If you ever drive down a Midwestern country highway in summer, you will occasionally see a weather beaten sign, usually scrawled on cardboard by someone who appears to enjoy writing in oversized markers with their feet: U-PICK.
This is code for “bring a bucket and pick stuff” which is another way of saying “super cheap, super fresh produce HERE.”
You gotta go.
Sometimes it’s corn, sometimes it’s apples. My favorite U-Pick is blueberries. The season doesn’t last long, but there is something very different about the taste of a blueberry ripened on the bush, and a blueberry ripened in the box. I can’t tell you what it is, but it’s good. They farm blueberries everywhere but this taste that follows this seasonal ceremony of bush picking is uniquely Midwestern and devastatingly delicious. It’s totally worth driving 90 miles to East Jesus Michigan to find a field, the right right field, to go U-Picking.
Also, it’s oddly satisfying. Your hands come out looking like you killed a smurf, but it’s worth it for the seven letter payoff of all payoffs: cobbler.
I hesitate to post this like it’s a recipe that I came up with because 1. I didn’t and 2. It’s not really a recipe. This is another one of those things I assume everyone learned from an eccentric aunt, but here I am, finding myself having to make up for eccentric aunts everywhere.
It’s okay though. I’ll be eccentric enough for all of us.
BERRY COBBLER RECIPE (not that you will need to write it down – you’ll remember it by heart after the first time)
- 3 cups fresh berries or fruit cut roughly the same size (apples and peaches work especially well)
- 1 box yellow cake mix
- 1 stick of butter, melted
- 1 egg
- 1 dash of cinnamon
- important yet optional element: parchment paper
All you do is line a brownie pan with parchment paper and fill with your fruit. The parchment is critical, in my opinion, because without it, a good chunk of the fruit will stick to the pan. Not only does that make for messy clean-up, it means you lose the best part of the dish, and I’m so not okay with that.
To make the crumble top stuff, just mix the four other ingredients with a spoon, then sprinkle on top, then pop in the oven for 30 minutes at 350. It comes out gold and bubbly, ready to serve over ice cream.
This isn’t so much a recipe as it is an all-purpose formula ratio. Doesn’t matter what kind of fruit or cake mix you use. It works great with gluten free cake mix, as well as that horse crap they sell down at the healthfood store. Also, you can swap cake mix for cornbread mix, and swap the fruit for leftover stew. Bam! Instant Shepard’s Pie Sorta Thing. My dad used to make it with sloppy joes. When was the last time I even had a sloppy joe? Is sloppy joe capitalized? Am I insulting Joe? And why was he sloppy?
I digress. You see where this is going. It’s just a nifty thing and it’s weirdly appealing. Dudes in particular seem to like this sort of warm and gooey, free-form style desert. It’s man food. It’s good food. It’s comfort food. It’s good!
Speaking of comfort food…
I don’t know about you, but I am so sad to hear about the passing of Robin Williams. Some 24 hours after the story broke, I find the news of his death is resonating with me more than I expected. And I don’t think I am alone in this feeling. What a tremendous loss — to all of us.
But, I worry. Because, while it is wonderful to watch the news and social media and see the outpouring of tributes and appreciation, I cannot help but feel some sort of paradoxical guilt for taking part in the audience. Is that crazy? Perhaps, had this man not felt the pressure of an audience, would he have felt the freedom to seek the help he needed before it was too late? Does my attention and desire for information feed this bloodthirsty cycle of broken celebrity? I worry. I see anchormen posted in trucks outside this man’s home, where his family and neighbors live. Do they not deserve to grieve in peace? Or is it comforting to them to know their loved one was admired, no — loved, by so many? I worry. It’s strange to feel these connections to people we have never met, yet we feel them every day. Television. The movies. The internet. We are so connected. Connected. Oddly enough, just last weekend I was listening to an interview between Marc Maron and Robin Williams (worth listening to, btw) and after half an hour I felt like I knew this man better than some people I have known my whole life. That was my connection. A one-way connection. Connected to what, I don’t know, but I worry the burden of the thousands of anonymous connections may have contributed in some small way to this man’s loneliness and perhaps even his death. I don’t know. I don’t. It’s troubling indeed. At this point I’m just rambling, but I feel like these things are worth saying aloud….or should I say in type. That is our connection too.
Like so many others, I will be up tonight watching Dead Poet’s Society and hugging my cat a little more than usual, thankful to live in a world where we can witness people with such talent. To my fellow Midwesterner Robin Williams, O Captain My Captain, I raise a slice of cobbler to you.
Well said. We could all use a little compassion and a lot more pie.
Amen to that!
thank you for this lovely post!
I saw Robin Williams in 1975 at the Copacabana in New York City. He was magical.
I think a lot of people are afraid if a genius like Robin couldn’t hold on and cope with his depression, the rest of us don’t have a chance.
Gosh, the Copacabana? What a story to be able to tell. I have been watching some of his standup on Youtube for the first time — what a talent.
Depression doesn’t have an address or a job description or a bank account. His demons were personal, private and far more insidious than we can know or understand. The audience may have been what kept him from slipping into the abyss for 60 some years. We all loved him and thus we are all allowed to grieve for him publicly or privately or in the manner that helps us wrap our own minds around someone so seemingly full of life and with so many reasons to live including a loving wife and beautiful children opting to choose death. We are more connected than we’ve ever been and yet, more disconnected than we’ve ever been. This digital age of instant information and gratification lacks soul. One can have thousands or millions of virtual friends and still feel utterly and completely alone. It’s our paradox. We all have demons, we all fight the good fight and sometimes, some of us lose. Still, our legacy remains and his was extraordinary. Thank you for the cobbler, but more importantly the food for thought. Cheers, Madge
Well said, Margot. I know you understand the entertainment industry better than I do, so I appreciate your insight. It is an odd, and sometimes cruel, coincidence that so many people drawn to life as performers — a career filled with scrutiny and rejection — are often the ones who are most susceptible to self-doubt. As a viewer I am always drawn to actors and writers and singers and artists who read as *vulnerable* in their work, but I suspect that sincerity comes from something deeper and darker…not unlike Robin Wiliams. I see clips of him performing all over tv right now and I pick up on a certain sadness to him. Perhaps that is just me projecting, though. I don’t know. It is a sad situation indeed. I’m glad we have his work on film to treasure long after he is gone.
I think a commentary with a bowl of cobbler is a perfectly Midwestern thing to do: there’s always comfort food after a loss, while remembering the good things about the one who was lost. First Robin, and then Lauren Bacall. What a sad few days this has been.
And on a side note…you actually know places where you can PICK your own BLUEBERRIES? You are SO lucky.
Thanks for the quietly comforting post. This is a week that needs it.
Uh oh, is Oklahoma blueberry farm free? You are missing out. Although, you guys have Sonic everrrrrywhere in Oklahoma — and that’s a big deal in my book!
Depression is a disease just like cancer. Some people can get help and make it through, and some people can get help but the disease gets them anyway. I pray Robin finds the peace that he couldn’t find here. I pray his family and friends find peace. There was nothing they could do. His depression killed him and sometimes there is nothing more that anyone can do to stop the progression of it.
The death of Robin Williams feels like a Shakespeare play to me, a true definition of tragedy.
There really isn’t anything quite as satisfying as picking your own ingredients and cooking them. This is an AMAZING recipe!
You know, it’s funny you should mention a one sided connection. And you’ve mentioned before that most people you actually know in real life don’t follow your blog. I can admit to a once sided connection to you. I feel like I know you, though I most assuredly do not. You have a whole life that isn’t a part of this blog, as I’m sure Robin Williams had an entire life that none of us could fathom. When you think of it, no one knows you really. No one knows your real thoughts, even if you appear to be an open book, even if you share so much of your self with people who don’t know you at all.
I guess my point is, there is no way to know what goes on in another’s mind. We all participate in the world as actors and voyeurs. To think about your actions and how you may affect another person is a good thing, even if your action is watching.
I hope that all of us with our comments, unhampered by actually seeing your face, don’t put undo pressure on you. We all love you. 🙂