Rosé Real Talk

White Stone Fruit and Rosé Sorbet with Thyme Whipped Cream

thyme whipped cream

It wasn’t until this summer that I decided once and for all that pink is my favorite color wine. A bit embarrassed by my taste for easy-drinking rosé, I’ve stuck to super-crisp whites in the summer. And so, I know very little about rosé—the best makers, the proper prices, the connection between shade and taste or sweetness. I relied on the expertise of my local liquor store proprietor when I needed a special bottle for a gift recently. All I know is that I like it very cold and very dry and that it goes down very easily on a sultry summer night.

But rosé is so hot right now, and no longer just among rappers and large groups of socializing 20-something girls. Rosé has become downright respectable. I’ve eaten at quality restaurants with wine lists featuring more rosés than articles I saw this year that discussed why Beyoncé is/isn’t a feminist.

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Warm Blueberries, Cold Ice Cream

Blueberry Cornbread Brown Betty

brown betty ice cream

I crave an icy-cold, milky-white sphere, melting atop a rocky sea of blue. Snowy arteries, weave through the murkiness below, branching into artistic trails that spread fragrant cream through berries and juice.

I have a food love that I could discuss endlessly, despite it being wildly unspecific. It’s for warm blueberries and vanilla ice cream. The combination grabs me in any form: ice cream bathing in blueberry compote; blueberry pie à la mode; biscuit-covered, ice cream–topped cobbler; crispy waffles + blueberry syrup + heaps of ice cream (which I’d probably never order or make because I’m a civilized breakfast eater, but in my current sleepless state, I can dig it).

My mother and I first made this discovery at The Goldenrod (est. 1896), an old-fashioned candy store/ice cream parlor/soda fountain/restaurant, which is located at York Beach, ME. Just an hour and a half from our Central Mass home, my mom would take me there when I was little and on school vacation. There is always a group of people standing up to the window at the Goldenrod and watching the saltwater taffy being made. Slap, pull, stretch; slap, pull stretch—it’s happy monotony. It was at the Goldenrod that I had my first tuna melt. It was at the Goldenrod that I had my first (and last) cream soda. And it was at the Goldenrod that I first realized that blueberry pie should always be warm and that vanilla ice cream should always come with. Thus, it was at the Goldenrod that I discovered happiness.

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