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Our farmers market had the most beautiful, big Texas blackberries last Saturday, and I couldn’t resist them.
Blackberries are such a satisfying summer fruit: so bright, juicy and snackable, and guilt-free, too, because they’re loaded with fiber, vitamins, and antioxidants, and lower in sugar than many fruits. They’re wonderful eaten straight, but they’re elevated to dessert magnificence when warmed in butter, brown sugar and a few other yummy complements, and then flamed.
And then served over vanilla ice cream (of course).
I learned the basic flambé technique for Cherries Jubilee, Bananas Foster, and Strawberries Flambé from the late Robert Kunce, a chef I worked for in my late teens. He had been a longtime head chef at the Houston Country Club, and then he ‘retired’ and moved to Gilchrist, Texas, the tiny town on the Bolivar Peninsula where I grew up. The Wharf was Robert’s reservations-only restaurant whose doors were open only on Saturday nights, with a prix fixe menu each week. These fancy citified approaches to dining out were unheard of at the time in our laid-back beach town where putting on shoes (flip flops) was considered dressing up, but The Wharf attracted guests from other cities and did quite well. Robert was also the chef during duck-hunting season at Los Patos, a lodge in Crystal Beach, and went on to preside over Dinner on the Diner, a reservations-only dining car at the Galveston Railroad Museum. I worked for him at all three places, in a very part-time arrangement (whenever I was in town and available). It was a fabulous learning experience for me, encouraged by my parents, who were close friends with Robert.
To flambé fruit for fab desserts, Robert taught me to use the same basic method and vary the fruit, liquors, spices, and add-ins. It became one of those muscle-memory dishes I don’t really need a recipe for anymore, but I’ve documented it here for the blog, subbing in those gorgeous Texas summer blackberries I snagged at the farmers market for my test kitchen version last Tuesday.
This is a bright, fruity, flavorful dessert — an easy-to-prepare special treat that feels decadent and celebratory without using a lot of sugar. It comes together in just over ten minutes and makes any meal feel like a party, even if it’s just the two of you on a weeknight. Like it was for us last Tuesday.
Serves 2; cooking time: about ten minutes
Add 2 tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons brown sugar to a medium skillet set over medium heat. Cook, stirring, until the butter melts and combines with the brown sugar to form a thick, glossy slurry, about 2 minutes.
Add 1 pint large blackberries, a pinch of freshly grated nutmeg, a pinch of sea salt, 1 teaspoon vanilla extract, the juice of ½ lemon, and 2 tablespoons blackberry liqueur, crème de cassis, or Chambord. Cook, stirring gently, for another 2 minutes, until the berries soften slightly and release some of their juices. The sauce should turn a deep, beautiful red and begin to thicken.
Pour 2 tablespoons rum into a metal spoon or small heatproof ladle. Nestle the spoon into the skillet without submerging it, allowing the rum to warm slightly above the berries and sauce. Using a long lighter or fire stick, carefully ignite the rum. (This is easier with a partner.)
Pour the flaming 2 tablespoons rum over the blackberry sauce and stir gently until the fire goes out.
Scoop 2-3 small scoops vanilla ice cream per serving into shallow bowls. Spoon the warm blackberries and sauce around the ice cream, sprinkle with 1 tablespoon chopped toasted pecans or walnuts, and serve immediately.
This dish comes together so quickly!
Never pour rum directly from the bottle into a hot skillet. Measure 2 tablespoons rum separately first, use a long lighter, and keep your face and hands away from the flame. Turn off any overhead vent before lighting, and keep a lid nearby in case you need to smother the fire.
For a non-flambé version, add 2 tablespoons rum to the skillet along with 2 tablespoons blackberry liqueur, crème de cassis, or Chambord, and simmer the sauce for another minute or two. You’ll still get the flavor without lighting it.
I didn’t realize until years and years after my sporadic times working with Chef Robert how lucky I was to have had a sort of informal apprenticeship with him. He had an unfussy, straightforward approach to classic dishes that demystified them for me, and I can still remember some of his instructions, including one for gumbo when you add the trinity to the roux, “throw it in, and stir like crazy!”
I wish I could tell him how much his tutelage and joie de vivre influenced me, but he left us in 2004. I’ll see you on the other side, Robert.
You’ll be thanking Robert, too, my friends, once you make this dish. It’s luscious!
©️ 2026, Glover Gardens
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