If ever there was a sign that Summer is almost here, it's the sight of punnets of fragrant Irish strawberries lining the Supermarket shelves and strawberry stalls by the roadside (and I say 'amost here' because in spite of what I had to learn by rote in Primary School, for me, Summer begins with June rather than May). The availability of different fruit and veg all year round - including strawberries - provides a false sense of 'aren't we lucky?'. There's nothing remotely lucky about the taste (or lack thereof) of strawberries from Spain or elsewhere, outside of the natural growing season in Ireland. They may look the part, but in terms of fragrance and flavour, they reveal themselves to be imposters. Many things in life are worth waiting for (nothing wrong with a bit of delayed gratification) and strawberries in season is one of them. On the baking front, strawberries need little help (and even less heat, unless you want to make jam). They benefit from being up-front and au naturel in any recipe worth its salt - strawberries and cream anyone? All you have to do is peruse any baking book and you'll find a variation of one or other of the following recipes: no-bake strawberry cheesecake (with the berries both in and on top), strawberry cake (with the fresh berries as a filling and very occasionally in the sponge itself) and strawberries on a Pavlova or served with meringues and cream. Strawberries, when in season, have a scent and taste that's all their own and need no further embellishment - a juicy, plump red berry popped straight into the mouth is one of life's simple pleasures.
For some reason, thinking about strawberries dredged up a childhood memory of fancy paper. Now for those of you who didn't grow up in Ireland in the late 70s / early 80s, you might be wondering what on earth I'm talking about, so a quick recap. The basic premise was that young girls would set about collecting 'fancy paper', i.e. pretty stationery. The variety of sizes, shapes, designs and colours were infinite, with some designs produced as sets. Thus, for example, you might have the same design but different colours or perhaps the same character in different poses or situations. Some of the designs were strawberry-related (the Strawberry Shortcake girl) and even strawberry-scented, which probably explains my mind's wanderings. It sounds very straightforward, but there was a whole set of rules and a hierarchy among collectors and things could get quite heated indeed. The ultimate goal was to collect as many sheets as possible of different designs and to complete a set if you could - for no other reason than to have them to look at and to show off to everyone else. At the very top of the fancy-paper pile were the lucky (smug) few who had copious amounts of fancy paper, with a wide range and complete sets of especially rare designs or even (gasp) a brand new pad of a particular 'fancy paper' (which they could dole out pityingly, if the mood took them, to the poorer citizens of Fancy Paper Land). In the middle were the majority (me included), who had one or two prized possessions (the fisherboy was one that stands out - he was quite the rarity) in an otherwise mediocre collection (which was none the more precious for its mediocrity). At the bottom were the younger girls who were only beginning their collections and who had to rely on the generosity of others to slowly build it up. We all felt so sorry for the beginners (Imagine having no fancy paper! The horror!!) that each of us would contribute and reluctantly part with a piece or two (usually a least favourite or less valuable piece to be honest, so not that generous really).
Swapping was the principal means of improving your collection: 'I'll give you three small heart-shaped strawberry-scented sheets in pink with a picture of a small girl in a bonnet, for one colour sheet showing the labrador puppy' (some of the puppy collection were damn hard to get your hands on, especially the colour ones - black and white were two-a-penny). We would gather outside on Summer days, on a picnic blanket on the grass, weather permitting (and in my mind, the sun was always shining), or in the dining room of our house, all seated on the carpet. We would spread our fancy paper collections in front of us, prized sheets proudly placed in prominent positions, and commence bargaining and swapping like the sharpest market traders. Given this early introduction to trading, you would think I'd be better at bargaining and the like now, but alas, no such luck. I think it must be a natural born talent - you either have it or you don't (I guess that's why my collection was never top-drawer).
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| Eton Mess |
The term 'mess' may well refer to its appearance, as it's not a looker (as you can see in the photo). You could dicky it up by serving it in a pretty stemmed dessert glass, with a few fresh strawberries placed on top for colour, though I had to serve it in a cup due to a lack of crockery (needs must - any port in a storm and all that). The more likely derivation for the word, though, can be found in its older meanings: 'mess' can also be used in the sense of a quantity of food, particularly a prepared dish of soft food or a mixture of ingredients cooked or eaten together. In the 15th century, the word was even used to describe a group of people who eat together (hence the modern military application of 'soldiers' mess' as a place where soldiers gather to cook or eat).
Whatever its origins and whatever it looks like, this dish is second to none when it comes to foodie pleasures. I made us up an Eton Mess when we were in Kenmare last weekend - words could not do justice to the experience, so all I can say is get yourself some fabulous Irish strawberries, fresh cream and meringue and see for yourself. (Shop-bought meringues will do in this instance, though I would never normally advocate buying them from a shop). It's quick and it's easy and since the strawberry season doesn't last forever, go make a mess.
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