Strawberry-Citrus Freezer Pops

The protests are happening everywhere — on the news, in the streets, in the cities that I can see from my kitchen on Long Island only through a screen but which I feel in my chest with the specific ache of a woman who has taught "To Kill a Mockingbird" for forty years and who knows, who has always known, that the mockingbird is still being killed. I called Rebecca, because Rebecca is in Manhattan and the protests are in Manhattan, and Rebecca said she was fine, she had marched, she was tired and angry and hopeful in the way that people who study literature are hopeful — carefully, with full awareness that the story doesn't always end well but with the stubborn belief that the telling of the story matters.

Marvin does not understand the protests. I have stopped trying to explain current events to him because the explanations cause anxiety without providing understanding, and causing anxiety in a man whose world is already frightening enough feels cruel. I turned off the television. I put on music — Ella Fitzgerald, because Ella is the opposite of anxiety, Ella is the sound of a world where everything swings and the notes land where they should and the voice is sure of itself. Marvin likes Ella. He taps his foot. He hums. The humming is not melody, exactly, but it's rhythm, and rhythm is stored in the body, and his body still remembers how to respond to Ella Fitzgerald, and I consider this a form of grace.

I made a strawberry rhubarb pie — the first rhubarb of the season from the farm stand, combined with the strawberries that are at their peak, the two fruits that belong together the way some couples belong together: one tart, one sweet, the combination better than either alone. The pie was a project — the crust from scratch, the lattice on top, two hours of work for fifteen minutes of eating — and I needed the project because projects are how I manage the unmanageable. When the world is on fire, I make pie. When the world is always on fire, I make a lot of pie.

The pie fed us that night, and the next morning I was left with the last of the strawberries—too few for another crust, too good to ignore—and I thought of Rebecca and her hopefulness and how hope, like strawberry season, is brief and should not be wasted. These freezer pops are not a pie. They are simpler, faster, something you can make with one hand while Ella Fitzgerald plays and your husband hums his rhythmless rhythm in the next room. But they carry the same logic: tart cut with sweet, cold made from something warm, a small and deliberate act of beauty on a day that needed one.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 15 minutes (includes freezing) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
1/2 cup fresh orange juice (about 2 medium oranges)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3 tablespoons honey or sugar, adjusted to taste
1/4 cup water

Instructions

Blend. Combine strawberries, orange juice, lemon juice, lemon zest, honey, and water in a blender. Puree until completely smooth.
Taste and adjust. Taste the mixture and add more honey if the strawberries are particularly tart, or more lemon juice if you want a sharper citrus note.
Fill molds. Pour the mixture evenly into 8 standard freezer pop molds, leaving about 1/4 inch of space at the top to allow for expansion.
Insert sticks. Place the lids and sticks on the molds, or insert wooden pop sticks if using open molds.
Freeze. Freeze for at least 4 hours, or overnight, until completely solid.
Unmold. To release, run the outside of the mold briefly under warm water for 10–15 seconds, then gently pull the pop free.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry-Citrus Freezer Pops — When the World Is on Fire, You Work with Strawberries