Paris Essay
In Praise of Woodland Strawberries
On the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau, less than forty miles from Paris is the village of Barbizon. The forest inspired a group of nineteenth century painters who lived in Barbizon. They insisted on depicting nature as they saw it and never mind the nude nymphs and dancing fauns that were typical of the period. The Barbizon School of Painting (notably Rousseau, Millet, and Corot) gave the town an enduring fame.
The forest also nurtured a small fruiting perennial that continues to lure Parisians to Barbizon, not for the painters but for one simple bowl of woodland strawberries (Fragaris vesta 'Alpine'), and never mind that the serving is small and the price outrageous.
Perfection exists in each tiny elongated berry. The first spoonful of woodland strawberries is always a surprise. The flavor is so intense that it is more like an onslaught of fragrance than a taste. Parisians come annually to eat the woodland strawberry, which they refer to as fraises de bois. It is best to come to the berry. The fact that berry deteriorates quickly after picking has prevented the plant from being cultivated for most of our history.
By the fourteenth century, however, woodland strawberries began to be cultivated in the royal gardens of Europe. Men were said to eat them with a little wine, while women (who knew a good thing when they got it) preferred a little cream with their berries.
The development of the contemporary strawberry from wild woodland strawberries took a few centuries. In 1712, the French navy sent an engineer named Andre Francois, who fancied himself an amateur botanist, to report on the ports of Chile and Peru. He returned with several healthy Chilean strawberry plants (F. Chiloensis.)
The chief virtues of the modern strawberry are size and durability. For flavor a gardener should consider growing the woodland strawberry. Perhaps growing them on the walkway leading to the house; that way durability will not be an issue since they’ll probably be devoured before you reach the front door.
As William Butler put it, "Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtlessly God never did."
Published in the San Francisco Chronicle
Greenhouse in the Marche aux Fleurs on the Île de la Cité in Paris