Cloudberries Quotes

“Without doubt, it was a single cloudberry--- wrapped, like a gift, in a gauzy spider's web. Golden-red, the color of cognac, and shaped like its cousin the raspberry, but with fatter, yet fewer, juice-filled druplets, its solitariness hinted that its life had begun as a seed dropped by a bird; a fugitive out on its own, not part of a patch. Typically found in remote and scattered locations, cloudberries elude even the best and most hyper-local of foragers. So few in number are they, that they seem unreal--- the fruits of mountain fairies or goblins.
Cloudberries are a distinct rarity in Britain, often more rumor than reality. I had never seen them in the wild in Scotland (though other walkers have), nor in the moorlands of northern England, where they are also reported to grow, each stem boasting just a single fruit. Notoriously hard to cultivate commercially--- needing snow in the winter, followed by the right succession of damp, sun, rain and even fog--- they grow mainly in Arctic and sub-Arctic regions, where wild fruit is scant and the summer sun never fully sets.”
― Caroline Eden, Cold Kitchen: A Year of Culinary Travels

“Tiger-orange, and so dreamy and evocative of name, cloudberries had been on my mind for years. The first time I ever came across them on a menu, rather than in a field guide, was in a bistro on Estonia's Baltic Coast, in Pärnu, as a jam to accompany cake. As I was curious to try the preserve, the waiter agreed to bring me a spoonful, despite the cake being off the menu. Golden and precious as the amber torn from rocks at the bottom of the Baltic Sea, it gleamed.”
― Caroline Eden, Cold Kitchen: A Year of Culinary Travels

“Thick, pale golden juice burst like a tiny rain cloud, tart as a lime and sweet as a peach on my tongue. Full-bodied. A trickle dripped down my index finger, caught just in time, too prized to go to waste. I let Darwin lick it.
The real thing, its brilliant sweetness, eaten miles from human habitation, acted as an intoxicating potion. Immediately, its taste unlocked the gates to other northern lands and, as the last of the sweet-sour flavor fizzed out on my tongue, overlaying images sped joyfully through my mind: birch forests, mountains, glittering lakes, snowy trains, windswept taiga. I lingered over that single cloudberry, cherishing it, more than caviar, more than whisky or truffles, more than anything else I had ever eaten, smoked or drunk before. Once it had gone, I felt only a little grief, convincing myself that the cloudberry-- surely the ultimate 'taste of place'-- was somehow a gift; I felt I had consumed its very northernness. It brought back the similar sensations of eating a pear in an orchard, a melon in a melon field, an apple in a grove, though nothing could really compare.”
― Caroline Eden, Cold Kitchen: A Year of Culinary Travels

“It is late afternoon, darkness is falling and a stall in the town square is glowing like a candle. Tiny punnets of bright-orange berries on the twig-- sea buckthorn-- and jars of cloudberry jam jostle with honey and crimson lingonberries. I will not carry jars or bottles in my luggage, but I pick up a couple of cartons of berries to eat raw.
Buckthorn lives true to its name, and after a few minutes of parting the berries from their branches my thumb feels like a pincushion. I pick up a pocket-sized jar of jam and the fruit is tart, extremely so, and therefore right up my street. I nibble the berries as I walk. Cloudberry jam, in common with most berry preserves, has too much sugar for me but it is good too, bright-tasting and sharp. I will bring it down at breakfast tomorrow, to eat with Lapland yoghurt.
The buckthorn jam is pleasing, though not enough to risk bringing a jar wine in a suitcase. It does keep a little of its acidity when simmered with enough sugar to make it keep. That is probably why it works, like damson, blackcurrant, plum and gooseberry. The more tart the fruit, the better the jam.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts