 Strawberries in the kitchen
In southern Quebec, where I grew up, June brought tiny wild strawberries to the fields around my house, and the wild mint, which you could smell from afar, growing beside the pond. There were never enough berries to make anything of them; each one was savoured in the moment, warm from the sun, dark crimson, and bursting with flavour. If you ever have the chance to find them, you’ll understand: these little jewels are the true taste of strawberry. Picking your own at a farm is another good way to find the most flavourful fruit. Before you pull a berry from the plant, lift the green leaves and look underneath: if there’s any white left near the stem, it isn’t quite ready. And if a morning in the rows isn’t for you, or you don’t live near a farm, your local farmers market will have freshly picked berries. Favour field strawberries over greenhouse ones. Pick up a carton and smell it: a good batch carries the unmistakable aroma of ripe fruit. Strawberries are, I’ve always found, the hit-and-miss fruit. From a whole basket, only a few may be perfectly ripe, juicy and sweet. Most varieties grown these days are bred to be firm and robust so they can survive transport and keep many days in the fridge and then they pay for it in flavour. If you have a garden, or even a sunny balcony, try growing a heritage variety. Many ripen to a darker, richer colour; let them ripen fully on the plant before picking, and you’ll taste the truest, sweetest flavour there is. Slow ripening in the warmth of the sun gives the deepest flavour; the fast ripening of a greenhouse leaves the fruit wanting. How to eat strawberries Strawberries keep best in the fridge, but a cold strawberry loses its taste. Set them on a sunny windowsill for an hour and the fragrant, honey-sweet smell and flavour will return. Quarter the berries rather than slicing them and they’ll hold their shape better, then sprinkle with a little lemon juice and a spoonful or two of maple syrup or fine sugar. Leave them on the counter for a few hours and you’ll have softer, juicier strawberries, perfect with yogurt or on their own. A little grated orange or lime zest is lovely here too. I like to use strawberries simply: piled on a cake or tart, folded through heavy cream, churned into ice cream. The less they are handled, the more of their flavour they keep. A simple recipe: Strawberries and Cream Take two cups of perfectly ripe, hulled strawberries and add them to a large bowl. Mash them gently, letting the flesh keep some of its texture. Stir in a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar, then about a quarter cup of fresh heavy cream, and finally a little sliced mint. Serve over freshly baked scones. Making strawberry jam If you’re tempted to try making strawberry jam yourself, there are a few things worth knowing first. Begin with perfectly ripe fruit, never unripe or mouldy berries; the best jam always starts with the best fruit. Strawberries are among the highest in water and lowest in pectin of the berries, so the consistency will always be on the looser side. If you don’t mind a strawberry jam that drips down your finger, all the better, but if you’d rather a firmer set, you’ll find several kinds of pectin in the shops, some made to work with less sugar. Bear in mind the strawberry flavour won’t be as intense as it is without pectin. Just enough fresh lemon juice will bring the flavour forward, as will a splash of red wine. A note on mint Mint is another favourite of mine in the early days of summer, when the nights and mornings are still cool, that’s when its taste is at its highest. Its pungent taste pairs naturally with berries. Among the innumerable varieties of mint, I use peppermint in my kitchen for its higher menthol content; when I want a sweeter, milder taste, I reach for Mojito or spearmint. Mint has long had a place in my preserves; wild blueberry, plum and strawberry, raspberry and strawberry, and it’s one of the herbs in our Spring Vinegar. Whatever the variety, mint draws out the flavour of spring vegetables: peas, salads, cold soups. Because it holds its flavour so well, fresh or dried, it should be used with restraint; it can quickly dominate, and it is nicer to have a suspicion of its presence than to be overwhelmed by it. I’d suggest a few leaves tucked into a mixed green salad, or finely chopped through a cherry tomato salad with fresh basil and a squeeze of lime. And these days we drink hibiscus and mint tea with honey, to keep us cool in the kitchen. This week mint finds its way into a new Strawberry, Guava and Mint Jam , made with Mojito mint from Sherlene at Earth Apple Farm; the same farm that’s been bringing us the red rhubarb. It will be available this weekend at the market and online, with orders shipping next week. Where to find me: You’ll find me at the farmers market through the end of June. I’m then taking a small break, returning the weekend of July 18th and 19th. In the meantime I’ll be taking orders online and shipping once a week, usually on Mondays or Tuesdays. You can always preorder from the website and pick up at the market. Wherever your strawberries come from this June; a farm row, a market carton, or a pot on the balcony, I hope you find a few of those perfect ones, warm from the sun. Geneviève
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 May is always a month of memories for me in the kitchen. The elderflowers bring their daunting aroma, the rhubarb coming out of the still-cold soil brings joy with its bright taste, and the Nootka roses carry a scent that is purely nostalgic. After the months of winter marmalade and the fleeting spring dandelion confit ( a delicate, aromatic spread made by gently simmering whole flower petals in syrup to create a clear jelly ) rhubarb was always the jam that told me spring has finally arrived.
Rhubarb was the first jam I made when I started Le Meadow's Pantry thirteen years ago. I remember ordering several pounds from Camel's Back Harvest, a small family farm in Pemberton, BC, where they grew strawberries and the most ruby-red rhubarb. I had decided to make a rhubarb jam without the usual strawberries. I had made upside-down cakes and compote for my children many times, but turning rhubarb into a jam was something entirely new. I also quickly learned that you need a lot of rhubarb to make a few jars: those thick, long stalks melt almost instantly in the heat and you are soon left with not much. And although I usually cook jam on high heat as quickly as possible to preserve the fresh flavours of the fruit, rhubarb asked something different of me. A slow simmer, gentle stirring, enough patience to keep some pieces intact, that turned out to be the method I'd be using every spring for the next thirteen years. Now my friend Shirlene from Earth Apple Organic Farm in the Glen Valley supplies me with red rhubarb and elderflowers every spring. I use the red rhubarb with ginger, elderflowers, strawberries and Nootka roses. Miranda from Sweet Earth Farm grows the green rhubarb; a different cultivar with a smoother, less acidic taste that has become a favourite for many of you. Contrary to what many people think, green rhubarb isn't unripe, it doesn't start green and turn red; it is an entirely different variety. We have finished cooking the green rhubarb and are hopeful we made enough to last until the end of summer. We are still receiving and cooking the red rhubarb, and next week we will fold in the petals of Nootka roses for a gentle, fragrant taste of spring. The elderflowers were more elusive this year: the weather shifted too quickly, cold then warm then rain, leaving only a narrow window to harvest. We will have a limited amount of elderflower vinegar ready in early June. And since the elderflowers arrived before the rhubarb this season, we added them to the strawberry jam. At the markets The summer farmers markets are underway and if you are in Vancouver, you will find me at Trout Lake, West End and Kitsilano on weekends. It's still early in the season but you will find beautiful varieties of greens, wild and cultivated, the first strawberries, and of course, rhubarb. I notice a lot of people reaching for those shiny red stalks at the market, and then not quite sure what to do with them. If that is you, here are two simple ideas: sauté the stalks in a little butter and serve over fresh spinach, or turn them into a compote. Rhubarb Compote Rhubarb has a natural affinity for warm, fragrant flavours. Ginger, orange, angelica, vanilla, cardamom and mint are all wonderful companions; in the compote below, simply add one to the saucepan at the start of cooking if you'd like to experiment. A good compote finds the moment just after the rhubarb softens but before it disappears entirely into a purée. The natural acidity fades, the flavours settle into each other, and what remains should have some pieces intact and a deep, dark pink hue. Serves 4
Shop rhubarb Our rhubarb jams are available online and at the farmers market, or if you prefer, you are welcome to preorder and pick up at the market. It is rarely available in store and quantities are limited. Visit my market schedule here to find me this season. So many of you have taken the time to write and tell me you enjoy this newsletter. In a world of too much information, knowing that some of you will click and read my words fills my heart more than I can say. Thank you. With love from my kitchen, Geneviève  You will often find me at the farmers market on weekends. But what does it really mean, as a small producer, to set up shop in a parking lot under a canopy, rain or shine? The World Farmers Markets Coalition describes a farmers market as “a recurring and organized gathering where local farmers sell their fresh, locally grown and processed agricultural products directly to the consuming public — vibrant spaces for communities to connect with their food sources, foster relationships between consumers and producers, while supporting local economies and sustainable practices.” A beautiful definition. And an accurate one. Joining the market thirteen years ago was a chance to start something. Choosing to stay, after all this time, is something else entirely. It is an act of love for my community. Friday evenings are for preparing for the market. Loading the car with the tent, the tables, the display, the jars. Saturday mornings begin before the sun. Setting up in a dark, cold parking lot, watching the sky slowly lighten while waiting for the first customers. And on rainy days — which in Vancouver are plentiful through the long winter months — those first customers may arrive late, or not at all. Would you blame them? It takes courage and commitment to shop outdoors in all kinds of weather. It takes the same to show up and sell. Over the years, I have learned what it truly takes to bring a farmers market to life. The work behind the scenes is enormous, and largely invisible to the public. A few years ago, I joined the board of the Vancouver Farmers Market, and more recently, the board of the British Columbia Association of Farmers Markets. This has deepened my understanding of what a local food system really means and the importance of access to fresh, quality food for everyone in our communities. When you shop at your local farmers market, you are doing more than buying groceries. You are strengthening a local economy. You are meeting the people who grew and made your food , shaking hands with the producer, exchanging a few words, a recipe, a smile. These small moments matter more than we often realize. April at the Market It is still too early for the first fruit and berries, and my freezers are now emptied of last summer’s harvest. So what am I working on these days? The delicate first flowers are making a brief and luminous appearance before the season moves on and the heat of summer wilts them. Violets, flowering currants, dandelion and later this month, rose petals, are slowly finding their way into jars, the way good things do. These flower jellies are made from cold infusion, a process that takes several days. Because these flowers grow wild and in small abundance, each batch is extremely limited. They will appear gradually on my website and at the market over the coming weeks and months. And today at the market, I saw the first stems of rhubarb. So many of you have already been asking, and I understand why. Rhubarb is a beautiful and singular flavour, one that belongs entirely to this moment in the year. The rhubarb and elderflower jams will follow in May. See you at the market, Geneviève P.S. Thank you for choosing handmade. Every jar you bring home keeps this slow, seasonal work alive.  In a time where growing and working faster seems to be the norm, making marmalade feels like an act of defiance. For the past twelve years, each week in my kitchen has begun with the same quiet routine. On Tuesdays, we slice the oranges by hand. No food processor. Only this way can we achieve the defined pieces of rind that give our marmalade its character. The peel then rests overnight in cold water. On Wednesdays, the rinds are slowly cooked until perfectly tender, and once again they are left to rest. Only the following day comes the final boil, when sugar is added and the transformation truly begins. Each batch is cooked carefully until the perfect set is reached, then jarred and labeled by hand. By Friday, orders are packed and delivered. And on Saturday morning, rows of shiny jars sit on the shelves of some of the most prestigious hotels, cafés, grocery stores, and independent shops. Tucked between commercial factory-made jams, at first glance you might think Le Meadow’s Pantry is just another brand. The jars are neat, the labels clean, the shelves orderly. But inside each jar is something entirely different ; time, patience, and fruit that has been handled from start to finish with intention. In a world that rewards speed and scale, choosing handmade marmalade is a small but meaningful act. It supports slower work, seasonal rhythms, and a craft that refuses to disappear. It was therefore to my great surprise that this very same Orange Marmalade — which received a Silver Award at the Dalemain Marmalade Awards in 2019 — has now won 1st Place, Best Fruit Spread at the 2026 Chatelaine Pantry Awards. According to the magazine, “This citrusy spread was tasty enough to convert several naysayers into outright marmalade fans.” Once again, Le Meadow’s Pantry finds itself on the shelf alongside much larger brands, quietly proving that it is still possible to stay small, cook slowly, work thoughtfully... and win. If you have been meaning to try our Orange Marmalade, or if your pantry is ready for a refill, this is a beautiful moment to bring a jar home and celebrate with us. Bring a Jar Home P.S. Thank you for celebrating this award with me. Every jar you choose keeps this slow craft alive. 
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AuthorGeneviève marmalade and jam maker at Le Meadow's Pantry, Vancouver BC Archives
June 2026
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