Back from Jamaica! On our final day there, I was so bummed about leaving. Now I totally get why people honeymoon there (including Adam’s parents!) — it rules. So many sweet things to share about my new favorite zones, but first, a quick link to an article I worked on for the Montreal Gazette about a dedicated Sherrington, Quebec-based strawberry producer named Paul Legault. We had the best time hanging out with him and his adorable wife, and eating their rad strawberries (and being sent home with a few clamshells of their pricey berries, and some of Elaine’s famous black raspberry preserves!). From my story:
Denise Legault is scurrying up and down rows of bushy plants in a greenhouse, plucking tiny strawberries from their stems and placing them in a glass bowl lined with lace. She hands me a delicate, rosy fruit, and wipes a trace of dirt away with the pad of her thumb.
“Tell me exactly what you think this tastes like,” Legault commands me, like an imperious fairy.
I bite through the tender flesh. The fragile fruit explodes in my mouth, and juice squirts down my arm, freckling my blouse with pale pink spots. It couldn’t be farther from the bland, oversized Dole specimens to which I am accustomed.
As the fruit collapses on my tongue like jam, I detect traces of burnt caramel, orange blossom water and jasmine.
“It’s like a bouquet of flowers melting in your mouth,” Legault says.
Read the full story here. More of my photos below!