There are plenty of treats out there that we get to enjoy all year, like oatmeal cookies, pound cakes and brownies. Other desserts, though, come by only once a year, and those are the bakes that we really look forward to. And perhaps the queen of all these seasonal sensations is strawberry shortcake.

Yes, you can absolutely make a strawberry shortcake any time, but there’s no denying that berries picked in May and June are extra special. These sweet and juicy berries make this dessert totally tempting and so enjoyable.

The best part: Learning how to make strawberry shortcake is pretty darn easy. Pick berries in the morning (or snag them at your local farmers market) and by lunchtime, you can enjoy this luscious dessert.

How to Make Our Favourite Strawberry Shortcake

You can be sure that our Test Kitchen pros have tasted their fair share of shortcakes over the years, but this old-fashioned shortcake from reader Angela Lively of Texas might just take the shortcake. The small biscuits are perfect single-serve treats and pair perfectly with farm-fresh berries. Angela recommends serving this treat with homemade vanilla ice cream, and we agree!

Ingredients

For the strawberry filling:

• 6 cups sliced fresh strawberries
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the shortcake:

• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 5 tablespoons sugar, divided
• 3 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup cold butter, cubed
• 1-1/4 cups buttermilk
• 2 tablespoons heavy whipping cream

For the topping:

• 1-1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Test Kitchen-Recommended Tools

• Strawberry huller: Sure, you don’t need a strawberry huller to make this recipe, but it sure makes removing the stems of all your berries easy.
• Pastry blender: To create tender shortcakes, use a pastry blender. It will cut your cold butter into small pieces to make the flakiest biscuits.
• Vanilla extract: A simple recipe like this calls for quality ingredients.

Directions

Step 1: Prep the berries

When it comes to shortcake, start with the strawberries. Wash the berries well and pat them dry. Then hull the berries—that’s where that nifty strawberry huller comes in handy—and slice them.

Toss the berries in a large bowl with a teaspoon of vanilla and a half-cup of sugar. Mash the berries gently with a potato masher or a wooden spoon. A little pressure along with the sugar will help the strawberries release some of their juices to create a sauce for the shortcake.

Let this mixture stand for at least 30 minutes, tossing here and there. If you like, you can even prep the strawberries a day in advance.

Step 2: Make the shortcake biscuits

Now, onto the shortcakes. You’ll use the exact same method to make these cakes as you would make homemade biscuits—and many of the same biscuit best practices apply.

Start by whisking together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and four tablespoons of sugar. Then cut in cold butter using a pastry blender until the mixture is crumbly. Be sure that the butter you’re using is super cold. Cold butter means flaky, tender biscuits and shortcake. A good method to use here is to cube up the butter in advance, then pop the butter into the freezer until you’re ready to bake.

Finally, add in the buttermilk and stir until the mixture just comes together. Do not overmix here! It will lead to tough, flat shortcakes.

Editor’s tip: Use the best quality ingredients that you can find for this recipe, particularly when it comes to butter. Because these cakes are so simple, every ingredient really stands out, so let all the best flavors shine. For the same reason, be sure to use real buttermilk rather than substitutions. You’ll really be able to appreciate the flavor and texture that this ingredient brings.

Step 3: Portion out the shortcakes

Drop third-cup-sized dollops of batter onto an ungreased baking sheet, leaving about two inches between each. You can use a measuring cup or a large cookie scoop to do this. This recipe should yield eight shortcakes, so bear that in mind if you’re eyeballing instead of measuring exactly.

And before you ask, nope, these cakes don’t need to look perfect. You’ll want that irregular texture for a bit of crunch. Also, this rustic presentation is exactly the way Grandma would have done it.

Step 4: Brush and bake

Before popping the cakes into the oven, brush the top of each biscuit with a bit of cream. Then sprinkle with the leftover sugar. Regular granulated sugar works great here, but to give your biscuits extra crunch, use sanding sugar or even turbinado sugar.

Then pop your biscuits into an oven heated to 400ºF and bake for 18 to 22 minutes. They should be beautifully golden. Once baked, move the shortcakes to a wire rack to cool completely.

Step 5: Make the whipped cream

Before you stack up your dessert with berries and cake, don’t forget to make homemade whipped cream. It only takes an extra five minutes and tastes amazing with the fresh berries.

To make the whipped cream, beat cold, heavy cream until it begins to thicken. Then add in the sugar and a bit of vanilla, and continue to beat until soft peaks form. Watch your cream carefully; if you beat too long, you’ll turn the cream into butter!

Serving Shortcake

When it comes to serving shortcakes, it’s best to wait until right before eating to put all these delicious components together.

Use a serrated knife to slice each biscuit in half, then spoon a generous amount of strawberries over the top, including some of the juice from the macerated berries. Then add a healthy dollop of whipped cream and cap it all off with the top of the biscuit. And don’t wait to dig in! Grab a fork and enjoy this treat—it tastes like the start of summer, a season we all want to savour. (Learn how to decorate a cake like a pro!)

Different Ways to Make Shortcake

While strawberry is the most common type of shortcake, you can definitely make this recipe your own.

• Use other fruits: Use the same amount of raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, peaches, nectarines or plums in this recipe for a dessert that makes use of other seasonal fruit.
• Add some extras: In our go-to recipe, we add a touch of vanilla to our strawberries. You can get really creative here and try adding a few of your favourite spices or herbs paired with your fruit. A touch of cinnamon with nectarines would be delish. And snip some fresh basil and mix it in with berries of any kind.
• Flavor the whipped cream: Vanilla whipped cream pairs so well with strawberries, but you could easily switch up the flavors with a bit of citrus zest, liqueur or a different kind of extract.
• Serve shortcakes differently: Not every shortcake needs to be served biscuit-style. Instead, try making a large shortcake and slicing wedges. Or get creative and serve your cakes in small mason jars.

Next, check out these 20 secret cake baking tips from grandma.

The year 2020 was supposed to be special, as it was the year that I was celebrating my 60th birthday and several events had been planned. I was in Panama in January with my husband and daughter when we first heard about a new virus in China. No big deal, we thought, like SARS and Ebola that had occurred in other far-away countries. It didn’t seem to be a threat as we continued our carefree vacation. Little did we know that it would be our last trip of 2020—and I had three others booked!

By February, the virus had invaded Italy, the site of our next proposed trip. Luckily, we were able to cancel it in time and for a full refund. Soon, several cruise ships at sea were refused entry to all ports of call and many travellers were stranded abroad as the world began to close up. And, many struggled to find a way home.

A world pandemic was declared on March 11 and Canada imposed its first lockdown soon after in an attempt to slow its spread. Much fear and uncertainty resulted. March 20 was my daughter’s 30th birthday, but there would be no celebration for her. It was the first of many disappointments as we began to “social distance” from everyone.

In April, I began to feel some optimism as people started to figure things out. It was early days and we thought that we had it under control in Canada. It was a different story in the U.S.A. where many underestimated the situation and even called it a “hoax.” And, soon the numbers of infected began to rise quickly. The long-term care homes were especially hard hit. And, health care workers began to struggle to cope.

My big day was May 9, at the height of the lockdown. Eight weeks of fear and isolation. I couldn’t celebrate my birthday with family or friends! Several cards, calls and emails could not make up for what I was missing. The only people I could see were my husband (who I lived with) and my 90-year-old mother (who lived alone). We were all ordered to stay home, except to go out for groceries, work or medical appointments.

By June, boredom and despair really began to set in. The death toll was rising quickly. Businesses were closed and many lost their jobs and began to rely on government assistance. Those who still had jobs, worked from home. I cancelled another trip for a credit refund only, and my final one was also in jeopardy. As the weather got better, some hoped sparked that limited interactions would be allowed outside only.

July 1 was still Canada Day, but there would be no parties or fireworks this year. The renters began to flock to our small beach town to escape the city. We entertained small groups of guests outside on our deck. Masks and social distancing were still the norm inside. The border with the U.S.A. was closed to travel.

In August, we were finally able to host our daughter for a short visit. Such a treat for her to escape the confines of Toronto. And, we hosted a few more friends on the deck, too. Luckily, it was a beautiful summer. Otherwise, we stuck to our usual “bubble”.

September was soon upon us and we feared that with the coming of fall, we would need to go inside again. We had taken so much for granted—travel, shopping, restaurants, theatre and every other form of social interaction! Despair abounded and many conspiracy theories about the virus began to emerge: It was “made in China,” the numbers were inflated and even that the end of the world was imminent. Anti-maskers emerged, even in our own family.

In October, we really began to experience “COVID fatigue” and the second wave began to take its toll. My final trip of the year didn’t happen. There would be no Thanksgiving dinner with the family either. More restrictions were imposed as we were in it for the long haul. But we had no idea of just how long!

For the first weekend of November, we had unusually nice weather and risked a weekend escape to a lovely, isolated spot—what a treat! Joe Biden was elected President in the U.S. just as so many Americans were dying of the virus. Perhaps he could turn things around, if given a chance?

December did not bring any relief as the numbers continued to climb. More businesses were shuttered. Christmas shopping was all done online for the first time. And, Christmas gatherings were being discouraged. No family, no friends. The decorations still went up as we tried to fabricate the semblance of normalcy. We decided to risk having our daughter and her boyfriend for Christmas. We had a nice but somewhat guilt-ridden visit. Admittedly, we were lucky to escape the virus, unlike many other “rule-breakers.” It didn’t happen again—New Year’s Eve was “celebrated” with friends via Zoom.

Despite everything, there was still hope. The first vaccines were being given out to healthcare workers and seniors, and we were still enjoying walks and fires outside when the weather permitted. Life went on as we dared to dream of a better future. We’ll see.

Next, check out these heartwarming pandemic pet adoption stories.

The day my daughter came out

“I am a trans woman. I would like she/her pronouns and my name is Hannah.”

This is the sentence my child blurted out to me over the phone five years ago. Despite its bluntness, the statement wasn’t callous or even ill-timed. Truth be told, I had forced the declaration. My child had called with something important to say and wanted to talk to my husband, Colin, and me at the same time, but Colin was out of town. Given that I possess a not-insignificant panic strain in my genetic makeup, I found myself, well, panicking. Was my child injured? Ill? Dying? I conjured the thin thread of authority I had over my then 25-year-old and said, “No, you have to tell me now!”

“I would rather wait,” was the measured response. I could feel all the saliva I possessed leaving my body for damper pastures. I couldn’t have this matter hanging, so I pushed and pleaded, cajoled and begged. It was a shameless display—clearly, I wasn’t above that.

After more back-and-forthing, out it came: “I am a trans woman. I would like she/her pronouns, and my name is Hannah.” I paused to take in the situation—or at least lie to myself that I was taking it in. Then, relentlessly upbeat, I exclaimed: “I’m so happy for you, very happy. You know that your father and I will support you 100 per cent, and it’s wonderful and I’m not super surprised and you are such a wonderful person and we really don’t care what you do with your life as long as—” Dear God, I had to find a way to shut up. I was exhausting myself.

I’m what I call an emotional first responder—when a loved one is sharing something difficult or complex, I put on my support cape and swoop in to distribute accolades and platitudes willy nilly. Breathe, I urged myself. Breathe.

“So, um, why ‘Hannah’?” I heard myself ask. There it was. Apparently my takeaway from this huge moment in my child’s life was a name. “Hannah” seemed to be my issue. Shallow waters run deep.

She responded to my question in a very calm manner. “Mom, you know how much I loved Cheryl’s dog.”

“You are naming yourself after Hannah the dog? Really?”

“I thought the name was soft and pretty, and I needed my name to be soft and pretty. Does that make sense?”

Of course it made sense. My heart ached with shame. I was officially a bad person. Because it had been a few moments since I’d launched into a breakneck run-on sentence, I said, “Well, if you love the name Hannah, I love the name Hannah, and I am sure your father will love it, and I am so glad it makes you feel beautiful, because you are beautiful, inside and out, and I support this choice wholeheartedly, honey. It’s your life and you are old enough to make your own choices and—”

At this point I was desperately hoping someone would hand me a pill. Hannah stopped my runaway train of thought by cutting in: “Thanks, Mom. I love you so much and I knew you would support me. Why don’t I come over the day Dad gets home and we can have dinner and spend time talking?”

“Of course, yes, um, Hannah. We can do that. That would be great. What a wonderful idea, um, Hannah.”

Mercifully, she wrapped up the conversation with “great, love you, bye” and hung up before I could respond.

Time to process—together

I spent the next few hours pacing up and down the stairs of our Toronto home, our two cairn terriers at my heels. As I attempted to sort out why I was upset, the dogs kept their gaze trained on me: Walk? Are we going for a walk? Walk?!

After really analyzing my reaction and my feelings, it came down to one thing. I was fine with my child’s transition. I wasn’t invested in her gender, just her humanity. But there was so much fear: fear for her safety, fear for how the world might treat her, fear for her heart.

The two following nights were fraught with nightmares. I dreamed our son was lost. Our son was dead. We never had a son. I gave birth, but when I looked for my son, they told me at the hospital that I was mistaken and had simply had my appendix removed. Our son had joined a tiny-house cult and was never heard from again.

Once I woke up, I was a zombie, the despair of those horrible dreams clinging to me like possessed dryer sheets. I had made peace with our child’s news and had no issues with the concept of her transition, but I was still mourning the loss of our son. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

She is a woman. As much as I thought I was prepared for that, I guess I wasn’t.

I had to remind myself that this shouldn’t have been a huge shock. A few years before our daughter came out to us as trans, she had broken up with her girlfriend of four years. She told us she was bisexual and wanted to explore that. Then she began, as she put it, “experimenting with my feminine side.” After almost a year of seeing her integrate more traditionally feminine looks into her wardrobe, we became used to this new bi, fluid, femme, butch, male/female person.

LGBTQ+ wasn’t all-encompassing enough. It’s like she was rocking the whole alphabet with her identity. And then she landed.

Nothing really changed

The day after Hannah’s call, her dad came home. He was fine—no anxiety, no nightmares, just a loving parent in a relaxed state of acceptance. Show-off! As a result of my constant anxiety, I resembled an 80-year-old with dirty hair who had lived hard. Having no control over much else, I opted to shower. An all-around good choice.

The following afternoon, we were in the kitchen making pasta primavera—our daughter’s favourite meal—as we waited for her to arrive. We were also spending the time diligently practicing pronouns. I was busy “she”-ing and “her”-ing it up with zeal, but every time I said “Hannah,” the name came out garbled, like I was drunk and wearing my night guard.

At some point, we heard a key turn in the front door, and in she walked. To my elation, no one was lost or missing. They were all here in the hall: the hes, the shes and the thems, in one beautiful package. No one had left us. The same human we first met 25 years earlier was standing right in front of us. We all started to cry. (Thank God it was all of us—I was tired of being the loopy one.)

We moved into our sunroom, wine in hand, to chat. The three of us talked all the talks there were to talk, and Colin and I asked all the questions we could think of. Over the course of an afternoon that can best be described as an acronym-o-rama, we listened and learned. We so wanted to respect and understand what she was going through. We could see that she was exploring, too, taking time to listen to her heart and her mind.

At some point, the conversation moved into more familiar topics: her work and social life, Japanese films. It was as if nothing had changed. And nothing had, really. It had always been the three of us, our tight little unit, and today was no different. We ate her favourite meal and then our lovely daughter went home to her apartment.

Since that day, we have sometimes slipped up on pronouns, and she has always patiently, gently corrected us. We’ve gone out in public, and people have been mostly supportive, but there have been looks. Stares. Our daughter says she’s often fine with that—people are just trying to figure her out. She’s a more generous soul than me.

Facing challenges—and finding joy

As time passed, I realized that I was somehow still stuck on the name.

“Hannah” was lovely, yes, but not nearly unique or powerful enough for my girl. But I knew I had to let it go.

Then, in a surprise turn of events, our daughter told us that many trans people come out using a name they don’t end up keeping. She said she had been thinking about it and she wanted a new name and would love for us to be part of that process. She asked us to pitch names from our Scottish and Irish backgrounds. I was elated and set to the task as soon as she was out of our sight. What a glorious privilege to get to help name her! I know it sounds silly, but it was like she was being born all over again.

After copious research, Colin and I presented our daughter with 40 names. She decided on Kinley, from the Irish side. Kin for short. It fits her. It belongs to her.

What is more difficult is figuring out how to move through the world such as it is. One day a year or so ago, Kinley and I were at a local fair. As we passed by a woman and her twenty something daughter, they shot a look of such hate and disgust that it left me breathless.

The object of their ire was Kinley. The daughter, mouth agape, had exclaimed,

“There’s a transvestite!” and the mother then wheeled around to spew,

“Where is it?”

“It.”

She said “it.” I was gutted.

The younger woman circled my daughter, looking her up and down. We were stunned, frozen in place. As she walked away, I stumbled over to her on legs suddenly made of rubber. Circling her the same way she had circled Kinley, I looked her up and down, then moved close to her face, uttered “uh-huh” and stalked away.

In an attempt to recover, I said to Kinley, “This must make you so angry.”

Her reply: “Mom, I can’t afford to be angry. I just get frightened.”

Frightened for just living her life. Frightened for existing.

I came home and, weeping, told Colin what had taken place. But after thinking about it, I realized that my reaction, although possibly warranted, was also aggressive. That didn’t sit well with me.

So I had cards made up. If things got ugly again, I would hand out a simple statement, embellished on one side with a lovely pink flower, that reads: “My daughter is a trans woman. She is a loving and kind human being. Please join me in supporting her and every person who is trying to live their authentic life. Peace and love.”

I remember the day the package arrived in the mail. Colin laughed as I opened the box of 250 cards. “Wow, you’re expecting trouble!” he told me. What can I say? There was a special if you ordered in bulk. I am happy to say that I have not handed out a single card.

Instead, I get to focus on Kinley, my lovely, brave, poised, bright daughter. I have a daughter! There should be a newer, more powerful word for pride. As for our family, life as a trio continues as before, filled with old favourites (like watching movies) and new experiences (like buying bras).

A little while ago, Kinley and I were out shopping for clothes. As we exited our separate cubicles in the change room, we realized, laughing, that we had tried on the exact same dress.

I ended up buying one dress for me and treating Kinley to hers. At least that way I know she won’t be raiding my closet—because that’s what daughters do.

Next, find out what you should never say when someone comes out (and what to say instead).

Test your knowledge of the world’s flags!

Did you know that there are 254 different flags in the world, covering all countries and dependent territories (including the United Kingdom and Kosovo)? If that’s too many for you, the flags of the United Nations members total only 193, but considering how many repeated colours and patterns there are within those flags, recognizing the Irish flag from the Italian one is a more challenging feat in a flags of the world quiz than you might think! Fortunately, this quiz only asks you to identify 12 country flags.

If you think you can tell Samoa from Serbia, and Egypt from Estonia, test your knowledge of flags of the world with our quiz. How many can you guess correctly?

Who doesn’t love the satisfaction that comes with solving a good riddle? Riddles are fun for kids and adults alike as you work through plays on words, confusing hypothetical situations, and hidden-in-plain-sight solutions. But while we love long riddles, sometimes you want a concise one-liner of a riddle, especially if you’re just looking for a quick brain exercise.

Want to test your brain with a good riddle (or ten) but don’t want to be racking your brain all day? This collection of short riddles provides lots of brain food to test your deduction skills. They vary in difficulty, with short easy riddles, short hard riddles, and a few funny riddles, but they won’t overwhelm you! (If you’re looking for something even trickier—only two percent of people can solve Einstein’s riddle.)

Short easy riddles

1. Mississippi has four S’s and four I’s. Can you spell that without using S or I?

Answer: T-H-A-T!

2. There’s a one-story house where everything is yellow. The walls are yellow. The doors are yellow. All the furniture is yellow. The house has yellow beds and yellow couches. What color are the stairs?

Answer: There are no stairs—it’s a one-story house!

3. A girl fell off a 20-foot ladder. She wasn’t hurt. How?

Answer: She fell off the bottom step.

4. Grandpa went out for a walk and it started to rain. He didn’t bring an umbrella or a hat. His clothes got soaked, but not a hair on his head was wet. How is this possible?

Answer: Grandpa’s bald!

5. You’re in a race and you pass the person in second place. What place are you in now?

Answer: Second place.

6. What four-letter word can be written forward, backward, or upside down, and can still be read from left to right?