Simple Marshmallow Fruit Salad

Kevin and Crystal's situation: complicated doesn't begin to cover it. Crystal is pregnant (due late 2022) and they are divorced and the baby is Kevin's and Donna exists and Kevin is trying to be present for a child whose mother he is no longer married to while also being present for a new relationship that represents the future he's trying to build. The geometry of Kevin's emotional life would require a mathematician and a therapist and possibly a priest. He called me at 11 PM on Tuesday: "Sarah, how do you do it? How do you co-parent from a distance?" I said: "You show up. Every time. You drive the miles. You make the calls. You put your face on the phone and you say 'hey, baby' every morning. That's it. That's the whole manual." The Terrence manual. The manual I learned by watching a man in Atlanta hold a phone to a baby's ear and say three words. I'm here. I'm sorry. I love you.

Kevin said: "I'm scared." Kevin Mitchell. The soldier. The man who has been deployed three times and has medals and a uniform and the jawline of a man who is not supposed to be scared. He's scared. Scared of fatherhood. Scared of the pattern — not Danny's pattern, a new pattern, a pattern where you love a child and the child's mother lives in another state and the logistics are a nightmare and nobody writes a manual for the specific combination of divorce plus pregnancy plus new girlfriend plus military career plus a sister who makes cornbread. Nobody writes that manual. You write it as you go. You write it in real time, with a pen that's out of ink half the time, and the writing IS the manual. He's writing it. He'll be fine. He's a Mitchell. Mitchells write the manual.

Summer heat. Peak Nashville. The apartment windows are sweating. Elijah has discovered the garden hose (inherited from Jayden, who discovered it at the same age — the garden hose is a Mitchell developmental milestone not recognized by pediatricians but documented in this family). He sprays everything: the patio, the cat (Blaze is outraged), his own face (delighted), and Chloe's book (she was not delighted). The hose is a weapon, a toy, and a cooling system. The two-year-old is a one-man water park.

Sarah's Table summer surge: twenty-one clients. The summer events — outdoor parties, reunions, corporate picnics — are driving the growth. I hired a second Sunday helper: Patricia from church (a different Patricia from the vaccine nurse, Nashville's Patricia density is remarkable). Patricia handles prep and packaging. Wanda handles sides and service. I handle main courses and cornbread and the thing that can't be delegated: the taste. The final taste. The spoon that goes from pot to mouth and decides: ready or not ready. That spoon is mine. That spoon will always be mine. The spoon is the CEO.

I made ice cream. Homemade. No-churn. Vanilla bean. Because it's June and the heat demands cold and the cold should be homemade because everything that can be homemade should be homemade and that is the Sarah's Table philosophy and also possibly a mental illness. The ice cream was excellent. Elijah ate it with his hands because spoons are optional when you're two and the ice cream is vanilla and vanilla is adjacent to orange if you squint. He squints.

The ice cream was excellent — but the bowl of marshmallow fruit salad I made that same afternoon was what Elijah actually kept coming back to, sticky fingers and all. When the heat is sitting on the windows and the hose is already out and there are twenty-one clients’ orders to pack before Sunday, you need a cold thing that practically makes itself. This is that thing. No stove. No churn. Just fruit, marshmallows, and the Sarah’s Table rule: if it can be homemade, it should be.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups mini marshmallows
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
1 cup fresh blueberries
1 cup seedless green grapes, halved
1 cup fresh pineapple chunks (or one 8 oz can, drained)
1 cup mandarin orange segments (from about 2 mandarins, or one 11 oz can, drained)
1 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons honey
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the sour cream, honey, and vanilla extract until smooth and fully combined.
Add the fruit. Gently fold in the strawberries, blueberries, grapes, pineapple, and mandarin oranges until all fruit is evenly coated in the dressing.
Fold in the marshmallows. Add the mini marshmallows and stir gently to distribute throughout the salad without crushing the fruit.
Chill. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. The marshmallows will soften slightly and the flavors will come together. Overnight is even better.
Serve cold. Spoon into bowls or cups and serve straight from the refrigerator. Spoons are optional for the under-three crowd.

Nutrition (per serving)

Simple Marshmallow Fruit Salad — Cold, Homemade, and Eaten With Your Hands if You’re Two