Dungeness crab season started on December 16th this year, much to the relief of cooks, diners and Oregon's crab fleet of 424 small family-owned vessels that ply the waters up and down our 362-mile coast. This year's opener, while delayed by a week or so from original predictions, was still weeks earlier than in recent years when it was delayed due to concerns over the presence of domoic acid, a naturally occuring biotoxin that can build up in crustaceans.

Over the past decade, a season opener in December was a rare occurrence, a devastating blow to fishing families who traditionally had relied on holiday sales to home cooks, grocery stores and restaurants to carry them through the winter. The downstream effect on their local communities was no joke, either, causing everyone from hardware stores to grocery stores to gas stations to tighten their belts.

This season, though, with its early start and plentiful supply, should be a good one for fishers, coastal communities and crab-lovers alike. To kick off crab season at our house, I'd been jonesing for a festive crab chowder to serve on Christmas Eve. Fortune smiled when I came across my friend Nancy Harmon Jenkins's post about a lobster chowder served at Portland, Maine's iconic Fore Street restaurant. Sam Hayward, its James Beard award-winning chef and co-owner, is considered the dean of Maine's culinary scene. Jenkins wrote:

"[Hayward's] main (Maine) effort has been to inspire us all to Pay Attention—pay attention to quality, pay attention to our relationship to the soil and the waters that surround us, pay attention to what’s happening in our gardens, on our stoves, and on our tables.

"In Sam’s recipe for what he calls Scotian Lobster Chowder (the name, he says, because he learned to make it in Nova Scotia), you can see his thoughtfulness coming to play: the freshly steamed lobster, the specificity of russet potatoes, the density of the thick Jersey cream, the gentle stewing of the leeks in butter, the emphasis on shoe-peg corn."

Like many great classics, the recipe itself* is simple and elegant, with one smashingly simple technique that I'd never run across before: pre-cooking the called-for russet potatoes with leeks to jumpstart the process that lends the chowder its characteristic thickness rather than adding flour, which all to often tends to give it a paste-like, gloppy texture.

Because we are, as noted above, in prime Dungeness season, I chose to substitute our native crustacean for Maine's and make a stock from the shells after picking them of their meat. This is a company-worthy special occasion dish but it's also easy enough to prepare with shrimp or other shellfish instead of the crab on a weeknight.

Here's wishing our fleet a safe and bountiful season!

Dungeness Crab Chowder

3 oz. bacon, cut in 1/4 inch dice
Butter (around half a stick, divided)
2 large russet (baking) potatoes (or 3 medium), peeled and sliced into 1/2" dice
2 medium (or one large) leeks cut in 1/4 inch dice
2 live, large Dungeness crabs
1 c. whole milk
1 c. half-and-half
8 oz. corn cut from the cobs (or 8 oz. frozen)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

To prepare the live crab, fill a 3 to 5-gallon stock pot 2/3 full of water and bring to a hearty boil. When it's boiling, grab the crabs by the back of the shell (their large front claws are usually banded shut) and slide them, upside-down, into the boiling water. Cover with a lid and boil for 20 minutes. Drain and allow to cool in the sink. (If you're using pre-cooked crabs, start here.)

Instructions on cleaning a crab here. My friend Hank Shaw has a guide for picking the meat here. Remember to save the shells for stock (below).

Once you've picked the meat, set it aside in a bowl in the fridge. Put the shells in a large pot and cover with water (about 1 quart). Bring to a boil on the stove and reduce heat to simmer for 30 minutes. Strain through a fine mesh sieve and reserve the stock.

In a heavy stock pot or Dutch oven, gently sauté the bacon in a teaspoon of butter until it yields its fat and starts to turn crisp on the edges. Add the potatoes and leeks and 1/2" of water, just enough to keep the potatoes from sticking. Bring to a simmer, then cover the pan and cook gently until the vegetables are soft, 20 to 30 minutes.

At the end of the cooking time for the vegetables, add the stock from the crab shells. Combine the milk and half-and-half in a small saucepan and set over medium heat. Bring to a simmer for 2 to 3 minutes to get rid of the rawness, then add to the vegetables and stock, stirring to combine. Add the crab meat and once the chowder comes to a simmer again—don't let it boil or the milk will curdle—turn off the heat, cover the pan, and leave it for 20 minutes. 

Just before serving, bring the chowder to a simmer once more, stir in the corn and simmer 5 to 10 minutes, or until the corn is just done. Adjust the seasoning and serve immediately. If you wish, float a pat of butter (a little more richness) on the surface of each bowl as you serve up the chowder.

Makes 8 servings.

* Get Nancy Harmon Jenkins's recipe for lobster chowder by signing up for a paid subscription or a 7-day free trial.

Photo of crab boats at dawn by my friend Bette Sinclair.

Dave makes scones for breakfast at least once a week—they're in a regular rotation with his sky-high biscuits and bran muffins—and we routinely save one out for Fred, our letter carrier. While Fred said he's sorely tempted to scarf it down on the walk back to his truck, he fights the impulse so he can enjoy the scone for breakfast with his tea the next morning. More than once, though, his kids have discovered the baked delight in his postal bag, so he said he's taken to stashing it out of sight in the back of the fridge when he gets home.

Lately Dave's been experimenting with revising his classic Orange Currant Scones by adding toasted oats to the dough for a slightly less sweet, heartier version that reminds me of Scottish oat cakes. These brawny lads are mellowed with a generous slathering of butter and a heaping helping of homemade fruit jam and, in our case at least, a big mug of strong black coffee alongside. Let me know what you think!

Dave's Toasted Oatmeal Scones

1/4 c. (29 grams) rolled oats*
1 1/2 c. (195 grams) all-purpose flour
1 1/2 c. (195 grams) lightly sifted whole wheat flour (or AP flour if you wish)
1 Tbsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
8 Tbsp. (113 g) unsalted butter (1 stick)
1 c. half-and-half
1 egg
1/3 c. dried fruit like raisins, currants, cranberries, etc. (optional; also see note at bottom)
Extra brown sugar for topping (optional)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Spread the oats in the baking sheet and toast for five minutes or so; stir and toast another five minutes or so until very lightly browned. Put warm oats into a heatproof container; toss a couple of times and let cool.

Line a baking sheet with parchment or silicone baking mat.

Pulse flour, brown sugar, baking powder and salt in food processor. Pulse in butter until the largest butter bits are about the size of peppercorns, about 10-15 pulses or so.

Put flour mixture into a large bowl. Add cooled oats to flour mixture and mix.

Whisk egg and half-and-half in a small bowl. Add liquid mixture and dried fruit, if using, to dry mixture and mix until a dryish dough forms. Transfer to floured surface and knead four or five times. Form dough into two equal-ish balls.

Flatten each ball with hands into a 6-inch disk. If desired, lightly sprinkle flattened disks with brown sugar. Using a knife or bench knife, cut into wedges of desired size. Place wedges, not touching each other, onto baking sheet.

Put into oven and bake until lightly browned, about 22 minutes.

NOTE: You can also chop up a quarter to half of an apple, briefly sauté it in butter and cinnamon sugar, then mix this into the dough befor shaping. So good!

* Use rolled oats (often called "old-fashioned rolled oats"), not the quick-cooking oats.

In the spirit of Halloween, it's the ideal time to feature the more than 900 members of the gourd family, or Cucurbitaceae. As Ginger Rapport of the Beaverton Farmers Market wrote in a recent newsletter:

"Although pumpkin, squash, and gourd names are sometimes used interchangeably, it is important to remember that gourds are purely ornamental. Botanically a fruit but culinarily used as a vegetable, winter squash and pumpkins can be decorative and can also be food.

"Because of its very long shelf life, winter squash is a great source of vitamins during the colder months. In our growers’ stalls, you will find plenty of colors, shapes, and sizes to choose from, and each variety has its own personality."

With its easygoing nature—being a breeze to clean and peel, with a sweet, slightly buttery flavor and smooth texture—Butternut squash is one of the most commonly mentioned types and the easiest to find in stores. But venture a bit further afield and you'll discover a world of other varieties to choose from whether you're making soups, curried stews or even desserts.

Just this last week I whipped up a delightful appetizer of fried squash blossoms from a gift of zucchini flowers from Randy Long of Cohesive Farms, a farmer at the Headwaters Farm Incubator in Gresham. Then a hearty dinner of minestrone soup that included colorful delicata squash from my Stoneboat Farm CSA, a squash I'm fond of because of its harlequin coloring and the delightful fact that this variety doesn't require peeling. (Find the recipe below).

Squash seems to be a natural pairing with curry, and the aroma of a curried squash stew simmering on the stove dispels any chill in the wintry air—check out this recipe for curried coconut soup (with or without the accompanying roasted cauliflower).

Squash desserts go far beyond just pumpkin pie—I have fond memories of the squash sorbet that Dave concocted with the roasted flesh of one of my favorite varieties, the voluptuous Musquée de Provence. But if pumpkin pie is your jam, particularly with Thanksgiving looming, ditch the store-bought Libby's and pick up a squash on your next trip to the farmers' market, whether a warty-but-delicious French heirloom Galleux d'Eysine, our own PNW variety the Lower Salmon River, or a more familiar Hubbard. Here's the recipe for Squash (Pumpkin) Pie I make at least a couple of times a season.

So broaden your horizons and give the butternut a rest, whether by picking up a kabocha, black futsu, Gill's Golden Pippin or Koginut. There's a whole world of squash out there to explore!

Winter Minestrone with Delicata Squash

1 onion, diced in 1/2" squares
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 carrot, diced small
2 medium delicata squash, cleaned and diced in 1/2" squares
2 c. diced zucchini
1 qt. roasted tomatoes, breaking up the large chunks with your hands)
8 c. chicken or vegetable stock
2-3 c. cooked cannelini beans (I used cooked pinto beans from Sun Gold Farm)
1-2 c. chopped kale or other greens (optional)
1-2 c. chicken, sausage or meat, shredded (optional)
Salt to taste
Finely grated parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil for serving at the table

Saute onions and garlic for 2-3 min. until golden. Add carrots, saute 2-3 min. (This is the base that Marcella Hazan refers to as soffritto—the raw, diced vegetables are the battuto. The final stage is the insaporire, or sautéing the rest of the vegetables in that base. Who knew?) In any case, add the chopped zucchini and saute for 2-3 min. Then add the rest of the ingredients except for the condiments (for the table) and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 2-3 hrs. Serve with parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil.

You've likely seen them in the more authentic Mexican restaurants around town, and certainly if you've traveled to Mexico: Giant ribbed jars—called vitroleros—full of brilliantly colored aguas frescas. I had my heart set on making one in particular, the purple-hued beauty known as agua de jamaica after finding a bag of dried hibiscus flowers lurking in the back of my pantry.

I've seen palm-sized, brilliantly colored hibiscus flowers blooming in gardens on recent walks around the neighborhood, but the flowers that are dried for agua fresca are from a specific variety, Hibiscus sabdariffa. The dried blossoms in my pantry were originally part of a holiday punch-making kit from Three Sisters Nixtamal, and there were enough left for a half-gallon batch of agua fresca.

The basic idea is to steep the dried flowers to make a concentrated "tea" that can then be sweetened—the concentrate is quite tart on its own—and served as is over ice or, as I do, combined with a splash of soda and simple syrup. The drink is high in vitamin C and anti-oxidants, and is used in many cultures to aid in lowering blood pressure, easing urinary tract infections and for liver and kidney health. Plus it's delicious!

I checked with Wendy Downing, co-owner of Three Sisters Nixtamal, and she has dried hibiscus flowers at their shop, and they can also be found at some Mexican and ethnic groceries.

Enjoy!

Agua de Jamaica (Hibiscus Cooler)

2 c. dried hibiscus flowers
3/4 c. granulated sugar (more if desired)
6 c. water
Ice
Garnishes (see below)

Rinse and drain the dried hibiscus flowers in a large colander.

Bring water to a boil in a pot. Add the flowers and cover tightly with a lid. Remove from the heat and steep for 10 minutes.

Strain hibiscus water into a pitcher and discard flowers. Add sugar and stir. Refrigerate until time to serve.

Taste tea, and add more sugar or dilute with water to your liking.

Ladle into a tall glass filled with ice and garnish with fresh mint leaves or lime slices (optional).

Photo of Hibiscus sabdariffa from Wikipedia.

My mother loved to entertain, and I remember many evenings as a child reluctantly trudging upstairs to bed, falling asleep to the sound of vehement discussions and accompanying laughter floating up to my darkened bedroom. One of her rules was that she never tried a new recipe out on her guests, preferring instead to stay with the tried and true.

Me, I think there's no better excuse to try something you've never made before than having folks over. I first tried out a new (to me) sauce called "pesto" on guests—it was a smashing success—and over the years there have been myriad salads, braised meats and desserts that were, for the most part, well received. Though I have to admit there were a (very) few that, how shall I put it, will never be spoken of, or made, again.

So when a friend invited us to bring an appetizer for dinner the other night, I mulled over the usual suspects…dips, wings, crostini/bruschetta, etc.…but nothing really clicked. Plus I really didn't want to make a trip to the store. So I looked around and took stock: tomatoes and kale from our weekly CSA, and onions, garlic and parmesan in the pantry. Then I remembered a photo of an amazing tomato tart I'd seen on the cover of a cookbook, and the deal, as they say, was sealed.

The book's version was made with all sizes and colors of tomatoes, so it fit perfectly with what I had on hand—though it would have been terrific with simple red tomatoes, too. The thin layer of sautéed kale and parmesan tucked underneath was just the right bass note for the bright acidic treble of the fresh tomatoes. And the dinner that night, with great food, wine and friends laughing and talking, was one my mother would have loved. Even if I broke one of her rules.

Tomato, Kale and Parmesan Tart

For the crust:
1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 c. (1 stick) frozen margarine, cut into 1/2" pieces
2-3 Tbsp. ice water

For the filling:
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
4-6 leaves kale, sliced into chiffonade
1/2 c. parmesan, grated fine
3-4 tomatoes, sliced in 1/4" thick slices (cherry tomatoes can be halved)

Preheat oven to 375°.

Put flour and salt in the bowls of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add pieces of butter and pulse until the texture of cornmeal. With processor running, drizzle in water until it comes together in the bowl. (I usually use 2 1/2 Tbsp. and it comes together well without being too wet.) Remove from bowl, adding in any stray bits, wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least 1/2 hour.

Roll out dough on floured surface to make 12" round. Transfer to 9" diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Trim edges, leaving 3/4" overhang. Fold overhang in to form double-thick sides. Press tart edges to raise dough 1/8" above pan. Chill in refrigerator for 30 min.

Add olive oil to non-stick skillet and heat until oil shimmers. Add chopped onion and garlic and sauté until golden, stirring frequently to avoid browning. Add kale chiffonade and sauté until wilted. Remove from heat and set aside.

Line crust with foil and bake until golden, about 20 min. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Scatter kale mixture over the bottom of the crust, then sprinkle with parmesan. Top with single layer of tomatoes, arranging randomly. Place in oven and bake for 40 min. or until crust is browned and tomatoes are cooked through. Let cool slightly and remove outer ring. Slide off bottom onto serving platter. Serve warm or at room temperature. (And I hear the leftovers are great for breakfast the next day.)

An extreme heat warning was in effect for the Portland area, but I had five pounds of Bartlett pears from a generous neighbor's tree that were rapidly ripening on my counter and about half of them were ready to tip over into that over-ripe, past-their-peak stage.

Normally I'd try to entice Dave into firing up his Oonie Karu and making one of his fabulous wood oven galettes, but he was knee-deep in smoking 14 pounds of bacon and really didn't look like he wanted to take on another project. Doing some research, it looked like I could get a small batch of jam made in about 20 minutes on the stove, which probably wouldn't overpower our ancient window AC unit that was doing its darnedest to keep up with the broiling temperatures outside.

I ran across a recipe for pear and ginger preserves on Serious Eats that would fit the bill with the ingredients I had on hand, though their recipe called for crystallized ginger that we can't keep in stock because of some snack hounds around here (ahem) who eat it like candy. So I upped the amount of grated ginger to account for that, and increased the quantity of lemon juice to give it just a little more spark—pear jam can be a bit "bleh" left on its own—and also mashed it for a smoother texture. In 20 minutes I had four beautiful jars of preserves and the house was barely warmer than when I started.

Whew!

Lemony Ginger Pear Jam

2 1/2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored and diced
1 1/3 c. cane sugar
1/3 c. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp. zest
2 Tbsp. fresh ginger, grated with a microplane (about 3" knob)

Place pears, white sugar, brown sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest and grated ginger in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened and sauce has gelled, 20 to 30 minutes. If you'd prefer a smoother texture, at this point simply mash the cooked fruit with a potato masher. Remove from heat.

Ladle jam into clean jars, placing lids on jars after wiping any residue from the rim and outsides of the jars. Allow to cool on the counter, then move them to the refrigerator or freezer. If you want the jam to be shelf-stable, after ladling the fruit into the jars and cleaning the rims, place canning lids and rings on them and follow directions for water-bath canning.

Peppers are popping at our farmers' markets. When I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market to pick up our CSA share from Stoneboat Farm then wandered the aisles to see what else I might need, there were brilliant red sweet Italian peppers, fluorescent green anaheims, sunshine-yellow sweet peppers, and grassy green serranos, jalapeños, poblanos, shisito and, of course, those sneaky-but-irresistible padrons.

I was hoping to make Hank Shaw's Nopales en Escabeche, but in a fairly thorough search I couldn't find cactus paddles anywhere. But, instead of calling off the whole shebang, I bought a pound of jalapeños from Eloisa Organic Farm and decided to proceed with the plan, using the carrots and onion I had in my CSA bag.

Mexican escabeche is that ubiquitous condiment familiar to anyone who's been to Mexico or has frequented an authentic Mexican restaurant. A combination of quick-pickled vegetables, it usually includes jalapeño peppers, carrots, onions and garlic, but can also have cauliflower, red onion, jicama or radishes in the mix.

The vegetables are generally sautéed for a few minutes—some recipes char the whole jalapeños in a hot cast iron pan—then the ingredients are simmered in the brine for a short period before being spooned into quart jars with the remaining brine. You can either seal them with a canning lid and, once they're cool, store them in the fridge, or water-bath can them so they're shelf-stable. The escabeche should then be ready to eat within a week and you're free to include them in tacos, tostadas, nachos, egg dishes, grilled meats or anything that could use a little pickley zing.

Mexican-style Vegetable Escabeche

1 Tbsp. neutral oil
1 lb. whole jalapeños
1 medium white, yellow or red onion, halved lengthwise, then thinly sliced vertically
3 medium carrots, halved lengthwise then sliced into thin coins or bite-size pieces 
1 head of garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1 1/2 c. water
1 1/2 c. white vinegar or white wine vinegar

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Place onions in pan and sauté for approximately 2 minutes.

Add jalapeños, carrots and garlic into the pan and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the vegetables from sticking and burning.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the pan and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes, or until carrots and jalapeños are tender. Remove from heat.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer vegetables into two clean wide-mouth quart jars and fill with brine that remains in pan. Place canning lids on jars and seal with canning rings. Cool to room temperature and store in fridge, or water-bath can them according to canner directions.

A couple of years ago I posted a recipe for a plum upside-down cake that has become a family favorite, one I make several times when plums (and particularly Italian prunes) are in season. It's a simple batter cake that comes together quickly, with a buttery, pound cake-like texture and a to-die-for caramelized, crunchy top and sides when inverted.

I made it recently when we had three small but very ripe peaches left over from Dave's foray into ice cream-making (another delicious recipe I'll share soon). They were super-flavorful Red Havens from Kiyokawa Family Orchards in Hood River that I'd found at Hollywood Farmers' Market.

And they needed to be used right away.

Since their skins were fairly thin and not too fuzzy I decided to skip peeling them, which worked quite well after baking, so if you feel like being brave and eschewing the dunk-in-boiling-water-then-in-an-ice-bath method for peeling peaches, feel free!

Peach Upside-Down Cake

For the baking pan/dish:
3/4 c.butter, softened, divided
1/2 c. packed brown sugar (for buttered pan)

For the cake:
2 c. fresh peaches (3 small or 2 large), sliced into wedges
3/4 c. sugar
1 lg. egg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 350°.

Melt 1/4 cup butter; pour into an ungreased 9-in. round baking pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar. Arrange peach slices in a single layer over sugar.

In a large bowl, cream sugar and remaining butter until light and fluffy, 5-7 minutes. Beat in egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt; add to creamed mixture alternately with milk, beating well after each addition. Spoon over peach slices and smooth top.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 45-50 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temp.

I am loving our neighborhood co-op, the Alberta Co-operative Grocery. I admit to being stuck in the supermarket chain rut until its employees called for a boycott after two years of working without a contract, and we were forced to find an alternative. Fast.

The change, frankly, has been revelatory…while the store itself is much smaller, the co-op seems to have just about everything we normally shop for, the brands it carries favor local producers and the bulk of the goods—including the bulk goods—tend to be organic. The prices are much better than at the chains, too, and between our Stoneboat Farm CSA and the co-op, our grocery bill is noticeably reduced. It even has a senior day every Tuesday for 10 percent off your total bill.

I was checking out the other day (yes, a Tuesday) when the cashier asked me what I was going to make with the miso I had in my cart. Since I'm putting miso in just about everything these days, I rattled off a list of my favorites. She then began describing her latest favorite featuring miso, a miso-glazed roasted eggplant, and how much her up-till-then eggplant-hating husband had done a 180 on the vegetable after she made it for him.

I was sold.

After arriving home I sat down and looked up several recipes (some even in actual books) all with some similarities to the one my cashier friend had described, but none was exactly the same, so I was left to wing it. While my guys are not eggplant averse—Who could dislike the cheesy goodness that is this Eggplant Parmesan?—they flipped out over the version of roasted Japanese eggplant in the recipe below.

I'll keep working on it to see how it holds up with different sizes of the fruit, but I'd recomment sticking with smaller-sized fruits or, better yet, the long Japanese varieties.

Miso-Glazed Eggplant

For the eggplant:
6 Japanese (long) eggplants, approx. 3-4 oz. each
2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil

For the glaze:
4 Tbsp. miso (white or red)
1-2 Tbsp. sugar or honey, depending on how sweet you want it
2 Tbsp. mirin or dry white wine
1 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 large clove garlic, pressed or finely minced
Toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Slivered green onions (optional)

Preheat oven to 450°.

Slice off the stems of the eggplants and remove any remaining bits of the cap. Slice eggplants in half lengthwise and, with a paring knife, score the cut side of the eggplants in a crosshatch pattern about 1/8” deep. Brush with toasted sesame oil. Place cut-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

While the eggplant is roasting, put all the ingredients for the glaze in a small mixing bowl and combine well.

Remove the eggplant from the oven and turn up the temperature to 500°.

Carefully turn over the halves so cut side is facing up. Brush with miso glaze and place back in oven for 5 min. Turn up the oven to broil and place the pan 8-10” from the element. Broil until glaze bubbles and begins to char slightly, 5-7 min. Remove and serve sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and chopped cilantro or green onions.

I'm sure some sage has written wise words correlating adversity with opportunity and growth. And you would be well within your rights to ask why I'm bringing this up in a post that's ostensibly a recipe for strawberry sorbet, and the answer is this: When Dave developed lactose intolerance in his early 40s we were devastated. As I wrote at the time:

It was a very bad day. One of those days that forever changes you. A day that delineates a definite "Before" and "After." The life-altering occurrence? My husband found out he was lactose intolerant. And, no, not just the "take a Lactaid pill and have some cheesecake anyway" kind of lactose intolerant, but the kind where it's inadvisable to partake of butter, fresh cheeses or any product containing milk without risking...ahem...shall we say "explosive repercussions."

As Joni Mitchell wrote: "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."

It led to a complete rethinking of our very profligate and, frankly, thoughtless use of dairy in everything from our morning toast to creamy casseroles to buttery pastries and desserts. Store shelves today proudly proclaim their products to be "dairy free" and "vegan," with lactose-free butter, milk and cheeses in stock almost everywhere. Even restaurant menus now offer dairy-free options and label entrées "DF" or "V," but thirty years ago it meant switching to margarine and tofu-based simulacra of our beloved dairy products.

And you could pretty much rule out a romantic date night—the machinations involved in trying to ascertain what was and wasn't available, the wait staffs' eyes rolling around their heads and a whimper of "I'll have to check with the kitchen" uttered in complete helplessness, then ordering something and hoping desperately they'd got it right made for a less-than-relaxing experience.

But the upsides were legion, as well. One of the big reasons for Dave's dive into sourdough—yes, it predated the nation's "discovery" of this ancient technique during COVID, particularly by middle-aged white men—was because reading paragraph-long bread labels on shopping trips was taking way too long and the "may have been produced in a facility using dairy" descriptions felt too risky. I could also list benefits like discovering the infinite and delicious permutations of olive oil cakes, and the concomitant escalation in our use of (organic) olive oil, or, to get back to the point of this post, the discovery of fresh sorbets that were like the creamier, less icy Italian versions our Cuisinart ice cream maker produces.

With local fruit season just beginning to burst onto the scene, you can count on several berry and stone fruit sorbets appearing as luscious cappers to backyard soirées here at Good Stuff NW. For instance, this strawberry version is easy, taking less than an hour to pop into freezer and then three or four hours to freeze.

Don't have an ice cream maker in your kitchen inventory? No problem! Read to the last part of the recipe below and check out how my friend Mary Bartlett made the incredible sorbet pictured on the left using just a whisk and her freezer.

Fresh Strawberry Sorbet

2 pints fresh strawberries
1 1/4 cups simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water, warmed and stirred until sugar is completely dissolved)
2 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed orange juice or a teaspoon or two of triple sec or Cointreau (optional)

Cool the simple syrup in the refrigerator.

Put the rinsed, stemmed and halved strawberries into a food processor or blender with a quarter cup of the simple syrup and blend until smooth.  Pour the mixture into a larger bowl. Mix in the rest of the simple syrup (or to taste). Mix in the orange juice or booze, if using. Pour into an ice cream/sorbet machine and follow manufacturer’s directions. Freeze for a few hours before serving.

No ice cream machine? No problem! My friend Mary Bartlett said: "Follow the instructions, make the base and put it in a bowl that will go into the freezer. Place the bowl in the freezer. After one hour, using a whisk, stir the mixture. (Pro tip: Keeping the whisk in the freezer between stirrings will help speed the process along.) Repeat this hourly for about 4 to 6 hours.

Photo of blue bowl and hydrangeas by Denise della Santina. Photo of sorbet in china cups by Mary Bartlett.