I don’t know if you know, but ice cream is my jam. My desert island food. I used the heat of the last couple days as an excuse to make a batch – strawberry-rhubarb, since the best part about the pie is the ice cream pairing. You can skip the pastry and the baking and get the job done all in one go. Also – there’s something about pure pink ice cream that digs deep into the best part of your childhood. It reminds me of digging the thick stripes of strawberry and chocolate out of the tub of neapolitan. I sometimes roast strawberries and rhubarb for ice cream, but that would require turning on the oven, and it hit 31 degrees at dinnertime last night. You can use fresh, uncooked strawberries, lightly mashed, but I find those combined with heat and sugar become the best form of themselves, and are easier to distribute throughout the cream. Bonus: it’s easy to simmer some rhubarb alongside.

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Warning: it’s going to be all rhubarb, all the time around here for awhile while we eat our way through the first couple armloads. This week I’ve eaten them stewed, in Eton Mess, in scones and a crisp – I’m a firm believer in rhubarb for breakfast, and its ability to get along well with all fruits, from mangoes to blackberries, makes it the ideal candidate for an easy crisp, into which you can toss whatever fruit you happen to have or need to use up because it’s starting to go wrinkly. Also it uses up armloads of rhubarb.

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Happy Pop’s Day! I do love my dad. I wish I could pass on stories of and recipes for the elaborate homemade meal I whipped up for Mike tonight, but I did no such thing. It was easy to okay W’s request to take him to Five Guys for burgers – having spent the week in Kelowna (after a week in Ontario) and having woken up at 5 am yesterday for the 6:30 flight home after a late night at Tantalus Vineyards with Cam and Dana of Joy Road in the kitchen, I then spent the day yesterday at Beef – the Festival at Heritage Park talking up all that is good on a cow. Early this morning we went for brunch at my mom & dad’s, where I helped cook the bacon and pass around my sister’s pull-apart cinnamon buns, but didn’t actually assemble anything from scratch myself. Despite being out of the kitchen for so long I was perfectly happy not to cook,Continue reading

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