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Poison berry pie

I wasn’t sure what the berries were, but they were located beside the blueberry bush in the garden, so I figured they probably weren’t closely related to the deadly nightshade of the family Solanaceae. In any case, they were very tasty.

After looking up redcurrant recipes on the Internet – which didn’t take long because there were only two and one of them was for redcurrant jelly – I made a German cake with a lemon-cheesecake style crust and a meringue filling containing the berries.

Andrew pronounced the dessert ‘strange’, but only thought to ask what it was after he’d finished a slice. Unfortunately, instead of confidently asserting: ‘Redcurrant pie. Would you like another helping?’, I made the mistake of saying, ‘Er. Redcurrant pie, I think. I’m not sure. I always thought redcurrants grew in clusters, like vines, but these . . . don’t. Anyway. You finished with that plate?’

Andrew immediately fired up the iPad to confirm the berries were redcurrants. Unfortunately, the pictures on Google Images showed they were clearly not redcurrants; for a while Andrew desperately searched for sufficient evidence to prove they were rowan berries, before he announced they were obviously holly berries and he ‘felt sick’.

Well we were both still alive the following morning – so that was a relief – although Andrew still felt queasy so I advised him to take a Panadol and perhaps not speak for a while.

Now Andrew has the dog pre-taste anything I serve him, believing I’m engaged in a conspiracy to off him, my motivation for which is still unclear. He still refers to it as poison pie, but I subsequently discovered they were cranberries.

In any case, it seems unlikely I’ll make it again.


Comments on: "Poison berry pie" (3)

  1. Surely you would have recognised if they were holly berries? You know the thing we put up back at home for Christmas. I know they usually don’t have that many berries as the birds have already eaten most of them, but still we pay a small fortune for the stuff.

    How cruel we are to the birds, taking their food stuff when there are only slim pickings for them in winter.

    As for motivation to kill him – Well there might only be room in your life for one (cute) man. Then again I was going to say, and which one of them is less trouble? But on second thoughts perhaps not, as I’d hate to see you leave Finn outside at night in the cold given his sleeping routine.

  2. deadlyjelly said:

    See, I was going, “It’s not fucking holly *scoff!*” but when you search holly on Google images, all sorts of twigs calling themselves holly pop up x

  3. Wot Cian said. Kiwis don’t know holly from a hole in the ground, but surely anyone brought up in Northern Europe would know the stuff at a glance. Like acorns, or conkers, or sycamore seeds.

    When I search ‘holly’ on Google Images, I get pictures of a blonde floozy in varying degrees of beachwear. Not that I’m complaining, just to let you know. Maybe it’s customised for me.

    If Andrew has taken against cranberries, he has my sympathy. First time I tasted cranberry sauce, it made me want to barf. Second time, it really did make me barf. I kind of went off it after that. Since then I’ve tasted homemade cranberry sauce from my not-quite-brother-in-law, which is a lot nicer but I still wouldn’t actually put it on my plate out of choice.

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