In the summer, it’s difficult to decide which fruits to gorge on. When you’re as indecisive as I am, any kind of abundance becomes torture. After the juicy June strawberries, nature bestows us with more and more succulent crops – so sweet you can almost taste the sun that made them grow.

I buy a punnet of raspberries at the market every day, but it’s always half-full by the time I get home. I eat such irrational amounts of cherries that I expect to become one myself soon enough. Moreover, I always buy more peaches than I need, and I leave them on the windowsill where their velvet skin softens and creases, slowly producing the sticky syrup that heralds the sweet pleasures of summer.

However, when the cold sets in and pumpkins drape the market stalls in various shades of orange, guilt surfaces: every year, in the frenzy of culinary decision-making, I tend to forget about the berries that are generally ravished less often, such as currants, gooseberries and wild strawberries. They are Poland’s true, albeit wild, national treasure.

If we di