Blackberries are starting to darken on the brambles again and that means the end of summer is near. There is something about seeing those deep purple clusters hiding among the leaves that stirs a feeling in me that is both joy and nostalgia. For me the blackberry season has always been more than just a harvest. It is a reminder of long walks along country lanes, scratched fingers from reaching too far into the hedge, and the sweet burst of flavour when you pop one straight into your mouth.
In the Celtic world blackberries have their place in tradition. They grow wild in all of our nations and for generations they were gathered by hand and turned into jams, tarts, wines and cordials. My grandmother always said the best berries were the ones picked in early September when they were fat with the last warmth of the sun. There is an old belief that after a certain date in autumn the berries are no longer good to eat because the fae or the devil has claimed them. Whether or not you believe it there is something magical in treating the season as fleeting and precious.
Blackberries fresh from the bramble
I like to use blackberries in both sweet and savoury cooking. A handful stirred through oatmeal gives a sharp burst to a comforting breakfast. A blackberry and cider glaze works beautifully on roast pork. For the pop up kitchen this year I am working on a blackberry and smoked sea salt sauce to drizzle over a bannock slider. That balance of sharp fruit and savoury richness feels true to the land we come from.
So as the hedgerows start to darken I will be out there gathering the first of the crop knowing that each berry carries a piece of our history and a taste of home.
Pan Celtic Cuisine 