Thyme Roasted Peach and Mascarpone Ice Cream with Toasted Brioche Crumbles

if the spoon fits

It has recently come to my attention that my opinions on cheese are absolute trash.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not for lack of trying. In fact, at one point in my life, I considered myself something of a (self-proclaimed) cheese connoisseur.

Having a French brother-in-law has many perks, one of which being that you can claim to be an expert on all things French simply by association.

I knew about macarons, pain au chocolat, and Orangina long before they were a blip on any food trend analyst’s radar, and I relished the (imagined) feeling of sophistication and empowerment these insights gave me amongst my then-social circle of giggly, 19-year old girls and flamboyant gay men. I fancied myself a trendsetter, and spent hours daydreaming about the illustrious career I’d have as a food writer for Saveur or National Geographic, working remotely from various French estates and lavender…

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