How Much Is Strawberries And Cream At Wimbledon

So there I was, last summer, sweating through a third set on Henman Hill. My friend Tom, who swore he “knew the best spot,” had dragged me to a patch of grass where the sun felt personally offended by my existence. I was parched, my Pimm’s had gone warm, and the only thing keeping me alive was the thought of that iconic cardboard tray. You know the one—the strawberries and cream, the official edible badge of Wimbledon.

The Price of a Legend

Let’s cut to the chase, because you’re probably reading this with a half-eaten snack in your hand, wondering if you can afford a second mortgage. As of the 2024 Championships, the official price for a punnet of strawberries and cream is £2.50. Yes, you read that right. Two pounds fifty. That’s cheaper than a sad sandwich from a train station.

And no, I haven’t been sniffing the grass. The All England Club has kept this price deliberately low for years, almost as an act of benevolent rebellion against London’s general cost of living. They want you to feel like a winner, not like you just lost a bet at the bookies. (Side note: if you buy them from a fancy vendor outside the grounds, you’ll pay triple. Don’t be that person.)

What’s Actually in the Box?

You get a generous portion of English strawberries—specifically, the Elsanta variety, because apparently they hold their shape and don’t turn to mush when you’re nervously watching a tie-break. They’re hand-picked and chilled overnight. Fancy, right?

Then there’s the cream. And here’s the clincher: it’s not whipped cream you’d get from a can. It’s a pour-over double cream, thick enough to make your dentist wince but so luxurious you’ll consider licking the cardboard. The whole thing comes in a green and purple punnet that is basically a trophy for your taste buds.

The Inflation-Free Zone

Now, let’s talk about the irony. A single glass of rosé at Wimbledon will set you back nearly a tenner. A burger? Almost a sawbuck. Yet the strawberries have remained at roughly £2.50 for years, even as everything else has shot up like a Novak Djokovic backhand. The Club treats strawberries like a national treasure, not a profit center.

In 2023, the price was also £2.50. In 2022? Same. You know what else costs £2.50? A fancy coffee in Kensington—which lasts five minutes. A punnet of strawberries lasts for three games of tennis and two existential crises about whether you should have brought sunscreen. (Pro tip: bring the sunscreen. Your shoulders will thank you.)

The Secret Equation

Here’s how the math breaks down, because I know you love numbers as much as I love watching Nadal grunt. The Club sells roughly 28,000 kilos of strawberries during the fortnight. That’s about 10,000 punnets a day. At £2.50 each, that’s a cool £25,000 daily in strawberry revenue—peanuts compared to the TV rights.

But the real magic is the word-of-mouth. You don’t buy strawberries at Wimbledon because you’re hungry. You buy them because you’re participating in a ritual. It’s like a communion wafer, but tastier and with less judgment. (Unless you drop it on your lap. Then judgment arrives fast from the person next to you.)

The Hunt for the Tray

You can find them at kiosks all over the grounds, but the most satisfying purchase is near Court No. 1 or the Food Village. Look for the giant queue of people holding up their phones to photograph a bowl of red berries. That’s your target.

And don’t be fooled by the “premium” versions. I once saw a vendor selling “luxury” strawberries with clotted cream and a miniature bottle of Prosecco for £12. That’s not a snack; that’s a cry for help disguised as a dessert. Stick with the classic. It’s the only true Wimbledon experience.

A Word on the Cream Debate

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room—or rather, the dollop on the berry. Some people argue the cream should be whipped. Others say it should be clotted. The Wimbledon official stance, as far as I can tell, is “we don’t care, just don’t ruin it.” They use a light, pourable cream that’s barely sweet.

Personally, I think the whole debate is a distraction. The real crime is when someone dips the strawberry into the cream instead of pouring the cream over the whole punnet. That’s not how physics works. You want every berry swimming in a creamy bath. (You’re welcome for the life advice.)

The Final Verdict

So, is it worth it? Absolutely. For the price of a tube ticket across London, you get a slice of British summer, a dose of nostalgia, and a moment of pure, unpretentious joy. Even if your favorite player loses in straight sets, that punnet will never disappoint you.

Just remember: eat them while sitting down, put the empty tray in the recycling bin (they’re fully recyclable, because Wimbledon cares about the planet), and don’t let the cream drip onto your white shirt. Unless you want to look like you survived a dairy-related heartbreak. (I speak from experience. That stain is permanent.)