Monthly Archives: July 2010

Peach cobbler

One of my annoyances with cooking blogs is that the writers usually talk about how you must have the freshest ingredients and shouldn’t even bother getting into the kitchen to cook unless you do. These are usually people living downtown in large cities who are within walking distance of a farmers market. Phooey on them!

I’m stuck in suburbia and have had to drive many miles to get fresh produce. And often I’d arrive to find only onions and potatoes, which I suppose I could survive on. I mean people have for centuries, right? But those people had very short lifespans.

Two weeks ago, my life changed. A large farmers market set up shop on Saturdays just a few miles from our house, with tons of veggies and eggs and other good stuff. Go ahead and loathe me if you’re stuck with grocery store produce. I understand.

This past week, I got some peaches and decided to make cobbler with this recipe from Gourmet. I have made this previously with grocery store peaches, and it was good, so don’t be deterred if that’s what you have. I would recommend adding cinnamon and nutmeg to the topping. And also upping the fruit because I think the topping is a bit much as is.

If you ever read recipe reviews, there’s always a person or two who insist on changing five things about the recipe. By the time they’re finished, they’ve turned chicken and dumplings into cheese enchiladas. And then they’ll say they loved the recipe. Those people get on my nerves. Alas, I’m going to be one of those people for a minute.

I wanted the crust to have a little more texture, so I used white whole wheat flour instead of all-purpose and I subbed in turbinado sugar for the white sugar. All of this is to say that you can tweak this recipe to suit your tastes.

I made this in the afternoon before going to work, and the next morning Greg wanted to know if we were eating it for breakfast. We didn’t, but I know Greg would have had I not been home.

Chess match

Greg and I play chess maybe once a year, maybe even less frequently than that. He taught me to play in college, but I play so rarely that I can’t remember the rules. And Greg is notorious for “forgetting” to fill people in on the rules of a game. So before we began a match the other night, I told him to run through the rules for me.

He told me which moves each piece could make but then couldn’t think of anything else, so the game began. Within about four moves, he had taken two of my pieces. And then he moved his pawn into the back row on my side.

“That’s a queen now,” he said.

“But you didn’t tell me about that,” I said. “I always forget that rule. I hate playing this game with you!”

He apologized. I told him that if he wanted the game to continue, he would have to tell me the rest of the rules right then.

“You can resign the game at any time,” he said.

“I’m not resigning,” I said, refusing to take the hint. “What else?”

“That’s all I can think of,” he said.

We continued playing, and surprise, surprise, Greg had forgotten more rules. But I forced him to play by the few he told me. Considering my naivete, the game should have been over in 10 minutes, but it somehow became the Hundred Years’ War. Is this a testament to my brilliance, or is my husband really bad at this game?

After more than an hour, the game ended. It was 11 p.m., and our heads hung wearily from battle.

Like so many wars, there was no real winner. It was a draw, though when you’re expecting to be crushed, as I was, that feels like victory.

Social etiquette

I ate lunch yesterday with a group of co-workers and former co-workers. Greg graciously agreed to work from home so that Eleanor would be taken care of while I went to lunch. When I arrived, everyone asked, “Where’s Eleanor?” A reasonable question given that I’m home with her most of the time, but I wanted to enjoy some time with the grown-ups. A few people seemed genuinely sad not to see Eleanor.

So let’s talk about meal-time with a toddler. Eleanor eats with gusto. She often uses both hands to shovel food into her mouth — both hands in synchronization, mind you — and does not care how much lands in her lap. We have not yet found a bib that can contain the tornadic eating frenzy.

We’ve recently encouraged Eleanor to use a spoon and fork. She’s so used to eating with her hands that she’s usually only receptive to this if we give her a food she can’t eat well with her hands. Something that spills. She’s careful during the first few bites and obviously proud to be eating like an adult. Then she grows impatient and begins to use her free hand to pick up food as well. And then the utensil becomes a paintbrush, and her body becomes a canvas, and we end up with this:

The above mess took less than five minutes to make. So, no, I didn’t bring Eleanor to the two-hour lunch yesterday.