As one would expect, consuming strawberries was a wildly recurrent activity on my recent summer holiday to the UK. From picking them fresh on a farm to enveloping them in clotted cream at a picnic on the lawns of a stately manor, swathed in chocolate at Borough Market in London or savouring them in all their sweet, fragrant glory in a texturally remarkable dessert course (13^th of 15 courses) at Simon Rogan’s 3 Michelin star, L’Enclume, in Cumbria (see accompanying photo).

The strawberries in the UK don’t cost an arm and a leg as they do here in Dubai. I always wince buying a punnet, as it also happens to be one of my son’s favourite things to eat. We tried to introduce him to different options allowing us to save for, oh I don’t know, a deposit on a house. However, he is now into raspberries, so the house will have to wait. Best steer clear of the cherries…

So of course, landing in the UK, readily available, sweet, juicy and irresistible we were eating them daily by the box full, popping them in our mouths like popcorn. Whether it was sustenance for a train ride, car journey or a late-night snack, we always had a box of them to hand. My poor sons’ inhaler didn’t make it through airport customs on our return journey, but a box of strawberries sure did!

History time: the strawberry is a member of the Rosaceae (Rose) family and the scientific name for strawberry is Fragaria × ananassa, the x indicating it is a hybrid, and cultivated as a result from a cross between Fragaria chiloensis and Fragaria virginiana. In the 1600’s, the Virginia strawberry (Fragaria virginiana) of North America reached Europe. A French spy (yes, you read that right), Amédée-François Frézier, brought the Chilean strawberry (Fragaria chiloensis) from Chile to France in 1714. He was sent by King Louis XIV on a reconnaissance mission to Chile, and was also charged with documenting the local flora and fauna. He returned from Chile with five living strawberry plants. Wild strawberries were cultivated as a delicacy in the gardens of the aristocracy and appear in records in the 13th century. Throughout history, strawberries have been a popular subject and object for a still life, with many famous artists depicting them including Manet, Chagall, Freud, Renoir and Coorte.

When I was a kid, my mum used to give me and my sister a bowl of strawberries with a good glug of single cream and a generous sprinkling of sugar. Not the healthiest, but a fond memory of mine growing up. I loved it. Incidentally, strawberries and cream was introduced by Thomas Wolsey, a right-hand man to King Henry VIII. It is believed that he served this dish at a banquet in 1509. It was then served to spectators of tennis matches (at a court in Thomas’ palace). Today, on the topic of tennis, 34.8 tonnes of strawberries are eaten each year at Wimbledon.

We popped into London for a day on our summer hols (what in our overcrowded minds were we thinking), and had to stop by Borough Market, with queues of hungry people packed like sardines. We didn’t stay long but I did pick up some superb Champagne vinegar, which I just can’t find here, so that was a win. What was also amazing to see was literally every second person eating the now viral chocolate covered strawberries. My strawb addicted kiddo clocked them immediately and so we joined the very impressive and efficient production line, in and out in a minute or two at most. I only got to eat one, which was pretty good. They rest were inhaled by a 6-year-old in a matter of seconds.

Our next strawberry fueled experience was an impromptu picnic on the sprawling lawns of Dunham Massey – a 300-acre deer park, historic house and spectacular gardens. We picked a spot after stocking up on homemade pies, fragrant white peaches, strawbs, and clotted cream at a nearby farm shop, at the time not planning on a picnic, thus didn’t have any cutlery. So, there I was on the grand lawns of this stately manor, beautiful sunny day, deer abound and even a harpist playing under a nearby tree, scooping my strawberries directly into a glorious tub of clotted cream with my fingers. Not my classiest moment, picnic etiquette replaced with lush lip-and-finger smacking holiday decadence.

My last and possibly finest memorable strawberry moment was dining at Simon Rogan’s L’Enclume. Situated in a picture-perfect former 13th-century blacksmith workshop in Cartmel, in the beautiful Lake District. 3 Michelin star, 15-course, farm-to-fork perfection.  With dishes like Cherry Belle radish, pickled rose and Chalk Stream trout tart to the utterly mouthwatering Corra Linn (handcrafted sheep’s milk cheese) pudding caramelised in birch sap, stout vinegar and topped with an adornment of aged Corra Linn, soft and powdery like freshly fallen snow. Aquadulce broad beans set atop a bed of fresh curds; Seaweed custard, beef broth and bone marrow with caviar and oysters; Dry aged duck with salted elderberries and the beautifully intricate Malwina strawberries with lemon verbena, Wraysholme yoghurt and sweet herbs (see accompanying photo). An epic lunch culminating with the most beautiful petit fours I have ever laid my eyes upon.  

It was a memorable afternoon of artistic culinary perfection, and a summer holiday to remember.