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Sarah Strohmeyer

Sarah Strohmeyer Books

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Sweet Love

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Kindred Spirits

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“We go on and on about wild berries versus cultivated ones, about what constitutes good white chocolate and if it matters what kind of butter you use. According to Dolores, butter with low moisture and high butterfat makes all the difference. She suggests Amish block butter or something called Plugrá, a bastardization of the French phrase plus gras, meaning "more fat." Only the French, I think, would add fat to their butter. I can't believe I care about butter. Before cooking class I wouldn't have given a tinker's dam, yet here I am wondering whether I can sneak over to Whole Foods to buy some for tonight. Dolores says it's fantastic on French bread, with a good Pinot Noir. "Ooh," I hiss, licking my lip. Then the awful truth hits me. I have become a foodie!”

“When the kids were growing and Frank was still in construction, I made sure all our meals ended with something sweet. Frank deserved it. Sour cream brownies, banana pie made with vanilla wafers, lemon poppy-seed pound cake, strawberry shortcake, almond-scented tapioca, pecan blondies (oh... my... God, those are good), butter brickle ice cream with butterscotch, angel food cake with rhubarb compote, gingerbread with hard sauce, and on Saturday nights, peppermint ice cream sundaes topped with homemade hot fudge.”

“WEEK ONE: Summer Abundance Almond-Infused Hot White Chocolate over Iced Berries Cold English Summer Pudding Fresh and Easy Strawberry Crème Brûlée Peach Cobbler D'Ours with Ginger Ice Cream Limoncello Sorbet and Wild Maine Blueberries WEEK TWO: Simple Comforts Classic Tarte Tatin Warm Cherry Crisp with Vermont Maple Cream Almond Biscotti Tiramisu Old-Fashioned Gingerbread and Lemon Sauce Spiced Pear and Roquefort Flan WEEK THREE: A Multiple Chocolate Orgasm Grand Marnière Chocolate Mousse Torta Caprese Chocolate-Dipped Strawberries Profiteroles with Dark Chocolate Kahlúa Sauce Quick Chocolate Soufflé”

“In a ready crust of crushed walnuts, flour, and butter, D'Ours lays the pear slices in a pinwheel design. Because they've soaked up the red wine, their edges are etched in burgundy while their centers are white, giving them a candy cane appearance. A perfect Christmas dessert. Next, he crumbles the Roquefort over the pears, noting the irony of fruit desserts. Pairing fruit with sweet ingredients such as honey or sugar brings out the fruit's tartness while tangy cheese can make the fruit seem sweeter. Which might explain why my grandfather salted his grapefruit. "Roquefort has an intriguing history," he says while tapping a traditional flan filling of cream, sugar, and eggs. "You might be surprised to learn..." I stick up my hand and before D'Ours can object, I explain how Roquefort, like most blue cheeses, attributes its blue veins to penicillin mold and that in the past, Roquefort makers (there are only, like, nine in the world), used to put wrapped cheese next to humongous moldy rye bread in caves and let the spores from the rye bread seep into the cheese.”

“The strawberry, he informs us, is a member of the rose family and its botanical name, Fragaria, means "fragrance." And while most people know it is the only fruit with seeds on the outside, it is actually not fruit at all but swollen stems. It is one of the few fruits to contain ellagic acid, a compound believed to prevent healthy cells from turning into carcinogenic ones. My classmates cluck their tongues at this. "And the best way to cook the fraises," he says in his distinct fresh accent, "is to barely cook them at all. Which is why my strawberry crème brûlée is so fantastic. Quick to make, delicious, and the texture of the berry remains firm." Combining strawberries in rum, sour cream, and cream plus a dash of fresh lemon juice in a bowl, he tosses the mixture and spoons it into ramekins. Ideally, he says, the strawberry mixture should be refrigerated for several hours to meld the flavors. However, since we're on a time crunch, he sprinkles each with brown sugar before sliding them under the broiler so the tops turn a crusty caramel in seconds.”

“We each get a ramekin to taste. Tapping my spoon against the brittle caramel shell, I am rewarded with the satisfying crunch that distinguishes the great brûlée. Underneath, the slightly tart strawberries remain red, fresh, and firm, bursting with flavor enhanced by the sweet rum and cream. So simple and light and, yet, so rich. I could linger forever, but already we are on to the next lesson: almond-infused hot white chocolate over iced berries. How bizarre. "Very popular in England," D'Ours observes, a tad derisively. I find myself strangely mesmerized by the melting of white chocolate chunks into heavy cream, a slight almond fragrance emanating as the mixture swirls and warms in the double boiler. I've never been a fan of white chocolate. I've never seen the point of chocolate without, well, chocolate. But I have a feeling I'm about to be converted. The frowning Angela distributes bowls with red and blue frozen berries slightly thawed. From a little pot, she pours the hot white chocolate sauce over them and it thickens immediately, on contact. To top it off, she sprinkles on a few chopped almonds. "Bon appétit," she snaps, filling my glass of champagne. Okay, I may have just passed dying and stepped directly into heaven. This is, hands down, the most fabulous thing I've ever eaten. It should be illegal, it's so good. And the weird thing is, it doesn't even taste like white chocolate over frozen berries. It's sweet and perfumed and something else entirely. It's gooey.”

“Maybe we were being a bit unrealistic, but we had this hope that if we could just get into the Ivy League, everything would be set. We dreamed of Gothic libraries and leafy green quads and romantic dorms with fireplaces and guys who were not only cute but also smart and charming, and, quite possibly, British. In college, we believed, we’d finally find our people.”

“I focused on the passing houses filled with couples who’d somehow survived this teenage craziness of ‘he likes her but she likes him and he likes somebody else, you just can’t win.’ How did they do it? How did they end up in their golden, warm and cozy living rooms with their 2.3 children and dogs and cats? Because getting from where I was to where they were seemed millions of light years away.”

“In fiction, I searched for my favorite authors, women I have trusted to reassure me than not all teenage guys are total ditwads, that the archetype of the noble cute hero who devotes himself to the girl he loves has not gone the way of the rotary phone. That all I had to do was be myself (smart, hardworking, funny) and be patient and kind and he and I would find each other. As Bea would say, this why they call it fiction.”