QUING Parties at the Palace with BLUEBERRY COBBLER

Note in my Inbox dated 7/11/12:  "I just finished (licking the pan) eating all of the blueberry cobbler you baked for us! I must tell you it made the best breakfast ever!"

I made this cobbler because I had way too many fresh blueberries in the fridge, and wanted to make a dessert that required little time and assembly. Sorry, Blueberry Pie, but I'm over you. This cobbler is simple to make, not too sweet, and a gorgeous showcase for summer berries. If not for strawberries, peaches, raspberries, blackberries, and watermelon, it could be the best summer dessert ever. Serve it warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over the blueberries. Or, serve it for breakfast!

Summer, I love you. Gustare!

BLUEBERRY COBBLER 
(Source: Baking Illustrated 2004)

FILLING:

1/2 cup granulated sugar (3 1/2 ounces)
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Pinch ground cinnamon
Pinch table salt
6 cups fresh blueberries (30 ounces), picked over
1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon lemon juice

BISCUIT TOPPING:

Important Note: Prepare the ingredients for the biscuit topping while the blueberries are baking, but do not stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until just before the berries come out of the oven.

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour (5 ounces)
2 tablespoons cornmeal, stone-ground
1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus 2 teaspoons for sprinkling
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon table salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/2 stick), melted
1/3 cup buttermilk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position. Heat oven to 375 degrees.

2. FOR THE FILLING: Stir sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, and salt together in large bowl. Add berries and mix gently with rubber spatula until evenly coated; add lemon zest and juice. Mix to combine. Transfer berry mixture to 9-inch glass pie pan, deep-dish 9-inch pie pan, or an 8-inch-square baking dish. Place pie pan on rimmed baking sheet, and bake until filling is hot and bubbling around edges, about 25 minutes.

3. FOR THE BISCUIT TOPPING: Whisk flour, cornmeal, 1/4 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in large bowl to combine. Whisk melted butter, buttermilk, and vanilla in small bowl. Mix remaining 2 teaspoons sugar and cinnamon in second small bowl and set aside. One minute before berries come out of the oven, add wet ingredients to dry ingredients; stir with rubber spatula until just combined and no dry pockets remain.

4. TO ASSEMBLE AND BAKE COBBLER: Remove berries from oven. Increase oven temperature to 425 degrees. Pinch off 8 equal-sized pieces biscuit dough and place on hot berry filling, spacing them at least 1/2 inch apart (they should not touch). Sprinkle each mound of dough with cinnamon-sugar. Bake until filling is bubbling and biscuits are golden brown on top and cooked through, 15 to 18 minutes.

Cool cobbler on wire rack 20 minutes. Serve with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream if desired.

To reheat leftovers, put the cobbler in a 350-degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes, until heated through.

DOLL

SCENE ONE: Backyard. Early morning. I am watering the gardens surrounding the patio. The air is stifling, the dawning sun is baking exposed skin. Listening to bees, birds and breeze, and scanning a cloudless sky, I wonder, "Will it ever rain again?" I lift mug to lips, and glance down at my coffee - intent on sipping the day's alertness. The caramel-colored liquid is teeming with Japanese beetles; swirling, climbing, hopping, swimming, one on top of the other. Ceramic shatters on cement. Beetles disperse to rose bush as several black crows settle on the parched lawn and begin digging for grubs.

SCENE TWO: Backyard, the evening before. Dusk turning to darkness. Band of twelve-year old baseball brothers - who spent afternoon on dustbowl diamond, battling in black uniforms for 3+ hours in 90+ temperatures - have taken refuge in the pool. Younger sister of one of the boys, in bathing suit and ponytail, suddenly dashes from pool to house, screaming, "I am out of here!" I grab her, slowing her steps before she wipes out on wet cement. "What's wrong?" I ask. "The pool is full of bugs. And BOYS!" she shrieks. "Bugs and Boys. That's redundant," I whisper. Steering her into the house, we call for my daughters - because they will make it all better.

Fact: SCENE TWO actually happened last night. SCENE ONE I dreamed last night. 

Horrors. Japanese beetles are now haunting my backyard (pool, flowers, hair) and my slumber. 

I loathe Japanese beetles. Despise them. Snip them in half with gardening clippers as they snack on my rosebuds. Crunch and grind them beneath my flip-flops whenever they are dizzy enough to land on pavement in my presence. 

You must understand that I am the kind of person who scoops displaced spiders off the bedroom ceiling and carries them outdoors to a patch of grass or dirt where they can live another day to eat mosquitoes. Or snow. 

I am not a killer. I am a lover of all, make that most, living things.

So if I gleefully grind your green and black, crunchy beetle body into the ground - you have become tremendously annoying.

Japanese Beetles, I'm talking to you. 

And even though I am now dreaming about you inhabiting my beverages, I am nevertheless going to give you a ONE DAY reprieve from death and destruction.

Because your presence in the pool last night set in motion a delightful moment and memory that I shall reflect on and treasure long after my baby girls have gone off to college - one short month from now.

Rewind to last night. I hand off Boys-n-Bugs Younger Sister to my daughters. A couple other little sisters eventually join them in the house. I return poolside to watch flips, dives and basketball water polo. The boys are soon full of pizza, refreshed and happy. So I sneak inside to check up on the girls.

Our family room - usually cluttered with laptops, I-Stuff, DVDs, drums, guitars, books, sneakers and sporting equipment  - has been transformed.

Into American Girl Place.

Dolls that have been settled and silent in the corners of bedrooms and closets for years have reappeared; dresses, shoes, ribbons and other dolly accoutrements have carpet-bombed  the room. Girls, big and small, are dressing and undressing the dolls, chattering and laughing as they brush cheeks with sparkle blush, and twist hair into thick, long braids.

I stand in the doorway, viewing my daughters in present and past; profoundly grateful for the hours, days, years of dolls and make-believe. For their childhoods of delight, that I shared and cherish.

Japanese Beetles, I owe that moment to you.

Truce, then, Popillia Japonica. 

Stay out of my coffee, my gardens, and my dreams.

And I might even decide to like you.  

QUING HEREBY DECREES: Even Pests can be Gift-Givers if given a chance.

QUING DOUBLE DECREES: Dolls, Trucks, Costumes and Legos are not meant for closets and crates. Take them out. Pick them up. Be a kid again.

L'AMOUR

We were hanging out by the fire pit, watching fireflies mingle with smoke and stars.

Nineteen year old - falling in love - inquired:  "Do you still feel like you did when you were nineteen?" 

Daughter's friend was asking if I still felt starry-eyed and romantic. Spontaneous and silly. Happy. Full-of-life, promise, hope. Certain that if I worked really hard - and loved with abandon - all would be right with the world.

My world.

Dear Reader, you've just met my 19-yr-old self.

My 40-something-self considered the question. Paused.  Hemmed. Hawed.

I looked across the blazing fire at this young man and saw First Love illuminating his face with a radiance that glowed far more brightly than Full Moon climbing navy-blue Summer Sky.  

Rotten timing for a lesson on love. He deserved to treasure this blissful life phase of his life. So I caved. 

"Of course I still feel like I did when I was 19!" I answered. "I still feel like I did when I was 29. And I know 80-year-olds who feel like they're 40, except  their knees don't work, and they can't eat buttered popcorn."

As my dear 80+ Uncle George always warns, "Tempus fugit. Cum Hades."

Interestingly, the question was popped on the eve of my 20th Wedding Anniversary. 

Twenty years. More than a lifetime for Daughter and Friend.  

The blink of an eye for Yours Truly.  

Tempus fugit cum Hades.

It's inevitable - on important days of remembrance and celebration - to rewind and consider the you of way back when.

Sure. I recognize 19-year-old me. I remember what it was like to dream her dreams.  To feel her passion and joy when  she loved with abandon. To ache and mourn when her love was shelved, and thoughts of forever turned to, "Why love, if it ultimately means loss?" 

Truth is, that girl had no idea how love would change her.

At nineteen, love was picnic baskets and teddy bears. Scribbled notes tucked under windshield wipers. Wine sipped from Dixie cups, and dreams imagined beside a bonfire on the beach.

A Best of Times.  Love, the understudy, waited patiently in the wings as featured star, Romance, charmed and delighted her audience.

You know the tale. Understudy steps into featured role and Romantic Comedy becomes Drama.

And Love -all substance - rolls her eyes at Romance - all fluff.  Because Love understands she must rise above Heartbreak. Conflict and Disappointment. Exhaustion. Loss.

Good-old Romance bolts at the first sight of them.

Twenty years ago, a beautiful bearded boy asked that I take his hand and walk through life's journey with him.

Our love has not always been patient and kind. We have most certainly taken into account a whole lot of wrongs suffered. On our blessed journey, we have walked, skipped, tip-toed, run, crawled, dashed, trudged. Far too many times we have been stopped in our tracks. We have fallen, or been carried - one by the other.

But through it all, our hands remain clenched. Our hearts fastened.

That girl who so long ago confused romance with love, is grateful to be a woman who knows that love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things.

Enduring all things, love never fails.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Happy Anniversary to my Beautiful Bearded Boy!

QUING Parties at the Palace with MARGARITA CAKE

He's the kind of guy that makes all the other guys envious. Smart, funny, crazy talented. Dreamer, lover, friend. And he bakes. Bundt cakes, mostly. I can't wait till he quits his real job and opens a bakery. Greg made this Margarita Cake for a surprise party a couple weeks ago. I tasted one bite, and spent the evening making small talk while attempting to figure out how I could sneak the rest of the cake into my purse. When I make this cake I swap milk for water in the recipe to make it even more moist. I also double the  confectioners' sugar in the frosting. Use one cup instead of two if you'd like a clearer glaze. Either way, it's luscious.

Cheers to you and yours this Fourth of July!  GUSTARE!  

MARGARITA CAKE

(From the Kitchen of Gregory Gjurich     Yield 1 10-inch Bundt cake)

INGREDIENTS: CAKE

1 (18.25 ounce) package orange or lemon cake mix

1 (3.4 ounce) package instant vanilla pudding mix

4 eggs

1/2 cup vegetable

2/3 cup milk

1/4 cup lemon juice

1/4 cup tequila

2 tablespoons triple sec liqueur

FROSTING:

2 cups confectioners' sugar

1 tablespoon tequila

2 tablespoons triple sec liqueur

2 tablespoons lime juice

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and flour a 10 inch Bundt pan.
2. In a large bowl combine cake mix, pudding mix, eggs, oil, milk, lemon juice, tequila and triple sec. Beat for 2 minutes.
3. Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake in preheated oven for 45 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 minutes; remove to rack and pour glaze over cake while still warm.
4. To make the glaze: In a small bowl, combine confectioners' sugar with 1 tablespoon tequila, 2 tablespoons triple sec and 2 tablespoons lime juice. Mix until smooth.