Sophie thinks she’s going to get a cookie. Sophie would be wrong.

 

Along with the lack of photos, I didn’t do much baking this holiday beyond our traditional chocolate pie. I just couldn’t get in the mood—and with the boys being sick with different viruses, the idea of sitting down and decorating sugar cookies sounded more like an experiment in swapping colds. I’ll pass, thank you very much.

But the New Year has arrived and while most people are resolving to tighten their waistbands, clearly I’m working on a different agenda! It’s nothing too outrageous, just a few cookies here, a pizza there. Enough to get back in the groove and feel at home again dusted in flour. It’s funny how easy it is to fall out the habit.

Recently, I picked up a package of Reese’s Premium Baking Pieces when IZ commented that he thought the boy would like them. But, the recipe on the back of the package didn’t appeal to me. In part, because at the time I started baking, it called for more butter than I had defrosted. Who wants to wait for butter to thaw? Not me! So, I went scrounging through my recipes and cobbled together a new bar cookie that has my family clamoring for more!

Boy Wonder: I really enjoyed these, Mom! They are my new favorite! Will you make more? Say, tomorrow??

Yes, yes, he really does talk that way.

As the second batch of these cookies are now cooling on the kitchen counter, I thought I would share the recipe with all of you. If you make them, come back and tell me what you think. M’kay?

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Last week, Smitten Kitchen posted a recipe for Pumpkin Bread Pudding. Oh my. Bread and pumpkin, two of my favorite things! However, the recipe called for a day old baguette, and around these parts there are two things that never make it to day old: champagne and baguette. Ahem. No, good bread and any champagne gets scarfed down quickly, usually followed by someone proffering up an empty cup or bowl with baleful eyes, “Please sir, can I have some more?!” Day old baguette… who are we kidding?

What we do have that’s stale is a loaf of flax-seed, wheat-free bread that we all thought sounded like a responsible choice when we were standing in the market surveying our options. It was a good plan at the time. We didn’t know our future selves would turn up our noses and then scrounge around for something different leaving the loaf to dry out. So, it sat. This loaf of flaxy, seedy, lacking in taste wheat, bread—in our refrigerator for how long, I don’t rightly know. Weeks? Probably. Certainly that counts as day old right? It’s day old plus. That makes it better.

I decided to substitute the bread. And we all loved it so much that we scarfed it down like it was warm crusty baguette… and of course, somebody just had to go and ask, “Please, Mom, can I have some more?” Yes! And then someone else had to ask, “HOW many tablespoons of butter are in this? Six?? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME??” Ok, that last question was a bit overkill; clearly, I was being handed a mandate. More, but less. I had a new mission.

So, off I went. To refine and reduce and remake a yummy bread pudding without all the fat. A good for you bread pudding. A bread pudding to revolutionize the world. A cure for all that ails you. Seriously, sometimes I buy my own press.

Under the cut is what I came up with… it’s so far from the original that I feel perfectly fine calling this my own recipe. It’s going on the list with baguettes and champagne: never, ever, day old.

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It’s August and the smell of sticky sweet, nearly rancid blackberries permeates the air. It’s a smell I associate with the end of summer, but not quite fall. Time for one last adventure, time for few more late nights on the sun porch sipping coffee, and time for berry picking.

The boy and I headed out to our one of our favorite berry patches today, only to find most of the large Himalaya Giants far out of reach or picked over. However with a view like this, hunting for berries is hardly work! While the berries were thin, the spiders weren’t. Oh my, adolescent Orb Weavers. I try not to shudder. My child, completely oblivious charged right in only to be met with thorns. I have to admit, that all those wee beasties did me in a bit.

The other variety that grows with abandon out here on the edge of the world is the Evergreen Thornless. It won’t fruit until after labor day and has a completely different flavor than the Himalayas most of us know as blackberries. They are smaller and more work to pick, but with a flavor that is out of this world and no thorns… oh so worth it! However, I tend to forget about them, because August is blackberry month and by September I’ve moved on to apples.

And would it be too much of a stretch for a segue to say “speaking of moving on”? Because, while this photo is a wee bit blurry, I love the fact it catches my very busy boy in MOTION. He’s moving, and moving on, on so many levels. We see less and less of him (don’t pity me, he’s a homeschooled child and we spend PLENTY of time together still!) and I’m steeling myself for the inevitable. He steals his mother’s heart every time he suggests that college could be right around the corner if he continues at his pace. I tease and suggest I should flunk him a few grades, just to keep him here. However, when given the option to go berry picking with his mother, he jumped. There is at least that.

Moving on… I adore the photo as well because that t-shirt of his is actually black but looks the color of blackberry juice. The light caught him and his shirt just so… and that makes me happy. There are those moments where grace reaches out and touches you—sometimes you find yourself blessed to capture that moment for posterity.

It wouldn’t be summer without blackberries nor August without berry picking. All this means it’s also time for Cobbler. Below the jump is my grandmother’s recipe for Blackberry Cobbler. Everyone will tell you their grandmother’s cobbler is the best, but that’s just because they’ve never had MY grandmother’s cobbler.

The last time we ate cobbler together was at my graduation from SPU—I was whipping up a batch (using frozen berries, shhh, don’t tell!) and I hollered into the living room, “Hey Gram, what are the proportions again?” Every woman from my family shouted back, “1+1+1+1″. How could I forget that!

“And 2 tsps. of baking powder, not soda” my grandmother added. It’s really not much more than that and blackberries. It’s not low-fat; nothing in Southern cooking is, or should be for that matter. When you’re plopping that stick of butter into the baking dish, thinking about your arteries and cholesterol, just remember this, the recipe could have called for Lard!

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If I had to subsist on just one meal it would be breakfast. There is something about a fresh egg and scones and hot coffee that makes me happy. Especially if it is what’s for dinner!

Breakfast for dinner is our stand-by meal. Beyond being easy, we like all those breakfasty foods and because I’m the scone baker, it’s a meal we can prepare together. (Yes, IZ does all the cooking in these parts. I know, I know, I’m a lucky girl.) So, while he whipped together a Sundried Tomato scramble, I did a bit of baking. And while I highly recommend these for dinner with coffee, they make a wonderful morning snack with tea too!

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What a day! Perhaps we’re a bit odd, but we measure our days in mochas. When it’s been a particularly harrowing day, IZ and I tend to look at each other and say, “It’s a two mocha day!” We start our morning together with one of his great Mexican Mochas and if the day spirals into chaos, we reconnoiter in the afternoon in an attempt to slow our day down just a bit. It doesn’t always work, but the effort is valiant. Besides, we enjoy the company. Reason enough, in my world!

Our scale could be worse, I suppose. I’m Southern, and I’m pretty sure most of my ancestors measured their days in moonshine and cigarettes. I’m not far behind though, because on a day like today, the mocha number might easily reach double digits. It’s just been that kind of day.

My mind feels a little like what our dinner table looks like! I’m scattered and jumpy and yes, that’s probably the caffeine talking. I’m just not a fan of pressing deadlines, either. We are at the end of the school year with Boy Wonder and of course cramming is in order. Must. Finish. Now. It wouldn’t be school without a cram session at year end. Would it?

This would be the scene of our crime, one last push to finish the State Report. Boy Wonder works much like his mother, in the midst of chaos. The paper on the ground is our research, dropped on the floor during our last minute fact checking spree. Don’t worry, it will all be recycled as packing material for Thrifty Goodness. I suspect that some other 5th grader is doing a report on Washington, since our library was picked clean for references. The lack of printed material meant we were compelled to use mostly web sources. While most of it we were able to read through and incorporate without printing, there were a few subjects that needed a print job to absorb! Anyhow, the pile looks far worse than it is.

As I released the boy out to play at 2:30, IZ thumbed through the masterpiece and then said those magic words, “This is a two mocha day, isn’t it?” This is the upside of working at home; you get to take breaks with your sweetie at will. And then the phone rang. Which would be the downside of working from home. Sometimes the phone preempts the best of plans.

Listening to him field phone calls it was clear that I’m not the only person juggling disasters in the making. Every phone call he fielded ended with his assuring the person on the other line that he would call someone else and straighten up the mess. Our two mocha day was quickly becoming a three mocha day—and we hadn’t even sat down to drink a second.

You will note that my coffee cup is missing something. I have a tiny collection of red transfer ware cups but they are missing saucers. I do know better, I honestly do, but I just adore drinking coffee out of these cups. I swear to you, coffee tastes better out of this cup! Any regular reader of this blog will also note that the beverage in my cup is not one of IZ’s famous mochas. Sadly, the stream of phone calls never let him go, so I did what any compassionate spouse would do: I baked!

Scones, I tell you, they’re the answer to all that ails you. Especially if they’re paired with piping hot coffee. I don’t make mochas anymore, having passed off that job to IZ years ago (he’s particular about measurements and I’m, uh, not so particular). But I do make coffee. Mercifully, the phone stopped ringing long enough for us to sit down and measure our day. It could be worse, this life we live. Even if it is a two mocha day.

Recipe on the flip.

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It’s well known that the stove is my nemesis. For the safety of all who live in my home, I tend to avoid it with exception to boiling water for tea. However, the oven and I get along just fine. Lately, I’ve been hanging out on Heidi Swanson’s 101 Cookbooks. I admire her cooking and her photography even though I know better than to attempt any of it. Heidi is a goddess at the stove!

However, Heidi is no slouch with the oven either and it’s with these recipes that I feel like I can dive in and try. Last week, I whipped up her baked doughnut concoction. And by whipped up, I mean I spent the glorious three hours required to make those things happen. We were munching on amazing doughnuts into the wee hours, since I didn’t get an early start. When sunlight finally made an appearance the next day, the doughnuts had done their own disappearing act; nowhere to be seen for a close-up. Wonder how that happened?

The thing about finding a good recipe source—you know, one where the directions are clear that even I can follow them without injuring myself and the results actually look like the photos in the sample recipe—is that it tends to inspire you to try more. The inverse is also true. I once chucked a Frugal Gourmet cookbook after attempting a simple caramel sauce three times only to meet utter failure each time. The author had neglected to point out that you shouldn’t stir your sauce and of course, I did. Stir and stir and ooh, stuck. Can’t remove stirring utensil. Solid brick of sugar. Wait, now burning sugar!! Three spatulas later I chucked the smoldering brick of sugar and the book into the garbage and sat down to have myself a good cry!

With age comes experience I guess. I know NOW that you leave candy alone to bubble and bubble—but it wasn’t Graham Kerr who told me! At the tender age of 22 I had no idea and the complete frustration of trying something over and over BY. THE. BOOK. only to fail leaves a girl questioning her sanity along with her domestic skills. Of course, it probably didn’t help that I chose Thanksgiving morning to attempt that recipe for the first time ever. . . but that’s a different warning to the wise.

Anyhow, last night’s journey into 101 Cookbooks led me to a recipe from David Lebovitz’s Great Book of Chocolate for Chocolate Chip cookies. Oh my. Oh. My. There are no words—despite evidence to the contrary on this present page!

I’m not going to print the recipe here, because I don’t have permission and it’s copyrighted. Copyright should be respected, no matter what those loony libertarians suggest! Not to mention, bad karma might take the edge off these marvels. That would be, well, bad! However, Heidi has permission and you can look at it on her site.

And look you should! I did substitute fake egg for real egg but I doubt it made any difference in taste. We’re not walnut fans around here, so I used pecans. In my convection oven, this amazing cookie took at least 24 minutes to bake, with a few extra minutes baking out of the oven on the hot sheet. That may seem like a long time, but at least you’re not hovering near the oven every 3 minutes worrying that your chocolate fix is going to burn. Anything to keep you from obsessively flicking the oven light on and off. What? You don’t do that?

I have to say, I’ve found my chocolate chip cookie recipe of choice. You know, until Heidi puts up another one I just have to try!