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This weekend I finally found the box which contained my copy of Good Things by Jane Grigson. Mrs. Grigson, who died in 1990, is one of my top three heroes of food writing; I would give my left arm to write the way she does, and it makes me ache that this sort of food writing is so hard to come by at this time, in this country. Not that we are without fine food writers -- far from it -- but I am of the opinion that there is too wide a gulf between the best of our foodwriters and the larger-circulation newspapers that should be bringing them to a wide readership. The food section in Wednesday's edition of this week's New York Post led with a temper tantrum penned by their restaurant critic, regarding a piece in the new GQ about the supposed finest four restaurant cities in the world -- gasp and amazement, New York City wasn't on the list! This is what passes for food writing in a major metropolitan newspaper. Mrs. Grigson, I still miss you.

Everybody knows that gooseberry fool, like steak and kidney pudding or junket, is a truly national dish. What many people don't know is that 'fool' comes from the French verb fouler, to crush; it's not a description of someone prepared to pay the price of half a pint of cream. In France grapes, not gooseberries, are foules, crushed, or rather mangled, quite literally, on their way to the winepress. This, I think, gives a good idea of how a gooseberry fool should be made. Too often gooseberries are overcooked, then sieved or liquidized to a smooth slop. Ideally, they should be very lightly cooked, then crushed with a fork, before being folded into whipped cream. Egg custard is an honourable, and an ancient alternative to cream; commercial powder custard is not. Don't spoil this springtime luxury. It's better to halve the quantities, than to serve a great floury bowlful.