Last of the season

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Whenever I see the bilberry mentioned online or in books, it often seems to be preceded by the word ‘humble’. The humble bilberry. And I can never work out why, because surely something which isn’t generally commercially available, which likes to grow in inaccessible places, which has a famously short season and is terribly laborious and messy to pick, staining everything it touches with its black bull’s blood juice – surely that is the opposite of humble? A demanding, awkward little fruit.

For anyone unfamiliar with this hardy wild delicacy, the bilberry is a sort of miniature blueberry that grows on squat bushes in the moorlands and woods of northern places. I’ve also heard them called blaeberries, and seen them appearing on menus in Scandinavia as whortleberries.

In my granny’s day, you used to be able to buy big jars of Polish bilberries from supermarkets, but I’ve never seen these, and I wonder if it’s just us who’ve gone off them, or whether the Poles have too. Perhaps I should have a nose round some Polski skleps and see what I can find. Anyway, the only way I know of to taste them is to find some on the moors and pick them yourself. [Update Jan 2016: my stepfather has discovered a Polish man selling the canned variety from a stall in Leeds market!]

Sometime in August is usually their season, but blink and you’ll miss them. There’s no reliable ripening time, so you just have to keep your eyes open when you’re out and hope for the best. Picking them is tedious too, and the most efficient method is my mum’s old trick of taking a couple of small boys with you and selling it to them as a really fun game.

As luck would have it, I came across a late season crop just last Friday. I’d been strolling over the top of Goathland Moor, past the bronze age stone circle and burial ground at Simon Howe and down to the Roman road of Wade’s Causeway on Wheeldale Moor, then as I cut back east through a wide Forestry Commission plantation, I came upon a big area of bilberry bushes among the ranks of conifers. Maybe it was the dark, sheltered conditions, or the lack of people, but after half an hour combing my way through the September spiderwebs I had purple-black hands and a sandwich box full of berries.

Some people make jams or sauces from them, but for my money the best way to eat bilberries is to pile them into a dish, scoop some sugar on top, then stick on a simple crumble topping (just butter, flour and soft brown sugar – none of these chewy, oaty versions) and bake it ’til the juice bleeds through.

I think I might have had my last purple tongue of the season, but there’s always next summer.

3 comments on "Last of the season"

  1. Well done, sir! The last time I came across bilberries in the UK was on a heather-covered terrace during a rather taxing scramble up to the Carn Mor Dearg arête, en route to the summit of Ben Nevis. I got rather excited but had no time to stop and pick. This year all I’ve foraged has been a handful of sloes for this year’s gin batch and copious quantities of blackberries. One of the things I miss most about Gilwell is the opportunity to take advantage of its abundance of wild fruit. Last year I left Fozzy to his sloes and Justin to his blackberries and instead loaded up on elderberries (which make a delicious cordial) and tucked away in a corner of Essex Chase, I even found bullace, a small wild plum that made some excellent vodka. Ah…


    1. I miss the Gilwell bounty too. Even those sour little wildling apples were good for sauces. And speaking of elderberries, have you tried infusing vodka with those? You need quite a bit of sugar, but it makes a lovely bitter drink, sort of like hedgerow Campari. In other news, you should definitely come and see me up here – great walking and there’s always some little morsel waiting to be picked en-route. Had hawthorn sauce with my roast pork last week. Though I do wish I knew more about mushrooms (I’m always too scared to pick them…)


      1. Hedgerow Campari, eh? Sounds positively delectable. Thanks for the tip, old chap – definitely one to try next year. Well, it sounds as though you’re having a grand time tramping about God’s own county, and I must confess that I am extremely jealous. I would dearly love to come up and visit – but can a weekend do it justice? Regrettably I’ve used up all my annual leave until the new year now – a week in Wales earlier this month was the last of it.


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