![]() ![]() It is the winter of 1536 and Thomas Cromwell, Lord Privy Seal of England, now in his early fifties and struggling to find the men and resources to put down a Catholic rebellion in the north, is dreaming of gooseberries too. The custard quakes in waves of sweetness and spice. This summer, if restrictions ease and the supermarket shelves are stocked again, I intend to prepare an aromatic custard in a white dish, made with sour gooseberries, “tiny bubbles of green glass,” and eat it while it is warm.įor this dish you need fresh hens’ eggs and a pitcher of cream you need to be a prince of the church to afford the sugar. ![]() Halfway through The Mirror and the Light, I began dreaming of gooseberry fool. ![]()
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