By The weeks after Linda's remission feel like exhaling. You don't realize how tightly you've been holding everything until you let it go. I'm sleeping better. Cooking more. Laughing at Megan's jokes again instead of smiling politely while my brain screams about cell mutations. The fear is still there — it lives in a small room in the back of my mind — but the door is closed and the music is louder than the fear and that's enough.
Spring is here. Milwaukee spring, which means forty-five degrees and drizzle and everyone pretending it's warm enough for short sleeves. The farmers market opened last weekend. I bought rhubarb — the first rhubarb of the season, pink and tart, the vegetable that thinks it's a fruit. Made a rhubarb crumble with oats and brown sugar and a splash of orange juice in the filling. It's the kind of dessert that tastes like April: sharp, sweet, not quite warm yet, but getting there.
At the brewery, the second sour beer is in the barrel. Different yeast, different base — a wheat beer this time, lighter body, which should let the tartness shine. Six months minimum. I'm learning to wait. I'm learning that the best things take time and you can't rush them no matter how badly you want to peek inside the barrel.
Megan and I have been talking about the future more. Not in a big, dramatic way — in the small way that couples talk about it, in sentences that start with "someday" and "when we" and "eventually." She wants kids. I want kids. She wants a house with a yard. I want a kitchen bigger than a closet. She wants a dog. I want a dog. We agree on everything that matters. The timeline is the only question, and we're not rushing the timeline. Good things take time. I'm a brewer. I know this.
The rhubarb crumble I made that first weekend of the farmers market is already gone — Megan and I finished it in two sittings, standing at the counter in socks, not even bothering with the couch. But I’ve been thinking about that feeling: fruit and sweetness and something that doesn’t ask too much of you. This Peaches & Cream Dessert is cut from the same cloth — unhurried, generous, the kind of thing you make when you finally have the mental space to make something just because it’s good. Spring deserves a dessert like this.
Peaches & Cream Dessert
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min (plus 1 hr chilling) | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 ripe peaches, peeled, pitted, and sliced (about 3 cups)
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 1 cup heavy whipping cream, cold
- 3 tablespoons powdered sugar
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 8 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- Pinch of salt
- Graham crackers or shortbread cookies, for serving (optional)
Instructions
- Macerate the peaches. In a medium bowl, toss the peach slices with granulated sugar and lemon juice. Let sit for 10 minutes until the peaches release their juices. Set aside.
- Whip the cream. In a large chilled bowl, beat the cold heavy whipping cream with an electric mixer on medium-high speed until soft peaks form. Add powdered sugar and vanilla extract, then continue beating until stiff peaks form. Do not over-beat.
- Make the cream base. In a separate bowl, beat the softened cream cheese and sour cream together until completely smooth. Season with cinnamon and a pinch of salt. Fold in 3/4 of the whipped cream until just combined — keep it light and airy.
- Layer the dessert. Spoon the cream mixture into six individual serving glasses or a medium serving dish. Arrange the macerated peach slices on top, spooning any accumulated juice over the fruit.
- Finish and chill. Dollop or pipe the remaining whipped cream over the peaches. Cover loosely and refrigerate for at least 1 hour to let the flavors come together.
- Serve. Serve cold, with graham crackers or shortbread on the side if desired. Best eaten the day it’s made.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 135mg