Yellow Plum Jam with Vanilla

For the past couple of summers, I've gone over to my friend Kari's house to pick yellow plums from her backyard. This tree gives and gives gorgeous, mellow yellow fruit. 

Last year, the tree almost went overboard with its generosity. Kari called everyone she knew to come and pick plums. Afterward, there were still more, as in falling-to-the-ground-and-attracting-bees-and-getting-squashed-underfoot-by-the-kids more. Desperately, Kari called the gleaners. They came, they picked, they handed her a receipt for the amount of fruit collected: over 500 pounds. From one backyard tree!

We actually went to pick our plums after the gleaners were done and the tree gave us yet another 50 pounds to take home, with more still visibly weighing down its generous branches. 

I learned something from bringing home 50 pounds of one type of fruit. It's a bit like winning the lottery, I imagine. After you get home, you have to take a moment to stand back and wonder at what to do with all the wealth that you've suddenly acquired. It almost feels like too much -- although the greedy pig inside you would never admit it.

Mostly, I made jam with the plums. All day jamming sessions that went late into the night for a couple of days in a row. Then I used the jam to make all sorts of things like cakes and cookies. But mostly, I happily spread the sweet-tart stuff onto buttered toast.

The main thing I took away from my plum jam-making is that it is a process. It's hard work, and you get really sweaty from all the boiling and boiling away that is happening. Your arm starts to ache from stirring to prevent scorching and skimming the scum off the top. If making more than one batch, you might also get snapped at here and there by a husband who is providing childcare to a toddler and wondering when you will actually be finished with your seemingly never-ending project.

It's not glamorous work at all, though you'd never know it from the final product, which sits innocently -- and at times, glamorously -- gleaming in small glass jars on your pantry shelf, like a girl who knows she is beautiful but who doesn't want you to think she realizes it.

Despite the involved process, the maker of things in me just loves putting up jam.

But a bit more about what I've learned. Jam must be made in modest quantities. With plums, especially, it seems the smallest batch that you can make without feeling let down by the fact that you only have six puny jars at the end of it, is best. 

Plums, especially the yellow ones from Kari's tree, are full of water. They have to be macerated first in sugar, softening their skins and leaving you with fruit basking in layers of golden syrup. Then, they have to be cooked down longer than other less moisture-laden fruit.

They mustn't, however, be overcooked, which is more likely to happen if you make a larger batch of jam. If the fruit is cooked too long, it loses the beguiling, fragrant quality that makes it so attractive in the first place, leaving only tartness and a one-dimensionality behind.

This year, I only took home 18 pounds of plums from Kari's tree (even as she attempted to hand me more). I made it all into jam. 

When you live in a place that rains nine months out of the year, a fragrant plum jam is most welcome on the darkest of winter's days. It is the best reminder of sweeter, warmer times when it was possible to spend a sunny afternoon with friends, reaching up into a giving tree to pluck its ripe, bloom-covered fruit. 

Yellow Plum Jam with Vanilla
This is a jam for anyone who loves tart flavors. The addition of vanilla gives the jam additional complexity and a lovely fragrance. We make a lot of vanilla ice cream during the summer months and always have spent vanilla beans sitting in a jar of sugar. That's what I used here. You can also probably use some vanilla extract added at the end, but that might not give as nice a flavor as the spent vanilla pod would. 

You'll also notice that this recipe does not contain any liquid or powdered pectin. I prefer not to use it, as I feel it gives the jam a murky taste. I generally prefer the clean, bright flavor of fruit with a softer set to a firmer-set jam with cloudier flavor.

Slightly adapted from The Blue Chair Jam Cookbook.

Makes 6 to 7 8-ounce jars. 

Ingredients
2 pounds, 3 ounces (35 total ounces) pitted and halved yellow plums (to be mashed/pureed)
2 pounds, 5 ounces (37 total ounces) pitted yellow plums, halved
1 1/4 pounds plus 3/4 pound white cane sugar
2 to 6 ounces freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained
1 spent vanilla pod leftover from other cooking activities, or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

Instructions

Day 1
In a large non-reactive bowl, layer the 2 pounds, 3 ounces of fruit with 1 1/4 pounds of sugar and 1 ounce of lemon juice. It is important to make sure each of piece of fruit is covered with the sugar and lemon juice. In another separate non-reactive bowl, combine the 2 pounds, 5 ounces of plums in the same manner with the remaining 3/4 pound of sugar and 1 ounce of lemon juice. For each container, press down a piece of plastic wrap against the fruit to prevent browning. Cover both bowls tightly and allow to macerate in the refrigerator for 24 hours. If you find that you can't get to it by then and need a little bit more time, that is fine as well.

Day 2
Place a saucer with a few metal teaspoons on it in the freezer. You will use this to test your jam later for doneness.

Remove plums from the refrigerator. Scrape the 2 pounds, 3 ounces of macerated plums into a large, non-reactive dutch-oven or other similar type of wide cooking vessel with high sides. Place over medium-high heat, stirring often until they soften, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and coarsely mash (I used a potato masher, but you can also use a food mill), breaking up larger chunks.

Add the uncooked, macerated plums. Taste the mixture. Very gradually add lemon juice as needed. Taste as you go. The flavor of the lemon juice should be present but not overpowering. The ideal is to be able to just detect the tartness of the lemon. 

Bring the jam mixture to a boil over high heat, stirring frequently with a large, heatproof spatula. Boil, stirring frequently until the jam thickens, 30 to 45 minutes. As the jam cooks, use a large stainless steel spoon to skim off foam from the surface. Discard. Scrape the bottom of the pan often. Very importantly, decrease the heat gradually as more and more moisture cooks out of the jam. Stir the jam slowly and steadily the last 10 minutes of cooking to prevent scorching.

When the jam is thickened, test it for doneness. Remove a spoon from the freezer and scoop a half-spoonful of jam with it then put it back in the freezer for 3 minutes. Remove and feel the underside of the spoon. It should be neither warm nor cold. If still warm, put it back in the freezer for another moment. When ready, hold the spoon vertically to see how quickly the jam runs. It is done when it is thick and gloppy. If it runs off the spoon, cook your jam for another five minutes, stirring, then test again.

Turn off the heat and don't stir the jam. If any foam remains, skim it off the surface. Add the vanilla pod by pressing it slightly down into the jam. Allow the jam to sit for 10 minutes, then pour the jam into prepared, sterilized containers (here's a nice how to), leaving behind the vanilla pod. 

Process the jars in boiling water for 10 minutes. Remove from water bath and place on a rack, with jars at least an inch apart. Allow to cool overnight without disturbing. This jam will last for one year.

A Summer Basil Dressing

We've officially reached that part of the summer where I don't feel like cooking. The weather's been too nice. We've had birthday parties to go to and trips to the berry farm to make. I've been trying to get ahead by washing and prepping produce and ingredients in clusters rather than separately each day. 

This means that on Thursdays, when our CSA box comes into the house, I will wash and dry lettuces, dark greens like kale and chard, roasting all the things that want to be roasted (such as beets, carrots, potatoes), wash and chop things like green beans and put together any sauces or dressings that can be made ahead of time.

In her very soothing and reassuring book, An Everlasting Meal: Cooking with Economy and Grace, Tamar Adler has a helpful essay about cooking in this manner. In fact, I found a lot of inspiration for making practical adjustments in the kitchen thanks to her book. She describes many of her very sensible methods, such as taking washed lettuces and laying them flat between layers of paper towels in a roasted pan then covering the whole thing up with plastic wrap.

That's a bit more than I am capable in the summer months (I know! Lazy, lazy!), so I just toss my lettuces into a clean produce bag, stuff a couple paper towels in there willy nilly, and put it in the fridge bin. This lazy person's method has worked out just fine for me. 

When it comes to what to deal with first, herbs are always the thing, especially the soft-stemmed types like basil and cilantro. Cilantro and parsley bunches get shoved into mason jars with a couple of inches of water at the bottom. A sandwich bag usually gets slapped on top of the leaves.

I find that basil can hardly stand to be in the fridge for more than a day before the edges start blackening. So I deal with that as soon as possible. If I have a large quantity, I will turn it into pesto or this caesar-inspired salad dressing, without the anchovies.

This dressing is the perfect thing to have in a big jar for whenever you do decide you need to eat something, anything now. Like, say, a green salad with some beets you've roasted. After you've dabbed on some dressing, fling on some walnuts that you wisely toasted earlier in the week. Lunch? Done.

If you have a piece of fish, perhaps a nice bit of sockeye, cook it in a pan with some butter and oil, spooning the fat over it while it cooks for about 6 or 7 minutes. Then flip it over and let the heat just kiss it. When you put it onto your plate, spoon some of this dressing on top, and you'll be the happiest lazy summer cook around.

Enjoy the rest of these hot, lazy days. They are fleeting!

Basil Caesar Salad Dressing

Makes 3 3/4 cups. 

Ingredients
4 tablespoons minced garlic scapes (or substitute 1 clove garlic) 
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
3 tablespoons lemon juice, freshly squeezed (about 2 lemons)
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar, preferably raw and unpasteurized
1/2 teaspoon Worchestershire sauce
4 packed cups (about 6 ounces) basil, leaves only
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese 
Salt
Black pepper, freshly ground

Instructions
In a blender or food processor container, place garlic scapes, mustard, lemon juice, vinegar and basil. Pulse to combine. Scrape down sides if needed. While machine is running, slowly add olive oil. Stir in parmesan, add salt and pepper, adjusting to taste.

It's Alive! A Basic Ginger Kombucha

Everyone has their ways to stay balanced, sane or to even feel truly alive. Mine is to make things.

Over the years, I've developed the belief that it's crucial to make at least one thing a day. It can be anything. A pie, a blog post, a tiny paper flag on a toothpick (we've been making a lot of these for Kingston's mini-race tracks).  

You can even do as my friend Rowan does, which is to make piles of leaves and twigs and other organic detritus to fend off the woods and hold the perimeter of her five-acre property. It's her ongoing art project. The piles somehow eventually dwindle down then disappear completely. But where do they go? We can only wonder.

As humans, we're just meant to make things. It's the so-called "creative impulse." The stubborn pushing back against mortality. It's the effort that matters more than any actual final product. To care enough, as the poet Dylan Thomas put it, to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

I've been doing my share of this lately and happily making plenty of things. One of them happens to be kombucha, a slightly fizzy, fermented tea that may have its origins dating back centuries, to Asia. 

Recently, our family friend, Ralph, gave me a baby SCOBY (AKA a "symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast") birthed from the "mother" of his continuous-brew kombucha. I took it gratefully and following his instructions, managed to turn it into a sweet and tart, living fermented product. 

I don't know about you, but for me, there is nothing that gives me more joy - that pure, kid-like glee - than making something out of what seems like not that much of anything. In this case, a few teaspoons of tea, sugar, water, and a floppy white alien being-thing with yellowish strands hanging down from the edges of it.

"That stuff's yeast," Ralph said, smiling at me.

Maybe it's something like when as a kid you would take some clay or sand and water, some paint or crayons, fling it around, and vóila! The stuff was transformed into a new universe filled with strange creatures or maybe just every kind of dog or cat or candy that you ever wanted. 

Remember those moments?

There's something especially magical about shoving an adult-version of clay and water, in this case, my gallon-size jar of sweet tea and SCOBY into a warmish, dark corner for 10 days knowing that it will become totally altered. I keep trying to forget about it. Meanwhile, I keep wishing I could shrink myself down to nano particle size in order to jump in, swim around and see what's really going on in that brew of mine. 

I know it's not possible. But still. 

Making stuff yourself is a big part of the culture up here where we live. It's part of why I like it so much. Turn in any direction and you'll run into makers and producers of everything from goat cheese and Ethiopian Doro Wat to "new" clothing made from old.

We have brewers of all sorts of things. Yes, there's  mead, kombucha and craft distillers of eau de vie, vodka and gin, but beer is especially big one here. In fact, for a town of our size we have our more-than-fair share of two things: microbreweries and bike shops. 

It seems that most of the people I know here in town have a crock or mason jar of some sort of living fermented thing going on in the hidden recesses of their homes. Now that I've gotten to know kombucha-making, I can understand why.

The stuff is alive, feeding on the sugar added to the brew. It's full of organic acids and B vitamins. Homebrew also changes from batch to batch, according to a lot of different factors (length of fermentation, type of tea used, flavor additions during a second fermentation) so that it can come out slightly different each time. It's fully satisfying project for the type of person who likes to make things. 

I encourage you to try this one out and play around with the flavors and brew times. Watch those SCOBYs multiply. I'll admit that it can feel a little freaky. After all, it's alive!

A Basic Ginger Kombucha (Batch Method)
This is the version I ended up with after guidance from Ralph and Kombucha Kamp. You can make kombucha from black or green tea. The green tea offers a cleaner, lighter taste, which I prefer. 

Makes 1 gallon, from which you'll save your new SCOBY and 1 cup starter liquid.

Ingredients
4 organic green or black tea bags (or use 4 teaspoons loose green tea as I did)
1 cup organic evaporated cane sugar, plus extra for the flavoring stage
Filtered, non-chlorinated water
1 healthy SCOBY plus 1 cup starter liquid*
1 gallon brewing vessel made of glass or ceramic
A cloth cover or coffee filter
A rubber band

A few inches of fresh ginger, cut into small pieces
A second bottle, such as a large growler or glass bottles with flip tops

Instructions
Before you begin, make sure everything is clean - any utensils, the area you're working in, and of course your brewing vessel and bottles. Very important: Clean only using hot water and/or vinegar. Soap can introduce unwanted bacteria or mold into your brew.

Place tea in a tea pot. Bring 4 cups of water to a boil. Pour water over the tea and allow to steep for 5 minutes. Add sugar and stir to dissolve. Pour the hot, sweet tea into your brewing vessel (I used a 1 gallon glass jar) then add enough cold water to fill the container about 2 inches short of the top.

Allow liquid to cool to at least body temperature or cooler. Place SCOBY into the liquid. It will sink toward the bottom, but will eventually rise to the top. (For my first batch, this took a full 7 days.) Cover the top of your brewing vessel and secure the cover using a rubber band. Place your brew in a dark place that isn't too cool and where air can circulate.

Allow to ferment, undisturbed for 7-10 days. After that time, scoop a bit off the top (leaving the SCOBY alone) to taste. If it seems too sweet, allow it to ferment another day or too. If it is too tart for your taste, keep this in mind for the next batch and ferment for a shorter period next time.

Flavoring your kombucha:
Decant kombucha into clean bottles using either a funnel or a large measuring cup. Push pieces of ginger into the bottleneck. Put as much as you'd like. Add 1/2 teaspoon of sugar. This will provide a bit of extra "food" for the good bacteria and yeast in the brew to feed on, which promotes carbonation. If you want even more carbonation, add a bit more sugar. 

Allow your flavored kombucha to continue fermenting for another 3-5 days. Burp the bottles at least once each day to avoid explosions. Yes, the carbonation can get that strong! At the time of your choosing, start enjoying your delicious fermented drink.

To make a new batch, follow these steps all over again.

*Note: Always use a SCOBY that is fresh and has never been refrigerated or dehydrated if you want optimal results. Starter liquid is the liquid from the batch of kombucha from which your SCOBY originated.

Friekedellen - Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce, & My Belgian Sister

It's summer. We're supposed to be eating salad and ice cream and grilling hot dogs and burgers. So who makes meatballs in the middle of July, anyway?

I do.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a picture of some cherries Kingston and I were buying at a roadside farm stand. Such glorious fruit! In my post I asked if anyone had ideas for what we should do with them. I was expecting suggestions on the sweet side, like some kind of ice cream, sorbet, or that summer classic, cherry pie.

My sister, Margie, responded almost immediately with, "Flemish meatballs with cherry sauce!" 

Margie was in college when she traveled to Belgium one summer and met Patrick of Flanders who lived on a boat. After she came home, a period of feverish correspondence ensued before she soon returned to marry him.

They have three children: Brett, Macy and Matt who grew up just outside of Antwerp in the northern, Flemish-speaking part of the country. My sister was so far from all of us here in the U.S. as she and Patrick raised their kids. But these young people! So beautiful. Sensitive and kind.

Soon after her suggestion on Instagram, Margie sent me a recipe for the meatballs. Reading through it, I suddenly missed her more than anything. It might seem a little silly to get teary over reading about meatballs and not even while actually eating them (which would be more sensible, or at the very least might make more sense), but that's what happened.

It surprised me that a recipe, this recipe, could do that. I had never eaten this dish before, never shared it with Margie, neither cooked it nor even heard of it until she mentioned it from thousands of miles away.

But food will do that, won't it? Remind us of people we love and miss, bridge vast distances and encompass the complexity of all sorts of emotions.

Really, it's miraculous.

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In 2013, when Kingston was about to turn two, we traveled to see Margie and her family on a two-week visit. It had been a long, long time since we'd seen each other. Here she is in beautiful Bruges, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with Kingston. What he recalled for a long time after that trip was hearing the "klop klop" sound of the horses hooves as they took tourists around town. 

I remember gobbling down hot, fried potatoes at the frites stand (or, fritkot) in the center of town. Feeling befuddled as I stood downstairs at The Chocolate Museum, where I could not understand even a word of the heavily-accented English of the chocolatier who was giving a demonstration. Throwing a look at my sister, who was not trying to laugh in that moment.

I also can't forget all the waffles I ate during (necessary) multiple trips to Désiré De LiIle either, or the tender braised pork cheeks at the iconic 7Schaken off the Grote Markt in Antwerp.

But what I remember most about our journey is slipping back into a feeling of comfort with my sister, one that even after such a long period of separation remained intact. That feeling was like having a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders, old and familiar.

Traveling as a family is a luxury for us, so we do it less often than we would like. Even as far apart as we are in distance, I think of our Belgian family often, wonder what they are up to, imagine them walking down streets that smell of warm bread or cooking waffles.

People we love can come alive for us through a photo, a call and of course, even a dish. This one ties me to my sister.

My Friekedellen, Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce
This recipe steps a little bit away from the traditional version of this dish. I know, I know. I did my best to stick with the original recipe, but there were a few things I couldn't help changing. First, in the traditional recipe, you are asked to make huge, fairly plain meatballs that you then boil (I think this is because they are so huge). I pan fried mine instead. 

Second, there are very few additions to the original version other than meat, salt, pepper and some nutmeg. I wanted more tenderness and flavor, so I made some additions, as you'll see below.

Third, taking a cue from the Scandinavian versions of this homey dish, I decided to add a gravy. It seems silly not to when you are pan frying, since all the flavor ends up in the bits that collect in the bottom of the pan. Scrape it up, add some liquid, flour and in this case, a bit of tangy buttermilk and you've got yourself a really tasty sauce. Serve it all up with a rich cherry sauce and you have a worthy tribute to long-distance sisterhood.

Makes about 36 meatballs.

Adapted from Fans of Flanders.

Ingredients
For the meatballs:
1 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
1 large egg
2 slices of white bread
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 a large onion (or 1 small onion), finely minced
1 1/2 teaspoons allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
pinch of fennel seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more if needed
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more if needed 
1/2 cup buttermilk

For the cherry sauce:
2 lbs. red cherries, halved and pitted
1-2 tablespoons of honey
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Instructions
For the meatballs:
Soak bread in milk for about 30 minutes. When it is very soft and has soaked up all of the milk, add pork, beef, onion, allspice, nutmeg, fennel, salt and a grind or two of fresh pepper. Use hands to combine together and knead gently. Form into balls slightly larger than a walnut, rolling between your hands so that their shape holds and they are fairly compact. 

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoon butter with 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet. Fry meatballs over medium to medium-high heat until they are well browned. It's best to leave them for about 6 minutes before turning them the first time, then cooking an additional 4 or 5 minutes. Cook in batches or use two pans. If cooking in batches, wipe out skillet, then add more butter and oil before frying additional meatballs. Transfer meat to a platter, along with any onion bits from the bottom of the pan.

Sprinkle flour into the pan and stir with a wooden spoon. Add a tablespoon of butter and let it melt, stirring the flour and butter together until smooth and scraping up any additional bits at the bottom of the skillet. Remove pan from heat and slowly add 1 1/2 cups of hot water, mixing it in quickly. Return to heat and stir in the buttermilk until a smooth sauce forms. Adjust for salt and pepper. Add the meatballs (and onion bits) to the sauce in the skillet, cover, and cook for an additional 10 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly and the meatballs are soft and tender. 

For the cherry sauce:
Place cherries in a large saucepan. Cook over medium low heat until the fruit softens and give up some of its juices. Stir in honey. Use more or less depending on how tangy you like the sauce. Combine flour and water in a small bowl.  Stir into the cherries and allow to cook until it thickens. Once the sauce has thickened, add the butter then give it another stir. Your sauce should have a soft, glossy appearance.

Serve meatballs with cherry sauce on the side. Friekedellen!

Cherry-Blueberry Iced Terrine & A Rooster Dinner

We needed a special dessert for our dinner this past Sunday. Not because it was Fourth of July weekend, a birthday, or anything like that. 

My brother, Jackson, was coming over to eat his roosters.

Two chicks from the flock of Langshans and Delawares he was raising, all of whom were meant to be laying hens, had the appearance of having developed into males. This guess was confirmed when one day last week, the first began crowing. The following day the second did the same. 

Something had to be done. Roosters, you see, are not allowed within our city limits due to the disruptive, early-morning noise they make. A neighbor had already stopped by to remind Jackson about this.

Jackson quickly put them on craigslist and immediately received several phone calls from people who sounded very eager to take the unwanted roosters.

"What do you think they want to do with them?" I asked.

He had no idea. He also hadn't told any of them to come over to take the birds. I sensed some ambivalence from him about giving them away. 

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"Why don't we cook them? We can make coq au vin," I blurted, in some perhaps, misguided attempt to get to the bottom of his ambivalence.

After all, I had never made coq au vin before, and had only eaten it once in Belgium about a million years ago. (And again, why didn't he want to just get rid of the roosters anyway when there were eager takers awaiting his return calls?)

But I had just read through the coq au vin recipe in Mimi Thorisson's cookbook. Why not try it?

To my surprise, his face lit up at my suggestion. Then he said okay.

Stipulations, boundaries, expectations must always be immediately set forth when dealing with one's own family members in relation to such matters as slaughtering and processing an animal. 

"You need to make sure they're totally clean, I mean like chicken from the supermarket," I said emphatically.

This was my PTSD speaking, from him suddenly showing up last year at my house with some dead chickens, feet and heads still attached, feathers on -- the creatures plonked into a heap at the bottom of a Home Depot bucket. 

"Okay, okay," He agreed.

The roosters arrived mostly clean. I followed Mimi's recipe, which resulted in tender, flavorful meat with a rich, inky sauce. Everyone at dinner agreed that it was a tasty dish. Then, our friend, Ralph, stopped by and tried it. He remarked that he was surprised that the meat wasn't tough.

The conversation came around to us talking about eating something you've raised yourself. My brother commented that the roosters were twelve weeks old when he killed them and that he had raised them from tiny chicks. There was something to that. He had a wistful look in his eye. 

Then, he told us that he'd followed our mom's tip (she once lived on a farm in Kowloon) to sneak up on the rooster and step on its foot so it can't run away from you. She had also directed him to pick up the rooster, cuddle it and gently stroke it so it would be relaxed and happy before he slit its neck.

Perhaps that is the key to a delectable coq au vin? I'm not quite sure.

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What I can tell you is that while many people move further and further away from knowing the sources of their food, including the meat they consume, there is something powerful about knowing that two roosters that were raised -- then slaughtered -- by my brother were made into something delicious that our friends and family could share around a table.

I would assert that the act of sharing this meal tied us together in a way that made us better humans. It made us think, and sparked conversation between all of us about the meaning of where our food comes from, why it matters. 

That night, Ralph, recalled a scene in The Last of the Mohicans, which he read when he was a boy and still remembered vividly. After a deer hunt, the hunters thanked the animal for providing, in its death, for them and their families.  

Roosters, we thank you. I remember when I would hand over strawberry tops, spinach stems, and other scraps to my brother for your enjoyment. I hope you liked when we tossed you meal worms and said "Hello ladies!" even though you were anything but. 

You gave us a wonderful meal. You were the highlight. Even the spectacular dessert we had afterward could not eclipse you. 

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Iced Cherry and Blueberry Terrine
Really, I'm not exaggerating, but every time I offer a slice of this to anyone, they just stare at it and say "Wow," before they actually eat it. Make it when you want to impress someone. If you don't have an ice cream machine, this is the perfect almost-ice cream treat for you. Actually, I might go so far as to say it is even better than ice cream, with it's layers of textures and flavors. And zero churning! It's super-easy to make and comes together quickly once you have all the elements ready. You will have to turn on the oven for parts of this, but please trust me on this one: it's worth it.

You can play around with the types of fruits you use. There is no sugar added to the cream since the meringues add the requisite sweetness. While there is a four-hour minimum freeze time, this is best eaten within 24 hours, if not sooner. It will start to get icy after that, unless you have it well wrapped and in an insulated, freezer-proof container.

But why try to save it? I think this is the sort of thing you should invite a bunch of friends over to eat right when it's ready. You don't need to have any particular reason like a rooster dinner! Do it just because it's delicious and you want to share something that will make everybody happy. Hand anyone a slice of this and I promise his eyes will light up.

Adapted from Nigel Slater's wonderful book, Ripe.

Makes 10 servings.

Ingredients
For the terrine:
Roasted red cherries and blueberries (see below*)
2 cups heavy whipping cream
3/4 cup chocolate almond meringues (see below**), crumbled

*For the roasted cherries and blueberries:
2 cups red cherries
Pinch of cinnamon
1 1/2 cups blueberries
1 teaspoon Lyle's Golden Syrup, maple syrup, or honey

**For the chocolate almond meringues:
5 egg whites 
1 1/2 cups superfine sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/3 cup bittersweet chocolate (use the best you can find, hopefully 60-72% cacao), finely chopped
1/2 cup raw, sliced almonds

Instructions
Make the meringues:
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Spread the sugar on the parchment and bake for 7 minutes, until the sugar is hot and the edges are just beginning to dissolve. 

While the sugar is heating up, place the egg whites in clean bowl (make sure there is no fat residue of any kind, including yolk). Using a stand mixer, whisk the whites on medium until foamy. Add vanilla. When the sugar is ready, pour it slowly in a stream into the the whites while your whisk is still going. Once the sugar is incorporated, turn to high and beat for another 9 minutes until the whites are firm, shiny, and smooth. The meringue should be cool at this point.

Fold in the chocolate. Spread almonds on a large plate. Using two spoons, gather a scoop of the meringue and roll the bottom on top of the almonds. Place the meringue onto the prepared baking sheet. Continue in the same manner with the remaining meringue. Make sure to leave enough room between the meringues, as they will expand.

Bake for two hours. Allow to cool before removing to a wire rack to complete cooling. Meringues may be prepared up to 2 days ahead of time and stored in a tightly sealed container. You will have a bit of extra after you have finished making the terrine. 

Make the roasted cherries and blueberries:
Preheat oven to 425°F. Cut cherries in half and pit them. Place in a single layer in a small baking pan. Add cinnamon. Place blueberries in a single layer in a separate baking pan. Drizzle golden syrup over the blueberries. Bake for 15 minutes, until the fruit have given up juices which have thickened slightly. Cool completely. Fruit may be prepared up to 3 days ahead.

And finally, for the terrine:
Prepare a loaf pan by lining it with plastic wrap. Allow the edges of the wrap to drape over the sides. Press wrap into the pan.

Place whipping cream in bowl of stand mixer. Using whisk attachment, beat the cream until it is just starting to thicken but has not yet formed peaks. Remove from mixer. Add crumbled meringues, distributing it throughout the whipped cream. 

Place a layer of the whipped cream-meringue mixture (half) into the bottom of the prepared loaf pan. Add the cherries, carefully swirling them quickly and with a light hand through the cream. Add another layer (the other half) of the remaining whipped cream-meringue. Drizzle the roasted blueberries and syrup over and then swirl quickly and with a light hand through the second whipped cream layer. Cover completely with plastic wrap. I added another layer of foil for more secure coverage.

Place in freezer for 4 hours and up to 24 hours. To serve, remove terrine from loaf pan by lifting the edges of the plastic wrap. Unwrap terrine and slice into 1-inch slices. Serve immediately. 

Best when eaten within 24 hours.