Strawberries: The Real Thing

Well, this is a little out of summer sequence, because this is the first local product I bought when I arrived here in June, and this jam is the first thing I made. How could I forget that precious item that that I eat only in their native habitat in season—strawberries (not counting tomatoes, of course)—particularly when they are scarce to nonexistent in Tucson, unless it is the strawberries brought in from Yuma? Which doesn’t happen much.

The strawberries were amazing this year: a gift after a cruel winter. It is a ritual for me to make a small batch of jam with the first ones I get, and this summer was no different. I always makes something a little different—although strawberry-vanilla is a perennial favorite—and since I had just planted a little container herb garden, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I had a nice lot of true peppermint on hand.

I suppose that my strawberry jams are really more like preserves. I leave smaller berries whole, and only cut larger ones in half. And of course, I like my jams cooked just long enough so that they have jelled but are still fluid. This takes a lot of practice—I am anti-commercial-pectin, as you may know—but is well worth the effort for a perfect, versatile product.

Strawberry-Mint Jam

I just throw the mint in whole and fish it out after the jam is done. Use as much or as little as you like. Makes a little over a pint.

1 pint ripe local strawberries
1 ¾ cups sugar

Pinch salt

3 or 4 nice big sprigs of peppermint, left whole

Juice of half a lemon, and the rind

Wipe strawberries with a paper towel, hull, and cut the large ones in half. Put everything into a minimum 2-qt saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring gently to dissolve the sugar. Reduce the heat somewhat, but keeping it at a low boil, and cook, skimming, until it is as you like it, testing by your preferred methods or temperature (about 220F at sea level).  Ladle into jars, and freeze one for a treat during the cold winter months.

Strawberries for Memorial Day: Signs of Summer

I feel guilty talking about summer while it has rained back East for most of this iconic holiday weekend. I know it’s been a cool and rainy spring after a famously brutal winter on the East Coast, and while I am sorry for that, it’s worked out well for me to be staying longer than usual in Tucson again this year, this time to teach an ethics module to the evening and exec MBAs.  Brilliantly sunny, hot, and dry here, of course, but also the fruit is rolling in—apricots, sweet cherries, and beautiful Yuma strawberries. I still can’t get over some of the things they manage to entice out of the desert.

Part of what makes me happy to see the strawberries is that they remind me that it won’t be long ‘til I’m back in the place for which that gorgeous word “summer” must have been created and the standard against which all other summers are measured, New England. I will be back in LC on July 1, which means, of course, a return to this now-mostly-seasonal blog.  I look forward to that, along with everything else precious that summer brings for me—the ocean and the local food, of course, but most of all, seeing my family and my friends. Happy Memorial Day weekend; let summer begin, and be beautiful and bountiful. Surely the hardy people of New England have earned that much. See you soon.

Yuma Express

For some reason I always want to pair strawberries with Campari when it’s hot, as I did with this cocktail a few years ago soon after arriving in LC. Here’s another one, served with a spoon.  Serves 1.

1 oz Gran Marnier (or ½ brandy, ½ orange liquer)

½ oz freshly squeezed lemon juice

3-4 perfect strawberries, cored and sliced

1 oz Campari

1 oz  Plymouth Gin

Macerate the strawberries in the lemon juice and Gran Marnier for 15-20 minutes. Strain the liquid into a cocktail shaker and place the strawberries into a martini glass or coupe.

Add the Campari and gin to the shaker, and shake with crushed ice until very cold. Strain into the glass and serve with a silver spoon.

                                           

Desert Strawberries

I was surprised to see true local strawberries, the kind we get for a brief few weeks in June in Little Compton, at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago. Since commercial strawberries have gone the way of tomatoes in recent years—giant mutants, red outside and all white and fibrous within, tasteless, mealy—I really don’t eat them except when they are local and just-picked. This is another way of saying I only eat the real deal. No fake fruit for me.

The berries were from Yuma, of western movie fame. You may remember from seeing either the old or the new version of 3:10 to Yuma (both very good) that the sun is pretty steady there, to say the least: Yuma describes itself, apparently with accuracy, as having “more sunshine than any city on earth.” Strawberries like that. These were fragrant and juicy, and red right through, as a strawberry should be. I’ve always thought that strawberries needed a little cool moisture to set right, so maybe the fact that Yuma is on the Colorado River—yes, rivers do run through deserts—provides just enough to do the trick. Or the farmers irrigate. Whatever, these berries were delicious.

And they were cheap: a nostalgic, like the berries themselves, $2.50 a pint. Had I not been on my way out of town, I would have bought tons and made jam and shortcake . I bought only two pints, promptly ate one out of hand, dipping a few in heavy cream and demerara sugar, and, after briefly considering marinating them for one of my favorite quick desserts, pureed and froze the other. It is all relative, but even here in AZ, we have a kind of winter. There are few more hopeful reminders that spring will come again than taking something berryish from the freezer on a cold winter night. The taste of summer is always something to look forward to.

Strawberries Are In—and They Are Fine!

I had heard all about the brutal winter and soggy spring this year, and I thought, oh no, not another growing season (or lack thereof) like 2009. So I was really surprised when, driving right past the fruit lady on my way into Little Compton because I wasn’t expecting anything¸ I glimpsed little boxes of red in my rear-view mirror. I was too tired from traveling to turn around, but when I got to Walker’s I pulled in, hoping for lettuce. There was beautiful lettuce—more about that later—but also strawberries. Walker’s own: he used to buy them from others and they were always priced too high, but apparently has decided to add some fruit to his largely vegetable-focused farm. $3.50 a pint, and gorgeous.
The modern commercial strawberry has a lot in common with the modern commercial tomato: it’s huge and red. And also tasteless, pulpy, all-core-and-no-flesh inside, fragrance-free, and generally inedible. It has a half-life of about a zillion years. It is just a red, strawberry-shaped mutant, best relegated to a centerpiece or the decorating of hats. I never buy them. And certainly don’t eat them. Just like commercial tomatoes.
So is it too much to say that this year’s strawberries are iconic? Red right through, natch. Virtually core-less. Perfectly shiny-ripe. Naturally sweet. Strawberry-scented. Juicy. Juicy enough for—strawberry shortcake.
I know I’ve made it for the blog before. But this has a few little twists, so I hope you’ll forgive the repeat. The strawberries are worth an encore.

Strawberry Shortcake with Cheese Biscuits
I had some store cheese, so decided to make cheese biscuits to pair with the berries for a kind of sweet-salty match. Serves 4.

1 ½ c flour
½ tea salt
1 T sugar
1 T b.p.
5 T cold, unsalted butter
½ c whole milk
½ c grated store cheese

1 pt local strawberries
sugar
1 cup light cream or heavy cream, preferably unhomogenized
½ tea vanilla
2 tea superfine sugar
Mint for garnish (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350F. Sift the flour, salt, sugar, and b.p. Cut in the butter with a knife or your fingers until crumbly; do not overwork. Add the milk, blending with a fork or your hands until the dough just is almost together; add the cheese and blend until it is together but still rough; again, do not overwork. Dust the counter with flour and turn out the dough, patting and lightly folding it until it holds together, then pat it into a uniform rectangle about 1 ½” thick. Cut out biscuits with a 3” cookie cutter or glass. Gather the scraps, pat them together, and cut them out as well.
Place the biscuits on a baking sheet and let rest for about ½ hr. Brush lightly with cream or milk. Sprinkle with a little additional grated cheese. Bake 15 minutes, or until golden and crisp on the outside. Cool on a rack. I usually get about 5 high biscuits from this amount of dough, and eat one soon after they are done.
Hull and slice the strawberries into a bowl; add sugar to taste to draw out the juices and let sit for about 10 minutes.
In part because of the richness of the biscuit, these shortcakes are served a little differently—instead of with whipped cream, I pour lightly sweetened cream over it, as you know I often do with fruit desserts. You of course can whip your cream if you want, but don’t make it too sweet. Use light or heavy cream, mix it with a small amount of superfine sugar (2 teaspoons) and a little vanilla; just warm it a bit to help the sugar dissolve.
Split the biscuits, spoon some berries with their juices over the bottom halves; cover with the tops and more berries, then pour the cream generously over all. Garnish with the mint and serve.  By the way, these biscuits freeze very well. A light toasting brings them back to nearly as good as fresh out of the oven.

                                                                

Drawing Down Inventory IV: Frozen Strawberries and Raspberries

 

For several reasons, I am under pressure to get the freezer fully cleaned out a little earlier than usual. More about that later. Spring is the time of anticipation, so that can wait.

Taking stock, so to speak, of the freezer, reveals an awful lot of frozen berries (it should be spelled aweful, not awful, because what could be bad about a lot of berries?). I often make muffins with frozen berries, an item to which they are well suited; muffins are quick, and when you are cleaning out the freezer, that is perhaps the most desirable feature in a suitable application. Another is recipes that use a large quantity—with muffins, that is usually not the case.

So I made some muffins—lemon-strawberry (lemons are cheap again right now). But also some coulis, which has the virtue of letting you easily use as much as you have and will keep nicely in the refrigerator for a few weeks to garnish other items made from other freezer inventory. Hmm. There’s something wrong with this picture, but I don’t have time to puzzle it through. I’m sure, however, that it has to do with some sort of major philosophical question about the weird cycle of hoarding and disgorging, or about pareto optimality—are we making things we would not otherwise make? Thankfully, I am not an economist, so don’t feel compelled to answer that one. And can take comfort in the knowledge that any answer the economists come up with will be wrong.

Frozen Fruit Coulis

I like to use a coulis for its fruity berry flavor, not for sweetness. This does not contain much sugar. The touch of pepper gives it a subtle edge. Makes about 2 ½ cups.

4 cups whole frozen berries (I used about half raspberries and half strawberries; the raspberries dominate) 
1 ½ cups cane sugar
Juice of half a lemon (about 2 T)
Pinch salt and white pepper

Combine all ingredients in a nonreactive, preferably slope-sided, pan. Bring to a boil and cook, skimming and stirring, for about 5 minutes, breaking up the larger berries with the edge of a wooden spoon. Strain over a bowl, pressing the solids against the side of the strainer. Strain again to catch any escaped seeds (if you have a small strainer, you can do this directly into jars). Pour into jars or other containers; store in the refrigerator and use to garnish cakes, desserts,  and cold meats/composed salads.

 

                   

Strawberry Fields—Not Forever II

Did I mention that strawberries, indeed berries of all kinds, cry out to be matched with corn? Strawberries are very nice as an accompaniment to this little cake, a plain, slightly sweet, eminently sliceable little summer dessert. This has the added benefit of being gluten-free and has no leavening aside from beaten egg whites. Made with stoneground Rhode Island jonnycake cornmeal, it has a satisfying bite and could not be more local. For a finer texture, use regular  yellow cornmeal.

 

Little Corn Cake

1 cup RI jonnycake cornmeal or yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 tea salt
3 eggs, separated
1 stick unsalted butter, melted

 

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Butter a 6” cake pan, preferably aluminum. Line with wax paper and butter or spray with Pam.

Combine half the cornmeal with the sugar and salt; make a little well in the center and drop in the egg yolks. Slowly add the melted butter, stirring to incorporate until all is absorbed. Add the rest of the cornmeal.  Beat the egg whites until stiff and shiny, and fold into the batter. Pour into the buttered pan.

Bake for 40-45 minutes, until brown and a skewer comes out clean. It should be very brown, and will look sort of like a big Thomas’s corn toastie (don’t let it get as dark around the edge as in the photo; I don’t have the right pan with me).  Turn out onto a rack to cool, and cut into thin slices, and serve with strawberries or other fresh fruit, and a little Vin Santo or other light dessert wine.

 

 

  

 

 

Strawberry Fields—Not Forever I

Nothing lasts forever. For example, I am back in Little Compton (hurrah!) and you can bet that the time will fly and I will be headed back to dreaded Nashville well before the tomatoes hit their glorious peak in September. And the local Little Compton strawberries are here—it is June, after all—and those will soon be gone.

But fleeting pleasures are to be savored, so I am already deep into rural, coastal life and into the strawberries. I’ve made a small batch of strawberry jam, eaten a bunch of berries out of hand, used them to make the really nice Welcome to LC cocktail below, and garnished lots of stuff—cereal, salad, cake. And I’ve only been here four days. Maybe it’s just as well that strawberry fields are not forever. On to the blueberries!—next month.

 

Welcome to LC Cocktail

I adore Campari in the summer; it is remarkably refreshing on a hot day (we are in the 90’s this weekend) garnished with soda and lime, and it is a fabulous match with orange. This cocktail combines all. Serves 1.

Strawberry Syrup

1 ½ cups sliced strawberries
½ cup pure cane sugar or regular sugar
½ cup water
¼ cup Campari (optional)

Put everything together into a saucepan, bring to a boil, and boil for two or three minutes, chopping the strawberries with the edge of a wooden spoon. Remove from the heat and let sit until it is clear and settled, about 5 minutes. Strain, pressing down with the back of the spoon but not so hard that you force the seeds through. Makes about 1 cup.

The Cocktail

1 ½ oz Campari
¼ cup freshly squeezed orange juice
3 T strawberry syrup
3 oz, approx., brut rosé champagne or club soda
1 small sliced strawberry

Stir the first three ingredients in a cocktail shaker or jar with ice until cold. Strain into an 8-oz capacity glass. Top with champagne or club soda and garnish with strawberries and a slice of lime.

                           

Apologies—and an Offering

    

I’m sorry. I truly am. I really am a loyal correspondent, proud of my record of prompt response to emails, calls, and yes, comments on my blog. I thought it was just that you’d gone silent on me, sort of hibernating for the winter (and horrible spring) or something. Most of my readers email rather than post, so I didn’t think a whole lot of the fact that there was no one commenting on the blog, and I could see that it was still being read from the stats. Then, the other day, I noticed a typo in my blog and tried to get into the site to try to fix it; strangely, Little Compton Mornings was not showing up on my blog list. And I couldn’t log in.

I soon figured out that, despite a prior effort to change the email address associated with LCM, it hadn’t worked. And I still haven’t figured out why, and still can’t engineer the change. But I was able to log in with my old email address. And there, to my horror, I found nearly 30 unmoderated comments—i.e., messages from you that had gone unposted, and unanswered. They have now been published, and I am in the process of responding to them. So particularly if you asked a question, look for a belated answer in the old posts where you originally made your comment.

So I’m sorry, and wish I could make it up to you. Bring you some food to ask for forgiveness. I thought what that might be, if I really could. Some sort of simple, honest penance, I thought, like a loaf of plain, wholesome bread. So here is a virtual offering, of white bread and strawberry jam. Will you forgive me?

Rich White Bread

This bread is enriched with egg, butter, sugar, and milk. It has a nice crust and soft, flavorful crumb. It makes really good toast, and can also be used to make hamburger or other rolls. Makes 2 loaves. 

For the sponge:

2 ¼ cups unbleached bread flour
¼ cup buttermilk powder
2 tea instant yeast (or 1 ½ pkg dry yeast, dissolved in ½ cup of the water)
1 ½ cups warm water

Mix together in a large bowl until well combined. Cover and let rise until very puffy and foamy, 45 minutes to an hour.

For the dough:

1 ½ cups unbleached bread flour
1 ½ tea salt
1 T sugar
1 T honey
3T butter, melted
1 large egg
½ cup additional flour or more

2 tea melted butter for brushing loaves

To the sponge, add the 1 ½ cups flour, the salt, and the sugar and honey. Stir well until it forms a sticky dough. Beat the egg into the butter (be sure it’s not too warm), and add to the dough, stirring with a wooden spoon until most of the liquid is incorporated. Using your hand, and turning the bowl with the other, work the dough in the bowl, adding the additional flour only as needed, until it has come together well into a ball. Flour the counter and turn out the dough; it will be very soft and still rather sticky. Knead it, adding as little flour as possible, until it is smooth and you can pull the dough in a solid mass up off the counter without it sticking. The dough should still be very soft. Place the ball of dough into a lightly oiled bowl, turning it once to coat. Cover, and let rise until double; this will take about 1 ½ -2 hours.

Turn the dough out without punching it down. With a lightly floured knife, divide it in two. To make loaves, flatten each piece of dough gently into an oblong the length of your bread pan and about three times its width; fold it lengthwise into three sections, like a letter, and rock it gently on the counter to form an even loaf with squared ends. Place into oiled bread pans, cover, and let rise until the dough comes up beyond the top of the pan, about 1 ½ hours. Bake the loaves for about 35-40 minutes, until nicely golden and hollow-sounding when you tap the bottom. Immediately brush with the melted butter; remove from the pans, and let cool completely before slicing.

Never refrigerate homemade bread; freeze it, or leave it on the counter, wrapped in a clean dishtowel, for up to 2 days—it will be gone. 

I made rolls with half the dough; bake them at 375 F for about 12-15 minutes . See the photo at right? Note the surface of the roll—a bit bubbly and somewhat flat: they were slightly over-risen. Important lesson!: Do not get into a long conversation with your particularly talkative friends (we all have them) and forget about your dough! (Still good, of course.)

Strawberry Jam

Following up on last week's post, I did make one small batch of jam when I was told by one of the local strawberry growers that he thought the berries were going to completely rot if the rain did not end soon. Which of course it hasn’t (there is even an article on the nonstop rain in today's NYT), and I had already noticed they were getting a little waterlogged. So no time to lose. Makes about 1 1/2 pints.

1 quart perfect strawberries
2 ½ cups sugar
juice of ½ lime or lemon

Remove the crowns and stems from the berries; wipe any dirt off with a paper towel. Leave smaller berries whole; slice large berries in half or, if very large,  quarters. You will have about 3 ½ cups after you have eaten your share as you work. Add the juice and sugar and  very gently turn the berries and sugar over until it is combined. Cover and leave out on the counter overnight, stirring occasionally (not in the middle of the night, of course).

In a 4-qt pan, bring the berries to a boil and cook at a moderately high boil, skimming the foam into a cup, until the jam has set, about 10-11 minutes; it will sheet from the spoon or form a soft gel on a cold saucer; see previous post on preserving for general guidance on cooking and storing.

I “skim the skim” near the end of cooking, as there is often some good, flavorful syrup at the bottom of the cup; I pour it back into the pot.

 

Surprise! Strawberries

I wasn’t really expecting them. Not yet. It wasn’t just that it had been so cold and rainy for so long, although that was a big part of it. It was more that it was only the first days of June. It seemed so early. But there they were, along with that other eagerly awaited assurance, beautiful and flavorful lettuce, that the summer growing season is, after all, coming to come again this year: strawberries. Surprise!

Of course, they are not cheap. Yet. Maybe never this year unless it stops raining and warms up some more. But at $5.50 a quart, worth every penny.

Not that you’re going to make a kettle full of preserves at this price. For that, we’ll wait to see what happens with the weather and the crop—meaning, to see if the price of that quart drops to $3.00 like, happily, last year. Or even $4.00. For now, there are other delights for a single quart, including that essential for the first-of-season, eating them out-of-hand. The old standby, strawberry shortcake. Strawberry ice cream, should we get the elusive hot day (we can dream, can’t we?). Or something as simple as a strawberry syrup for plain vanilla ice cream or pound cake, or an intense strawberry butter for slathering on biscuits or thick white toast, both started by simply pushing ripe strawberries through a sieve. Biscuits and strawberry butter are, in fact, just a deconstructed version of strawberry shortcake, a variation on the theme of simple biscuit dough, fruit, and cream—in this case churned beyond the whipping stage to fresh unsalted butter. It makes for a nice, quick, springtime breakfast or afternoon treat with lemonade or iced tea.

But confronted with strawberries and lettuce, an embarrassment of June riches, what else is there to do but join them—it is June, after all—in wholly flavorful matrimony. Sitting down to these first gifts of summer is as sentimental and life affirming as eating cake at a June wedding—preferably one held, and eaten, out on a Little Compton lawn. Pour the champagne, and say a toast to a new beginning. Summer, or life. They’re both the same.

Red June Wedding Salad

This is very pretty, and very good. I like to use the Boston red leaf lettuce from Coll Walker’s farm to complement the intensely pink strawberry dressing. Serves 4.

3 T extra-virgin olive oil, preferably organic, unfiltered (see Note)
1 T half-and-half or light cream
3 medium-large strawberries, trimmed of stems and crown
½ tea aged balsamic vinegar (see Note)
½ tea white balsamic vinegar (see Note)
¼ tea salt
6-8 twists of the pepper mill

1 head red Boston lettuce or other red leaf lettuce, washed and dried

In a small bowl. whisk the cream into the olive oil with a small whisk until combined. Slice the strawberries in half or quarters; you should not need to core them, as those awful white cores are virtually nonexistent in local berries, which are, deliciously, red right through. Using your little whisk, press down on the berries—local berries are soft—and whisk them into the oil/cream mixture until they have almost disappeared, turning the mixture an intense pink with a few flecks of red. If you want bigger pieces of berry in your dressing, stop when it is as you like. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Tear the lettuce into big pieces and place in a bowl. Pour about half the dressing in and toss; add more dressing gradually until the lettuce is nicely coated, with little red bits clinging to the leaves, but not saturated. The dressing will keep well in the refrigerator for several days; it will thicken, but may be used as is, or thin it a little by whisking in a few drops of warm water.

Note: Both organic olive oil and old balsamic are quite viscous—my balsamic, brought back from a trip to Italy, is like a thick syrup. If you do not have either, use regular extra-virgin olive oil, and you will likely need to use more vinegar (either regular balsamic and white balsamic or all balsamic) than is called for in the recipe—maybe 2 teaspoons total. Taste as you go. I am very fond of the Casa Pareja olive oil from Spain (where all the best olive oils hail from, in my opinion); I discovered this outstanding value oil while living in Philadelphia; you can mail order it from DiBruno’s if you cannot find it where you live.

Strawberry Season Par Excellence

  
Once again, the first strawberries are here, and they are de-licious. The best in years. Red-ripe through and through, not a speck of white at the shoulder, juicy, sweet, with a glossy red brightness that only the freshest berry has, and only for a the fleetingest time. While I usually eat my berries sliced with cream and a little sugar, this year they truly are so good that I have been eating them plain, held by the stem and chewed down to the little frill of a crown. This is really saying something for someone who generally prefers her fruit cooked, in the form of a pie or at least a jam.
Not that this year’s strawberries would not make up admirably well in both cases, and right now is a good time to pick quarts and quarts of them at a farm if you want to make jam. (And if you don’t, you can go to one of the many local strawberry festivals and buy it, with a little shortcake for your lunch). On the pie front, I have an old recipe that calls for pureeing strawberries and combining them with gelatin, which forms the base, to be topped with meringue. It is old fashioned, pretty, and good. My old boss Gary used to make a pie with cornstarch-thickened mashed strawberries topped first with a mixture of cream cheese and sour cream and then fresh whole strawberries. And I absolutely love a true strawberry tart with a pastry cream base and an all-butter crust.
Still, less is more this year. To showcase the berries with minimal adornment, you could simply douse them with a little aged balsamic vinegar, pepper, and mint. Or for something slightly fancier but still completely simple, try these marinated strawberries. Purchase your fresh-picked strawberries the day you want to eat them and do not refrigerate! I don’t even wash them—I just wipe away any specks of dirt with a slightly damp paper towel—but you can rinse them briefly if you must.
Strawberries in Red Wine
Make these up before you sit down to dinner, and they will be ready for your dessert. Do not refrigerate, which would damage the texture. Although 5 minutes in the freezer won’t hurt if you like a little chill. Serves 3.
1 pint perfect strawberries
1 tea lemon juice
A few thin slices of lemon rind
Scant 3 T fruity honey, such as raspberry
½ cup good-quality light red wine
Tiny pinch of salt
2 large mint leaves (optional, but nice)
½ cup heavy cream
Additional honey
1 tea Triple Sec or Cointreau (optional)
Wipe the strawberries clean of any dirt, and remove the stems and leaves, reserving a few tiny ones whole for garnish if you wish. In a small bowl, place the honey and stir in the lemon juice and rind. Add the strawberries; you can leave them whole if they are small, otherwise slice them in half or quarters. Toss gently and let them stand about 10 minutes; add the wine and, if using, the mint leaves and let stand another 10 minutes minimum, or up to perhaps 45 minutes. Whip the cream to a light, soft, ploppy stage, adding a little honey and the liqueur to taste, and serve it alongside or on top of the berries. Little glass or white dishes are pretty.
                                      

The First Strawberries

By the sheerest luck, I drove down a road that I don’t frequent much and saw the sign, tacked to a tree: “Our own strawberries.” Already? With all that rain? I hadn’t even been thinking about strawberries yet as a present versus anticipated pleasure. So, so much for writing about mayonnaise this week. Strawberries call.

At this early stage of the year, when a few pints are available rather than entire flats, the temptation is to just eat them out of hand. Early as it is, the berries are still red right through, with true strawberry flavor and, if not fully sweet as they will soon be, sweet enough. Strawberry shortcake seemed the just-so thing to do: classic, quick, requiring only a pint of good berries, a symbol of early summer, and preserve-making yet-to-come.

In New England, we make shortcake with biscuit, not sponge cake: that, after all, is why it’s called short-cake. It is old-fashioned and satisfying, for breakfast or dessert, a favorite end to church suppers and a centerpiece of June strawberry festivals. It is easy to make and easy to eat.

You can use any biscuit you like--buttermilk, sour milk, sweet milk, sour cream—and each brings a slightly different match to the berries. Sometimes, like here, I make a richer, and somewhat sturdier and less crumbly shortcake, particularly useful when you make it a large round instead of a lot of little small cakes—which, of course, is faster and leaves no messy counter to scrape clean. And eliminates the fussy assembly of individual servings.

Instead of whipped cream, I actually prefer the more traditional New England approach of pouring fresh, thick, unwhipped heavy cream over strawberry shortcake. Most people expect whipped, though, so I try not to be too purist when potentially inflexible diners are around—I can save that for private consumption. And if you cannot obtain real, high-butterfat, unhomogenized cream, you are better off with whipped anyway. For these reasons, the recipe below specifies whipped.

Strawberry Shortcake (This will serve 4-6.)

2 cups all-purpose flour (see Note)
1/3 cup sugar
½ tea salt
3 tea baking powder

1/3 cup butter (a generous 5 T) or a mixture of butter and lard

¾ cup whole fresh milk
1 egg

softened butter

1-2pints ripe, juicy strawberries (you could use the quart; I like a greater proportion of

of shortcake)

2 T sugar, more if needed

¾ c heavy cream, whipped

Triple-sift dry ingredients. Cut in butter; if using some lard, cut butter in first, then lard. Beat egg and milk together, and pour over, blending with a fork just until flour disappears. With your hands, gently turn the dough over a few times to bring it loosely together, then turn it into a buttered 9” cake pan, patting it lightly out to about ½ from the edge. Bake 15 minutes in a 425 F oven. Let cool in pan 5 minutes, then turn it out onto a rack and cool an additional 5 minutes.

While shortcake is baking, hull and slice strawberries, in half or quarters depending on size. Lightly crush about half of them with the back of a wooden spoon, then toss them all together lightly with the sugar and set aside; you can usually get away with less sugar on local berries, and they will still yield plenty of juice. When the shortcake has cooled down but is still warm, split it horizontally with a serrated bread knife, turning the cake to cut through evenly. Place the bottom, cut-side up, on a decorative pie plate (to catch juices), and spread with soft butter and about half the whipped cream. Distribute half the sweetened berries over the cream. Place the top of the shortcake, top-side up, on the berries. Spoon the remaining whipped cream into the center, cover with the remaining berries and their juices, and serve, cut in wedges or simply spooned, as soon as possible. Like summer, fresh strawberry shortcake is an ephemeral thing.

Note: You could use White Lily self-rising flour, a soft-wheat flour that already includes baking powder and salt, instead of all-purpose; increase the flour amount by ¼ cup, and cut the baking powder to 1 teaspoon. This flour is a bit more forgiving than a-p flour for making biscuits, but it is a light touch that goes a long way toward biscuit success.

P.S. OK, it’s a day later and suddenly there are the signs—everywhere. “Strawberries--Pick your own,” etc. Time to pull out the canning jars. As you can see, the lettuce is out too!