After last weekend’s bitter cold, this weekend felt remarkably milder and much warmer.
The fickleness of Argentina’s climate never ceases to amaze me, and this winter’s roller-coaster of temperatures has been clear proof of that.
With weather that now calls for just a light jacket instead of layers of wool, I can’t help but imagine that spring is on its way.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself — we still have a couple of months of winter left — but seeing berries appear at the fruit stands and the bright green tips of grass pushing through barren soil gives me hope.
I love berries of every kind. Whether tart or sweet, red, pink, black or blue, they always make me happy.
Strawberries, in particular, hold a soft spot in my heart — for their vivid red color, juicy sweetness and elegant shape.
I enjoy them fresh from the market, stems removed, rinsed and ready to eat. I like to bite into them plain, letting the juices burst in my mouth and reaching for another before I’ve finished the first.
I also love them sliced with a light dusting of sugar—after resting, they deepen to a rich maroon, and paired with freshly whipped cream, they’re almost impossible to resist.
But my favorite way to enjoy strawberries is piled on top of a tall stack of yogurt-almond pancakes, finished with a generous drizzle of golden honey.
There’s something about that trio—pancakes, strawberries and honey—that feels like a cure-all.
It’s pure bliss: a small holiday on a plate, a perfect picture of happiness.
Less than a week from now we fly to Rome for an almost two-week trip I’ve dreamed about for seven years.
I am happy. Absurdly happy. Anxious and giddy at the same time.
As content as a stack of pancakes topped with strawberries and honey can make me.
