My mom is the first to say she doesn’t like to bake. I’m still not sure where my love obsession came from. Somehow my sister picked up the habit too—proof. But despite my mom’s distaste for baking, she makes a mean cobbler. In the summers it’s filled with the ripest of peaches. And through the winters it’s filled with the blackest of blackberries. Always topped with ice cream of course. This tastes like home to me.
Home. Where I returned from just days ago. Already missing the people I have known for a lifetime. I still wonder why I ever moved away. And then I’m reminded of the greedy Texas* heat that steals winter’s thunder. The heat that also leaves me grumpy for weeks on end. I’m a winter girl at heart. I still melt with every snowfall. I love it’s quiet demeanor. And the beautiful way it paints the landscape white.
I love it’s whispering reminders to stop. And if you listen really close, it’ll tell you to make blackberry cobbler. To cuddle up on the couch with a warm mug. And just be. If only I could convince winter and home to exist in the same place. Until then, I’ll keep making cobbler.
As for the recipe, mom says just remember—a cup, a cup, a cup, a stick.
Preheat the oven to 350°. In an 8×8 inch baking dish, add butter and place in the oven until melted and slightly bubbling, not browned.
Meanwhile, sift the flour and sugar together. Whisk in the buttermilk. Batter should be pourable. If too thick, add 1 teaspoon of buttermilk at a time.
Once the butter is melted, remove from the oven, and immediately pour in batter. Edges will begin to cook. Generously add the fruit. Return to oven, and bake for 30-35 minutes or until crust is golden.