Rosehips. Two recipes for you

A fruity vinegar flavoured with mandarins, and a jelly that's also made with crab apples that you might spread on hot buttered toast, if that's your sort of thing.

Before they shrivel on the bushes, the crows and blackbirds primed to strip the thickets clean of the little ripe haws before winter rolls in, now is the time to go for an amble along the hedgerows, taking a basket or a large colander under your arm to pick what you can of the wild rosehips that are now very much ripe for the taking.

Rosa Rugosa is the variety of rosehip I collect here on the farm, two huge bushes next to the edge of the lake. I reach out precariously, leaning over the lake to find the best fruits as they face south over the water. Ones that the sun has cast its warmest light on, as it hangs conspicuously lower in the sky as the last few weeks have passed. The rose haws on these bushes are fat, round and bright red, soft when you squeeze them, unlike the hips from the hard dog-roses that grow wild in the fields and on the tracks here, where I sometimes pick hawthorn and blackberries, where I also can find the twisted roots of old hedgerows of blackthorn flowers early in spring.¹

The dog-rose haws are small and hard, deeply red, similar in colour to the berries that grow on holly. Good enough for certain recipes, though more fiddly to prepare. I’ll take a basket of these little ones alongside the fatter ones from where I carefully wedge my feet into the ground to stop myself from falling into the lake. I disturb Mr Socks, a fine huntsman of a cat, jet black with a fine spray of white whiskers at the tip of his nose. He is deep in the cobwebs in the undergrowth of this magnificent rose bush. He’s waiting for moorhens or coots I’d say.

Rosa Rugosa

With the Rugosa fruits, it’s easy to peel away the outer layer of vivid, ripe, sharp goodness. I cut them in half and with an old worn silver teaspoon, pointed at it’s tip, twisting out the hairs and seed pods from inside, the saturated colour of the firebrick-red fruit stuck to my fingers.

A sticky job, no question, but one that will wile away an hour or so of thoughts.

I like jobs like this. The quiet repetition of muscle memory, soothing almost, as the minutes spin by.

A quiet moment of reflection.

I might make jelly. Today though, vinegar.

Cleaned hips

Vinegar

To begin the fermentation process of rosehips involves the best part of six months of work, but this is not for today. From the initial fermentation of the fruit with a little sugar to create alcohol, before letting the natural process of the transition to acetic acid begin. I’d be minded to drop in a small gloopy disc of the vinegar mother that I have stored in the dark from the many litres of persimmon and cider vinegar that I made last year. Then I know all will most likely be well, though this is a job for another day.

Something more simple today.

Keeping an eye out for spiders

I wanted to share something accessible that I think you might like, that is easy enough to prepare at this time of year and should take you no more than a morning. Save it for when the sun is out, you know, one of those gold and blue mornings where you can smell the damp decay of the change in season in the air and the skies are cool. Autumn at its finest.

Rosehip and mandarin vinegar

Find rosebushes that grow wild, and collect the fruits. Take each rosehip individually between your fingertips, twist and pull. Yes, you’ll probably come away with a few scratches and most likely a couple of small spiders. If you shake the colander in which you’ve collected, the little creatures will come to the top and most likely walk away. As you most likely didn’t notice them when you picked them from the hedge, I wouldn’t worry too much at this point. Let them scuttle away.

Rinse the harvested fruits briefly, then set about the task of removing the inner parts, small hairs that will itch your eyes so be careful. Save and scatter the seeds you’ve removed and they may one day become bushes themselves.

When you have a good pile of cleaned hips, one by one, push them into the neck of a large glass bottle. One with a good stopper. You’ll need to fill the bottle to about halfway at least. In addition, you’ll need a couple of mandarins and a peeler. Carefully pare away strips of the citrus rind, avoiding the white pith that will be bitter and do you no favours at all. Push the brightly scented peel down into the neck of the bottle.

Eat the mandarin.

Find in the store a bottle of two of your favourite cider vinegar. A raw one is best as it will have more flavour and the mother will help the vinegar to develop. I’m lucky to be able to use what I made last winter. I’m on my last bottle from over ten litres that I decanted in spring.

Pour the vinegar into the bottle till it is full, close the cap, give a good shake then place the bottle(s) somewhere dark and cool and try your best to forget about it for a week at least, after which you should then go back and say hello again, uncap the bottle to release (if any) pressure that may have built up and give another good shake. I’d probably taste some at this point though it will definitely need more time to develop. I have the patience of a saint, but I’m also very curious as to how things turn out. I could never resist cutting a slice of terrine, usually far too early, when almost straight from the oven. I could never resist the urge to see what it looked like inside. I knew that I shouldn’t and it would always have been far better to leave things alone to take care of themselves but curiosity killed the cat as they say

At this point, let’s say after a few weeks, your vinegar infusion should taste bright, sharp and fruity. The colour should be beginning to blush a pinkish orange. There might be a few stray seeds and fuzz from the haws, but not to worry. It can be strained one day.

Now leave it alone again for another week or two, only then to revisit your new friend to congratulate yourself at the same time for having created something so delicious. If I’m honest there is no time frame really here before it is ready. Just that you’ll know when it is. You might want to strain it through muslin cloth or like me use your finger to stop any large chunks from escaping when you pour it.

You could continually top it up with more cider vinegar if you like.

The perpetual bottle of potion.

Two months later

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Jelly

Next, a recipe for rosehip and crab apple jelly flavoured with cinnamon and aniseed. Just right for a buttered slice of toast.

If you were to take an equal quantity of rosehips and crab apples, say a kilo of each, put the washed rosehips into a large pot and cover them with water. You don’t need to clean them as you did for the vinegar. Bring them to a gentle boil and let them cook gently for about an hour, then add the roughly chopped crab apples.

Peel away the rind of a couple of lemons, take a stick of cinnamon and a few stars of aniseed and add these to the pan letting it all cook slowly until everything is very soft and you can crush everything easily with the back of a wooden spoon.

Fragrant

If you have a sheet of muslin or cheesecloth, then cut yourself a large square, otherwise an old tea towel will work just as well. Line a colander, and place it over a large bowl and pour the contents of the pot into the cloth, letting it trickle through the filter overnight.

Drip, drip, drip.

It will do this all on its own, so be patient.

The next day you will have an amount of highly flavoured juice. You can discard the pulp. If you measure the liquid, for every litre of brightly coloured extract, you will need to add eight hundred grams of sugar. There is no need for pectin as the crab apples you’ve used will have enough.

Bring everything to a strong rolling boil, skimming away the layer of froth which will invariably form, and with a thermometer test it to one hundred and five degrees celsius, not more, not less. (Jam purists might pick me up here and say it’s actually 104.5°C and they would be right, but I shan’t worry about half a degree here today)

It is almost ready at this stage. Add the juice of a lemon and a couple of spoonfuls of maple syrup, then stir in one teaspoon of butter. This will help to clear any last bits of froth that may have gathered.

You can now pour your jelly into hot glass jars, congratulate yourself again, then seal them tightly and put them away for a while.

They will last a long time.

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The week ahead

Harvesting apples and pears has begun here on the farm. Over one tonne so far and we aren’t even halfway through the sixty or so trees that stand here. The Egremont Russet and the Blenheim Orange are two of the old English apple varieties that we will likely keep separate for individual juicing, the Blenheim’s are so floral and sweet this year, blushed, large and round, they’ll make a fine cloudy juice. The russets I think I’ll create a specific vinegar with and the rest will be blended. I’ll turn this blend into litres of raw apple cider vinegar over the next half a year. The pears here once juiced will be my pet project. I’ve ordered a large oak barrel and hope to mimic a pear balsamic I once tasted in Florence. I know this will take patience and I think I know how to do it. Time will tell.

And then later this week, I will share with you my technique for creating vinegar from Persimmons.

Until then

William

1. A formula has been developed for dating hedges based on the number of tree and shrub species per unit length. This is known as the ‘Hooper formula’. The number of tree and shrub species in a 30 metre length of hedge can indicate its age, with one species for each 100 years. A single species hedge is likely to be less than 100 years old whilst a 1,000 year old hedge is likely to contain ten to twelve species.