Blackberry Fool

The spring sun has struck me with an incurable fever. Even though snowflakes were falling from the sky just this morning, I long to shed my winter coat and find myself no longer craving the hearty soups and dishes of winter. My mind has begun spinning towards lighter fare and short sleeves. I have begun craving the sweetness of a ripe strawberry and the bold tartness of a stalk of rhubarb in vivid detail. If I shut my eyes tightly, with the sun streaking through the window late into the evening, I can almost pretend the world outside is green and ready to be planted with seeds of rebirth.

I shall never take for granted the arrival of spring again.

Craving a feeling, person, or place brings out a yearning in our heads all the way down to our toes. When our heart's desire is out of reach, we find a way to bring it closer through hope and longing and daydreams. These wishes, both small and large, sustain us as we wait for our cravings to be sated. They sustain us until our cravings come to pass.

I am craving spring. I am craving green grass, the smell of new growth, the touch of a warm sidewalk, the sweetness of a beautiful, red ripe strawberry. The hunger grows daily. As the sun sets later each evening, my appetite becomes insufferable. Knowing warmer weather will be around the corner keeps my spirit up as I dream of the long walks I will take once this winter is done.

Soon, soon, soon.

A "fool" is a traditional English fruit dish originating in the sixteenth century. The dessert was most commonly made with gooseberries, but a variety of fruits from raspberries to apples can be used its place. The three main ingredients to a fool are pureed fruit, whipped cream, and a sprinkling of sugar. For this Blackberry Fool, I used fresh blackberries with whipped cream and a seedless blackberry jam.

This may be a more modern take on a traditional dessert, but the result is the same—delight. Feel free to try out other berries with matching flavors of jam, such as blueberries or strawberries, to play around with flavors and preferences.

Blackberry Fool is a light, sweet ending to a spring or summer meal. Seedless blackberry jam is folded into whipped cream and layered into a glass with fresh blackberries. The contrast between the sweet bite of the berries and the smooth quality of the whipped cream makes the dessert simple, yet elegant. This traditional English dessert can be served for a small dinner party or an evening that calls for something special.

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Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam

Jam-making is a calming process for me. When fruit begins to become overwhelming on the counter, spilling out of bowls and taking up too much space, I have no problem turning it into a simple jam. Cutting the fruit into small pieces and tossing it in a saucepan to bubble and boil, each batch is as unique as the others—some sweeter, some more tart—with a mix of flavors that comes from the extra ingredients in the cupboards.

Jam may be simple to make, but the scents that infuse the house as the fruit cooks down is why homemade jam is worth the time.

My grandmother is well known in my family for creating vibrant strawberry jam. Every few months, she will simmer another batch over the stove, dividing it into small plastic containers, and freezing it until we pay her a visit. She makes certain the strawberry jam fountain never runs dry. My grandmother has faithfully made her strawberry jam for as long as I've known her. In those twenty-four years, I've created so many simple, strawberry-filled moments with sticky knives and happy faces.

Her jam is perfect on a freshly baked bun, warm and inviting—a treat I get to enjoy whenever the holidays come around.

Despite the love for my grandmother's jam, I truly believe different moments call for different flavors. The classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich just wouldn't be the same without a thick spread of grape jelly that oozes out from the crust of the bread as a bite-sized piece disappears. My mother's go-to barbecue sauce recipe uses grape jelly to bring in a depth of flavor (which I have been known to shamelessly eat with a spoon when my mother's back is turned). A spoonful of fig or strawberry balsamic jam blends seamlessly into a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

At a holiday craft fair in Montreal, I stumbled upon the most unique jam I've ever had the fortune of tasting. It was a cedar jam, derived precisely from cedar trees in a nearby forest. The sample I tried was electric, the taste reminding me strongly of the tree-scented scratch-and-sniff sticker in my childhood book, The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear. The instant memory and surprising flavor led me to buy a small jar of my own. I'm still waiting for the perfect occasion to open it.

The right moment to savor this Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam found me. In a way, the jam seemed to form of its own accord, as I found myself tossing a little of this and that from the cupboards into the saucepan. Still warm from simmering, I spread a thick layer onto a slice of fresh bread and enjoyed it as the summer sun set, turning the sky into a spell of pink and orange hues.

Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam contains a myriad of flavors that come together in an unexpected, but lovely marriage. Fresh peaches are peeled and sliced into small pieces, joining freshly minced thyme and a splash of bourbon. The jam simmers on the stove, infusing the room with bright scents and swirling steam. I love to sneak a taste with a spoon while the jam bubbles on the stove top (and I suggest you do the same).

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Strawberry Balsamic Jam

At the ripe age of twenty-three, I fear I'm becoming an old woman. It's a silly fear, I know. I'm not afraid of growing older (we all must go through it eventually), but I am afraid of skipping my thirties and forties and jumping straight into my sixties.

Over the last couple years, my habits have begun to betray me. I can't remember the last time I went out on a Friday night; and when I did, I was certain to be home before the strike of ten. My mother and I enjoy watching Hot in Cleveland together (and I find myself laughing louder and longer than her). I ask for kitchen appliances and dishware when the holidays roll around. I often wear vintage clothes and, to my dismay, more than once my students have loudly proclaimed I dress like an old lady (you have the same shoes as my grandmother!).

I suppose, in many ways, you could say I am already channeling the spirit of a seventy-five year old woman.

Maybe I wouldn't fear becoming an old woman if The Signs hadn't already arrived. As I sat down in the optometrist office last month, my eye doctor broke the news that my eyes were already getting cataracts. I have exactly three old lady veins—two in rather inconspicuous locations—but the last has the unfortunate position of running down the entire length of my nose (which my boyfriend so lovingly pointed out "looks bluer when I'm cold"). And, to spread the icing on the cake, I recently discovered I have laugh lines while tiredly looking at myself in the mirror.

I even talk like an old woman. Just the other night I caught myself telling my mother that I wished pants weren't so low cut and I hoped I could find a pair with a higher waist.

It's like a disease, I tell you. Old womanitis.

Despite my frivolous concerns towards aging, when I stumbled upon the quote above by Cassandra Clare, I did feel more at ease about myself. Beauty may fade, but cooking is forever. It's comforting to know that it doesn't matter whether my hair is gray or my hands are gnarled; I can make a mean chocolate chip cookie. In the end, I think that's what matters most. Food brings people together—it's a celebration of life and love.

When it comes down to it, I'd rather my legacy be lovely strawberry jam instead of a history of face lifts.

This strawberry jam is thick and sweet. Balsamic vinegar joins strawberries, lending a unique and enhancing flavor. The jam is thickened on the stove top until it reaches your desired consistency. This strawberry jam is perfect to spread on bread, crackers, or drizzle on top of ice cream.

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