A prickly old berry that deserves a second chance

Ever wondered where the 'goose' in gooseberry comes from? According to wordsmiths, it is most likely a corruption of the Dutch word kruisbes or the German krausbeere. The French meaning is also pretty close: groseille á maquereau, which translates as 'mackerel berries' because they are used in a sauce for mackerel in old French cuisine (thank you Wikipedia).

However, the Oxford English Dictionary takes a completely different tack.

“Plants and fruits (that) have received names associating them with animals are so often inexplicable that the inappropriateness in the meaning does not necessarily give good grounds for believing that the word is an etymological corruption.”

I think this means don't trust everything that you read.

Whatever the name's origins, gooseberries have very little to do with geese in my experience. While I have both gooseberries and geese in my immediate environment, I have never seen them interact like, say, cats and catnip.

I do wonder somtimes: am I one of a dying breed of human who grew up with a large patch of gooseberry bushes? It seems that people just have one bush or maybe two at a stretch these days.

My mother was an enthusiastic proponent of this horrible, prickly plant. I have vivid memories of mowing around the 10-odd bushes in one corner of her vege garden, my legs slowly shredded by their vicious thorns. Harvesting the berries was also dangerous, as gooseberries seem to position themselves in the most awkward, thorniest part of the bush. Fortunately now we know about genetic fiddling, I guess I could grow a thornless variety and save myself the agony of looking like I've been assaulted by a wild cat.

Winter meant apple and gooseberry pie when we were kids. Sadly, these pies were one of the things I didn't learn to make in my mother's kitchen. She made amazing pies of all kinds, perfect pastry, melt-in-your-mouth fillings, both sweet