Newfoundland Blueberry Lemon Mascarpone Trifle

Some desserts stay with you—not because they’re over-the-top or full of tricks, but because they connect to something real. That’s what happened with this trifle.

I was home in Newfoundland not long ago, and one afternoon I stopped into a restaurant in St. John’s called The Merchant. I wasn’t even planning to get dessert, but a wild blueberry trifle on the menu caught my eye. Sounded simple enough: blueberries, lemon curd, cream, and cake. But when it showed up at the table and I took that first bite—soft cake soaked in berry juices, smooth cream, a sharp lemon hit right at the end—I was floored. It was nostalgic and unexpected at the same time.

The blueberries were wild, local. The kind that don’t need help from anything else. It reminded me of picking them growing up, fingers stained purple, sun coming through the trees. There's something about Newfoundland blueberries—smaller, darker, more intense—that just doesn’t compare to the bigger store-bought ones. That trifle made me feel like I was right back in the middle of that.

So, when I got back home, I started testing. I swapped the traditional custard for a whipped mascarpone cream—lighter, not too sweet. I made a quick compote with brown sugar, lemon zest, and vanilla so it kept some brightness. Then layered it up with a soft vanilla cake and homemade lemon curd.

Now it’s one of those desserts I’ll make again and again. You don’t need to turn on the oven, it can be made ahead of time, and it actually tastes better after a few hours in the fridge once the flavors soak and settle into each other.

Every spoonful is layered: tart, creamy, sweet, and fresh. It’s the kind of thing you want to bring to a summer dinner, or keep in the fridge for yourself and quietly chip away at.

What I love most about this dessert is it doesn’t try to do too much. It just lets the ingredients speak for themselves—and that’s usually where the best food comes from. There’s heart in it. That’s why it stuck with me.

So no, it’s not just a trifle. It’s a little piece of home layered in a dish.