the berries and were back in business. I think I was promoted from Passive Observer to Gooseberry Guard from that point onwards.
So now we’re at the stage where the jam production begins in earnest. I’m talking about a massive saucepan on the stove, and so much sugar to pour into it that my teeth hurt at the mere thought. Still, while I was too cowardly to try the gooseberry in its ‘natural’ state, something tells me I’ll slap the gooey, jammy goodness on some toast no worries at all!
I can’t recall ever having seen a gooseberry before I arrived in Scotland. I think that if I had encountered it ‘in the wild’ I never would have thought you could eat it. To me, a gooseberry looks like a cross between an eyeball and a hairy green grape. Something you’d throw at someone you didn’t like much, not necessarily something you’d choose to eat.
Needless to say, I was not inclined to sample one last night. And it’s weird, because normally I’m quite courageous with my diet. In truth, I think it’s the fact that the berries were green that turned me off. Did that mean they were unripe? I didn’t think to ask Betty at the time. Maybe you make gooseberry jam with unripe berries, I don’t know. Maybe gooseberries go green when they ripen - oh there are so many things I clearly have to learn.
In any case, I didn’t try a berry last night while supervising Jam Production Stage One. Instead I left that to Armand, who crept into the kitchen like the wee sneak he is, and slyly gobbled some of the berries we’d so carefully measured into ice-cream containers. After some yelling and exasperated fist-shaking at the sky, all much to Armand’s amusement of course, we re-measured the berries and were back in business. I think I was promoted from Passive Observer to Gooseberry Guard from that point onwards.
So now we’re at the stage where the jam production begins in earnest. I’m talking about a massive saucepan on the stove, and so much sugar to pour into it that my teeth hurt at the mere thought. Still, while I was too cowardly to try the gooseberry in its ‘natural’ state, something tells me I’ll slap the gooey, jammy goodness on some toast no worries at all!
2 comments:
Gaarbi,
I can't believe you are showing an interest in making jam. You have either finished all your books or you really need to get out for a night on the town and consume a fair quantity of alcohol!!
Sock darning.
I know, it's pathetic.
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