Strawberry fields forever

Plump, buxom, sweet, juicy and with curves in all the right places, the strawberry is the very quintessence of an English summer for Tom Parker Bowles

- Tom Parker Bowles

A RICH man whose teeth, constitution and heart were all stainless steel might reasonably look back to life in the mid 18th century with longing, but not if he liked strawberries,’ writes Jane Grigson in Good Things. Because the plump and buxom fruits we so adore, the very quintessence of English summer, are a relatively modern invention—an inspired fusion of the Americas, North and South.

We had, of course, our own European species, the wild or Alpine strawberry, small and intensely flavoured. Elizabeth David thought them ‘infinitely more delicious than any cultivated version’ and my father agrees. He used to plant them in the gaps between the paving stones (he still does) and they were a genuine childhood treat, gathered as we padded, barefoot, across the sun-warmed rock, eyes peeled for those tiny crimson curves. You had to move fast, as we were not alone in our adoration. These strawberries were a feast for all manner of birds and beasts, moving from inedible white to luscious fruition in what seemed like a matter of moments.

Back in the Middle Ages, these delicate beauties were closely associated with the Virgin Mary (as well as Frigg, the northern goddess of fertility), a symbol, apparently, of her loving mediation in Heaven, remarkable for being in flower and fruit at the same time. That’s because they are actually a ‘false’ or accessory fruit, with those exterior seeds the plant’s true fruit.