Once upon a time,
Many, many hours ago (<24 hours),
A young woman (hey, 35 is considered young by many!) and her husband ventured deep into the woods (okay, it’s kinda just off the side of the road in our neighborhood) to pick bushels of blueberries (well, a couple of pints).
As mysterious as this all sounds, the story gets weirder. The young woman (I had to call myself young one more time) planned to make blueberry ice cream with these berries.
After protests by her husband who really wanted blueberry cobbler or blueberry pie, she insisted that making ice cream with the berries would be the right way to go.
The husband wearily picked the berries, continuing to suggest that ice cream wasn’t the best use of these prized items…(which translated to she was wasting his time making him pick these berries with her). She knew that this man would eat his words soon and did not allow this constant badgering to sway her decision to make blueberry ice cream.
The berries were brilliant in both their shade of blue and in their fragrance.
We could hardly pick the amount of berries we needed because we couldn’t stop eating them.
Finally, we have the blueberries we need to make the ice cream. And let’s just say… as usual, I was right. He keeps saying the ice cream is the best thing I’ve ever made, he LOVES it.
Please come back, I’m working on the post to show you how I made the ice cream a little later.
You will want to invite yourself over to my house for an ice cream cone…trust me.
We also made blueberry pancakes, and they were pretty much the bomb-diggity.
I think blueberries are my new best friend (although my thighs do not agree).