there’s really only one reason in my book (blog?) to grow gooseberries. sure jam is nice, and i wouldn’t shake my spoon at a serious gooseberry chutney. but the reason i brought my three little gooseberry sticks home from the nursery that day (nay, first begged my neighbor who manages our local gardening shop to order them against his advice that they’re not easy to get started and maintain in our neck of the woods) four years ago and nursed them through that awful tomato blight that terrorized the land in 2010, various forms of fungus and other i-don’t-know-what-the-hell-happened-but-all-the-gooseberries’-leaves-fell-off-overnight-things. was. for. pies.
(note, that’s the first time i ever did that period after each word thing because i don’t particularly care for it, but alas, it’s warranted here. unequivocally.)