Picked in the morning. In the jar by lunch.One copper pot, one fruit a month, sugar, lemon, nothing else. The date on the lid is the day it was picked, not the day it was packed.
Buy this month's jarCopper conducts heat so quickly that the fruit reaches setting point before the colour cooks out of it. Eight minutes at a rolling boil. The plate test decides, not the clock.
One fruit, three ways, for four weeks. When the strawberries stop, so does this page, and July's raspberries take over. We don't hold stock; there's nothing to hold.
Fruit left in halves. Sets soft, spreads loose. The one to have on bread with butter under it.
Twelve turns of the mill in the last minute. Not hot; just awake. For cheese, or a spoon.
The juice that runs off overnight, reduced with half the sugar. A tablespoon in fizzy water. Also, in the freezer, an ice lolly.
A batch is what the pot holds: nine kilos of fruit, forty jars. We make two a day in season and none out of it.
This month's fruit. Posted the week it's made, in paper, no bubble wrap.
Mixed from this month's three, or six of the one you like. Post free.
One jar a month, eleven months. March is a card explaining why there's no jar in March.
Strawberry, until the strawberries stop. Around the last week of June, probably. Then raspberries, and this page changes.
Buy this month's jar