Summer

The I’m getting a new refrigerator and have to use up everything in one pie. (Apple, Strawberry, frozen Black Raspberries)

Many of you have heard me complain about my refrigerator.  It’s a small old Kenmore that long ago lost it door compartments.  Bungee cords have been doing a not very good job of holding in the mayo, mustard etc.  For the past year the opening of the refrigerator was inevitably accompanied by an expletive in reaction to something tumbling out.  The door’s final revenge was on Saturday as we awaited the delivery of the new fabulous (to us) French Door Freezer on the bottom Amana.

Mom was eating an omelette and asked for ketchup.  I opened the frig door and the ketchup fell out and skidded on the floor to her.  Hilarity ensued.  We felt the refrigerator knew it was leaving and was bidding us a fond adieu. 

Meanwhile I had to completely empty the old frig in anticipation of the new.  I found some unexpected pie fodder like farmers market apples that were not very good for eating but would be fine in a pie.  A basket of strawberries that was on it’s way out and in the freezer (a whole other story) a half empty bag of Trader Joe’s frozen black raspberries.

My friend, Lynn, rubs up with mosquito spray and grabs a bucket as she heads out each year at this time to pick wild blueberries. She's been doing this for years, so it doesn't take her long to pick enough of those small, sweet berries in her secret spot to make at least a couple of blueberry pies. And, she makes the world's best pie crust. This year, she brought me a small pie that was perfect for my husband and I to share. We savored each bite of flaky crust that held her homemade wild blueberry pie filling. It was absolutely heavenly.

I don't pick wild blueberries, except for the few that grow along my driveway. Too many bears, woodticks and mosquitoes to worry about when one is out in the woods picking berries. And, I don't make pies. I make at least a few dozen of my favorite bluebery muffins each year at this time.

Today, I tried something a little different by baking a whole batch of my favorite blueberry muffin recipe in a springform pan to make a muffin cake.

I never remember the difference between a crisp, a crumble, and a cobbler (not to mention brown bettys, slumps, or grunts).

Crisps, crumbles, and cobblers are all low-maintenance desserts made with seasonal fruits or berries that have the flavor of pie without the work of actually making one.

A crisp is made by mixing fruit of your choice with sugar and spices then topping it with a crisp mix made of butter and sugar and a binding agent such as flour or oatmeal.

A crumble is similar to a crisp. It's made by mixing fruit with sugar and spices and topping it with a streusel, a mixture of butter, sugar, flour, and nuts.

Cobblers take longer to make than crisps and crumbles because they have a dough-like crust. Some cobblers are made with enclosed crusts while others, like my Fresh Apricot and Cherry Cobbler with Buttermilk Biscuit Crust, are made with a biscuit topping.

I'm from the South. I grew up and went to college in Tennessee, and worked for many years in Atlanta.  But I never felt like I was home until I moved to New York City.   The city fit my disposition and overall world-view nicely, not to mention the comfort that comes from living in a Blue state. So, it takes a lot for me to find a desire to go back below the Mason-Dixon.  Still, every Memorial Day weekend I return to kick off the summer. Why?  Why do I go back for five days of nonstop comments about the liberal media, the constitutional wrongs of the “war of northern aggression” and the amazing wonders of the NRA?

Believe it or not, I go to Tennessee to camp with my uncle, Tony, and his gun-toting friends from college.  Though debated every year, the general consensus is that the tradition began in 1992 shortly after Tony and his friends graduated from college.  They chose to go out behind my grandparent’s property to a bluff by a lake. Back then the menu for the entire weekend consisted of the fish they could catch, and cook over an open fire.  Occasionally a pizza would find its way back courtesy of the occasional visitor not interested in spending the night outside.  But the overall spread was limited.