Strawberries are a disarmingly modest but luxurious fruit. At their best they should be home-grown, caressed by the summer sun on their beds of straw to the most brilliant ruby colour so that you smell them on the air before you see them: like melons, nectarines and pineapples the nose detects their ripeness before the tongue. We seem to think of them, quite wrongly, as quintessentially British. We serve them at Wimbledon and Ascot at outrageous price, take them on picnics, mash them up with meringue to make Eton mess. Is it because they are synonymous with the fragile and precarious midsummer that we love them so much? Do they symbolise our national obsession with the weather and our pursuit of the sun?
Like the cherry, the strawberry is sometimes listed as one of the fruits of Paradise, associated with the Blessed Virgin because the fruit simultaneously symbolises purity and fertility. It combines the magic colours of red and green: life and resurrection, the renewal of the vital force. Strawberries are embroidered on Desdemona’s fatal handkerchief, the enchanted cloth given to Othello’s mother by an Egyptian. Strawberries appear in fairy tales and nursery rhymes ( “Goldilocks, Goldilocks wilt thou be mine?”); are the second most popular flavour in ices; feature in one of Jane Austen’s most comic episodes in “Emma”. Esther Rantzen used to tell an anecdote to illustrate Fanny Cradock’s supreme disagreeableness : offered jewel-like wild strawberries at a luncheon, the great cook waved them away with a dismissive, “darling, I ate them for breakfast.” It was a insult to a national institution, Britannia slapped in the face. And the fruit is healthy, one of your five a day, excellent for the skin whether eaten or applied as a face packs. Full of trace elements, with even a trace of the traces in strawberry jam as Dame Edna used to say.
Sweet strawberries versus the tarter raspberry: the childish and the slightly more sophisticated and adult. Both are quietly used in modern perfumery, to give an impression of innocence, the carefree and the playful: une fete champetre in the manner of a Fragonard idyll. “Soft berries” is the blanket term you often see, as in Lalique’s Amethyste, and Dior’s very edible Cherie which melds popcorn and strawberry sorbet. I love Andy Tauer’s ROSE VERMEILLE – the name is so perfect for a start, vermeille meaning both the brilliant red of bursting fruit, and the process of gilding silver to fashion a fairy dish ideal for this gourmand floral. ROSE VERMEILLE is a posy of roses and violets placed atop a bowl of raspberries and strawberries picked in a Swiss forest, dusted with whipped cream sweetened with sugar and vanilla. The bottle contains crystalline glass beads which add to the fantastical nature of the perfume experience: a basket of flowers and fruit picked by Hansel and Gretel or sent by angels from St Dorothy in the Heavenly Gardens.
Image: Wikimedia Commons