Strawberry Sorbet

I promised abundance. Mostly because Bruce and I have come home to it. So I thought I'd start celebrating it with an easy sorbet, one Bruce whipped up in no time flat.

If you recall, I gave the run-down on frozen treats here. (And Bruce and I should know, having written this book and this one.) But all those definitions contain exceptions, right? I mean, chefs make buttermilk sorbet these days. It has dairy but it's a sorbet. What gives?

I think it's the lack of eggs and cream. And maybe that does make it a sorbet, even with the dairy. Life's all about trade-offs, right? And compromises. And grace.

Let me repeat that: life needs more grace. It needs more give, bend, flexibility. (And at my advanced age, I know what I'm talking about.) Grace is an old-fashioned word, for sure. Yep, it means Audrey Hepburn, as in graceful. But it also means at peace, as in gracious. But it also seems the very essence of summer. Winter is for Calvinists, grammarians, and other scolds. Summer is for dancers of all sorts, even just those who can dance only in their minds. Like me, who can trip across a flat floor but am addicted to modern dance. Do you watch So You Think You Can Dance? My word, I love that show. I love the grace, even if I can only imagine it in my body.

Anyway, strawberry sorbet. It's summer's grace.

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