As predicted, my personal berry patch proved insufficient to satisfy my cravings for all things strawberry. Each and every one when straight from sunny patch to tummy – no pit stops. And certainly never saw the kitchen. So off we went to Emma Lea Farms on Westham Island to pick our fill.
I had visions of berry picking as being this romantic, pastoral experience – a lovely Saturday morning in the country with my man. Not quite. The patch was beautiful and rammed with equally beautiful strawberry-smeared munckins, alternatively squealing with delight at each berry found and screaming bloody murder as someone else, sibling or otherwise, picked one that I saw first!!
Needless to say, not quite the morning I envisioned. Nevertheless, we picked on (perhaps a bit quicker than we’d planned) and left with a huge, heavy flat of lovely berries for just over 30 bucks. The truck ride home was drunk with the smell of warm, slightly squashed berries. Divine.
And then we got them home and realized – this is a LOT of strawberries. Which brings us to the inevitable consequences; intended or otherwise.
But before we could do anything we had to prepare the berries for their reincarnation . . .
Our weekend was spent shucking, sorting, washing, bagging, slicing, mashing, freezing, jamming and sorbet-ing berries. Turned up the radio, made a big pot of coffee and just went for it.
Some people might say we’re crazy spending all this time making our own food when we can just as easily drive down to Pricemart and pick up whatever our hearts desire. But that brings us to the other unintended consequence of our berry picking; once you realize how satisfying it is to harvest and prepare your own food, and taste the difference, its pretty hard to go back to business as usual.
Check out upcoming postings for the details on how we processed our berries.