Simply Divine



It began with an overflowing quart of some of the most beautiful, ruby red strawberries I have ever seen. Tiny, bursting fruit begging to be eaten tonight.  At their very peak of ripeness, warning, "Don't wait! We'll be soggy and bruised by tomorrow!"
There was also the problem with my oven.  It wasn't working.
Not to mention my utter exhaustion from working far to many hours on my feet selling t-shirts to rabid tourists all clamoring for souvenirs to commemorate their vacations on Cape Cod. For the past few weeks, I have been held hostage inside a busy shop on Main Street instead of lounging on the beach and creating concoctions in the kitchen.  It's sad, very sad.
That is why I had to resort to the simplest but by far the best method of all to enjoy these sweeties before Ava swooped into the kitchen to snatch another and another into her mouth, her fingers already stained red from their juices, revealing her thievery.
But first, I called Val to make sure she would be available to partake.  After all, I have her to blame for introducing this decadent recipe when my sister, brother and I were children.  Of course she would make a stop over after a long day of painting the trim on her house, her arms smeared with green paint, her body exhausted, she would not miss enjoying this treat that truly comes but once a year. As it can only be reproduced with the finest, local, fresh and sweet berries, the kind that are as deep red on the inside as they are on their surface.  The window of opportunity is short especially this year as many strawberry crops in the area were hampered by the rough snowy winter of 2015.
Val arrived as I cleared away the dinner dishes and placed small glass bowls on the table.  We sliced the berries into each dish and sprinkled them with sugar.  Next, each portion received a splash of cold, heavy cream.  We ate the soft berries floating in their rich bath in silence only to pause to add a bit more sugar or cream to taste. 
I realized in that moment, it all works out: the oven, the job, the moment I happened upon the strawberries at the farmers' market that very afternoon.  It all came to together.  The simplest of desserts.  The simplest moment.  Divine.

Bread Battle

 

 



There is always a potential battle waiting to be waged over a freshly baked loaf of Val's homemade bread.  The kids want at least two slices at breakfast smothered in butter.  Then they want it for a snack and request to have it instead of dinner.  When I see what is left of the whole loaf that my mother had just gifted to me hours ago, I search their faces accusingly while Rob murmurs under his breath, "I only ate a heel." Only a heel, indeed.
Val's bread is simple but it takes some patience and time to mix it, knead it, allow it to rise and knead and rise again.  She bakes it to a perfect brown on top and slices it with an expert hand.  I prefer her to slice our loaf as some people slice it way too thick, thus wasting it.  And I will admit that I can make the cuts a bit lopsided in my rush to eat it all up.

But I am going to win tonight.  No one else is home to argue over or beg and plead to eat the last remaining pieces.  I slather them with some Lemon Garlic Aioli I found in the back of the fridge. (It never lasts that long so it can't be very old.)  Top the sauce with various slices of assorted cheeses: cheddar, mozzarella and provolone and add some sliced cherry tomatoes (it's all I have), then sprinkle with sea salt and black pepper. 



 

 



The first step is to bake all this in the toaster oven.  After the cheese has melted sufficiently, I heat up my black cast-iron griddle, drop down some dollops of butter and place the open faced sandwich on top of the melting goodness. I cook the sandwich halves until golden on the outside but leave them separate instead of making a real sandwich as to prolong my consumption of the last two pieces of Val's bread.

 



  As for the remaining heel that was left in the bag?  I ate it smothered with aioli and fresh basil as I created my masterpiece.  Oh yeah, when they all get home and ask for toast with no regard to their mother's/wife's needs, they will know.  There is going to be one hell of a fight tonight.