Look, this isn’t a real post. It’s just me sharing a story that might help you if you’ve been in my same predicament.
When I was little my great grandmother (on my mom’s side) used to make the most incredible peach cobbler but she absolutely refused to share the recipe with anyone because the women in my family all fought over who got to make the food to family gatherings and she didn’t want anyone else to be able to bring it. (One time there was a family feud that broke out over three kinds of stuffing being brought to Thanksgiving and the stuffing you chose to put on your plate was like picking your biker gang. I took a small scoop of all three and my aunt was like, “You tiny coward.” Which was totally fair.)
Great Mamaw wouldn’t write down the recipe or let anyone in the kitchen when she baked it but when she was in her 90s she finally started to share some of her recipes with her daughter (my granny) but by that time the dementia was heavy and she couldn’t remember how to make it anymore. One time we went to her house so granny could watch her make it and we were like, “Why is the cobbler green? Is it supposed to fizz like that?” And granny whispered “NO ONE EAT THE COBBLER” because turns out mamaw insisted in baking lime jello into it and we all had to take a big spoonful and throw it out the back door when she wasn’t looking. My point here is that when she died, the beloved family peach cobbler of my childhood died with her, and for the last 40 years my sister and I have eaten every peach cobbler we could find in the hopes of finding hers. Every time I try one my kiddo (Hailey) and my husband are like “Is that it?” and it never is.
BUT! Last week I got a text from my sister that she thought she may have solved the great cobbler mystery! Turns out, our great aunt Albina (on my father’s side) had shared her recipe for peach cobbler in her old church cookbook before she died and Lisa thought that maybe since both women grew up in the same era and town perhaps they’d both gotten the recipe from the same place, so she went to work trying it out and experimenting and finally sent me the recipe with her notes.
Baking is a science I never mastered but Hailey loves it so they (and their sweetheart, Laurel) got busy on New Years Eve making us the famous peach cobbler from scratch.
Honestly, watching them make it was worth it alone because they crack me up.
And after an hour of “How do you dry peaches?” “Can I use forks instead of a pastry blender?” How do you ‘cut in’ shortening?” “How do you ‘braid’ dough? “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE TOOTHPICKS? FUCK IT, I’LL USE CHOPSTICKS” Hailey pulled it out of the oven and everyone stared at me in a suspenseful silence and I was like, “It smells exactly right but I remember hers having a sugary top?” and Hailey yelled, “OH NO. I FORGOT TO BRUSH IT WITH SUGAR AND BUTTER” and I was like, “It’s fine, I’ll just melt some butter and sugar and we’ll put it back in the oven” but I accidentally used salted margarine and the microwave didn’t melt it properly and everyone kind of stared in horror as I dumped globs of goo on the top while making a mess, but honestly it totally worked and felt like a nod to Great Mama’s forgetfulness. And when it came out of the oven the second time it was perfect and when I bit into it I literally cried. Like, have you ever been craving something for 40 years and finally get it again and it’s just as good as you imagined and it kind of heals you a little? Because, yeah.
So this whole thing is just to say that if you have a secret family recipe…let this be your sign to share it now. Don’t gatekeep that shit, friend.
And speaking of sharing…here is the recipe for our peach cobbler:
We used canned peaches and it was fine, but if you really want to do it like my great mamaw you need to can the peaches yourself from your peach trees and store them in your storm cellar for so many years that they get extra sweet and a little mushy in a way that might indicate that you’re going to die from botulism. Why did those peaches always taste better?
Special thanks to my great mamaw (below in b&w with her husband) and to my great aunt Albina (below, surrounded by two of her sisters, including my grandmother. They were always giggling together and I don’t know about what because they seldom did it in English but this picture always makes me smile) and to the 1999 Wall Brethren Church Christian Sisters Cookbook.
Happy cobblering.
