Making Summer Pudding
Crouched on an upturned bucket, fingers stained, I weigh the rival claims of summer fruit: blackcurrants smell of old tom cat, but gleam glossy as toe-caps on a soldier's boot; delicious on their own, their forceful zest can dominate a mix, and sometimes wreck the subtle character of milder tastes — would-be dictators must be kept in check.
Raspberries and redcurrants, paired in heaven — the Romeos and Juliets of the punnet — have the ingredients for a perfect marriage like rhyme and meter joining in a sonnet.
Strawberries, for me, are sovereigns of the clan: snow-capped with sugar, avalanched in cream or gorged in secret underneath the net — forbidden fruit of all our childhood dreams.
I'll blend my fruit together in a pan, spoon it in bread-lined bowls and pack down tight; add weights — heavy as age — to draw the juice and hope for once I get life's balance right!
Mary Sheepshanks
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