I miss raspberries.
It's not as though you can't get them here, I just miss English raspberries. I miss the promised intensity of flavour that is lacking in the overripe specimens on offer here.
Living in London I found there were two types: the mild sweet ones that burst in your mouth but left you wanting more, and the firm tart ones that made you eat the whole punnet ever desirous of finding another one as awakening as the last.
I miss curling up on my couch with a fresh punnet and systematically devouring them one by one. It was always with care that each raspberry was selected from the punnet, fresh and plump and promising. And then to taste it, the soft velvety fur overwhelmed by the surge of fresh juice as your tongue forced the berry to bursting point against the roof of your mouth. And even when the punnet was empty, there was always the annoyance of realising you still had seeds stuck in the craters of your molars.
I miss the raspberries that made summer bearable.
It's not as though you can't get them here, I just miss English raspberries. I miss the promised intensity of flavour that is lacking in the overripe specimens on offer here.
Living in London I found there were two types: the mild sweet ones that burst in your mouth but left you wanting more, and the firm tart ones that made you eat the whole punnet ever desirous of finding another one as awakening as the last.
I miss curling up on my couch with a fresh punnet and systematically devouring them one by one. It was always with care that each raspberry was selected from the punnet, fresh and plump and promising. And then to taste it, the soft velvety fur overwhelmed by the surge of fresh juice as your tongue forced the berry to bursting point against the roof of your mouth. And even when the punnet was empty, there was always the annoyance of realising you still had seeds stuck in the craters of your molars.
I miss the raspberries that made summer bearable.
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