There's a certain satisfaction to harvesting your food from a plant rather than a supermarket shelf that cannot be sullied by muddy shoes or blued hands. One of our helpers allowed us to taste a few berries as we made our way between the uniform ranks of shrubs. She even nibbled some herself, a good sign they weren't coated with pesticides like so much fresh produce these days.

After our spoils had been weighed up, the inexperienced staff lacked even a few yuan in change, so the charge was rounded down and we were waved on our way.

The nearest bus stop turned out to be a country "five minutes" away. A young man sitting behind a pile of freshly pared sweetcorn directed us to the stop - just a patch of road it seemed until I noticed a sign positioned solidly within a field and hidden partially by towering maize.

The rural area surrounding Beijing is obviously much less developed than the city center, although our bus was surprisingly modern and clean and the roving farmers and other assorted travelers all had swipe cards to pay their fares.

When I arrived home I did some calculation and found that our hand-picked produce had cost twice what it would have cost off-the-shelf at a local shop or supermarket. Still, it had been worth it. The fruits of our labor had been chosen with love and were delicious served with honey and plain yogurt.