I firmly believe that berries taste best just seconds after they have been picked from the bush.
I wait patiently all summer, watching the green orbs of raspberries and strawberries, growing in leafy hollows behind the water tanks in our backyard. Finally, one day near the beginning of autumn, they are all a deep red.
When I go to pick the raspberries, I am no longer patient. I do not wait to eat them inside. Instead I stand there, listening to the wind and the bees and the squeak of the washing line as it turns round. These outside noises - combined with the first sharp burst of raspberry flavour on my tongue - these two separate sensory experiences go together like peas in a pod.
