Elderflower & Gooseberry Fool with a Spoonful of August

August has a particular quality of light in the garden, hasn't it? It slants low by five o'clock now, golden and unhurried, catching the dusty heads of the lavender and making everything look as though it belongs inside a painting. It is the month I feel most grateful for the kitchen, for its cool flagstone floor and the quiet industry of preserving what the garden has so generously given. This week, I have been making a gooseberry fool — one of the most honest, uncomplicated puddings in the English repertoire, and one I have been making since my mother first handed me a wooden spoon and stood aside.

You will need very little. Around 450g of gooseberries, topped and tailed; three or four tablespoons of caster sugar, adjusted to your taste; two tablespoons of elderflower cordial; and 300ml of double cream, whipped to soft, collapsing peaks. That is the whole of it. No fuss, no flourish.

Begin by simmering the gooseberries in a small pan with the sugar and just a splash of water — no more than two tablespoons — over a gentle heat until they slump and burst and release their extraordinary pink-tinged juice. This takes perhaps eight to ten minutes. Remove from the heat, stir in the elderflower cordial, and leave the whole business to cool completely. I often do this part in the morning and let it sit quietly on the windowsill until afternoon.

Once your gooseberry mixture is quite cold, fold it loosely through the whipped cream. I say loosely because I rather like the marbled effect — pale cream threaded with rosy fruit — though if you prefer something smoother you may fold more thoroughly. Spoon into little glasses or bowls and leave in the refrigerator for at least an hour to settle and become itself.

Serve it as the evening light is doing its loveliest work, perhaps with a thin shortbread biscuit balanced on the side. The fool is tart and sweet in the same breath, cool against a warm August evening, and utterly without pretension. It asks nothing of you and gives everything in return — which is, I have always thought, the very best quality a recipe can possess.