by James Alexander-Sinclair
It's blackberry time - not those machines, without which many "suits" would feel emasculated, but fat berries swollen by rain and aching for crumble.
It's blackberry time - not those machines, without which many "suits" would feel emasculated, but fat berries swollen by rain and aching for crumble.
The blackberry bramble is a weed, and the perfect example of a plant simply growing in the wrong place. If you're unfortunate enough to have one growing in your garden you should hack it out immediately. I have a particularly persistent bramble hiding in one of my borders and I assure you that grasping it with an un-gloved hand causes a lot of damage and a decent helping of pain. However, a bramble scrambling through hedgerows or the edges of woodland, where it's doing no harm is loved by everybody.
The bramble is extraordinarily vigorous. It uses its thorns as grappling hooks to pull it across neighbouring plants, as illustrated in the David Attenborough documentary The Private Life of Plants. But it's the berries we're after. I'm lucky to have lots of hedgerows growing near where I live, so I collect plenty of fruit at this time of year. Obviously we have blackberry and apple crumble, but my wife (I'm a rubbish cook) also does something divine with little sponge puddings and another with mascarpone. I can easily dig out recipes if anybody wants them.
There are some garden-friendly varieties of bramble, such as Loch Ness, which are slightly less impertinent in habit and can yield much larger fruit. For the tastiest berries grow the plants in full sun. And if you're out blackberrying in the wild, don't bother picking fruit from north-facing brambles.
The bramble's main problem is, of course, its spikiness. But provided you have a big enough garden then even this can become an advantage. There are some fabulous varieties grown for their stems, notably Rubus thibetianus, which has a spectral white sheen to its stems that looks wonderful in the grey days of winter.
All the same, I'll always prefer picking wild berries. The combination of fresh air, a fair bit of mud (especially this year), the danger of toppling into a prickly ditch and the temptation of eating the plumpest berry before you get home is a real joy. There's bit of light philosophy involved as well as you wonder why, oh why the best berries are always just out of reach.
See more comments...
