Black raspberries

I remember vividly the first time I saw black raspberries.

It was at a farmers' market in Santa Fe, under a massively purple-green cumulo nimbus-rich thunderstorm in formation. The light was saturated and the air electric with the smell of ozone. My mother and I were oohing over courgette flowers when I saw the little berries, which I mistook for mulberries. The man at the table, selling only the raspberries, was angry, and speechless beyond the basics: these were his last black raspberries. His entire crop, his summer income, had been destroyed by hailstones from these clouds, so beautiful to observers whose livelihood did not depend on their weather.

I discovered to my surprise, that this jam was made last June. Which means I need to hightail it to the market soon - and I can't today - to look for them. Because the jam is eaten, gone. The berries here came from the Borough Hall farmers' market, open Thursdays and Saturdays.

I also know that it needs an addition to the black raspberries, which, while yummy, are less juicy than their red brothers and sisters. This jam, made last year, had a very good flavour but its texure needed more wobble. It was rather stiff. Perfect, would be black currants.

So that will be this weekend's mission.