Today we were spurred into action by the news that there was an impending blackberry disaster.
We were too late for the raspberries in the park, and our haul was tragically small.
But it’s definitely several weeks too soon for blackberries. I think that’s a pretty normal colour for this time of year when you’re 800 feet up the side of the Pennines. The berries do look small though.
Just when we thought our hunter-gatherer expedition was doomed to failure, we found the bilberries. Unlike the raspberries and the blackberries, the bilberries were just right.
Images of child labour. Again. It’s a bit of a recurring theme here.
The trouble with bilberries is that they are tiny. (Oh, so tiny…) We decided it must be like celery, with more energy being used in their procurement than they could possibly yield.
Bilberries turn your fingers purple.
And your face.
When we got home, Big Girl made bilberry muffins. They were kind of a riff on this recipe, but we used raspberry yoghurt, and sugar without vanilla, and baking powder, because somebody had used up all the bicarb making volcanoes (this is why recipes are rarely adhered to in our house…)
When they were done, she added a lemon and sugar drizzle, and (this is how we know she’s my daughter) arranged them artistically for a photograph.
Much fruitier than your average muffin.
They disappeared very quickly.
I was enjoying my food blogging so much I photographed the rest of our tea too.
Homemade burgers, with a side of ratatouille.
And when I searched in the cupboard for something to go on the top, I found this, which had been maturing nicely for a couple of months. Thank you, Liz!
Being a domestic goddess is so much easier in the holidays.