A fruit dish greater than its parts

Good things take time. Haste makes waste. Go the extra mile. Did you too grow up on platitudes such as these? Sayings designed to instill the value of hard work and dedication? Funny how these catchphrases stick. Trite little verbal tidbits repeated by parents, grandparents, mentors and coaches burrow into your psyche and weave their way into an entire philosophy on how to live life. They certainly did in my case.

In fact, they lodged so firmly that I could use a lesson or two in not trying so hard.

I bring my striving attitude to the kitchen and have sworn my allegiance to paying attention to details and putting in the time required. Proficiency comes with practice, and experience has taught me that the more time and effort I put into something, the better that something (usually) is.

However, on days when life throws so many curveballs my way as to steal my time and stymie my motivation to soldier through making dinner after arriving home later than planned, all that work-ethic hoo-ha goes right out the window. Give me a bottle of wine; I am pulling out a frozen pizza and putting my feet up. Sometimes there are just not enough hours in the day.

So many techniques and kitchen tasks have become second nature to me over the years — simple things I take for granted, like whipping egg whites to the perfect stiffness when I make my mother’s lemon meringue pie; or folding the wet ingredients into the dry to keep my cornbread light; the slow process of caramelizing onions; or carefully browning flour to just the right shade of toasty brown for a roux that will be the base to a fine gumbo. All of these things, along with countless more, are worth it — the extra minutes they take, the care, the discernment, the near-constant monitoring.

Because I take pride in turning out delicious food, I want to hit a home run with every swing, or at the very least feel proud of doing my best, but neither of those is realistic (see above regarding “curveball days”), not really, not every single day.

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Quality takeout and convenience foods are always an option, but most of the time those choices can feel a little like failure, that I am taking the easy way, which doesn’t jibe with my I-can-and-must-do-it-all mentality. And as much as I love to go out to eat, bringing it home is not the same.

I think it all started with those darn clichés, thinking I had to work so arduously at everything. They’re at the root of my being dubious of the simple and easy.

I hope you are not afflicted, as I am, with the urge to struggle more than necessary, but if you are, this recipe is for you. It will shift your perspective and possibly the way you view life. It proves you can create something wonderful in a minuscule amount of time and almost no effort.

Far, far greater than the sum of its parts, it is the easiest “best” thing you will ever make. It hails from my stepmother, Carolyn, which places it firmly in the five-star category — she was a tremendous cook, and the fact that she served it at all her big-meal family holidays for the number of years she did is all the testimony it needs.

When you see its humble ingredients, you will surely doubt how supremely special it is; it simply doesn’t stand to reason that such a modest list could become something so ambrosial. Had I only been given the recipe, had I not tasted it first, I know I would have dismissed it without a second glance.

Once made, it is a beautiful shade of pink, dotted throughout with colorful fruits and berries, so serve it in your prettiest bowl because it brings plenty of visual appeal. It tastes fresh and has the perfect level of sweetness. It can accompany virtually any meal, any time of year, but include it on the dessert table, where it can be enjoyed a second time around: either on its own, alongside sliced pound cake or angel food cake, or ladled over vanilla ice cream.

It actually pulls triple duty if you include it as we do at breakfast. An alternative to jams or jellies, we love spooning it onto bites of toasted bagels or hot buttered toast. It also makes quite a lot — enough to feed a crowd—and keeps well, covered in the refrigerator, for up to a week.

So what is the name of this dish to which I so lavishly extol this multitude of virtues? Well, I kind of hate to say, for fear you’re already put off by how simple and easy it is. I did consider changing it but decided that would not be right, not after more than 35 years of it being on our family table. So, Dump Fruit must remain Dump Fruit, as unfortunate a name as it is.

It is called Dump Fruit because that is all there is to it: you just dump everything together. The only technique needed is the ability to hold a spoon (and also to stir). Made in under a minute with zero effort, you have something elegant, versatile, and utterly delicious.

I know, I know, the only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary. But every once in a while, we get a little wink, an ounce of good luck, an unearned gift, a happy accident, and this recipe falls in that category.

Have faith. Ignore your skepticism. Embrace this. It is a rare bird indeed — such a big payout for so little effort.