I would like to put forward the suggestion that blackberry picking is much more fun than blackberry eating.
This afternoon Alexa and I went scavenging. Down the lane behind our house are the lushest, most fecund of bushes I have ever found. We wandered slowly along, Alexa trawling below the pee-line (something to do with dogs I’m told) and my eyes scouting for the high ones. Each 1 seemed to be more huge and black and juicy than the last. Our plastic bag grew heavy and started dripping juice. We occasionally lay on the grass and rested, before spotting an irresistible one we had missed, and then being seduced on to the next and the next. It was a very nice way to pass a sunny August afternoon, and one particularly pleasing aspect was how very cheap it was- free in fact. I love free stuff.
Now to the eating part. First you tip the berries into a sieve to wash them, and you see that your specially selected darlings have got all squishy and mangled on the journey home. Then little bugs start crawling out, trying to avoid drowning or being eaten (they have enjoyed their afternoon substantially less than we have). If you can still stomach the berries, you find that a) a lot of them are a bit bitter and b) they have a zillion little bits that get stuck in your teeth. And if you have a large quantity you feel you ought to do something proper with them like make jam, and when you don’t know where to begin you are confronted with your domestic limitations which is very discouraging. Instead you dump them into a bowl in the fridge where they sit until they have gone furry and need composting. They might as well have been left on the bushes.
I conclude that I love picking blackberries but I don’t much enjoy eating them.