A creamy, no churn salted honey & lavender ice cream with just six ingredients.

The parking is limited - only 2 or 3 spots out front.  On a warm summer evening if the place is busy, you will have to find a spot on the street.  You can enter from either side, but I always go right.  The thin cement path - unmarked but obvious - is sparsely lined with rose bushes, fragrant and colourful but far from award winning.  Opposite the roses is a small window worth a peek.  You will see ripe tomatoes resting in the small glimmer of sunlight that works itself in.  On a spring day you may see the men elbow deep in freshly slaughtered pork destined for sausages and capicolla.  In fall, the space is converted into a canning facility - processing green beans, tomatoes and sauces.

The end of the path opens to an urban homesteaders dream.  The black mission fig tree greets you first with its giant leaves burdened with fruit so heavy it actually looks tired.  Its fraternal twin - a Kadota - is tucked around the other side, shyly peeking through, bearing its orbs usually a month behind its brother.  Two apple trees stand proudly next to each other.  Their lack of shine or flawless skin would make them rejects at any trendy urban grocer, and yet - here - they couldn't be more perfect.  "Just cut around the bad parts," the visually slight but spiritually strong purveryous wife will snap at you in a thick italian accent.  The grape vine flanked orchard rounds out with the pear tree that, at her peak, produces a varietal I call "sticky chins" - so juicy you more so slurp then you do bite it.

The same cement path that led you here, splits the orchard and leads to a latched gate.  This is where the magic happens - the Garden.  You can't help but notice the tomatoes first.  Row upon row upon row.  The varietal? A mystery.  Seeds are harvested one year and preserved for the next.   As your knife glides through the tender skin - like a rare tenderloin steak - the tomato is solid red meat.  Tossed with a pinch of salt and some fresh picked basil that grows like a weed across from the vines and you are set.  The lettuces are equally impressive. Row upon row of radiccio, arugula and butter leaf.  Walla walla onion bulbs peeking up from the ancient dry soil begging to be picked.  The zucchinis, beans, peas and peppers.  It is this space that makes their minestrone soup untouchable.

When you are ready for lunch, follow the narrow path back toward the main building.  You will pass the wine cellar that from its low ceiling hangs cheese wheels and cured meats.  The owner is likely filling antique bottles direct from the demijohn to be served with your meal.

For nearly 20 years, I have been frequenting this quaint & discreet culinary gem on an island off the west coast.  But this year, it was forever changed.  A temporary hospital stay turned into a permanent move to long term care.  Long term care was not long enough.  The owner, Frank, was no longer able to return to his garden, his wine cellar, his kitchen.

He didn't know it was the last time, until it was.

Frank passed away on April 12th.

Frank is my father in law and this was his home.

Now his fruit and vegetable bounty will never be featured in Edible nor his wine written up in the Spectator.  But he is my culinary champion.  He is my Canadian taste maker.  His story is important because it isn't styled or on trend.  It's important because it's the story of an authentic artisan - in the truest sense.  Not just the worker in the dirt creating by hand and from scratch but generously sharing that bounty with all that crossed his path.  He didn't plant 50 tomato plants to just feed his family.  He did it to share with his children, their children and neighbours and strangers alike.  If you were fortunate to be invited for dinner - and simple presence would earn any soul an invite - you would leave with arms and stomachs full.

Today is Fathers Day.

I am blessed with the most amazing father.

I am blessed to have married Franks son, who couldn't be a better father to our son.

But on this particular Fathers Day - our first without Frank - I wanted to honour him here.  With something I think he would appreciate.

A simple bowl of ice cream.

Salted Honey and Lavender Ice Cream

Author: Food Well Said

A creamy, no churn salted honey & lavender ice cream with just six ingredients.

Ingredients

• 2 cups heavy cream
• 1 teaspoon powdered vanilla (or 2 vanilla beans, split & paste removed)
• 10 ounces (1 small tin) sweetened condensed milk
• 1 tablespoon dried lavender petals
• 1/4 cup clover honey
• 1 tablespoon flaked sea salt

Instructions

1. In a stand mixture (or bowl with electric beaters) with the whisk attachment, whip the cream and vanilla until soft peaks form. (start low speed to avoid splatter and gradually increase speed)
2. Gently fold in condensed milk and dried lavender until well combined keeping the mixture as airy as possible.
3. Line a lof pan with parchment and gently pour mixture into pan. Drizzle back and forth with honey and sprinkle with the flaked sea salt.
4. Cover with another piece of parchment (cut to loaf size) and then cover with plastic so ice cream is air tight. Freeze at least six hours or overnight.
5. Serve with additional drizzle of honey and sprinkling of salt.

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