My parents have made us feel more than welcome to come home and crash until sometime in August when I absolutely, positively have to go back to the suck for work. Hank is, as anyone who knows Hank would expect, the king of the castle here, and well, the hedgehog still hates everything but loves no longer having dry skin. But as a form of payment for all the cool neat things my folks keep taking me to go do while we're here, I've been baking. Baking up a damned storm. The day after I got here, I made a huge batch of peanut butter pudding cookies and lemon drop cookies (the hubster also got a large care package of each) as a "Thank you for helping my sanity by allowing me to escape the desert" present. But since I've already shown you how to make those, I was waiting to blog about something new. Cue the segue...
|Presentation is key, people!|
|The line up...|
Like any good anything that ever existed and could be thrown into an oven, you're gonna need a buttload of butter for this recipe. Twelve tablespoons to be precise- four to place in your 9x13 baking dish, which you want to throw in the oven while it preheats to 350 to melt that deliciousness, and the rest to be melted and whisked in (not off to a tropical paradise) with the 1 1/2 cups of flour, 2 1/2 teaspoons of baking soda, 3/4 teaspoon of salt, 1 1/4 cups of sugar, and 1 1/2 cups of milk.
|Get ready to throw that yummy goodness in your mixing bowl.|
|And whisk away like your life depended on it.|
So that is the "crust" portion of your cobbler. For this cobbler, I went with a blueberry filling. My mom is weird (I totally get it from her, and I love it), and doesn't care for peach cobbler, otherwise I would've gone with that. So, should you also have a family member who feels like the only good peach is Princess Peach from Mario, get yourself a 16 ounce bag of frozen blueberries (or whatever other fruit) for this cobbler. Throw them in a bowl, carefully, might I add...otherwise you're gonna end up with purple fingers, and unless you're a hardcore Vikings fan like me, that might mean you're gonna have a bad time. Don't read that last part if you're a Packers fan. Handle those blueberries as much as possible...that purple will wash out instantly, I promise...
Then take a bowl and mix together 1/4 cup of sugar and a teaspoon or so of lemon zest. I consider myself to be rather zesty, so I did a heaping teaspoon. Take a tablespoon of that mixture and throw it in with your berries. Now, mash up those blueberries. This part is fun because you either feel like you're making moonshine or you get to take your week's frustration out on some innocent, unassuming fruit. No, I don't consider myself a sociopath, why do you ask?
|I mean, who doesn't like blueberries with a ton of sugar mixed in? |
Don't be friends with people who don't...they need clinical help.
Remove your pan with melty, delicious butter in it and pour in your batter. Then take a few spoonfuls at a time of your berry mix, and plop that purply goodness on top of the batter.
|I used my 1/4 cup measuring cup. Less dishes make me happy.|
|This is gonna be gooooood.|
|I kinda wanted to just dive in, face first. All or nothing, ya know?|
I've noticed a growing trend amongst cop cars in the South. That trend is, 'let's make it as hard as humanly possible for anyone to even tell we're in a police vehicle until after we've already ticketed them and driven away.' In Michigan, we see the exact polar opposite:
|Is this shade of day-glo blue noticeable enough, or could we go day glo-ier?|
|We wanted larger tires, but didn't want to seem too "Fast and the Furious" about things.|
Also, a total, throw-you-for-a-loop-and-nearly-cause-you-to-drive-off-the-interstate moment that happens when you're up here is the first time you encounter a cement truck. Now, if you're from the South, this is what you think of when you see the words "cement truck:"
|There's absolutely nothing unsettling about this vehicle.|
|What the hell is that?! Is it going to eat my children?|
Now, other than these two things, I can pick up what Michigan is putting down for the most part as long as I'm gone by winter. It is beautiful, and frankly, people aren't quite as stupid as they are down in the Southwest. Even the cashiers at the grocery store can hold a pleasant and totally coherent conversation with you up here. Not one single grunt! All my bitching about Southern hospitality when I lived here must have sunk in a bit, because people are generally not too rude either (but not during winter, people are always mean during winter because it feels like their souls are dying with each inch of accumulating snow).
The only thing I really miss about the Southwest/Texas is this:
|God said: "I'm so sorry about how flat and brown it is here...have a beautiful sky to make up for it."|