"Mom and Apple Cobbler" or "Hey, look what I made!"
So my mother, who in addition to being a super competent high-energy tough-as-nails manager is also an amazing baker and cook and a fairly good gardener besides, loaded me up with a sack of apples from her tree a couple weekends ago, along with a bunch of veggies.
The apples, Gravensteins, sat in my fridge getting soft for a while, since they are not my favorite eating apple. Finally last night, overwhelmed by a certain manic impulse, I pulled them out and began acting like I know how to bake.
Now my mom has developed her pie crust to an art form and has this whole elaborate routine that apparently involves mixing in the butter at different temperatures and I don't know what all else. I, on the other hand, while a pretty decent cook, am totally intimidated by pie crust and pastry and most baking in general beyond the chocolate chip cookie. So much easier to mess up than a nice stew or pasta sauce.
So I made cobbler instead, using the old standby Joy of Cooking as my guide. And you know? It didn't turn out half bad-- buttery, rich, not too sweet. I felt like I was channeling my mom while I made it, standing there slicing up apples with a paring knife in the quiet kitchen, glass of wine at my side, humming. And the house smelled like home when it was done. I felt good, optimistic even, like it might be possible to be happy and have a good life.
Now all I need is a family to make it for. And maybe my mom's recipe for pie crust.