By First strawberries from the farm stand on Route 3A Sunday. The season is early this year. The woman who runs the stand — her name is Elena, I have been buying from her for a decade — told me the winter was mild and the spring had been kind. The strawberries were the small early ones, intensely sweet, no sugar needed. I did not make anything with them. We ate them straight from the pint containers at the kitchen counter, Sean and Liam and Nora and me, standing up, and Liam said "these are the good ones" and I said "yes" and we ate them all in twenty minutes and I went back out Monday and bought four more pints.
Nora is fully potty trained. She had her first complete week with no accidents, which came not with fanfare but with the quiet settling of a new default. She announces herself now. She does not need my help anymore for number one. Two-year-old independence is specific — it arrives in increments and each increment shifts the shape of the household. I no longer carry a diaper bag. The diaper bag is empty in the closet, waiting to be repurposed or given away. I took an hour Tuesday to sort it. A phase is ending. I did not feel sad about this, specifically. But I noted the door closing. We had been a diapers household for four years and three months. We are not anymore. Nora is two years and four months old. A milestone. I marked it only on these pages.
The neurology appointment is June 9 — Thursday after next. The wait is holding me. I am trying not to write about it too much because writing it circles it, and circling it amplifies it. I am working. I am making dinners. I am weeding the garden. I am reading a novel. I am pretending the appointment is an appointment, which is what the appointment is until it becomes something else.
Sean had no headache this week. He slept well. He was light-hearted. He planned a trip to Fenway with Liam for the weekend of the 11th — the Saturday before the neurologist, which is a bold choice — and he was excited about it. Liam was excited about it. Nora was confused about it, because she does not yet grasp Fenway, and I kept telling her "it's for Liam and Daddy" and she kept saying "Nora, too" and we did not resolve it. She is going to be excluded from her first male-only family outing this Saturday and she is not going to like it. She will be consoled with ice cream.
The clinic: two new patients, one returning patient with good news (a PET showed partial response — not cure, but a meaningful reduction), one long hard conversation with a family preparing for hospice. The range of one Tuesday in oncology is the full human range. You do not get a day of one thing. You get a day of all of it.
Meghan called Wednesday night. We talked for thirty-five minutes. She is going for partner in the next cycle at her firm. She is terrified and excited and working more than she would like. Brian is fine. Aidan is three and a half and into dinosaurs. Meghan is Meghan — my sister, five years older than me, the only person on earth who can tell me to shut up in a voice that I will actually listen to. I love her. I told her so. She said "you're being weird. What's wrong." I said "nothing." She said "Kate." I said "nothing yet." She said "okay. Let me know when it's something." I said "I will." That is Meghan. That is my sister.
Nora said “Nora, too” and I said “it’s for Liam and Daddy” and we went around that loop a few more times than I’m proud of, and I promised her ice cream, and I meant it. I didn’t want to just hand her a store-bought pint — not this particular Saturday, not with all the other small closings and openings this week had held. So I made this pistachio ice cream the night before, and it was on the table when the boys left, and Nora ate it in her pajamas at 10 a.m. without apology, and that felt exactly right.
Pistachio Ice Cream
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes + 4 hours freezing | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 cup shelled unsalted pistachios, plus 1/4 cup roughly chopped for topping
- 2 cups heavy cream
- 1 cup whole milk
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 4 large egg yolks
- 1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract
- 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
- 2–3 drops green food coloring (optional)
Instructions
- Blend the pistachios. Add 1 cup pistachios to a food processor and pulse until finely ground, about 30 seconds. Do not over-process into a paste.
- Make the base. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the heavy cream, whole milk, ground pistachios, and half the sugar (6 tablespoons). Stir and heat until steaming and just beginning to simmer. Remove from heat.
- Temper the eggs. In a bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the remaining 6 tablespoons of sugar until pale and slightly thickened, about 2 minutes. Slowly ladle about 1 cup of the warm cream mixture into the yolks, whisking constantly, to temper them.
- Cook the custard. Pour the tempered yolk mixture back into the saucepan. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the custard thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon and reaches 170–175°F, about 8–10 minutes. Do not boil.
- Strain and chill. Pour the custard through a fine-mesh strainer into a clean bowl, pressing gently on the solids. Stir in the almond extract, vanilla extract, salt, and food coloring if using. Press plastic wrap directly onto the surface and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, at least 2 hours or overnight.
- Churn. Pour the chilled custard into an ice cream maker and churn according to the manufacturer’s instructions, typically 20–25 minutes, until thickened to a soft-serve consistency.
- Freeze. Transfer to a freezer-safe container. Fold in the 1/4 cup chopped pistachios. Smooth the top, press plastic wrap onto the surface, and freeze for at least 4 hours until firm.
- Serve. Let the ice cream sit at room temperature for 5 minutes before scooping. Serve in bowls or cones, topped with additional chopped pistachios if desired.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 29g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 105mg