Vegan Peach Ice Cream

Gluten-free dairy-free peach ice cream.

A small gift for you this weekend. Some cool, frosty, non-dairy peachy goodness. A vegan ice cream recipe for the sticky dog days of late summer. Wait. Is it August already? Good goddess, the summer is careening by. It's true what they say about the concept of time. It speeds up and gets fluid as you get, um, shall we say, older. Seasoned.

One might even venture, weathered.

During your ritual morning walk your husband turns to you and mentions a moment from yesterday and the dirt path beneath you starts to swim (not that swimming surfaces are all that unusual out here in the shimmering southwest sun).

You ask, Wait. Was that yesterday?

And he thinks a minute. Wait, he says. Friday?

You hear the brittle dryness of the desert wind. The roar of the loud cobalt sky. There are red and sienna stones beneath your feet. The same stones as yesterday, last week, last year.

That was last week, you offer gently, shaking your head in a spin cycle of empathy and disbelief and astonishment.

Dude, he says. Recalculating.

Tell me about it, you sigh.

Weeks morph into days.

How about some peach ice cream for breakfast?

Read more + get the recipe >>

Gluten-free dairy-free peach ice cream.

A small gift for you this weekend. Some cool, frosty, non-dairy peachy goodness. A vegan ice cream recipe for the sticky dog days of late summer. Wait. Is it August already? Good goddess, the summer is careening by. It's true what they say about the concept of time. It speeds up and gets fluid as you get, um, shall we say, older. Seasoned.

One might even venture, weathered.

During your ritual morning walk your husband turns to you and mentions a moment from yesterday and the dirt path beneath you starts to swim (not that swimming surfaces are all that unusual out here in the shimmering southwest sun).

You ask, Wait. Was that yesterday?

And he thinks a minute. Wait, he says. Friday?

You hear the brittle dryness of the desert wind. The roar of the loud cobalt sky. There are red and sienna stones beneath your feet. The same stones as yesterday, last week, last year.

That was last week, you offer gently, shaking your head in a spin cycle of empathy and disbelief and astonishment.

Dude, he says. Recalculating.

Tell me about it, you sigh.

Weeks morph into days.

How about some peach ice cream for breakfast?

Read more + get the recipe >>