Rainbow Strawberries

I am thirty years old and I am a teacher and a mother and a wife and a blog writer and a person who makes mushroom soup from a dead woman's notebook and I am in the right life. I know this the way I know the things that are most true: not dramatically, not with certainty that forecloses questions, but with the quiet ongoing recognition of someone who checks in regularly and keeps finding the same answer.

Spring is arriving in the preliminary way it arrives in Chicago in early March: the temperatures above freezing some days, the light returning minute by minute, the smell of someone's grill on a Saturday that is barely warm enough for grilling but is warm enough that someone is going to try. I have been waiting for this since January. This is not the winter I dread; I love winter. But March is its own thing, the exhale at the end of the long breath, the city remembering it knows how to be warm.

Owen has become interested in stories. Not books — he has been interested in books since he was four months old, sitting on my lap while I read and touching the pages — but stories he makes up himself, which he tells in the rapid-fire three-and-four-word sentences of a toddler who has more to say than he has words for. "The truck. It go. Fast. Then home." He paused and looked at me and I said: and then what? He thought about it. He said: "more truck." This is a complete story. It is his first.

Pasta primavera again, the spring version, first of the year: farmers market asparagus and radishes and whatever looked good, sauteed in olive oil, tossed with pasta and parmesan. The farmers market opens in April in earnest but there is a year-round stand at the indoor market and the asparagus was coming in. I bought a bunch and made dinner in twenty minutes and it tasted like beginning.

There is a version of turning thirty that calls for a complicated cake, and then there is the version that calls for something bright and immediate and a little bit silly in the best way — the kind of food that Owen would point at and say “colors” and that would make the whole table feel like the season is already here. I made these rainbow strawberries the weekend after my birthday because we had people over and I wanted something that required almost no effort and looked like I had tried harder than I had, which is the goal of every good spring dessert.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 20 min (plus chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 lb fresh strawberries, washed and dried, stems on
1 cup white chocolate chips or white melting wafers
1 tsp coconut oil or vegetable shortening
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple gel food coloring
Wax paper or parchment paper, for lining

Instructions

Prep the strawberries. Wash strawberries thoroughly and pat completely dry with paper towels. Any moisture will cause the chocolate to seize, so this step matters. Line a baking sheet with parchment or wax paper and set aside.
Melt the white chocolate. Combine white chocolate chips and coconut oil in a microwave-safe bowl. Microwave in 20-second intervals, stirring between each, until fully melted and smooth. Divide the melted chocolate into six small bowls — one for each color.
Color the chocolate. Add a small amount of gel food coloring to each bowl, stirring well until you reach your desired shade. Use gel coloring rather than liquid to avoid thinning the chocolate. Adjust color intensity to taste.
Dip the strawberries. Holding each strawberry by the stem, dip it into one color of chocolate, letting the excess drip off. Place on the prepared baking sheet. Repeat with remaining strawberries, varying the colors to create a rainbow spread across the platter.
Add drizzle detail (optional). For an extra rainbow effect, use a fork or piping bag to drizzle contrasting colors over the dipped strawberries before the chocolate sets.
Chill and set. Refrigerate the tray for 15–20 minutes until the chocolate is fully set. Serve immediately or keep refrigerated for up to 24 hours.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rainbow Strawberries — The Colors of a Season Beginning