Thirsty? Drink a Mr. Newman.

With those striking baby blues and stellar acting chops, Paul Newman was and continues to be even after his death in 2008, by most movie buffs’ standards, one of the Hollywood greats. For me, the best part about Paul Newman is not his brilliant performance in The Color of Money, his handsome appearance (even as an older man, he still had it), or that he was married to his wife for 50 years. Nope – I just like his limeade.

Ever since the man in the green hat and bow tie - not to be mistaken for the Man with the Yellow Hat - caught my eye last week in the grocery store, I couldn’t help but grab a carton while simultaneously envisioning a beautiful and wonderfully thirst-quenching future with him. While the limeade is quite good on its own, I dreamt (which, in case you weren't aware, is the only word in the English language that ends in "mt") of something with a little more depth...and, well, with a little booze.

When I was a kid, I loved Dairy Queen. (Yes, I still do.) Besides the cherry-dipped cone and the “full meal deal,” one of my favorite items on the menu growing up was the Mr. Misty. Lest you forget, the Mr. Misty is a slushy ice drink made with artificial fruit flavors and high fructose corn syrup. An ideal treat for a hot summer day, the Mr. Misty came in a variety of flavors, but I remember particularly enjoying the lemon-lime. Not that I spend much time at Dairy Queen these days, but when I have found myself inside its doors, I have not seen the Mr. Misty on the menu (trust me, I’ve looked). I just assumed that DQ had taken a turn for the worse and nixed it from their menu, but it turns out the Mr. Misty is still offered, but under the guise of the "Arctic Blast". I would like to take this time and space to publicly denounce this name change. Arctic Blast? Wasn't that one of Portland's local news station's title for the winter storm that dumped two millimeters of snow? I don't care what anyone says, the Mr. Misty will always remain the Mr. Misty in my heart.

With childhood nostalgia on the brain lately, I've been on a throwback beverage kick. My coworkers may make fun of me for sipping on Capri Suns in my office, but I know they're just jealous. (They'd be even more jealous to know that by night, my Capri Suns have flirted with the likes of vodka). While I've already got my sights set on whipping up a batch of Orange Julius (+ rum) one day soon, with this limeade in my possession, I knew this was my opportunity to de-virginize (is that too vulgar for a family-friendly blog?) Newman’s Own limeade with NO high fructose corn syrup(!) into a fantastical, Mr. Misty-inspired summer cocktail.

Crushed ice, limeade, frozen raspberries, and a wee little bit of Grey Goose vodka. Mmmmmmm. Deliciously refreshing and undeniably playful, the Mr. Newman goes down smooth and fast. GENERAL SURGEON'S WARNING: This beverage puts you at high risk for major brain freeze. Throwing out a fist as you cry a frustrated "Newman!" may also occur.

Keeping Up with Currant Events

Hello there, stranger. Have you missed me?

Last week a friend of mine called me to make sure I was ok because there had been no word on clatter for over a month. With the best fruits and vegetables of the year at the forefront, summer should be the time of year when I can’t stop thinking and writing about food. The truth of the matter is my mind has been far, far away from blogging. I’ve been busy cranking out way too much legal jargon on a daily basis in attempt to sound like a smart lawyer and keep my boss off my back. (What a brain sucker.) More interestingly though, I’ve also been occupied doing my best Meg Ryan impression (during her cute, pre-lip injection phase) by starring in my own real-life romantic comedy.

I could go into painstaking detail of the rom-com’s premise and take you through the movie, scene-by-scene. I could make you laugh, make you cry, make you laugh and cry at the same time, gag at the film's cheesiness, and then 10 minutes later, tug at your heartstrings at its very sweetness. But I’ll spare you the spoilers (plus I don’t yet know how it ends). I’d much rather have you blow your well-earned money on a $12 ticket and $5 bag of Twizzlers when the movie comes to a theatre near you. Until then, I’ll give you a clip to tide you over.

One summer afternoon, the girl accompanies the boy to his parents’ house to pick berries. While she quietly curses the drizzle and 67 degree weather in the middle of July, the girl cannot help but marvel at his parents’ beautiful home and yard (truly one that could appear in a Nancy Meyers’ movie). After his mother greets the girl with the warmest of welcomes and shows her an embarrassing/downright adorable first grade photo of the boy wearing a bright orange sweatshirt with a clip-on tie (and the girl reflects on the fact that this photo was taken merely one year before she beat him in the spelling bee), they get to picking.

They could have spent all day picking and filled an entire freezer with fruit, the bounty of raspberries, blueberries, and red currants more than one household could ever handle. Most of the blueberry bushes needed more time and some warmer weather before reaching their full potential, so the girl and boy focus mostly on picking the raspberries and currants. As she picked (much more efficiently than the boy, mind you), the culinary-inclined protagonist could not help but remain deep in thought about what she could do with fresh red currants. A day later, she was still thinking about it…

Best to my knowledge and failing memory in my 29 years, I don’t believe I had ever tasted a fresh red currant before yesterday. Tart with an absence of that certain sweetness most people expect from a berry, fresh currants are often made into jam. I had only had dried currants in scones before, so you can imagine my excitement at the thought of experimenting, eating, and (hopefully) extolling the virtues of a rather unfamiliar summer berry.

I decided to do what I like to do best: keep things easy and simple, but still try to look and sound fancy enough that people will be really impressed with my accomplishment. Is there a better way to fake fancy in cooking than to use a French word? I think not. With an unopened half gallon of Tillamook vanilla bean ice cream in my freezer, my decision came quickly: I would make red currant coulis. Coulis (pronounced COO-LEE) is the French’s way of describing a thick sauce made of pureed fruit or vegetables. From what I can tell, coulis is basically a compote, except that a sieve is used to remove the seeds.

After washing and cooking the currants with sugar and water, I pressed them through a sieve disguised as a cheese grater (not a perfect substitution to cheese CLOTH, but it got me by). Voila! Coulis was born. It’s that easy to be fancy. And now to extol: currant coulis really is a great topping to drizzle on ice cream… preferably to be eaten while watching a romantic comedy. In my expert opinion, the cornier the movie, the better the dessert will taste.