If only all the other trees behaved like the oak, and we had apples and mulberries and quinces in abundance. As to the oak, there has not been such a crop for more than 20 years, if then. And under the few branches which hang over the macadam drive, there is now a porridge-like surface from the hundreds and hundreds of acorns that the few passing cars have crushed flat. You can see how plausible it is that in the bad times, acorns were dried and pounded to be mixed in with flour.
But the strawberry tree, arbutus unedo, this year also has exceptional fruiting. And so far the birds don't seem to have taken any or much. Lovely to see that, at the same time, as always, the white bell-like flowers come out to cover it as the fruit ripens. Everyone knows that the round, cherry-like fruit, pocked in a sort of strawberry fashion, normally has a cotton-wool-like consistency and flavour to match. But wait. Jane Grigson in her Fruit Book, (a fat Penguin) tells us that in the proper climate, i.e. the Mediterranean or even Killarney (!), if the fruit remains on the tree until November, it may ripen to a point where it becomes distinctly edible.
At the weekend, not half-way through October, there was one outstanding red fruit on the tree, and it is well north of Killarney. It had a lovely flavour, a firm texture, not at all like the duds of previous years. Maybe the age of the ree or shrub is the factor here or some freak of weather. Global warming for even a few days? Anyway, Jane Grigson says you could try arbutus jelly, but don't expect it to be clear, for you have to squeeze the fruit hard. And she quotes one Pierre Lacam who advises putting the ripe fruit into little pastry cases, baked blind (the cooks will know what he means) and brushed with redcurrant jelly, to give some zest.
"A good cake" was his comment. "A good cake for readers who live in the warm climate of Killarney," declares Grigson. Or points north, you add to yourself.