Don’t confuse my efforts of jamming and cobbler-ing as productive work. This is my way of procrastinating. As you can see, I got an A+ in procrastination yesterday. If you’re going to fail, do so with JAM.
Food is love, folks. FOOD.IS.LOVE. I’ve said it a thousand times here, and it never gets old or becomes outdated. For those of you who followed last week’s debate on the ethics of Dairy Farming, the final comments were made over here. What a tough debate. For many of us raised on Midwestern farms, we don’t take it for granted an animal gave its life so that we may eat. We eat animals we raise from infants, to be vividly honest. Which is why Midwesterners take dinner prayers so darn seriously. We are so-very-grateful. I can hear the protestors now…my GOD! You ate your pets?! Please keep in mind that because of the genius of Disney, it’s easy to personify animals and imagine they would talk to us if they could. Personality is easy to confuse with temperament. We don’t see livestock as pets, but rather as a gift from God, and we thank him at every single meal for providing us this earth and its bounty.
But the other viewpoint is equally valid. Animal cruelty is a real and abhorrent thing, and to the best of each person’s financial means, we should support responsible farming practices. I am in awe of vegans and their ability to thrive on a diet which requires significant planning and attention. They have so much to teach us about the value of plant-based proteins and the health benefits from their choices. And I agree, someone should speak for the animals.
That being said, if you are a Lorax, and you speak for the trees, or in our case last week…the cows…try to do so respectfully in my space. My readers are extraordinarily educated people, and they don’t take kindly to mud-slinging. Unless of course it’s my children slinging the mud, and then they laugh and laugh…because it’s literal.
Back to the love which is food. So for years and years I’ve been destroying cobblers. I’m like the grim ripper of cobblers. If there are cobbler protestors, they should arise today, because for every recipe I’ve tried, I’ve failed with flying colors. They are edible, and they are accurate, but they are not even remotely the cobblers of my childhood. My school cafeteria served an apple cobbler that I adored and devoured, and I wanted that specific topping. It was buttery and crunchy, and why do mine keep turning out like cake?!
After years of yearning and giving up, I found the answer to be quite simple indeed. My school cafeteria did not serve apple cobbler. They served apple crisp. I despise the word “crisp” in the same way many of you cringe at the word “panties”, so obviously, I had blocked it from my mind. You would think after looking at so many recipes, I would have run across a crisp, but instead, I found it on the SAME PAGE as the cobbler recipe I’d been trying to adapt…oh, the years I’ve wasted. Right there, staring back at me…”Fruit Crisp”. Sweet Sassy Molassey, I felt like a ding dong. Thank you Betty Crocker.
I used this recipe. I combined peaches and blackberries, but Greg and I agreed the blackberries were too tart. Just using peaches would have been perfect. If anyone ever pops open a can of fruit and tries to put it in a cobbler, you’ll answer to me. Gross. I am the Fruitax. I speak for the fruit.
I was instantly transported to Cowan Elementary (ironically enough, I went to a school named after cows), and Betty was on my heart, my favorite cafeteria lady who had her own farm, but spent her mornings making delicious meals for me. I know it’s absolutely nuts that some of my best childhood memories took place inside a big, bland, concrete-block cafeteria, but so is the case with me. It’s where I learned that yummy food made with love could make my day.
Food is love, and I wish this kind of warmth for you today, no matter what side you’re on. No, wait…there are no sides with cobbler…we should all be pro-cobbler. If you are anti-cobbler, or anti-crispy-cobbler, then I send my regrets, because you are broken.
Godspeed, my friends.