Peach and Blackberry Cobbler

Do you ever get the feeling that life is moving too quickly? Do you wonder: did I really get enough sun-soaked outdoor time or smokey, campfire-roasted marshmallows this summer? Did I swim enough? Did I take full advantage of those golden afternoons on my balcony, when a cold beer and a cool breeze can feel just shy of heaven? Did I savor the overwhelming freshness and clarity that is so essential in summer foods? Call me a pessimist, but as the summer draws to a close, I can't help but wonder if I lived it to the fullest, catching every last morsel of that special joy that only summer can provide. At those times, I think back to all the things that define the season for me, like peaches.

Mom loves peaches. I have vivid memories of vacationing down the Cape, sitting around whatever cottage the family had rented, playing gin and watching Mom eat peaches. It is always amazing to me, the kind of subtle, non-traditions that seem to seep into my memory such as Mom's love of peaches. For me, peaches mean comfort and an easy relaxation that can only come with time spent at the beach, with no cell phones, blackberries or laptops. Just good food and good company. Away from the things of man, my love. Away from the things of man. 

Peach and Blackberry Cobbler
(Adapted from Ruth Reichl's blog)

4 large peaches, peeled
8 or 9 oz. blackberries
1/2 lemon
1/2 cup sugar
1 tbsp. cornstarch

1 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/8 tsp nutmeg
pinch of salt
1/2 stick of cold unsalted butter, cut into small chunks
1/3 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Slice peaches over a glass pie plate, making sure to capture any juices from the fruit. Add blackberries. Squeeze half a lemon over fruit and toss with sugar and cornstarch.

In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. Using your hands, work in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Slowly mix in the buttermilk, making sure the dough is not too moist. Plop spoonfuls of dough on to the fruit. Sprinkle dough with sugar and bake for 30 minutes. Serve immediately, preferably with vanilla ice cream.

Vacation Edition: Cape Cod

Whew, I have just spent two amazing weeks eating myself silly, first down the Cape, then on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The first stop on my cuisine tour of the East Coast was the Blue Moon Bistro . Growing up, this location was a superb breakfast place called the Snow Goose. The place was a staple of my young summer diet. Since the Snow Goose departed, the location has been several different things, but I sincerely hope that the Blue Moon Bistro is here to stay. I started with a cup of the Gazpacho, which was thicker than I make, but with a very satisfying hint of spiciness. For my main course I tried the Butternut Squash Ravioli, which was heavy (obviously), but I was delighted that the accompanying cream sauce was light and flavorful, balancing well with the sweetness of the caramelized onions and the packed-to-capacity ravioli. This entree is offered in a smaller version, which looking back, I should have ordered, but only because there was bread pudding on the dessert menu, which NEEDED (we have discussed this) to be tasted.

My parents both had a swordfish special, which I am sure was fresh and delish, but since my seafood intake is strictly limited to raw bars, sushi and most crustaceans, I didn't save room to try a bite. My only reservation was that the bread pudding could have been zippier, as it has a grandma's-homemade-from-what-was-in-the-pantry feel. Personally, I feel that bread pudding is such a staple, the excitement of eating it comes from combining interesting ingredients (banana, caramel, liquor, croissants) while maintaining the comfort-food appeal. All in all, a basic raisin bread pudding still hits the mark.

If you love the Cape, as I do, and are looking for something a little more interesting that the basic family-friendly-(read: fish stick)-fare, I highly recommend the Blue Moon Bistro (even though I will always miss my precious Snow Goose.

The Red Pheasant

My other notable stop was The Red Pheasant Inn, dining at which I regard as a personal, foodie victory for two reasons. One, I ordered the duck, which I have never had before. Two, the Red Pheasant has always been the parents'-night-out dinner spot, for which the kids (my brother and me) were left with a stack of VHS and a take-away pizza, while my parents wined and dined down the street. Not that I blame them. I wouldn't want to spend nearly $30 on an entree my child would merely poke at before becoming too anxious to sit still and go running under the feet of the wait-staff. Therefore, I find is doubly rewarding that my literal and figurative entrance into the adult dining world of my childhood should be greeted with a dish of which I have never partaken.

The duck(ling). There was some debate on the onset, between my father and me, as to whether or not the mouthwateringly melty layer of fat on the top of the duck should be eaten. Having never eaten duck before, I was somehow convinced that eating the fat, with the meat, was a crucial part of the duck-eating experience. Despite the fact that my father didn't agree, I followed my instincts and was back-of-the-knee-tinglingly rewarded. I was fortified by a passage I read in Bill Buford's "Heat," in which Mario Batali feeds very thin slices of pork fat to Bulford's dinner guests, while telling Bulford that at his restaurant it is served as "prosciutto bianco" so as not to upset the lardo-phobes. I usually fear an excess of fat, as it is often accompanied by grizzle (yuck!), but eating this dish whole was possibly a life altering event. I promise never again to fear the presence of fat on my plate. Cross my heart.

More to come (with pictures!): Vacation Edition: Outer Banks.