WHEN I first became interested in gardening, Jane Grigson’s Vegetable Book and Fruit Book were my kitchen inspirations.
‘One thing I should like to do is to eat a ripe apricot straight from the tree,’ she wrote in the latter, which had me planting a tree and fulfilling her ambition only a couple of years later.
It was one of the revelatory moments that drew me into how truly special it can be to grow some of what you eat. Apricots, picked sun-warm, fresh from the tree, maybe less thirst-quenching and refreshing than nectarines and peaches, but they have a special, deep, honeyed richness that’s far beyond those in the shops.
As with peaches and nectarines, most apricots are picked for sale before they’re fully ripe. They may soften after this, but the flavour and aroma never reach the heights they do on the tree. This is what makes growing your own so special: you get to pick apricots on the day—and not a moment before—that they reach their perfect peak.
Alexander the Great introduced apricots to Europe, but they’re a touch marginal in this country and, although pockets were grown in the 13th and the 16th centuries, it wasn’t until the 19th century that they became established here in the gardens of grander estates.
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