Peach Cobbler

If there was one thing I missed the most out of everything my Momma used to make in the kitchen it’s her peach cobbler.  This peach cobbler was fought over, hidden, and used as bribery for years.  It’s a simple recipe but no matter how I or anyone else try to recreate it, it’s just not the same.

Last night I wanted to do some prep work for the Superbowl party and make a couple of things so it would be less to do before the actual party.  I called my friend Faith and asked if she wanted to come help me.  I didn’t want to go it alone even though I had two simple recipes to follow.

The kitchen was the one I stood beside my Momma, my Aunt Nancy, and a few others many many times cooking for dinners and special events when I was a kid.  I think maybe back then I was in the way most of the time but I still remember having fun helping the ladies in the kitchen make all that food for a packed banquet hall.

The building this kitchen is in has changed a lot over the years.  So much so that everything from one end of the building to the opposite has been flipped, updated, and all the nice bits and bobs have been added.  The one thing that remained almost the exact same was this kitchen.

Sometimes it’s so overwhelming to be in the building I spent my childhood in now that I’ve lost both of my parents.  It’s overwhelming when there’s a large crowd of people at the bar and I catch myself looking over my shoulder waiting and searching for the smiles and laughters of my parents, Uncle Ricky, and other family friends that are no longer alive.  In the kitchen though, it’s a calm escape to the chaos filled memories of the kitchen I remember as a little girl.

There was one of these events that requested that Momma make her peach cobbler for dessert.  There were at least three hotel sized pans of cobbler waiting to be dished out and served sitting in the kitchen.  Enter Uncle Ricky and Uncle Don.  A serving spoon or two, if memory is correct this is how the story went, Uncle Rick and Uncle Don were caught eating out of the cobbler pan.  I think had anyone else gotten caught eating cobbler out of the pan for guests I think they probably would have gotten their butts kicked to a new dimension.

 

I long ago gave up trying to recreate Momma’s cobbler.  I accepted eventually that the day she died there were somethings that just weren’t going to be the same.  I found a recipe for peach cake similar to something that I’d made before, it was no peach cobbler but it worth a shot.  So Faith and  I made it together as we talked about life.  It wasn’t until after I pulled the cake out of the oven that I remembered Uncle Rick and Uncle Don in this very same kitchen all those years ago.

It’s not Momma’s cobbler but it’s my peach cake, and I think it’s a wonderful new tradition.

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