Strawberries are here. About time, right? I do feel like this harvest season has been a bit off. Usually I’m able to find a couple of farmers selling fresh local strawberries by Memorial Day. Though this year it seems that last weekend was the first opportunity. Luckily, they’re a fruit that linger. I can recall still getting strawberries after July 4th last year in my CSA.
It blows my mind that I haven’t posted about my obsession for homemade almond milk yet. I went through my archives. I looked. Maybe it accidentally got deleted? I don’t know. I just can’t believe I haven’t shared.
I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to go broke with my $4 a day medium cold brew. The rest of the year I’m pretty good at bringing coffee from home, but I just can’t get on board with hot coffee on 80 degree days. The summer might be over but it doesn’t seem like the heat is going away anytime soon. In fact, for a fairly mild summer, it seems like some of the hottest days are ahead of us. Luckily, I’ve figured out a way to still enjoy cold brew every morning without the hefty price tag.
I had my first egg cream at 26. Don’t laugh. I didn’t actually even know what it was until probably a few months before that first sip. In fact, I actually thought it involved a real egg. Eww. I mean really, egg cream? How does that at all sound inviting? But one sip at the Lexington Candy Shop and I was in love. I’ve had dozens, maybe over a hundred, always seeking perfection. It was only a few weeks ago that I finally attempted to make my own.
I remember as a kid spending a lot of time in Sandwich, Massachusetts, just on the edge of the Cape. We’d camp–and when I say camp, I mean stay log cabins with electricity, sometimes roughing it with the fully functioning shared bathroom a few yards outside the door–swim, hike and play mini golf. But my favorite activity (mini golf was a very close second) was blueberry picking. We’d head up in late summer when the berries were perfectly ripe.
The goal of our blueberry picking adventures was to harvest enough berries for pancakes the next morning and snacking for most of the week. My brother and I (we were probably about 7 and 2 around that time) were fitted with the farm’s ingenious blueberry pickers–a half-gallon milk jug with the top cut off for easy filling capacity and a string attached to the jug’s handle that would go around our neck like a necklace, leaving two hands free for efficient pickling.