I was dead wrong. These were as tasty as the berries I used to pick from an errant bush in my childhood suburbia. A fleeting taste of summers past.
The berries, which turned out to be black raspberries, remained fresh for nearly a week. I doled them out judiciously, as daily embellishments to my yogurt. I was sad when we nibbled the last ones, and ever hopeful for today's market.
No berries today, which is, I suppose which made them so pricey and so special.
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