If you’ve tasted a British strawberry lately, you might wonder: Has there ever been a sweeter time to live in London?
Unusually warm days, cool nights, and the driest spring in more than a century have climatologists gnashing their teeth. But strawberry aficionados—and here they’re more legion than Princess Kate loyalists—are salivating.
The most passionate stalk the shelves at Natoora, the produce vendor with five shops around London that has made buying locally sourced fruit and vegetables a point of national pride. (It also supplies high-end grocery stores and restaurants, from the River Cafe on down.)
As one might imagine, Natoora takes strawberry season extremely seriously. Before Will Dorman, one of its sourcing managers (and part-time columnist for The Preserve Journal), will even address the current crop, he gives credit where it is due—to the government.
“There’s been a lot of work done within the U.K.,” he says, speaking admiringly of the state-funded National Institute of Agricultural Botany.
Its breeding program in East Malling, Kent, has generated some exceptional new strawberry plants—Malling Centenary, Malling Ace, Malling Allure, Malling Vitality, and so on. Today, more than 50 different strawberry varietals are flourishing here, and everyone has a favorite. Are you a Honeoye girlie (glossy, bright, firm) or more of a Royal Sovereign (traditional, juicy, sweet) type?
But even if you’re an economical supermarket shopper, we don’t judge. Ninety-nine percent of supermarket strawberries are known as “tabletop berries,” conventionally grown in coconut-husk bags high off the ground. James Dyson, of vacuum-cleaner-and-hairdryer fame, has launched his own circular-farming operation in a 15-acre greenhouse in Lincolnshire. He uses renewable energy and plenty of robots to produce berries year-round. The first Dyson Farms crop hit the market in March. Sweet, flawless, and just $4.50 per carton, they’re selling briskly.
Strawberries are a highly regulated industry in the U.K., and that extends to marketing. “Extra” is the top designation for flawless specimens of bright color, “Class 1” can have the occasional flaw—a white patch that comprises less than 10 percent of the surface area—and “Class II” even allows for “slight traces of soil.”
I’m sorry to report that these are almost all tastier than Harry’s Berries, which are sold to great fanfare at farmers markets in Los Angeles. As for the hypebeasts paying up to $325 per berry for those Bijin-Hime specimens from Japan? We hope you got the likes.
What else makes British strawberries so superior? According to Dorman, it’s all thanks to the producers using organic-growing methods and nutrient-dense soil. “They’re done the old way,” he says. “They taste like the strawberries some people had when they were growing up.”
Dorman’s favorite, the Malwina, is cultivated at Kindling Farm, outside of Liverpool, and tended lovingly by farmers Helen Woodcock and Chris Walsh. “They’re not chasing yields; they’re chasing flavor,” says Dorman reverently. That means rotating soil and micro-managing irrigation. (Over-watering means larger berries with less concentrated sugars.) “At the end of the day,” he says pointedly, “flavor is nutrition.”
Dorman’s ardor is rivaled by that of London’s top chefs and bakers. “As soon as they come in our door, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” says David Stevens, the executive chef at the soon-to-be-reopened Simpson’s in the Strand. “It’s such a beautiful product that stands on its own.”
Don’t even get Lily Jones started. Lily Vanilli, her East London bakery, is the toast of Instagram. Her rococo cakes are admired all over the world, but only the locals can vouch for the fact that they taste even better than they look. “Strawberries are my favorite thing to bake with,” says Jones. “And they’re gorgeous. We are using them as garnishes and to flavor our clotted cream.” At her afternoon tea service at the Four Seasons Hotel London at Tower Bridge, she’s also using Natoora-sourced fruit to make jelly decorations.
Expect the strawberry craze to get even crazier by the last week in June, when Hugh Lowe Farms starts delivering its daily crop—handpicked that same morning—to the food stalls at Wimbledon. Many spectators can’t even imagine stepping foot on its grounds without the strawberries and cream that have been served there since the event’s inception, in 1877. Just $3.50 will buy 10 British beauties covered in the cream of their choice (dairy or vegan).
Why do we love them so? Because, theoretically, they’re one of the few remaining simple pleasures—even if growing them is anything but. “The dream is to pick them fresh and enjoy them when they’re warm,” says Jones. “I’ll just be sitting outside the bakery, eating them in the sun. Come on over—I’ll make you a sundae.”
Ashley Baker is a Deputy Editor at AIR MAIL and a co-host of the Morning Meeting podcast
