Let’s be real: it’s not a gourmet feast. You get a cardboard punnet of around ten to twelve strawberries, all pre-hulled (the green bits are gone, which is a small miracle in itself), and a separate little pot of double cream. It’s the kind of portion that makes you feel like you’ve eaten a dessert, but also leaves you scanning the crowd for a burger van.
For context, you could buy a whole punnet of strawberries at a supermarket for about the same price and get three times the amount. But that’s missing the point entirely. The magic at Wimbledon isn’t in the quantity—it’s in the theatre. You’re eating while watching Novak Djokovic smash a forehand winner or while a swan waddles past Henman Hill.
The Price Hike: A Gentle Rip-Off?
Let’s be honest—£2.50 is actually cheaper than a lot of things at the Championships. A pint of beer will set you back over seven quid, and a glass of Pimm’s is an eye-watering eight or nine pounds. Suddenly, the strawberries start looking like a bargain. It’s like seeing a £5 toast in a fancy café—you gasp, but then realize the avocado toast next to it is £12.
I remember my first time at Wimbledon, I walked past a stall and saw the price. I thought, “That’s it? I expected a mortgage application form for a bowl of fruit.” My friend, a seasoned attendee, just laughed and said, “Mate, you’re paying for the memory, not the berries.” He wasn’t wrong. The memory of strawberry juice dripping onto your white t-shirt is priceless—even if the stain remover costs extra.
Why do they sell strawberries and cream at Wimbledon and how much does
