By April is almost here and the summer planning begins. Destiny's wedding in October means the cooking planning is extensive and ongoing: the menu, the quantities, the timing, the kitchen coordination with Sister Agnes who will be my lieutenant in the New Hope AME kitchen on October twenty-third. I have a notebook for the wedding menu. This is the most I have written down in years—I, who never write recipes, who keep everything in my hands—but a wedding reception for seventy-five people requires writing things down, requires the logistics to be documented so that on the day itself there is no uncertainty, no improvisation where improvisation would be harmful, only the execution of the plan that has been built with care and intention and love.
The menu, as settled so far: fried chicken (of course), mac and cheese, collard greens, cornbread, candied yams, potato salad, green beans, and three desserts—sweet potato pie, pound cake, and a wedding cake, which I am making, which Destiny requested and which I agreed to because I have made every significant cake in this family's history and a wedding is significant and the cake is mine. I will make a three-layer vanilla butter cake with buttercream and fresh flowers from the church garden. Destiny will tell me I don't have to make the wedding cake and I will tell her I am making the wedding cake and that will be the end of the conversation, the same way it was the end of the conversation when I said I would cook the reception dinner.
Spring cooking: strawberry preserves starting this week, the first batch of the season, from the same farmers market stand where I buy the good strawberries every year, the ones that are red all the way through. Eleven jars. Enough to last through the summer, enough to give to the people I love, enough to be Bernice's preserves on every piece of toast in every kitchen that receives them. Bernice made preserves. I make preserves. The preserves are still being made. That's the whole story.
Before the eleven jars of preserves get sealed and labeled and carried to the people I love, I always drink a glass of something cold with the first strawberries of the season — just to taste them plain, the way they are before they become something else. This strawberry smoothie is that moment: nothing complicated, just the good fruit from the farmers market stand doing what it does best. It’s a quiet little celebration before the real work begins, and with a wedding reception for seventy-five people already filling my notebook, I’ll take every quiet moment I can find.
Strawberry Smoothie
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled (or frozen, thawed slightly)
- 1 cup whole milk or milk of your choice
- 1/2 cup plain or vanilla yogurt
- 2 tablespoons honey or sugar, adjusted to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 1/2 cup ice cubes (omit if using frozen berries)
Instructions
- Prep the berries. Rinse and hull the strawberries. If using fresh berries from the market, pat them dry and slice any very large ones in half so they blend evenly.
- Combine ingredients. Add the strawberries, milk, yogurt, honey, and vanilla extract to a blender. Add ice cubes if using fresh berries.
- Blend until smooth. Blend on high for 45–60 seconds until the mixture is completely smooth and creamy with no berry chunks remaining.
- Taste and adjust. Taste the smoothie and add more honey if the berries need a little lift, or a splash more milk if you prefer a thinner consistency.
- Serve immediately. Pour into two glasses and serve right away. Fresh strawberry smoothies are best drunk the moment they’re made.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 33g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 75mg