I am at this moment sitting with my feet up enjoying a most excellent dish of raspberries. Anyone who knows anything about savouring a dish of raspberries —pause from typing for another mouthful— will of course be aware that said dish of berries must be sprinkled with sugar — generously, but without overdoing it — followed by cream poured overtop until it begins to collect —pause from typing for another mouthful— in the bottom of the dish; about a third to halfway as deep as the berries are piled. You need to have some cream in every spoonful of 2-3 berries and make it come out as close to even as possible in the end.

Unfortunately these particular berries are store-bought instead of fresh-picked like I had growing up… but they’re a rare treat nonetheless. What’s even more —pause from typing for another mouthful— rare in our house is cream. I don’t desecrate my coffee with the stuff, but we have some left over from family gathering events earlier in the week. To have both together in the house at the same time has probably not happened in the past decade —pause from typing for another mouthful— and a half, so I’m in heaven. My wife on the other hand thinks me downright strange for eating this, but she didn’t grow up with it. I, of course, was taught wisely and well by my grandparents how to properly enjoy a dish of raspberries.

That’s fine if you also think I’m strange, but when the aftertaste finally dissipates, I’m going to reach over for the glass of white wine that I have sitting beside me and take a sip of that as I reflect on how much I enjoyed the raspberries. So there.

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