It is 11:00 pm and I have no peach cobbler.
Why is this surprising, you ask? Because Steve and I have spent the better part of the past two hours making one with the beautiful peaches we picked at Steve’s grandparents’ farm last weekend. We blanched and peeled, mixed dough by hand, and the like. It was beautiful. Perfect. All picturesque in a pretty glass baking dish.
Maybe you caught that last part, because it’s the crux of the issue. I am not the most prolific or knowledgable baker - brownies and cookies are as far as I usually go. The only 8×8 baking dish I own is (was) Pyrex, which it turns out, can’t withstand the heat of carmelized sugar.
So, I was just about to cheerfully throw together some homemade whipped cream, and I turned around to get the vanilla out of the pantry … and lo, there was a spreading pool of glowing translucent tangerine ooze beneath my beautiful cobbler, in its now-shattered glass pan on the cooling rack. Misery! Woe! For those of you who remember, my last peach-product escapade was ice cream for Labor Day, which resulted in a broken ice-cream maker and a half-frozen lump of fresh peach ice cream, with metal sprinkles on top. First metal, now glass shards.
Peaches and I were obviously not meant to be.
[I risked my stomach lining to have a wee taste of tonight's debacle ... it is a recipe I got from my great aunt via my mother ... and I have to say, presentation notwithstanding, it was DAMN GOOD.]
Bravo daughter. I’m glad it tasted good. Lethe always raved about that recipe. I shall have to try it. You might check some cook books to see what they cook it in traditionally. Perhaps your pan had a flaw in it or a slight crack??
xx mom
mom
July 16th, 2004
I love peaches too, but they never seem to make it home from the market.
I tend to purchase and eat immediately, with peach juice dripping mercilessly down my chin at a park near the farmer’s market.
Laura
July 20th, 2004