This past weekend, my husband and I drove up to Pennsylvania for my cousin’s wedding. It’s still a novelty, you know, hopping in the car and jetting off by ourselves. After returning home, I commented to my husband that travel doesn’t feel like such a big deal now that we don’t have to haul kids and all their attitudes and paraphernalia. We can stop for coffee and doughnuts, if we want. Stay out late, if we want. Pop in to visit other friends, if we want. With the kids mostly grown, we have margins: financial, emotional, etc. It’s nice. 

We stayed both nights at my girlfriend’s house. When we arrived, they had a fire going, and mint tea and ginger cookies waiting. And candles everywhere, lighting up the dark.

It was magical, an excellent start to the wedding weekend.

Soon after my son’s wedding back in December (at which my aunt had walked in the barn door and I’d immediately thrust a tub of greenery into her hands and ordered her decorate NOW), I’d texted my aunt that we could come up early to help prep, if they wanted. Now that I knew how much work a wedding was, my compassion was in full swing. 

She’d have me help with the rolls, she said.

When we showed up Saturday morning, my aunt was zipping around the kitchen and two of the four (double) batches of dough were already started. For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, I (along with some others) spent the next few hours stirring in the flour, stretching and folding the dough, shaping buns, brushing buns with egg wash, and baking buns.

All the while, the screen door opened and banged closed as people trooped in and out with question after question for my aunt. Do we have more roasters? Where are the ladles? We only have half the dishes! How do you spell so-and-so’s name? Can we have these chairs? What do you want me to do with that? Where do I put this?

But for all the activity, there really wasn’t much to do. I mean, there was a ton of stuff to do (clearly), but they had so many people helping that it didn’t feel too terribly busy. 

Weirdly enough, I didn’t spy a single list. Think about it, people — no lists. All those volunteers, all those tasks, and they just . . . happened. As a consummate list-maker, I do not understand this. Sorcery, perhaps?

All the excitement and energy gave the whole place a wonderful buzzy feel. So much family. So many friends. So much beauty. So much joy. My aunt and uncle are makers and doers — they are made for this type of thing — and while I knew they were stressed and tired, it was also clear that they were having fun. Loads of fun.

Take, for example, frog and toad.

My aunt had the stuffed animals somewhere and then at one point she got the idea to turn them into a bride and groom and so she sewed them some outfits and stuck them in amongst the flowers. 

And my uncle was in his glory, tending the pig he’d raised for the event.

It was some pig.

Pork butt, anyone?

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect and every time I walked from the house kitchen to the up-on-the-hill kitchen, I’d feast my eyes on the beauty. The baskets of pies. The stone patio. All the little nooks and crannies crammed with potted plants and decked out with twinkle lights and jars of candles. 

The ceremony was held down by the creek.

At one point, the bride and groom worked together to split a log using a hand-held saw — an example of the push and pull of a relationship and working together. Afterward, guests got to try it out for themselves.

I didn’t take many photos of the evening. Just of my girlfriend and me…

And of the grandmother of the groom because I thought she bore an uncanny resemblance to Queen Elizabeth.

For the most part, I was too busy having fun, visiting and eating — I had seconds of the pulled pork, slaw, gourmet potatoes, and baked beans, and slivers of four different kinds of pie (the pecan made my eyes roll back in my head) — and then there was the dancing. I’m not much of a dancer (at all), but I’ve reached the point where it’s not worth it to let my inabilities and inhibitions prevent me from having fun so I danced by myself and I danced with my son, the groom, some random dude, and even, for a few minutes, with my husband.

At one point I dipped out of the tent to go to the bathroom but then they played Sweet Caroline and I had to come running back to snatch a little video clip so I could send it to my Caroline. 

The end.

This same time, years previous: cottage cheese, saag (sort of) paneer, family night, the unraveling, black bean and veggie salad, historical fun, the big bad wolf and our children, in defense of battered utensils, candid camera.

Now that we’re down to one cow, I have a problem: I don’t get enough cream to make butter and I have too much cream to use up in everyday drinking. My solution? Ice cream!

(I’ve always been a good problem solver.)

Now listen up. If you want to elevate your ice cream, focus on the add-ins. I don’t just mean cocoa powder for chocolate, or espresso for coffee, but the actual chunks, or thick swirls, of deliciousness that you create for the sole purpose of making ice cream even more wonderful than it already is. 

I’m only just beginning to understand this. Currently, I’m obsessed with fruit crisp ice cream.

I made a batch of crisp crumbles for this very purpose: a pan of buttery, gently-spiced crisp crumbs that I baked, stirred to break up the pieces, and then transferred to a half gallon jar in the freezer. Layered with the vanilla ice cream and fruit, these crisp crumbles soften a bit, but not all the way. It’s perfect, I think — a little soft with a distinct crunch. 

some of these chunks are a little too big

My mother says she maybe prefers her ice cream with granola sprinkled on top immediately before eating. Which is good, yes, sure, of course. But granola on ice cream is two things eaten together. This is three separate parts joined to make one: a fruit crisp ice cream. It’s entirely different, I think.

And with this version, there’s the added fun of digging for the good bits. I always know I’ve landed on a good ice cream when I find myself standing at the island, double — triple, quadruple, doz-iple — dipping despite my family’s cries of outrage. 

Getting the fruit right for this ice cream was a challenge, and it’s still in process, to be honest. See, the main problem with fruit in ice cream is that the fruit gets icy. I’ll be savoring the luscious creamy ice cream and then — bam — my mouth gets hit with a chunk of hard, fruity ice. No thank you.

Cooking the fruit seems to help (like I did in the blueberry swirl version), but when I made a black raspberry version (cooking the berries with sugar and a little cornstarch), the berries were still a bit icy.

Then my mother suggested I add gelatin. She pointed out that we used to make fruit popsicles when I was a kid, and the fruit was always icy, but if we made jello pops, then it wasn’t. So I made the ice cream again, this time with a red raspberry sauce, to which I added a teaspoon of gelatin — and it wasn’t icy! (Though maybe red raspberries just aren’t as icy as the black ones, or I cooked them harder than the black ones? Not sure. More testing is needed…)

Anyway. For now I’m going with it. Cook (or roast) the fruit with sugar, add a bit of gelatin, and use that as your fruit add-in. 

Fruit Crisp Ice Cream
Adapted from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams At Home, by Jeni Britton Bauer.

To watch me make the vanilla ice cream base, go here.

1 recipe of Jeni’s vanilla ice cream (get the eyeball-it version here)
2-3 cups of cooked fruit (below)
1-2 (or more!) cups crisp crunchies (below)

Layer the ice cream with the fruit and crunchies. For added eye and flavor appeal, I like to stir some of the fruit into the ice cream and then marble the flavored ice cream with the plain vanilla and fruit sauce. Press a piece of wax paper on top and freeze the ice cream for 4-6 hours before eating.

for the fruit (blueberry, raspberry, strawberry, cherry, rhubarb, peaches, etc, or a combo)
2-3 cups of fresh or frozen fruit 
½ -1 cup sugar (don’t skimp on the sugar)
1 teaspoon cornstarch, if the fruit is extra saucy
1 teaspoon plain gelatin

Cook the fruit and sugar (and optional cornstarch) over medium high heat. Let it bubble a bit. If it’s extra juicy, let it cook down and thicken a little. Remove from heat and sprinkle the gelatin over top. Let it rehydrate for a couple minutes and then stir in. Chill the fruit in the fridge. 

for the crisp crunchies
1½ cups flour
¾ cup brown sugar
⅛ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
2 sticks butter
1½ cups rolled oats

Using your hands, mix everything together until sandy crumbs form. (If using a food processor, pulse everything together but the rolled oats. When combined, pour the mixture into a bowl and add the oats. Squeeze the mixture a few times to combine.) 

Spread the crumbs on a parchment-lined baking sheet and bake at 350 degrees for 20-35 minutes, stirring once or twice to break up the chunks (the biggest chunks should be no larger than a kidney bean), and to make sure they brown evenly. 

Cool to room temperature before transferring to a lidded container and freezing. This makes enough crisp crunchies for 3-4 batches of ice cream.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (9.13.21), the brothers buzz, what they talked about, the quotidian (9.14.15), playing catch-up, chile cobanero, cinnamon sugar breadsticks.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

Yay Pizza.

Pig food: not all my cheeses are a hit.

Breakfast: sourdough everything bagel, cream cheese, olives.

Lunch: gas station store bread, tomatoes, mayo, S&P.

Fact: white ceramic plates were created for the sole purpose of showing off berry jewels.

And toast was invented so we’d have a place upon which to spread red raspberry jam,
(which is now my husband’s favorite jam, he says).

It took me 15 years, but I’m finally conquoring my fears.

[pounds chest] Watch out, people.

My little raspberry patch friend.
For weeks, Mildred has not moved from her spot.

At the outdoor theater: wine for one, cheese for 2 (plus), olives for the world.

Labor day, with friends.

Winter is coming.

This same time, years previous: the cheesemaking saga continues, Coco, lemony mashed potato salad, the quotidian (9.12.16), what writing a book is like, the good things that happen, making my children jump, whooooooosh.