THERE’S nothing silly about a fool. The pudding that is, not the idiot. Because this gloriously simple medley is an English summer classic, light, lithe and lovely, a dish that skips and gambols, frolics and cavorts. If it were a book, it would be The Code of the Woosters; a play, Hay Fever; a film, The Belles of St Trinian’s. OK, with all that fecund fruit, and lashings of lusciously concupiscent whipped cream, things can get a little, well, saucy. But nothing to frighten even the most upright of maiden aunts. ‘The old English fools,’ declared P. Morton Shand, ‘strawberry, raspberry, blackberry, blackcurrant, gooseberry, rhubarb, etc are unequalled if cream is not spared.’ There is never any stinting on the cream.
We’ve been eating them for quite some time, too,…