ROWING up in the early 1980s, cherry was everywhere—cherryade, Space Dust and cherry bombs were particular favourites—but I don’t think I ate an actual cherry until a holiday in France when I was in my teens. On the track leading to the house, a cherry tree leaned as if pulled sideways by the weight of its fruit, or perhaps to tempt us by being within easier reach. I plucked the first fruit not knowing quite what to expect. It was so intense, with a deep fruitiness—the sweet and
