If I had written this post last night (when I thought I was going to sit down and share with you) it would have been titled, “save me” and I would have linked to this song as that is what was going through my head as the house filled with the rich scent of cinnamon, sugar, and peaches baking.
I am much with the play, fun and spontaneity these days. Last night there were six perfectly ripe peaches sitting in a blue bowl and I decided I wanted to make a crumble. People, I must say for the record, I blew the doors off the peach cobbler cottage.
Granted, I am perfectly familiar with the adage ‘easy as apple pie’ — so perhaps I should be a wee bit less thrilled with myself. And yet, with no recipe, no flour on hand– I had a bit too much fun improvising and proceeded to do the following:
- grabbed a pie dish
- buttered it, sprinkled sugar across the bottom
- sliced the peaches one by one (stopping only to eat a few errant slices because oh dear god they were utterly perfectly ripe and there is nothing on earth that makes me more crazy than ripe peaches in July) into the dish
- I sprinkled lightly with cinnamon
- spritzed a squeeze of fresh lemon juice over them
- in a bowl I dumped some oatmeal, sugar, pinch of salt– smooshed it up with chunks of butter
- added a splash of sour cream because it was there and seemed like a good idea
- then dumped the whole “crumble” mixture over the peaches and smoothed it into a crust.
- baked it on high heat– like 425
- and, oh my god
- cue save me
This is what it looked like right out of the oven. Can you smell it? Oh my god.
Now for the full disclosure. The entire thing is gone. Gone.
I have eaten the ENTIRE thing. For breakfast, lunch and then polished it off this afternoon.
Boom. Done. Gone.
*sound of the spoon hitting the empty pie plate in the sink*
And you would think I would be like Winnie-the-pooh or the little bunny who got sick in Farmer McGregor’s garden– Peter Rabbit!– and need to take my sore, aching belly to bed with a cup of chamomile tea and a heart full of chagrin.
Nope. Not one bit.
I ate the entire thing— spoonful by ever lovin’ spoonful — and it was HEAVEN and didn’t affect me adversely in the least.
The mystery of life . .. continues to unfold.