Skip to main content

Singing the blackberry sorbet song

blackberry sorbet
I have made something extra-ordinary and I am singing about it because I want you to make it too and listen to you sing. Extra-ordinary because it does not taste as I imagined it would. Blackberries and sugar syrup combine to make so much more than themselves. Nothing at all like blackberry jam or jelly. It is floral. It is rich. It is like the happy endings of fairy tales. It is almost beyond words but I'll keep searching: it is the taste of deep summer, it is church bells at a wedding, it is the silence after a firework show. It is the song you hum before you fall asleep under a starry sky. It is the perfumed bramble of sweetness. 

You have to help me out here:

Boil 240 ml of water in a saucepan, remove from the heat and stir in 250 gr of white granulated sugar until it's completely dissolved. Leave to cool then chill.

Pop about a pound of washed blackberries (sorry about the shift from Metric to Imperial: I'm a child of the 60s, what can I say?) into a blender and purée then mix with the chilled sugar syrup and a couple of tablespoons of lemon juice.

Sieve the mixture into a bowl to get rid of the seeds - I push as much as I can through a metal sieve rather than let it drip delicately in its own time. Then, if you have an ice-cream maker follow that path. If, like me, you don't, you'll need to cover the bowl with cling-film, put it in the freezer and whisk the mixture every 90 minutes or so, or when an icy crust starts to form at the edges. I recommend at least 3 whisking sessions to break up the ice. Then you can tip it into an airtight container and let it freeze overnight.

It will be very hard but just leave it out for 15 or 20 minutes before you scoop. There's no dairy in the mixture so there's not a problem with re-freezing. 

And now sing your own blackberry sorbet song.

Hungry writing prompt
Write about singing. Or write about a song.

Popular posts from this blog

Pie, pie glorious pie

So often when we talk about food we are talking about family. In fact that was how the hungry writer blog began, nearly six years ago: weekly memories or life stories linked by the theme of food. Food is nurture and love. It can be celebration and anxiety too. It can also be a battleground, as the parents of young children know so intimately! Which is rather a satisfying segue into the family featuring in this week's blogpost: The Radfords. Because if anyone understands the feeding of children, really, really understands, it has to be Sue Radford who, with her husband, Noel, has 19 children. You can read about the family on their website but don't rush off yet as what I really want to talk about is pie. And specifically Radford's pies.
Noel Radford has been a baker for 25 years and opened his own bakery in 1999 in Heysham, Lancashire and makes pies with locally sourced ingredients. That, along with his skill as a master baker, means that the pictures of the 'filled to t…

Eat, laugh, cry, remember: Baked Camembert

Once, on a holiday in Malta, I dressed Tony up in my gypsy skirt and stretchy white vest, used two satsumas for breasts and made up his eyes and lips with the brightest colours I had with me. Then I took a photograph. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact he seemed quite tickled by the fuss and attention to detail, but the quantity of rosé we’d shared at Snoopy’s restaurant on the seafront in Sliema earlier in the evening might have had something to do with that.

This was 1988. There were no digital cameras for instant viewing (and, praise be, instant deletion). The only instant photographs at the time came courtesy of Polaroid, with their packages of square film and box-like cameras, and slid out of the front of the machine on shiny thick card that everyone huddled over and watched develop. But they tended to be party cameras, appearing at Christmas, birthdays, engagements. You captured your holiday photos on a proper camera, one you had to load and feed film into, then unload and drop off…

The Mythic Biscuit: Oreos

My childhood biscuits were mainly plain but had lovely names: Marie, Nice, Rich Tea. Quiet biscuits. The kind of biscuits that would never interrupt a conversation. Polite, not pushy. At the other end of the spectrum, and only irregularly present, probably a result of practical economics, were cheeky Jammy Dodgers, irritable Garibaldis, and self-contented and reliable Bourbons. And even more irregularly, the flashy inhabitants of a Christmas Box of Biscuits: Pink Wafers. I ate them at the same time as not liking them very much, a bit like Miss World Contestants in sparkly dresses, too much eye make-up and a saccharine idea of world peace. 
I'm in the mood to think, and personify, 'biscuits' because the lovely team at Oreo sent me some samples of their new Oreo Thins. I hadn't heard of Oreos until the early 1990s when a friend asked if I would bring him back a packet from a Florida holiday. I forgot and pretended I couldn't find them. 'But they're everywher…