It’s that time of year of year again, the nights are drawing in, the mornings are dark and crisp (or just as much dull and damp for that matter) and removing ones head from the comfort of the pillow is increasingly difficult and usually involves repeatedly hitting the snooze button, desperately trying to negotiate with yourself that "if I can just have 5 more minutes" I can still squeeze in a shower and breakfast before belting out the door.
If recently, you’ve stumbled upon a group of persons bottoms up face first in a bush or half way up a tree with a bright orange Sainsbury’s bag, don’t be alarmed, there’s a good reason…. usually. For the keen forager, now is the prime time for filling the basket with the bounties of the hedgerow. The bushes are bulging with berries, plump yet still firm, saturated with sugar primed for preserving for the darker months of winter. The Damsons are dancing the Rose Hips are hopping and the Sloe’s are well…… slowing?
If you fancy a yomp in the country this autumn, take a bag with you, you might just be lucky enough to stumble upon a cluster of Sloes or even Damsons for the matter, and if you find Sloes, you’re sure not to be far from a Hawthorn. Small and deeply purple with a dusting of white chalk, the Sloe can be easy to miss, yet just as common in the suburbs as it is in the depths of the country. Face shatteringly tart, sloes are just as beautiful and sharp as the shrub they fruit from, covered in pale white cherry blossom in the spring, underneath is a dark bark with an aggressive bite from the long black thorn. The Blackthorn is more a shrub than a tree, native to Europe and north west Africa, growing to about 5m in moderately dense thickets, which is why it’s commonly found in old hedgerows, creating a near impenetrable barrier with the occasional long sharp thorn. The Blackthorn is shrouded in a dark and sinister history in the British isle, commonly referred to in witch’s tales as the increaser and keeper of dark secrets and the coming of the waning moon. The black thorns were supposedly used to pierce the poppet in the witch’s curse, sending the victim into eternal slumber. It’s said that the devil would prick the finger of his followers with thorn, binding them to his service for eternity. From the fourteen to seventeen hundreds the Church of England took a heavy hand on those following the craft, over three hundred men and women were tried and found guilty of which craft, following death by burning at the stake, and what was used to burn them? You guessed it, the Blackthorn.
Witchcraft and devilry aside, the humble slow is the foundation to a delicious, cockle warming tipple, perfect for the winter months. The ideal time to pick Sloes is between the beginning of October and the end of November, preferably after the first frost, just mind you don’t prick your finger, or you may be in for than you bargained for!
Sloe Gin
450 grams of Sloes
450 Cain sugar
700 ml of Gin
Large bottle or Kilner Jar
Clean the Sloes removing any stalks or debris then, prick every berry with a fork. Add the berries along with the sugar and Gin, seal tightly and agitate gently to mix the sugar with the Gin. Shake every day for the first 10 days and then every week for the following 3 months. After 3 months taste, and add more sugar if required, at this point you will need to make the decision on weather you want to leave it for another month or two to intensify the flavor but, don’t leave any more than six months in total as the Sloes will brake down to much making the liquor become cloudy. Strain through muslin then bottle, the longer you leave it bottled, just like a whisky the flavor will become deeper and darker.
