Two-Berry Fluff Salad

Late July, and the heat has arrived with the particular intensity that Hartford reserves for July — humid, heavy, the kind of heat that sits on your chest and makes the walk from the car to the door feel like crossing a desert, which is a dramatic comparison for a woman from Puerto Rico where the heat is a permanent resident and not a summer visitor, but Hartford heat is different because Hartford heat is unexpected, wrong, the city was not built for this temperature and neither was I, apparently, because I have lived here for thirty-two years and I am still surprised every July.

I held Isabella. I held my granddaughter. Three weeks old, and I held her.

Miguel Jr. and Jenny decided — after conversations with the pediatrician, after two weeks of quarantine, after every precaution that science and worry could devise — that I could come inside. I drove to West Hartford on Saturday morning. I washed my hands for a full minute at their kitchen sink. I sat on the couch. Jenny placed Isabella in my arms.

She weighed nothing. She weighed everything. She weighed seven pounds and twelve ounces and the weight of every meal I had left on the porch, every time I had pressed my hand against a car window, every time Lucas had called buela through glass. She opened her eyes — dark eyes, Delgado eyes, Luz María's eyes — and she looked at me with the unfocused intensity of a newborn who is seeing the world for the first time, and I said, Hola, mi amor. Tu abuela te ha estado esperando. Your grandmother has been waiting for you.

Lucas climbed onto the couch next to me and leaned against my arm and said, Buela, baby. I said, Yes, mijo, baby. Your sister. He patted her head with the gentleness of a two-year-old who has been coached, which is to say not very gently at all, and Jenny intercepted the pat and redirected it to a stuffed animal and I held the baby and the boy leaned against me and the couch held all of us and the world, for thirty minutes on a Saturday in July, was exactly right.

I had promised myself that when the day finally came — when I finally got to sit on that couch and hold that baby — I would bring something. You do not arrive at your son’s house for the first real visit empty-handed, not in this family, not ever. I had made this Two-Berry Fluff Salad the evening before and left it in my refrigerator overnight, and I carried it in a covered bowl on the passenger seat the whole drive to West Hartford, because some things you keep close. It is summer food, sweet and cold and a little ridiculous in the best way, the kind of dish that has no business being as good as it is — and on that particular Saturday morning, with Lucas pressed against my arm and Isabella in my hands, ridiculous and good felt exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: None | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1 1/2 cups fresh blueberries
1 package (3.4 oz) instant vanilla pudding mix, dry
1 container (8 oz) frozen whipped topping, thawed
2 cups miniature marshmallows
1 container (6 oz) strawberry or vanilla yogurt
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Pinch of salt

Instructions

Combine the berries. Place the sliced strawberries and blueberries in a large mixing bowl. Drizzle with lemon juice and toss gently to coat. This brightens the fruit and keeps the strawberries from weeping too much into the salad.
Mix the creamy base. In a separate bowl, stir together the dry instant vanilla pudding mix, yogurt, and a pinch of salt until smooth and fully incorporated. The dry pudding mix acts as a thickener — do not prepare the pudding beforehand, just use it dry from the packet.
Fold in the whipped topping. Add the thawed whipped topping to the pudding-yogurt mixture and fold gently with a rubber spatula until just combined and fluffy. Do not over-mix or you will lose the airy texture.
Add the marshmallows. Fold the miniature marshmallows into the creamy mixture, distributing them evenly throughout.
Combine with the berries. Pour the creamy mixture over the berries and fold everything together gently, taking care not to crush the fruit. You want distinct pockets of berry throughout the fluff.
Chill before serving. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. The marshmallows will soften slightly and the flavors will meld. This salad can be made the night before and held overnight in the refrigerator — it is actually better the next day.
Serve cold. Give the salad a gentle stir before serving. Garnish with a few extra fresh berries on top if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Two-Berry Fluff Salad — Something Sweet for the Morning I Finally Got to Hold Her