It started at breakfast, in the quiet of a ski resort morning. The table was still warm from teacups and bread. Tahini sat on the table. Suddenly, the idea of creating something magical for the children came to me.
I told them that after breakfast, we would go for a walk in the snow and make our own ice cream, using the flavors they chose themselves. Their faces lit up with excitement.
We walked to the open buffet and chose three flavors: cherry, honey, and tahini. I poured them into paper cups. Then we put on our coats and boots and stepped out into the white cold.
We rode the ski lift and walked away from the noise, into a place where the snow was quiet and untouched. There, we sat on the ground. I asked them to make three small wells in the snow, and one by one, I poured in our flavors. Together, we mixed them into the white snow with our spoons and our hands.
And there it was, our ice cream made of snow. The taste was unlike anything else. It tasted like the place itself. Like the morning we were in. Like something made only because the moment invited it.
That day, in the snow, we didn’t just make dessert.
We practiced our way of creating:
listening to nature, using what is present, and allowing play to lead the way.
A recipe with no measurements.
A ritual with no rules.
A reminder that creation can be simple, and still meaningful.
And perhaps this is what Baron Venus has always been about
turning lived moments into lasting objects,
and letting everyday life be the beginning of design.
